Winky Face!

I'm just going to come right out and say it.  I am not a huge fan of emoticons.  I do not use a happy face to indicate happiness, or a sad face to indicate sadness.  I don't even use LOL when texting or IMing, as I prefer a simple "ha!" to get the idea of laughter accross.

However, I will acknowledge that I am in the minority.  If there was a battle, I lost.  Emoticons have won, and I accept their place in the world.  I will even admit that they can make the tone of an email or text or whatever clear if the words themselves don't convey the proper meaning.  I don't use them myself, but if someone sends me a frowny face or a confused face, I understand their meaning and move on with my life.

Except!

The winky face.  If there is one emoticon I cannot stand, it is the winky face.  You know the one I mean:

;)

The intended meaning, as far as I'm aware, is to convey cheekiness or sassiness.  And it drives me up the freaking wall.  Because here is the thing.  In real life, people smile at each other, or frown, or have big smiles, or stick out their tongues (which, ugh), or look surprised.  All of which have a corresponding emoticon to convey these expressions.

Do you know what people don't do?  Wink at each other.  Constantly wink at each other.  And if they do, they should stop, because I'm sure they'll just develop a twitch of some kind.

There only two contexts I can think of where winking is appropriate in real life.

One:  If you are playing a joke on someone and want to let someone they are with in on the joke subtly.  A wink at that person while continuing the joking will get that message across, and then hopefully they'll get in on the joke and you'll all have some fun times.

Two:  A pickup wink, done in jest.  Possibly accompanied by finger guns.  This works in almost any circumstance in life, and is generally delightful.

That's it!  Those are the only two situations in which you should be winking!  Or maybe if you're trying to get a contact back in place.  But blinking would also accomplish this, so let's forget that one.

Two!

So, when I see people (and god help me, so many people do this) use the winky face after a comment they mean to be funny, all I can think is STOP STOP STOP!  If you need to use an emoticon (and I really must stress that no one needs to use an emoticon) in that case, will the smiley face not do?  What is wrong with the good old smiley face?  Are you too good for the smiley face??

Your cheekiness comes across as far less cheeky if you have to tell me you're being cheeky!  (Also, the work cheeky looks funny when you write it too many times. Cheeky.) Would you really wink in real life after you said whatever you just said?  I thought not. It's just dumb.  Stop it.

However, if someone develops an emoticon for the double finger guns, I will have to bow to their genius and gladly allow all winky face/double finger gun emoticon combos, as they will be hilarious.

Okay, Not Such A Great Start

Well, that didn't go so well, did it?

Only one day in to my big plan, and I forgot to post anything yesterday.  Well, that's not entirely true.  I remembered, but at such a time that I couldn't really do anything about it.  And then when I got home from my friend's leaving do, I was a bit drunk and tired, and completely forgot.

So, take two!

I'm currently debating whether or not to be productive today.  There are lots of things I could be doing.  Or, I could finish re-reading the fifth Harry Potter book.  I'm re-reading them all after seeing the final movie, to remind myself how much better the books are compared to the movies.  But that's always the case, isn't it?  I can't think of any film version I've seen that's actually been better than the movie version.

I actually try to avoid seeing films if I've read the book.  I saw that Will Smith movie, I Am Legend, and I spent the entire last third on pins and needles wondering when the big reveal was going to come that the woman and kid staying with him were actually zombies, in disguise and infiltrating his home to lure him out to be captured.  Because that's what happens in the book!  (Oh, sorry.  Spoiler alert for a 57 year old book!)

Only it never happened.  And the movie has a happy(ish) ending!  The book ending is way better.  Much, much, much darker.  Probably too dark for audiences of a Will Smith movie.  But way better.

I probably won't be productive today.  I have the whole week for that kind of nonsense.  And it's sunny.  So, today's version of productiveness will be to lie out in my sunny garden, and read the most whiny and annoying of all the Harry Potter books.

Seriously, could he be more of a whiny baby?  Or a more accurate representation of a fifteen year old?  Or could practically any given teenager be more of a whiny baby?

Man, I do not miss being fifteen.

