On reading The London Paper on the way home from work today I was reading the celebrity section, which was plastered with pictures of Cheryl Crapbag Cole and the like and there was a part talking about some teen choice awards last night, and how Britney Spears got the Lifetime Achievement Award.
.............................Erm.
What?
She's 27. Wow, that really is one hell of a long life-time is it not.
And erm, lifetime ACHIEVEMENT? Really? I mean...really? How fantastic it is that the teenagers of the Western World believe miming along to songs on stage while being thin and managing to dance at the same time is a life-time achievement. Also the song "Hit Me Baby, One More Time" just seems to encourages domestic abuse.
I'd say fucking Justin Timberlake is quite an achievment. I'd say kissing Madonna and shaving your head is a reason to go and hide in Budapest or something.
Just thought I'd put that out there. Anyway I better get going because if I wanna be married twice, have two kids, look good in a school uniform, make white trash hicks that eat "cheese grits" look fashionable, pretend I'm a virgin and autotune my shite singing voice enough to get a lifetime achievement award in 7 years time I better get going.
Though you know I always thought Toxic was a bit of a tune.
Once again nothing to report. Nothing I can share on the internet anyway. Ohhh how mysterious. No not really. Perhaps though.
Oh but on Saturday I did end up stuck in a toilet cubicle in a club at Charing Cross, dying on the suffocation of my own vomit (which was coincidentally purple, like my hair). No, for once, it was not my fault. I'm pretty sure someone spiked my drink, awfully cruel if you ask me, as I paid 7 quid to get in and saw about 7 minutes of the evening, also I had not had a lot to drink and seeing as I am a student I think I can handle a couple of snakebites without passing out. I'm sure the culprit was a bartender who gave me my drink for free for no good reason (though at the time I turned to my friend and went "SCORE!" as spending £300 in Primark wasn't my best idea and now need to save). He looked suspicously like a bohemian Oompa Loompa (Tim Burton's Oompa Loompa, not the shite Gene Wilder version, which not only I despised, but so did Roald Dahl. This not only shows that the film was indeed crapola, but that I am also destined to be as amazing as Roald Dahl, obviously). He really did look like this but without the crazy red all-in-one.
It's ashame he didn't look like this... because then perhaps I would have seen that as a warning and not let him serve me.
I don't actually remember much, except looking at my shoes and thinking "Hmmm...this is new". I also have a passing memory of thinking "I bet my lipstick is like, completely smudged, chuh!" which shows how shallow I am really doesn't it. Also I was wondering how I was ever in a million years going to get home as the lady I was with was with a new manfriend and I had told her I was going outside for a cigerette therefore she wasn't expecting me back anytime soon. And I couldn't physically stand up. That is when I passed out. But, fortunately for you, I was found two hours later, half dead in the cubicle by a German female bouncer who I'm pretty sure looked a lot like Shrek but wasn't an layered onion like Shrek, full of courage and bravery in his love for Donkey and the Princess, she was just an evil fat woman who liked to exert her small bit of power on young intoxicated girls like myself.
As I was completely fucked and she was pulling me out of the club I may have got a little aggressive and said (slurred) something like "Can you just let me find my fucking friends you fat Nazi" but thankfully a friend found me before a full-blown brawl began, which I would have lost, as I had what I think was rohypnol in my guts, and I may be tall but have spaghetti arms and therefore would have got kicked in the head by the Shrek woman. Anyway, I think I got home about 6. No harm done really except now I'm finding it hard to eat as I hurt my throat and chest throwing up and I had the worst hangover of my life all day Sunday, which is just inconvenient as God wouldn't even help me feel better, it was his day off. I can't complain though, he didn't let any Oompa Loompa lookalikes violate me while I was unconcious. Which is fucking lucky as this would have been the result. And what am I meant to do with that.
So God does exist! Swell.
Anyway that is about it for now. Except I only have 9 working days left before I am set free into the wilderness of Good Times again, yeeees.
Today I was looking at reviews for the hotel Lisa and I are staying in Majorca. It promises popcorn and cheap vodka. Ohhh yes, popcorn. I hope it is like butterkist and not the shit stuff you get at Bluewater cinema, yeah thanks.
I have not blogged for a while because I am very busy and important. Not true. The last three days were spent working, sleeping and drinking in between, when I got the chance. Right now my life is very uninteresting as I am on a hiatus from uninteresting things seeing as I am a slave to the wage as of right now. But soon, soon I shall be young and free once more.
Was just browsing through youtube and came across one of my old most favorite clips of one of the greatest people on earth. I love him more then Elvis. You understand?
