This should come with a health warning

I awoke from the kind of deep sleep that only seven margaritas can ensure. Head pounding and mouth dry, I forced one eye open as I reached out desperately for a glass of water. Suddenly, I jumped. Was that a spider on the pillow beside me? No, just the set of false eyelashes I had carefully glued on just twelve hours earlier, but evidently decided were too hard to remove when I staggered in to bed at 4am. As the memories of the night before came flooding back (did I really slow dance with a guy who looked like first-year Ron Weasley? Did I really just laugh and dance on when someone vomited on my foot?) and the hangover well and truly kicked in, I was struck by a worrying thought – this chick lit experiment might not be so good for my health.

To be honest. it’s a thought that’s been growing for a while. When faced with any decision, I find myself asking, ‘What would Bridget Jones do?’. Should I have that extra drink? Of course. Should I eat that entire cake? Absolutely! Should I flirt with that rude, arrogant man? For sure! It’s the only way to get Mr Darcy in the end!

The problem is, I can justify just about anything if I think it’ll make good material for the blog. Which is why my weekend was lost to several bottles of wine, a generous helping of tequila, a bag of lollies and the drunken abuse of a taxi driver who let another girl into his cab, AFTER I HAILED IT.

Bridget made it seem glamorous. But can this much eating, drinking and flirting really end in anything but obesity, alcoholism and cold sores?

Only one way to find out…


Dateless, jobless

I don’t have a job. I need one.

The funny thing is, unemployment is pretty fab. I worked bloody hard at home, and never thought I’d last this long (three weeks and counting) in the land of unemployment without going insane. But it’s great! I suddenly have time for all the little things that used to fall by the wayside. Teeth flossing – check! And not just a guilty once-a-month rush job, either. I’ve been doing it every day! Leisurely strolls – check! I am slowly but surely figuring out the confusion that is the streets of London, and getting a little bit less lost every day. Lunchtime wine-drinking – check, check check! I’m blogging under the influence right now – just one mind you – but enough to get the creative juices flowing!

But that’s the rub, isn’t it? The wine fund will eventually run out. And that’s where the need for a job comes back in.

Job hunting is a pretty miserable task. Everything that looks good, you don’t meet the selection criteria. Seriously, some of these agencies want you to speak three languages, have ten years’ experience in origami and be able to whip up a croquembouche in half an hour – all to work as a PA for some shitty company at five bucks an hour.

As I write more and more applications, squeezing in as many buzz-words as I can, the urge is growing to be completely, devastatingly honest. To sell what I can REALLY do as opposed to what they want me to say. What do you reckon they’d make of this?

To whom it may concern,

Just throw those other applications away. I am the girl for the job!

My skills are set out as follows:

I have an excellent memory. I can tell you the name of every celebrity baby born between 1996 and today, including the obscure ones like Louis Bardo and Carys Zeta.

I have a great attention to detail. I can tell you EVERYTHING that annoyed me about the girl I used to work with, including how many times she wore that jacket that I bitched about, but secretly wanted.

I always complete the task at hand. I also always complete the bag of lollies IN my hand, even when it tries to scare me off by claiming it’s ‘family sized’. I am committed!

I am a hard worker. Unless you tell me to run. I really hate running.

I promise to turn up to work, on time, every day, and limit my Facebooking to just once an hour – that’s good right? I will probably bitch about my job to my friends, but let’s be honest  – everyone does.

Just give me an interview. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.