Change Time!

So, last week I turned 32. And that really makes me think I should be at least somewhat of a grown up. I also got to thinking about my blog, and what I want from it. I like it, and don't want to let it die out entirely, but I also realized that I wasn't updating in its current form (which you probably realized as well, if you're still actually checking this. Thanks for that, if you are, by the way). I decided it was time for a change.

The name of this blog has been "Alice's Dark Place" since I started writing it in 2004. The name was based on an inside joke between a friend and I, and was probably never funny to anyone else, at any point ever. Since I am now a grown up, and firmly in my early thirties, I decided I needed to update not only the look but the name. And so we come to "Alice's Grown Up Blog".

And yes, that is the best name I could come up with. And yes, I actually did give it quite a bit of thought.

My life hasn't changed that much since I've last written, but it's definitely gotten busier. I'm doing much more at work, which is great and I love it. My flat is on the market, and I'm thinking of moving to a nice converted Victorian flat and getting out of the purpose built 1970s flat market. The cats are adorable, although Lucy is twice the size of Beez, and I have no idea how that happened.

On the personal side, things have probably changed more. I've been really busy with work, which means I'm not seeing as much of my friends as I would like to. I've done a lot of evaluating of my friendships, and realized that I have some really amazing friends, but that you can't stay friends with everyone forever. Such is life. I'm going to do more to keep in touch with my friends, who I love, and not let work take over my entire life.

I'm also going to buy a flatscreen TV. Life is exciting, people. Exciting!

I want to devote more time to my blog, to Londonist, to Steve Guttenberg and to writing in general. Turns out I like it. And I miss having people read my writing. I've missed y'all!

Anyway, I'm back. It's all very fabulous.

Found in an old notebook while tidying my flat...

Books I Read: Summer '96

(started beginning of June, 1996)

Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Famous Last Words - Timothy Findley
Another Roadside Attraction - Tom Robbins
The Scarlet Letter - Nathaniel Hawthorne
Prizes - Erich Segal
The Little Drummer Girl - John Le Carre
A Green Desire - Anton Myer
Tess - Katherine Burton
Heiress - Janet Dailey
Watership Down - Richard Adams
Sisters and Strangers - Helen Van Slyke
Moon Shadow - Dawn Stewardson
Butterfly - Kathleen Norris
All The Right Moves - Brenna Tod
Privileged Lives - Edward Stewart
A Ruling Passion - Judith Michael
The Two Towers - J.R.R. Tolkien
The Return of The King - J.R.R. Tolkien
Destination Unknown - Agatha Christie
Sand In The Wind - Kathleen O'Neal Gear

(also listed: Books to Read - "John Irving - Prayer for some guy")

Films I Plan To Never Ever See

Can I just say that the premise of The Strangers scares the crap out of me? It's terrifying. The scariest thing I can think of.

People come to your house and torture you and then kill you just because you were home? So. Freaking. Scary.

It stars Liv Tyler, who I like, and Scott Speedman, who is dreamy. Normally, the two of them cast as the leads in a movie would get me interested. A rom com with the two of them? Please, as if you could keep me away on opening day.

But, the two of them in a film with a terrifying premise that is giving me anxiety attacks even though I haven't even seen it? Not for me.

I pass the poster every day on my way to work - it's on a phone booth on Balham High Road, just before the tube station. And every single day, I think "God, that's so scary." The poster I pass has the three masked figures on it, and that freaks me out too. They're wearing creepy masks! And two of them are girls!

What is up with these people?

I get easily freaked out when I'm home alone - not in my own house, but in other people's houses. Even my parents' house. I always have to do a full check of the house. You know, to make sure there aren't killers lurking, waiting to kill me. The room that scares me most is bathrooms, but only if the shower curtain is closed. I always have to check behind it, y'know, to make sure the killer isn't standing behind the curtain in the bathtub, and it's always a highly tense moment.

I don't really know where this worry comes from - I didn't watch my first horror movie until I was at university (and I still haven't seen most of the classic 80s ones), and I think that's when I started getting freaked out.