Oh I just remembered something I wanted to put out there, you know, to the world, to help the people that need help. If you are a. a man, b. drunk, c. on the pull with your unattractive (inside and out) friends, and d. unattractive (inside and out) yourself, then read on. Maybe you'll learn something.
Do not, I repeat, DO NOT, stand next to two girls sitting in a booth in a pub, and talk loudly about them with your cretin friends while playing 'Deal or No Deal'. Did you know, actually, that girls have ears? They hear things. Things you are saying. Things like this.
"Ahh man, yeah we should so get in there" "Mate you go first" "Nah man, you go first" "Get in there mate" "Yeah mate, get in there first" "Which one do you want?" "Could get a cab home with 'em?"
All the while looking at us with your bleary eyes like "ahh...that'll do, it's getting late afterall".
First of all, if either of you actually got up the courage to speak to a couple of girls, what on earth makes you think that we would go somewhere with you. Why oh why in your tiny little brains is the first and only hurdle actually saying "Fancy a drink?", instead of "Oh no wait, they have dignity enough that they won't fuck us so as to feel loved for the 30 seconds I actually last, if I'm lucky". Second of all, WE CAN HEAR YOU. Thirdly, while trying to pull, don't be playing DEAL OR FUCKING NO DEAL. Even if you won the jackpot while standing in front of me, I'd still rather get the 162 in the rain home, alone. And fourthly, if you want to try and get with someone that actually has standards, try not looking like a Who, from Whoville.
That reminds me of the time when my friend Lisa, after about a year of being one of my best friends, asked me what I meant when I said I had a nose like a Who. Turned out for 12 months she had thought I'd been saying "Jew" and was anti-sametic (which makes me wonder why she would want to be friends with a bigot).
Anyway, my point is, men are fucking idiots. Either the desperate ones are as delusional as they look, or the goodlooking ones are as up themselves as their mothers made them so. Where are all the funny guys who just so happen to wash as well? WHERE ARE THEY? Oh I remember, they realise they are a catch and turn into cocks as well. Oh I guess I don't believe that, I know there are upstanding gentleman out there, they are just few and far between so it seems. Or fucking other goodlooking, funny men.
Anyway, I'm going out now, huzzuh!
Also, yay it is Friday! Friday Friday Friday. I will probably post again tomorrow, when I wake up, which won't be till very late in the afternoon one hopes.
Also...a very special Will Bateman sort of person is back in the country tomorrow, which means I get to plague him with useless and annoying texts ALL OVER AGAIN. It's gonna be good.
My good friend Mr Robin Gray was dissapointed that he was not mentioned in my blog yesterday as I had seen him and he was hoping to get some sort of recognition, so this is for you Rob.
We went to the pub, I had calamari and a diet coke (I am on a diet you see, one stone by September booyah!) and Rob nicked my calamari and had a pint. We sat in the sun and discussed life and he listened to me bitch about the world and then chastised me for it, and I listened to his rose-coloured view of things and told him to stop being a pussy and man up. That is what we do. He laughed at me for being a commitmentphobic cynic and I laughed at him for being too ready to fall in love. He also had a go at me for smoking which I find ridiculous as we spent 3 years as a couple and all he did was smoke while all I did was moan about it. I havn't seen my good friend Mr Robin Gray properly in quite a while. It was very nice and lovely (that was my sincere comment of the day, congratulations).
There you go Rob, an entire blog for you, now I don't have to do fuck all for you for at least five years.
Today I was pretty much running on empty because I had a grand total of 2 hours sleep. However this just made me kind of high all day so I could entertain myself at work with sleep deprevation induced thoughts. And redbull got me through, as it always does. What would my life consist of without the unhealthy products I put into my body. On the other hand, today I’ve been a very good girl and havn't smoked or anything, as I figure I should detox before I return to Canterbury (as I'm sure my quest to destroy myself will return with avengence back at Kent), and now is the time to do so. However I am going out with my drinking partner in about an hour so who knows how long my good intentions will last. Especially with the wino she is. Or the whino. Haha see what I did there.
Today at work I was on the phones pretty much all day which is basically like being a London chavs punching bag. They have so much time to call me because they choose to be unemployed, and they aren’t at that hour of the day out stabbing anyone or vandalising bus stops. Oh I’m sorry do I sound like a snob? I DON’T CARE THEY FUCKING PISS ME OFF. Odd how some people can get so needlessly angry about a broken door (then again yesterday I did go on a rant about a 'Baby on Board' badge). Take a Kalms for fuck sake. Sometimes I feel like saying something dramatic like “well your door may be broken but at least your heart isn’t”, or something equally wise and life-affirming like that. I could be like Bill Bailey in the first episode of Black Books when he swallows the Little Book Of Calm, spouting words of wisdom and happiness to anyone that will listen. Hmm maybe not.
