Past few weeks have been rather good. After Twestival, Laura and I kept in touch and there are other projects in the pipeline. (Just had deja vu- even to the point where I remember having to go check the spelling of deja vu- brain tumor? Let's hope not). My days have consisted of the occasional box office shift, where generally I leave feeling pretty damn rubbish (office politics when there are so many people coming and going are hard to keep track of) but it funds my nights out and occasional shoe shopping trips. I'm still living in hope that someone will buy me a Mulberry Alexa.
I spend my days popping out for lunch, coffee, occasional trips to Vicky Square to drool over Alexa and looking for new jobs. If I was getting paid to be a bum- I would have found my dream job. My house has miraculously stayed tidier than I've seen it in a long time, there are always fresh flowers in the kitchen (purple freesia's this week), I come and go as I please, I've started working out again (if you can call 30 mins x-training working out) and I love it.
There have even been a few boys since I last blogged. Don't get excited. I took my lovely pal Rebecca to Omagh for the weekend. We had planned to do it for my birthday but with both our grandparents passing away in the same week in Feb, her modelling (!!), me working and other nights out planned it took us until April to get it sorted. So we hit the road, in true Thelma and Louise style. Complete with huge sunnies, leather trousers and high heels and headed to Omagh (via Dungannon Tesco- most stressful Tesco i've ever been in).
Night out started well, met my bitches, Ross and David in a bar (both of whom are now completely smitten with Rebecca), had a drink and a natter. I was soon approached by a "gentleman" I went to school with who told me he added me on Facebook because of my boobs. Then after throwing his drunk self across the back of Rebecca's chair, he proceeded to tell me he had won something at a rugby match and asked if I would be so kind as to let him motorboat me (accompanied by an example of how he'd do it). I can honestly say, I have never left a bar so quickly in all my life. I ran for the hills and learnt a valuable lesson. Country boys are idiots.
After the disaster in Bar 10, Rebecca was understandably freaked out. Until she was being chatted up by a guy in a club who told her that he liked to go sheep tipping. We then found the only hot boys in Omagh in the third place we went to- unfortunately they also turned out to be wanks and spent the whole night making eyes at us before pulling some skanks. Story of ma life. Lopsi see boy, boy see Lopsi, boy makes out with skank. Bad craic. Anyways, thats a bit of a rant about what to expect when you go out in Omagh.
We made up for a rubbishy night by watching Pineapple Dance Studios and having our faith restored in men by Louie Spence then spending the day having big lolz driving round the KFC drivethru twice, basking in the sun by the river and having my car washed.
Ranty post done. Least there was some man drama in there for y'all.