So, what with my worry about killers lurking in wait when I'm home alone, you can see why it's very unlikely that I'll see The Strangers. It's not my specific fear covered in the film, but it's one that's just as scary.

I may, however, watch the copy of A Nightmare on Elm Street that I have on DVD at home.

Maybe.

Someday.

Sometimes, I am dumb

So, yesterday morning, I was doing a bit of tidying before my friend Alexcia came to stay, and had two bags of rubbish to get rid of. I carried one in each hand, and held my keys in my left hand, and took them to the communal bins.

I left my front door a bit open, but as I was walking away, I heard the wind slam it shut. "Whew", I thought, "good thing I have my keys."

I got to the garbage area, opened the big metal door and swung the bag in my left hand into the bin. As it was going in, however, the handle of the bag looped around my front door key and pulled it into the bin.

That's right. My keys. In the garbage. My front door. Locked.

Now, just to give you the right mental image of my stupidity, the bins made of metal, about five feet high, around four feet in diameter and on wheels. They're really big.

My keys were sitting on a black bin bag, and were about half way down. Obviously, I couldn't get them.

Someone had left a washing machine sitting in the garbage area, which is where we all leave big stuff to be picked up by the garbage men. (Actually, it was sitting pretty much right where the tree on the left is in this entry.) And I had a genius idea.

I would wheel the giant bin to beside the washing machine, climb up on it, and reach into the bin, and grab the keys. And then, ta da! I'd be all set.

I opened both the huge doors and wheeled the bin out. Due to the kind of wheels on it, I had to kind of turn at as I pulled it, creating a nice spinning out motion. I finally got it to the washing machine, climbed on, and reached in. And was still about ten inches away from the stupid keys.

So, I spun the stupid bin back into it's storage room.

I decided to knock on the door of the one neighbour I kind of know. She's nice, in a "lecture me about life in general" kind of way. But, of course, she wasn't home.

I was really stumped. Julia wasn't going to be home for ages, Alexcia was arriving in a few hours and I was totally stuck.

Then, like a beacon of hopeful light, a door on the building opposite opened. An young-ish woman walked out and I immediately ran up to her, all "excusemeI'msostupidbutIdroppedmykeysinthebinandneedhelpdoyouhaveacoathangeroranything". After she figured out my crazed speech, she told me that she didn't live there, but was just the carer. A teensy tiny little old woman walked out behind her, and I went into the whole speech again. The teensy tiny little old woman (or TTLOW) went and got me a Marks & Spencer hanger.

I raced over to the bin, and reached in. I was still about 8 inches away from those damn freaking keys. Dammit!

TTLOW called out to see if I was having any luck, and when she heard I wasn't, mentioned she had a stepladder. She walked back into her house, and I followed her in, because she was teensy and tiny and shouldn't be carrying ladders for me.

I grabbed the ladder, hauled it over to the bin, climbed up, reached in with the hanger, and ..... SUCCESS!!

I snagged the key ring on the end of the hanger, and was back in business. I carried the hanger and stepladder back to TTLOW and thanked her profusely. She really was very nice.

So, half an hour of idiocy later, I was back in my flat.

Needless to say, I will be carrying my keys in my pocket every time I go to the bins now. The lesson, she is learned.

"You realize you haven't blogged since December, right?"

Uh, yeah. I do know that. I'm sorry. But seriously? It's February? February 2008? How did that even happen?

Doesn't it seem like it was just the beginning of 2007 mere minutes ago? 2007, which was terrifyingly known as the year in which I will turn 30 and which will now be remembered as the year in which I turned 30, was pretty good, on the whole. It was a mix of the really good and the horribly awful, which is pretty much par for the course for any year. I did let the blog lag a bit on 2007, and for those of you still reading this, I'm sorry for that. I'll try and do better this year.

I haven't been doing much Londonist-ing either, which I hope to remedy. I'm in LA this weekend for a shoot, then I'm on holiday for a week, and then it'll be March.

March!! Seriously, this year is just disappearing on my at a frightening rate.