I find it particularly difficult to not tell every rude fucking person I talk to, to not go end their useless selves. One guy told me I was an “incompetent little girl behind a desk” . What I wanted to say in return was “Actually I’m in full-time education and working through my summer, while you are 30 years old and sitting at home in the middle of the day on a Tuesday, out of choice.” Of course, I didn’t say this, I’m a lady of etiquette and class. Here is a conversation I had with an angry caller, who I shall for now name "Cretin".
Sarah: Good Morning Axis, Sarah speaking how can I help? Cretin: Aiiiiiiite. Sarah: Erm…hello. Cretin: Where's ma fuckin' plumber, I bin waitin' lyk 'alf an hour, I got shit to do innit Sarah: I’m very sorry Sir, I can find out where he is, what is your job number? Cretin: I ain't got a clue bruv Sarah: Your postcode? Cretin: I dunno, it got an S in it though init. I only lived 'ere 6 months. Sarah: Right…I can’t find your job without a number or postcode... Cretin: WHY YOU SPILLIN ME SHIT BLUD FUCK SAKE Sarah: I don’t believe I am spilling you shit Sir, I just need your job number otherwise I cant help you. Cretin Tenent: You gettin' up in ma face? Sarah: No sir, that would be impossible as I am on the phone to you. Cretin Tenent: Do you fink your funny? Sarah: No, I just want to find your plumber. Cretin Tenent: And I just want my fuckin light fixed innit. Sarah: …Then why are you asking for a plumber? Cretin Tenet: COS I WANT HIM TO FIX MA FUCKIN LIGHT, WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR FUCKIN' NAME?! Sarah: Erm, my name is Sarah Hayes, and what you want is an electrician, not a plumber.
And so on. I can’t wait to go back to uni, at least the idiotic men I talk to there are usually pretty to look at. And while I am having stupid (though at the time very deep and important) conversations with them, I’m usually wasted on sambuca and high on life (obviously) instead of exhaustion and redbull. Also today on the phones I got told by someone that I “disgusted” them. This was because I had the audacity to ring them and find out if they were happy with their new kitchen, out of the kindness of my cold dead heart. That is indeed a first. I’d love to know, Mr Tenant of Batley fucking Close (whose name I now know is Dickhead McWankerson), how I could have actually been more polite, considering you were telling me to go fuck myself. How tempting it was to actually tell you that you seemed to be the one that needed to get laid, not me. I imagine he whiles away his days in his new kitchen like this:
But like I said, I'm always classy. Get me back to Canterbury please. Three weeks today is my last day of work until next summer. Ohhhh the sweet, sweet freedom that is so close and yet so far. In other news, I am debating on the purchase of a life size poster of elvis for my new bedroom. That would be a very good investment.
Also need to start thinking about festival attire, you would have thought after 3 years of going to Reading I'd have learnt not to wear shoes made of cotton for 5 days.
Despite this bitchy post (and my bitchy self in general), I’m actually very happy today. I’m off to the pub, yum yum.
I found this home-made video for one of my favorite Against Me! songs.
Hmm, pretty powerful stuff. Isn't Capitalism such a bitch. Which reminds me, I want to see Micheal Moore's new film "From Capitalism: with Love". I have loved all his films so far, in fact "Bowling for Columbine" was one of the things that got me into the slight obsession I have with murders and the people that do them. DOWN CAPITALISM!
Anyways, I'm gonna go get me a Starbucks frappucino.
My good friend Perez Hilton just informed me of the new video for Peaches 4th single from "I Feel Cream" entitled "Serpentine". She is so fucking cool. I love her. Ever since I saw Bill Murray and Scarlett Johannson spend all their time not getting it on in "Lost In Translation". In fact that entire soundtrack was amazing, "Just Like Honey" anyone?
Today was Monday, so don't expect me to be my usual happy go lucky self. I was already pissed off by 7am when on the train to Charing Cross. I unfortunately found myself sitting next to a sickening couple, the woman of whom was about to drop a baby out of her nurturing uterus. I had to sit there for 20 minutes watching the guy talk to his girlfriends fucking stomach. Also, what is the point in talking to the foetus in utero if you arn't going to even form coherent words?
