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Silent Sunday 08/09/13

Silent Sunday 08/09/13

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สิบเก้า

 

Five Items You Lust After. 

 

1.

 

(that or any equivalent ‘proper camera’)

…and I can’t think of any others. So ^that times five.

*want*

~xx~


átján

 

A Problem That You Have Had. 

First of all, let it be known that I do not like this one.

But since I am awake and have the time to write something, I’ll rise to the challenge… sort of.

~

Size 8 jeans are a massive struggle for me to get into.

Size 10 jeans are usually too big, by a margin considerable enough for it to be impossible for me to ignore and get over their too-big-ness.

Belts, even the ‘small’ ones, do not  fit me properly; There’s always too much left over, which just looks stupid.

I could eat The World and not put on more than maybe a couple of pounds.

.

My hair grows all wrong, so that there does not exist a style which it will do properly – or a way for it to look remotely attractive. Even when I was little, it wouldn’t do plaits or pigtails or even a simple ponytail properly. I think this is why I decided at some point not to even bother trying to be a proper girl.

.

I had a tendency, through school, to develop undying crushes on guys whom I not only would pretty much never speak to, but whom none of my friends could even vaguely understand my obsessions with.  Silent, Secret Agony.

.

I have no boobies. I would really prefer to have some of those. (I’m not stupid enough to even contemplate getting fake ones, don’t worry). I feel like a lot of years of my life would have been a lot less silently secretly agonizing if I’d just grown a pair of those at some point. (This fact probably played into at least one of the above, too).

.

My list of first world problems probably goes on and on, but I am tired and my brain isn’t working properly.

So, um.

Boobies:

 

 

~xx~

 

 


Décimo Segundo Dia e Décimo Terceiro Dia

I missed two days.

On Friday I was sleeping then working then absolutely shattered from the working and the cold that seems to have really got me at the moment. (That’s probably my fault for verbally bashing people who are overly dramatic when they catch a cold. Oops).

On Saturday I got up really early to drive a few friends down to Alton Towers  theme park, where we spent the day getting thrown around and screaming like girls. Which was a huge amount of fun, but of course did not help my situation where not-being-able-to-speak is concerned.

[I’ll just add here that unfortunately there would seem to be little the UK’s theme parks could throw at me that will thrill me now. While I still get a tiny bit nervous in the queue for Oblivion, as one friend pointed out; “Steph, you jumped out of a plane…”]

So here’s what I was supposed to write about on Friday;

Five Guys Whom You Find Attractive. 

This is another one of those things I’m cagey about sharing, because I will be judged. Well, here goes…

Here are five celebrity guys I’ve had crushes on in the past (Only mildly though, might I add; I always saved my proper crushes for real people).

1. Orlando Bloom. Won my favour as Will Turner in the first Pirates of the Caribbean film. Can’t decide whether I prefer him polished or  casual, so have both;

      

(I want to steal his watch)

2. Alex Pettyfer. Caught my eye as Alex Rider in Stormbreaker. Much more age-appropriate, considering we’re still talking about me aged around 13, at this point.

3. Josh Holloway. As ‘Sawyer’ in Lost. Nobody ever was jealouser of Evangeline Lilly and her freckles. ;)

[But this one was far, far too old for me].

Harder to explain. I think it was as much the bad boy persona of the character as anything else…

5.  Jared Leto. In 30 Seconds to Mars, (a band I could never really pretend to be into for any other reason than his prettiness).

Particularly in the video for ‘The Kill’, where he’s screaming (THIS IS WHO I REALLY AM) at himself.

(I know that’s only 4. I hoped you wouldn’t notice… I guess I just prefer crushing on real people from real life, ok?)

~

As for Décimo Terceiro Dia, Your Opinion About Your Body and How Comfortable You Are With It, well that really depends on the time of day, day of the week, week of the month, month of the year. Some days there are parts of my body that I like. Some days there are different parts of it that I like. Other days I hate it all. Currently I am slightly annoyed at it for succumbing to minor illness (the aforementioned cold) for such a long time. I want my voice back. Don’t think there’s much more I can say to that right now.

~xx~


Elfte Dagen

Your Family. 

(^The Parentals)

(^The brothers)

(^The Sister and Me)

(^The Other – Furry – Brothers)

(^My Babies)

Camera dodgers, the lot of ’em.

Apologies for the generally crap quality of pics, too.

(You have NO idea how difficult it is to photograph 2 fishes at once with a phone).

Love,

~xx~


Jour Numero Huit:

What You Ate Today.

Hmm. This is a tough one. I didn’t eat anything vaguely exciting today. If I’d cooked something I could give you the recipe, and that would be a cool – and if anyone actually happened to be reading, useful – way to make some actual words for this post.

But I was at work for most of the day, so my food diary looks like this:

Breakfast – Two slices of toast with butter, cup of tea (milk, one sugar).

Lunch – Tuna-mayo and cucumber sandwich, (on granary bread) Chocolate cornflake cake, (spontaneously donated to me by a colleague; the same one who once offered to buy me a pair of wellies when I didn’t win them from the code on the back of my Ribena bottle, and the same one who is ridiculously cheerful all the time, and tells me to smile every time he walks past the deli counter) can of Dr. Pepper.