Here's an anecdote to keep you amused while I scurry to a corner, curl up in the fetal position and rock back and forth, bemoaning the year slipping away on me.

So, every morning, I get to work about the same time. I usually get off the Tube at 9:30 or so, and as I walk from the station to the office, I generally see the same guy. He's very tall, with glasses and blonde hair. He's walking to the station as I walk away. We don't say hi or anything, because that would be insane, but he's one of the people that I see every day, and if I saw somewhere out of context would spend about an hour thinking "how do I know that guy?".

There are a lot of people I see fairly regularly, but this is the only guy I see virtually every day, no matter whether I'm a bit early or a bit late. And today, I realized why.

I got off the tube at 9:30, and who was walking towards me? TWO of this guy! He's actually identical twins!

I've seen him (or, possibly, one of them) every day for like two years. And I never noticed. I just thought it was weird that this guy had the same schedule I had. But now I don't know if I've actually been seeing one of them, or they've been alternating.

This has really shaken my whole world view.


Twins. That's just so sneaky.

Huh. How 'bout that.

I just realized that I've been writing this blog since August 2004, and this November was the first month that I haven't posted anything.

That was a pretty good streak I had going there, and I didn't even realize. For shame, Alice. For shame.

Stalked By Celebrities

Fact. David Thewlis is stalking me.

I know what you're thinking:

"Alice, he's a celebrity. He's in the Harry Potter movies, for God's sake. You're just a television production manager who writes a blog. Why would he possibly be stalking you??"

Well, I don't know the answer to WHY, do I? I'm not the one doing the stalking. But I can tell you that it's happening.

SHOCKING AND TRUE FACT #1:

On Tuesday 4th September 2007, I flew from Dublin to London on an Aer Lingus flight. Who did I notice walking onto the plane in front of me? One David Thewlis. I thought little of it, except that I recognized him but couldn't remember his name at the time and it was driving me crazy. I remembered it a few days later.

SHOCKING AND TRUE FACT #2:

On Sunday 30th September 2007, I flew from Los Angeles to London on a British Airways flight. Who did I notice at gate 120, waiting for the flight? Oh, that's right.

David Thewlis.

And, to make matters even more disturbing, he arrived at the gate before me.

He's clearly not following me - he knows where I'll be before I'm even there.

Spooky, no?

I'm flying to LA again at the end of the month - if he's on my return flight again, I'm calling the cops.

It is kind of flattering though. Hmmm, do you think he reads the blog?

Wow, remember when I had a blog?

Yeah, so sorry for not actually updating this in ages. Whoops!

I've been doing a fair bit of writing for Londonist, and working like crazy. And yes, that's it. It seems that I went on holiday, but I can hardly remember that now, it seems so long ago.

But wait! How better to remember it than with pictures?



Oh, you'd be laughing too if you were having super good times with Alice.




I got to hang out at a gorgeous cottage, with a gorgeous baby...



and his equally gorgeous mommy. And you're crazy if you think we didn't have fabulous meals, delicious frosty cool beverages and many, many laughs.

Because we did.

And then I spent a week in Toronto...




and got to visit with these fun people, who I don't get to see often, but who I have known for a very, very long time. (Holy crap, I just realized I've known Wendy for 20 years. Madness!)




And I also saw these fun (and classy!) people, amongst many others.

It was a great trip, and I had a fantastic time. And although I've only been back for three weeks, I totally feel ready for another holdiay. I'm ill and stressed and tired. Sigh.

But at least I still have holiday time! Thank god for the UK, and their 20 holiday days per year. I don't know what I'd do with only 10.

It's supposed to be summer...

This is what it looks like outside my window right now. It's noon.



I just heard thunder. And this is the forecast from the BBC's weather site.



That grey streaky square under Friday? Yeah, that's "heavy rain". All day long.

I thought this was summer? I find this unacceptable.

Party Paranoia

I am a nervous party planner.

Every single time I have ever planned a party, or really any large-ish gathering of any kind, I have sent myself into a frenzy of nerves. I worry that I've invited the wrong people, or not enough people, or too many people, or that the people I've invited won't like each other, or that I've forgotten to invite someone and they'll be mad, or I accidentally sent an invite to someone who hates me and they'll be even madder, or that the party will just suck.

