'please stop doing that,' my art director urged earlier.
'that', he thought, was picking my cold sore. only problem with that is i don't actually have a cold sore (i do, however, suffer from them from time to time. one year, i actually had 21 of them in a row. look closely and you can see the scars!).
no, i wasn't picking my cold sore, but i was 'bothering' my top lip.
it's microhairs, you see. annoying bristles that, when i am stressed, i try and 'tweeze' with my teeth. sounds ugly and it is! i must stop. i will stop! there, a new year's resolution and it's not even xmas. i'm also not going to drink on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday for the month of January. of course i could do the 'not drinking in January' nonsense but frankly, who am i kidding and life is too short.
anyway, the whisker biting incident led my managing editor to tell us the story of her driving instructor who suffered from a medically recognised condition whereby she couldn't stop eating her own hair. i know! and not only from her head! apparently no eyebrow, lash or nasal number was safe. and let's not even think about 'downstairs'.
managing ed didn't think to ask her if she suffered from hairballs!
i would have...
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
bottoms up
it's party season, in case you haven't noticed (the pools of vomit everywhere and over-aggressive males should be a giveaway).
so i have been reacquainting myself with my inner john travolta. isn't it amazing how one minute you're a shy and retiring wall flower, who would much rather sip delicately on a glass of paintstripper posing as white wine than cause a fuss on the dancefloor and then suddenly, one old Madonna record and there's no holding you back. or holding me back. fortunately i'm more of a shuffler than a hands-up-for-detroit waver (my friend Jeremy turns into one of those multi-armed Hindu goddesses when he hits the floor) but i do find my footwork getting ever fancier as the night wears on and the white wine goes down.
i've also been reminding myself (as if i'd ever forgotten) that when it came to the handing out of off-switches, the Shorts were at the back of the queue, probably too busy quaffing Pomagne to notice. we just don't have them, you see.
when others are raising their hands to cover their glass lest a stranger fill them with glass/plastic cup/mouth...
luckily, i'm as disciplined as i am louche and have yet to let a hangover keep me away from work....
so i have been reacquainting myself with my inner john travolta. isn't it amazing how one minute you're a shy and retiring wall flower, who would much rather sip delicately on a glass of paintstripper posing as white wine than cause a fuss on the dancefloor and then suddenly, one old Madonna record and there's no holding you back. or holding me back. fortunately i'm more of a shuffler than a hands-up-for-detroit waver (my friend Jeremy turns into one of those multi-armed Hindu goddesses when he hits the floor) but i do find my footwork getting ever fancier as the night wears on and the white wine goes down.
i've also been reminding myself (as if i'd ever forgotten) that when it came to the handing out of off-switches, the Shorts were at the back of the queue, probably too busy quaffing Pomagne to notice. we just don't have them, you see.
when others are raising their hands to cover their glass lest a stranger fill them with glass/plastic cup/mouth...
luckily, i'm as disciplined as i am louche and have yet to let a hangover keep me away from work....
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
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