"Ohhhh we're going to lubby wubby you sooo muchy wuchy arn't we! Yes we are!". I don't even talk to my dog like that. In fact me and my dog have had some pretty deep conversations compared to that.
I feel sorry for that child. I felt sorry for myself. I almost threw up my undigested Marks and Spencers sushi (the best kind, much better then Tesco's own.). That child will most probably be smothered and cry when the bike it gets for christmas isn't the EXACT RIGHT ONE, then get to the age of twelve and hate their parents for a good 5 years and not understand why. But I understand why. It is because your ridiculous father taught you bad vocabulary in the womb, that's why. To make it even more nauseating the woman had a badge on the lapel of her jacket (and as she was about to become a mum, it was of course, I'm pretty sure, from Marks and Spencers, much like my sushi). This is the badge she had on her jacket, jauntily pinned in a smug sort of way.
For fuck sake. If the point of this badge was to make sure people didn't knock her while on the train and risk harming little baby Chad or Chelsea or Chlamydia or whatever shit name is number one in the list of baby names this year (and I can't say anything, my name is Sarah), then she might want to take it off, because for me it had the opposite effect. All it made me want to do was kick her in the gash.
You are probably thinking, "Sarah, why are you so irritated by a couple so obviously surrounded by marital bliss, and a 'Baby on Board' badge? Can't you be happy for them? Can't you see that they are just content in eachother, and that maybe one day you'll want all those things too?". Erm, no. And if I somehow did get knocked up and found myself with a "Baby on Board" badge pinned to my Marks and Spencers cardi, please, could someone take it off me and stick it in my eyes. Thanks.
Other things of course annoyed me today, but then I had some munch calamari and it made everything better.More later perhaps.
How depressing that it is half ten in the evening on a Sunday and therefore I have to start thinking about going to bed soon if I don't want to feel like my eyes are falling out of my head at work. I swear they're starting to notice I disappear off to the toilet for long intervals for a nap. I don't want to know what they think I'm actually doing.
I'm obviously not cut out for this "work" thing. Actually, that isn't true, I like work. I just don't like working for Axis. My body feels that if I go to bed before 3am the day is wasted. I miss the times when summer holidays meant sitting out in the garden and eating choc ices your grandad gives you. Instead of working this summer, I feel I should be doing this. But alas, no, no running around fields for me, no raindrops on roses, not even any whiskers on kittens. And you can forget the warm woolen mittens too.
Therefore, seeing as I have to be awake to slave away for the MAN in 7 hours, I am eating cold stuffing and a block of cheese while listening to Elton John. Fantastic combination, and I'm sure he'd agree.
As my friend Amy's goal is to get me and everyone else more interested in foreign film (and she is succeeding) I just watched a film called "Priceless" with Audrey Tatou. Okay, not a hard hitting biopic on Hitler or a little girl who loses everything in her ravaged Communist country but is actually a fairy princess, or something happy and life-affirming like that, no. But just because no one dies with a pencil through the head, don't think that a French gold digger who seduces a hotel bell boy into loving her while having exhilarating adventures of her own isn't important. I liked it anyway. So to sum, films that arn't made in Hollywood/the UK/English speaking countries I give the thumbs up. EXCEPT for "The Tin Drum". Jesus Christ. I could have gone forever without seeing that. C'mon mate, the world just doesn't need a film where child-like dwarves are running around licking out their babysitters and breaking windows with their shrill screams. I am never eating sherbet again.
And please don't tell me you can't read subtitles because I'll just get angry and curse you for wasting the little brain 'God' gave you, and then you'll be in my Bad Books. That's right.
Oh look. Once again Sarah Hayes has found herself starting yet another web-log, the latest in a long line of blogs, diaries, various letters and elongated emails from the last 6 years, some of which are still scarily floating around people's bedrooms or the internet. The longest of these was a blog dating from early 2004 to late 2005, which detailed every mundane detail of my poor little teenage life, which I seemed to detest so much in a very cliche sort of way, that looking back makes me want to slap myself. So I deleted it.
However, I have high hopes and ambitions for this one, but in the end would much rather stay in bed all day and watch 'Gavin and Stacy' then do anything productive. So hopefully this will stimulate me into doing something like this instead of this Such wasted potential. Also I think I need to do something with the thoughts going through my busy brain, or I might just go mad like Ophelia and drown myself.
Anyway, that was my long winded introduction. I think this video is a good ending to the start, anyone that knows me will understand. And if you don't, then you should. Enjoy my darlings.
Alkaline Trio "Goodbye Forever", one of my most favorite of favorites.