And, of course, because I am me, I worry if I don't get responses fast enough. Even though I myself am notoriously bad for getting an email invite and thinking "yay, that sounds fun!" and then completely failing to repsond to it, I still panic when people do the same thing to me.

Even when I know for sure that lots of people are still coming, I will still be ready way too early, and panic because I'm certain that no one will show up and I'll be the loser who sits alone in her tidy flat with a beer in her hand and a sad, sad look on her face. Of course, that never happens, and I don't think I've ever had a bad party. But still, I am a worrier.

Clearly, this is all leading up to the fact that I'm having a barbeque to celebrate Canada Day, which is a very exciting day for us Canadians. It should be fun, and really even if only a few people come, it'll still be a good time. But I still stress. Because that's who I am. I am a stresser.

I bought some decorations already, so I'm committed now. No turning back.

And hey - if you got an email inviting you to the bbq? Can you email me back please? It'll help reduce my levels of stress.

Impulsive Decisions

I've needed to get my hair cut for quite a while now - the last time I had it done was before Christmas, and it was looking pretty shabby. So, I booked myself an appointment at my hairdresser of choice for Saturday, and was all set.

"So, what are you going to get done?", I was asked on Friday.

Like a flash of inspiration, the answer came to me.

"I think I'll go a bit blonder. You know, for summer. And ..... I think I'll get a fringe!"

For the sake of clarification, at this point I should explain that what we in the UK call "a fringe", in Canada we would call "bangs". Just so you don't get confused.

And so, I tell her what I want. But I just say "a fringe". I do not say "a fringe, but longer and kind of side-swepty and not too short, and did I mention not too short?"

Clearly, I should have said that, if that's what I wanted. Because that is not what I have.

I have a fringe. And it's not a sweepy, long, non-fringe, fringe. It's a proper fringe. It's bangs, baby.

Bangs. It's madness, I tell you.

I'm getting used to it though. I think. Oh, impulsive decisions. You're so much fun.

Funnier in my head...

See, I live in the UK, and we do not get the US version of Dancing With The Stars. We have the old school Strictly Come Dancing. And since I don't even watch that, it seems unlikely that I will watch Dancing With The Stars, should it make it's way to our shores.

So, as with all American shows I haven't seen, when I read things about them, I'm forced to create a mental version of the show that often bears no resemblance to the real thing.

Yesterday, I was reading this, and this line made me laugh out loud:

Do you think Tom Bergeron hates himself? I think he hates himself. He took this shitty hosting job, probably thinking that he'd make a quick buck and no one would ever actually watch the show. I mean, really. Dancing? With the stars? How long could that last? And yet, four seasons and some huge ratings later, here we are.

Because, see, I read it wrong, and had in my head this man as the host of the show:



I was so sad to learn the truth. Beacuse, really, is my version not infinitely better than some former news reporter and Hollywood Squares host?

The star of one of my favourite movies of all time - and don't you pretend that you don't think Major League is an under-appreciated classic, because you know you do - commenting on the dance moves of Heather Mills-(ex)McCartney?

That, my friends, is comedy gold.

Further tales of stupidity...

Chances are that, in a lifetime, most people will never have a coat stolen. This is because people, for the most part, are sensible. They take care of their belongings. They are vigilant and careful.

And, let's say that they do have a coat stolen once, from a bar or restaurant coat check. Do you think they'll let it happen a second time? Unlikely.

Unless, of course, they are me.

Then they will have had coats stolen on three occasions. That's right. Three.

Small Town Bar, December 2000 - Goderich, Ontario

Imagine, if you will. A formerly small town girl, now living in the big city, returns home for Christmas.

She's out with her friends at the local bar, which used to have a sensible name and is now called Paddy O'Irish or something silly like that, and she hangs her coat, a long dark grey number, on the clothes rack just outside the bar entrance, by the toilets. There are other coats on this coat rack, so it's not like she's being all that careless. She proceeds to get very drunk, as you do when you go home for Christmas. At the end of the night, before making the twenty minute walk home in the blistering cold, she goes to get her coat.