After-Work Snacks – Eton Mess yoghurt, (not nearly as good as it looked) ‘Vanilla Seeds’ from my Graze Box (better than they looked), Cup of tea.

Dinner – (made by Mummy) Sausages, Yorkshire puddings, mash, vegetables and gravy (lots of gravy). Proper Winter dinner ’cause it’s cold today.

…and that’s it so far.

Not very exciting, right?

Here is a (terrible quality – taken on my phone, from my bedroom window) picture of the tubby squirrel who visits our garden every day, and once even ventured into the house. Because it would be so easy, nobody is cruel enough to shoot him/her.

(Before y’all start bitching at me for even suggesting that such a cute fluffy innocent animal should be shot, bear in mind that grey squirrels are not native to the UK and have almost made red squirrels – which are native – extinct. They are officially classified as vermin, and you can get money for shooting them. They’re Wanted; Dead or… Not Alive. They also kill baby birds with their bare hands – I watched one do it once. I like baby birds).

~xx~


Sticks and Stones

hurt so much less than words. I almost enjoyed the burn across the back of my hand in comparison to the one across my self-confidence. Here’s something that happened to me today that most definitely did not make me feel good (but there is a sort-of smile at the end if you stay with me… oh, and LISTEN UP);

I’d just moved over from serving/doing various small tasks behind the hot food counter in order to help out D, who was serving on the deli counter at the time, because a bit of a queue had developed there.

As I arrived where I was needed, the guy who was apparently next in the queue – somewhere between middle-aged and old, I’d say mid sixties – was chatting to the woman in front of him, whom D was serving at the time.

Addressing both man and woman with a blanket hand gesture, sort of <——-> I said something like; ‘Hi, are you two together or…’

and then addressing just the man, ‘… or are you waiting?’

He said to me, ‘What is all this? (waved his arms a bit) Are you doing sign language at me or something? I don’t understand what you’re saying to me while you’re waving your hands all over the place.’

So I tried again; ‘Sorry, I was asking if you two (*hand gesture* – I can’t help myself, I talk with my hands more than my mouth, mainly because often the words have trouble finding their way out of my mouth in the right order, LOUD(ly) ENOUGH and C-L-E-A-R(ly)  E-N-O-U-G-H and things, when I talk) if you were together, or if you were waiting to be served. Clearly you are.  Sorry.’

At which he snapped, ‘Yes I am waiting to be served, actually. I’ll have two slices of the honey roast ham’.

Resisting the urge to put in the please he left out, I gritted my teeth and went and sliced the ham, put it on the scales and read out the price; ‘That’s one sixty-two there’.

He said nothing for a good ten seconds, so I assumed all was well with one pound sixty two and got on with wrapping the ham, maybe visibly disgruntled by this point. As I was putting the label on the bag, he piped up;

‘Sorry, did you say something to me just then?’

Confused, I looked at him for a second before looking down at the scales again and then saying, louder than before, ‘er… yeah, sorry, one pound sixty-two for the ham...?’

‘Oh well it’s just that I didn’t hear a word you said. You didn’t even look at me. Oh never mind, that’ll do’.

So I handed him the godforsaken ham, and enunciated ‘Oh, right… really sorry about that. Thanks, bye’  in a voice as raised as I could manage while fighting back tears, (it had been a really stressful day up to that point, and surprise surprise I was feeling tired and lifeless and hungry and anxious beyond all rhyme and reason) then spent the next hour or so fighting the same tears with around a 70% success rate.

~

Normally, after such an event I’d just quietly rant to a colleague about what an arsehole that guy was and how I hoped he’d choke on his stupid honey roast ham. But some days life apparently isn’t that straightforward. He had me worrying about whether I really do talk too quietly, mumble, avoid eye contact to the point of perceived rudeness, as a habit. If I do that means I’m barely further on now than I was at age 4; shy to the point of being physically unable to say hello to relatives when they came over (sometimes going so far as to hide my clammed-up shame behind furniture).

Does everyone struggle to hear a single word I say? Do I really speak all that quietly?

If my customer service technique was so far from up to scratch, my boss might have noticed too. My abject failure at fake smiles and pleasantries might outweigh my efficient working habits and my OCD supercleaning of everything and my always making sure everything looked pretty, and if so I might get sacked. Especially if the guy had decided to complain to someone in authority about me. From that point on I made sure I always raised my voice considerably to talk. I tried extra hard with the eye contact and the sickly smiles. I wondered if there existed a job that didn’t involve  interacting with other human beings and berated myself for being so antisocial. Most of all I wondered why, why why why was this bullshit bothering me so much? How far have I fallen if I can’t even stop myself from crying in front of people over silly little things?

I think I’d have dealt better with being physically kicked. Until my brain bled out through my ears.

 

But. While at least two colleagues (the male ones, of course) had a good giggle amongst themselves at my expense, there was one person who saw me cry and was kind about it. Which kinda made me feel like crying more at first, but then I realised I was right the whole time about who the nice ones were gonna be, there. (I placed bets to myself on day one, regarding each co-worker’s true colours – or at least which ones might give me the time of day; so far I think I’ve been pretty much on the money).

So I really hope a lot of good things happen to her.

I also hope this madness-sadness-stupid-shit ends soon. Like, before I’ve managed to lose everything I once held dear. Such as that little shred of dignity I think I might have had at some point.

Pygmy Shrew;

~xx~


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