Interesting last couple of days.
Went to Birmingham to see Gomez, all on my own, which you can see...hnyaarr >
Got off to a bad start though as I somehow completely screwed up my neck with a particuarly violent sneeze on the morning I left. I couldn't even move, let alone turn my head, without PAINPAINHURTPAINBADNESS. But I numbed it out with Nurofen and brandy and it wasn't that bad in the end.
Gig was great, Gomez aren't the most fashionable of bands but they totally rocked. I got severely more beaten up than I expected too. Had large random sweaty bloke put his arm round me. This displeased me.
On the way to my hotel room I got stuck in a lift with two drunk irish guys. One wished me 'Happy days!' several times and kept shaking my hand, while the other one made me give him a hug. Amusing.
Waiting for my coach home the next day I was killing time in the city centre and some bloke comes up to me asking if I want to take a stress test. Why not? I thought, got nothing better to do. So I agreed and this man takes me over to this building, through some doors and into a lift. Then we go into this room full of desks and utterly swamped in books by Ron Hubbard.
He sits me infront of what looks like a mini-lie detector and gets me to hold these two metal cylinders, a little needle on the machine flickering around to indicate my stress. He starts asking me questions, telling me to think of things that stress me out. The little needle moves up into the 'stress' zone a bit when I think about work and stuff.
The guy then asks if I have any relationship problems and BA-DOING! The needle fucking flies off the end of the meter.
Yes ladies and gentleman, scientific proof that I need a girlfriend!
Oh, and the girl I gave my number to...shes had three days and hasn't used it. I'm resigning myself to the fact that she ain't gonna.
Sigh.
xx
Went to Birmingham to see Gomez, all on my own, which you can see...hnyaarr >
Got off to a bad start though as I somehow completely screwed up my neck with a particuarly violent sneeze on the morning I left. I couldn't even move, let alone turn my head, without PAINPAINHURTPAINBADNESS. But I numbed it out with Nurofen and brandy and it wasn't that bad in the end.
Gig was great, Gomez aren't the most fashionable of bands but they totally rocked. I got severely more beaten up than I expected too. Had large random sweaty bloke put his arm round me. This displeased me.
On the way to my hotel room I got stuck in a lift with two drunk irish guys. One wished me 'Happy days!' several times and kept shaking my hand, while the other one made me give him a hug. Amusing.
Waiting for my coach home the next day I was killing time in the city centre and some bloke comes up to me asking if I want to take a stress test. Why not? I thought, got nothing better to do. So I agreed and this man takes me over to this building, through some doors and into a lift. Then we go into this room full of desks and utterly swamped in books by Ron Hubbard.
He sits me infront of what looks like a mini-lie detector and gets me to hold these two metal cylinders, a little needle on the machine flickering around to indicate my stress. He starts asking me questions, telling me to think of things that stress me out. The little needle moves up into the 'stress' zone a bit when I think about work and stuff.
The guy then asks if I have any relationship problems and BA-DOING! The needle fucking flies off the end of the meter.
Yes ladies and gentleman, scientific proof that I need a girlfriend!
Oh, and the girl I gave my number to...shes had three days and hasn't used it. I'm resigning myself to the fact that she ain't gonna.
Sigh.
xx
later,
betty
Take care,
betty