Only, it's not there. She looks everywhere. She asks at the bar. She checks the now virtually empty coat rack again, just to make sure that it's really not there. It's really not there.

She walks home with her friends, in the blistering cold, wearing borrowed gloves and a hat to prevent freezing to death. She keeps saying "I can't believe someone stole my coat!" all the way home, to the annoyance of her friends.

She buys a replacement coat when she gets back to Toronto, but has to wear an old blue ski jacket of her mom's the whole rest of the Christmas holidays.

Work Christmas Party, December 2004 - London, England

Right, so this same girl? She lives in England now. And she has a winter coat of such beauty. She bought it in Toronto with her friend Teresa, and it's real pretty. It's got a faux-fur collar. She loves her coat.

At her work Christmas party, there is much drinking and merriment at the meal, and she and her co-workers decide to wander into Soho for a few more drinks and a bit of dancing. They end up in a basement bar on Old Compton Street, and snag a group of tables. The boys stand and chat, all manly like, while the girls take to the dance floor. The girls return to the tables, where everyone is milling around, chatting, drinking and flirting. Good times are had by all.

When the bar closes, and the group is finally kicked out, the girl looks for her coat in the pile on one of the chairs at their group of tables. It's not there.

She checks the other chairs, checks the floor, asks at the bar, looks everywhere she can think of. It's gone.

Her second coat has been stolen.

She bursts into tears. Keep in mind that she is very drunk, and she loved that coat. The loss of it makes her very emotional.

She gets in a cab with two co-workers to make the trek home, and makes them promise not to tell her how stupid she was to leave it sitting unattended. One of her co-workers, who shall remain nameless, immediately says "Yes, but you really should have ...". He isn't able to finish his sentence, because the girl bites his head off and they argue for the entire cab ride. The other co-worker sits quietly in the back seat and giggles to herself the entire way.

For the rest of the winter, the girl wears a leather coat the isn't nearly as pretty as her faux-fur one. But she makes due.

A Friend's Birthday Party, last Saturday night, March 2007 - London, England

You'd think that by now this girl would have learned her lesson, and kept her eye on her belongings when out, wouldn't you?

Oh, you know that she's not that bright.

Anyway, she's out at London's only Bavarian Beerhouse on a Saturday afternoon for a friend's birthday, and has hung her coat up on the hooks provided. There is much chatting, much laughter, and much drinking of German beer.

At about seven o'clock, after a good five hours of drinking, the group is asked to move to a different section of the restaurant. The group, girl included, pick up their belongings, settle their tabs, and move over to the back bit of the restaurant.

There is much more drinking.

At around one A.M., the girl realizes she is drunker than she's ever been, possibly drunker than anyone has ever been. She decides to go home. She grabs her bag, and goes to get her coat.

It's not there.

It's not where she'd originally hung it up either. And it's not on the table with the random left-behind coats. It's gone.

That's right. She's had her coat stolen. Again.

She's lent a jacket from a very nice young man, and heads home.

She has yet to replace the coat.

Seriously. Three times. What do you think the odds of that are?

Marketing Travesty

There's a Woolworth's just near my house, and as well as having cheap kitchen-y stuff, they also have a smallish DVD section, which often has super-fantastic deals.

Every once in a while, I go to persue their selection and have come away with many a bargain. The other week, I was taking a peek, and what did I stumble across?

Let's just take a moment to laugh at the fact that it was only £1.

Anyway, huh, I thought to myself. Did Sarah Jessica Parker and Helen Hunt make a movie together recently? Because that's a recent photo on the cover, yes?

And then I noticed the title.

Oh, that's right. It's Girls Just Want To Have Fun.

The NINETEEN EIGHTY FIVE film Girls Just Want To Have Fun. The film that was made 22 years ago, when Sarah Jessica Parker was 20 and Helen Hunt was 22. The film in which they play teenagers.

And don't even get me started on the layout - if you're going to have the tagline "Life will be serious soon enough, but for now...", then it really should be ABOVE the title so it makes sense!

But back to the blatantly misleading photo.

Perhaps they've just used this on the front, and the back will clear everything up.

Well, in the sense that they've used actual photos from the movie, yes. In the sense that by far the largest photo is of Sarah Jessica Parker circa the Sex & The City years, no.

For the record, this is what the cover should look like:

That's right. They're YOUNG! And it also stars Shannen Doherty. The 2007 cheater cover shows no Shannen Doherty love. (Also, please gloss over the fact that I now own two copies of this movie.) (Please gloss over the fact that I'd actually already replaced the VHS copy in that photo with a DVD, and I actually now own three copies of this movie.)

I can only imagine the disgust that someone would feel if they bought this movie based solely on the (obviously photoshopped, once you really look at it) image on the cover.

They'd expect a rom-com about thirty-something gals in the city. And what would they get?

A teen dance movie that features an awkward teenaged Sarah Jessica Parker competing in a dance competition on a show called "Dance TV" with her dreamy partner Jeff. Her wacky friend Helen Hunt, Jeff's best friend Jonathan Silverman and his sister Shannen Doherty help the crazy kids win the dance competion - and each other's hearts. And it contains the line "Eat flame, Bozo!"

For shame, DVD marketing people. For shame, I say!

Not so clever after all, am I?

So, you know how I was all "I'm the best baker in the entire world, I'm so fabulous, look at me, I'm so great!"?

Oh, I've learned my lesson. Come on, carrot cake. Why do you have to be so difficult?

I get organic vegetables delivered every week, and I do my best to use them up by making soups for my lunches and dinners of various kinds. I often fail, because there are too many vegetables. And sometimes they're weird and scary, and I get afraid.

For the last kazillion weeks, there's been a bag of carrots in the vegetable box. Now, of course, carrots keep forever, so they've just been piling up. The entire crisper drawer in my fridge? Filled with carrots.

Tons and tons of carrots.

I've been bringing carrots for lunch every day, but that only uses up like two of them a day! And each bag is a POUND of carrots! I'm putting carrots in EVERYTHING that can possibly have carrots. Soup? Carrots. Lasagna? Carrots. Pasta sauce? Carrots. Salad? Carrots.

But, last week, like a flash of inspiration, the answer came to me.

I will make carrot cake.

Because one recipe will use like a WHOLE BAG of carrots! Sweet!

I'd meant to bake on Sunday, but due to Sainsbury's online grocery delivery operators being deeply stupid, they screwed up my order so it had to wait till Monday.

But Monday evening was all about carrot cake. I grated four cups of carrots. I measured, mixed, chopped as directed in the recipe. I only made two teensy changes.

I used yogurt instead of oil, which I've done before in recipes and usually works fine. And instead of two round cake pans, I used two loaf pans. Harmless, right?

The recipe said it should take 32 minutes to bake, but I knew it would take longer because of my different pans, so I set the timer for 45 minutes.

I checked at 45 minutes, and no - not done.

At 55 minutes - still not done.

At 65 minutes - still not done.

Now, this is when I got a bit worried. Over an hour is a long time.

At 75 minutes, I thought the toothpick came out clean, and they were done. I took the loaves out of the oven, put them on the cooling racks, admired their lovely loafness and let them cool.

After they'd been cooling for about 20 minutes, I went to cut myself a slice. Mmmm, carrot cake, I thought. Delicious!

But wait - what's this uncooked goo in the middle?

That's right. One hour and fifteen minutes in the oven, and it still wasn't cooked.

I tried to salvage it by pitching it back in the oven for another 20 minutes, but the damage was done. Two loaves, and a solid two and a half hours of prep time, and neither was even close to edible.

Well, I may not have had any delicious carrot cake, but at least I used up the carrots, right? That's got to count for something.

Things that drive me up the wall: Part 3,384

I work in a pretty small office. I don't like to talk about work too much here, because "talking about" would most likely mean "bitching about", and since a simple Google search for my name will get you here, I'd rather not get fired if it all comes down to it.

But currently, the following people are in the office for the entire day, every day: me. Other people pop in and out as their meetings/edits/shoots/etc. allow. But for a very large portion of the time, it's just me alone with the radio.

I don't mind this - I really don't. It lets me be just get on with things and not have to worry about anyone else. And all the popping in and out doesn't bother me at all.

EXCEPT.

There's one temperature control in this room. And it's generally set at the temperature that I, as the person who is always here, prefer. This is what's generally known as "room temperature".

But apparently, my room temperature doesn't work for some of the people I work with. And that's fine. I don't mind a temperature change, from time to time.

EXCEPT.

When they come into the room, sit down, then immediately get up to either turn off the heater completely or change the temperature drastically.

And do they say, "Hey Alice, I'm just going to turn off the heat - is that okay with you?"

No. No, they do not. They just adjust without any regard for the other people sharing the room.

And it drives me freaking crazy. It happens all the time. And it wouldn't be so bad, because it would just be temporary.

EXCEPT.

Without fail, they will then leave the room without turning the heat back on. So, I have to constantly be getting up to make sure the office is HEATED when it is COLD outside.

So annoying!

A little thing, I know. But seriously, people. Common courtesy! It's not so hard!

So. Very. Tired.

I'm absolutely exhausted today.

I had this whole thing I was going to write, full of deep and insightful thoughts on turning 29 and entering the last year of my twenties, and all sorts of stuff on how 28 was a year of change what with buying a flat and moving and having friends leave my life and gaining new ones and getting kittens and whatnot.

But you know what?

I'm too tired for that foolishness.

It's probably jetlag, although I got back from LA on Saturday, so you'd think my body would be back on UK time by now.

You'd be wrong, but I could see how you'd think that.

Waking up and getting out of bed and getting into work today was one of the hardest things I've ever done. There is nothing I wanted more than to turn my alarm off, kick the kittens out of my room (because they insist on lying on top of me in the mornings, and it makes it hard to sleep) and go back to sleep. But because I have some vague sense of work ethics, I decided that I should probably come in.

I am taking Friday off though. Which means I just have to get through today and tomorrow and then I'll be free to sleep as long as I want.

That's going to be hard though.

I'm too tired to do music cue sheets, which is what I should be doing. I'm exhausted and it's just not happening. I'm too tired to concentrate.

I'm also too tired to read things on the internet, apparently, because I've had this post open for like an hour and a half, and haven't managed to get past the first few sentences. I'm just too tired for that level of focusing.

However, I am not too tired for internet shopping. You see, I need a few things before delightful flatmate-to-be Julia moves in. I'm also thinking about seeing how much it will cost to replace the windows in my flat with double glazing, because that's more energy efficient and I lose a lot of heat through the windows now. And I could use a few ideas on what to do with the bathroom when I get it all fixed up.

Today seems like the perfect day to do all those things.

But if anyone asks, I'm doing music cue sheets.

Lunchtime antics

Every day after I buy my sandwich for lunch, I go to the corner shop to buy a Diet Coke and a bag of crisps.

And every day, after I place my wrapped sandwich on the counter to find the 90p to pay for my Diet Coke and Doritos, I ask for a bag.

And every single day, I place the Diet Coke and Tangy Cheese Doritos in the bag, pick up the sandwich, walk out of the shop, and then, and only then, place the sandwich in the bag.

It occurred to me today that this is very odd behaviour. It should be obvious to the guys behind the counter that my three items (sandwich, Diet Coke and crisps) are too many things to carry in my two hands. So, naturally I require a bag. And, of course, it seems silly to put two of the three things I am carrying in the bag and carry the third thing in my other hand. Why not keep them together?

And then I realized why I do this. I worry that if they see me putting things not purchased at their shop in the bag, they will take it away from me.

That's right. I live in fear that the two very nice men who work in the shop will walk from behind the counter, confiscate the bag, walk back behind the counter and shame me. "No!", they will say. "Only food from our shop goes in the bags! You're banned! Banned, I say! Now get out, you shameful bag-misusing hussy!"

Sometimes, my mind is a frightening place to be.