Bye bye baby, baby bye bye...

Do you ever wake up some days and feel really well and truly old? Today is one of those days for me. I feel ancient. Preserved and pickled ancient. Firstly, it's my nephew's birthday. Ordinarily this is often somewhat problematic for me to comprehend, simply because I was an auntie at age 12 and have always felt far to young to have such family members. Not that I would change him though - he's lovely. And I don't see enough of him, but anyway. Today, this little boy turns 13. I have a teenage nephew. I'm sure photos exist of me wearing a Sweater Shop jumper (remember those?! I thought I was the business in mine) and changing his nappy. This is not that long ago in my head.

And if you're good at maths (ok, you don't need to be good at maths; it's pretty obvious what the sum is) you'll have worked out my age from that statement. It's not that old when you look at the number literally; but when I think about fast approaching my late twenties, fear strikes my very core. While my nephew is enjoying his birthday party and his last bastion of childhood; I'll be racing towards thirty. Then middle age. Then before you know it, I'll be 50. Then thinking about retirement. Then dead. I think I've managed to convince myself that this is all a very long way off though, so I'll try not to ponder this too much.

Anyway, the thing that's tipped me over the edge today is my baby sister. No longer a baby. Has her own flat and is moving to London with her other half. I don't think it's age or anything that's bothering me here; it's more to do with the fact that I'll really miss her! There was a time not so long ago when you could feel the mutual loathing and seething whenever we were in the same room. We were both evil children and fought a lot, and spent a considerable amount of time getting the other back for past offences. Then we hit our teens and the fighting still continued, but we had delightful name-calling, screaming, slapping and door slamming added to the mix. She'll deny this vehemently, but I swear on one occasion she slammed my neck in her bedroom door. But I used to grab her wrists and pin her down, which she hated. It worked out even.

Thankfully, we both emerged from this hideous teenage era unscathed (our mother was most relieved), and I moved out and she went to college. And we found that we actually get along. Is that called growing up? So there you have it. I wish her luck and know she'll be happy. I'll probably see more of her now than I ever have, come to think of it. Such is the way when someone moves - you tend to make more of an effort! And I've told her to expect lots of visitors who just happen to be passing though London. Hell, a free base in the capital! You can't knock it.

But still, I'm off to look up stair lifts and mobility scooters on t'interweb. No doubt I'll be needing them soon so it's best to be prepared.

Teenage kicks (and twenty-something time-wasting)...

I worshipped Ewan McGregor when I was 15. Oh, who am I kidding? I still do. But today, I don't have little Ewan pictures stuck all around my bedroom mirror and his face adorning my walls on giant posters. But I might if only my Other Half would let me. I think I've always had crushes on famous boys; the first one was probably Corey Feldman in The Goonies. My friend preferred Mikey, but it was Mouth and his rude Spanish all the way for me. Then there was David Bowie. Bit of an peculiar choice you might think - but when I was 10, all I wanted to do was run away to the Goblin City and live in the castle with Jareth the Goblin King. If you don't know what I'm on about, shame on you - read all about it here.

My celebrity crushes dissipated in my later teens - but have since returned with a vengeance. Perhaps it's the boredom of my working day. Which brings me to a recent topic of discussion at work... the freebie list. We have very philosophical conversations and emails at work, as you can see. Made famous by Friends (I think Ross laminated his choices?!), the freebie list is the select group of celebrities you have crushes on who you're allowed to, er, have relations with, shall we say - should the opportunity ever present itself and your significant other can't say anything about it. My list resulted in several confused faces and I'm sure a couple of my choices were googled by my puzzled onlookers. Anyway:

1. Ewan McGregor. The afore-mentioned Mr. McGregor still holds the #1 spot on my list. He might be married and a bit beardy by now, but I don't care. I've even forgiven him for that ridiculous hair-do and facial wig in the gawd-awful Star Wars prequels.

2. David Tennant. And I don't even watch Dr. Who. I think it's his hair that does it.

3. Kyle Reese/Michael Biehn. The year would HAVE to be 1984 and I would need to be Sarah Connor, though. Oh, come on! He went through time for her! But if fictional characters don't apply, I'll take the very sweet John Simm as my #3 contestant.

4. Brett Anderson. I've loved him ever since I bought my first Suede single aged 13.

5. Andrew Lincoln. A forgotten teenage crush recently rediscovered upon repeat viewings of This Life. Damn that Milly woman; she didn't deserve him.

Honourable mention: I know I can't really choose fictional characters but if I could, Gene Hunt and his one-liners would be up there. It's so very politically incorrect and against the rules of feminism - but I'd quite happily let him give me a slap. That's really quite wrong.

So there you have it. I stand by my choices. They're liable to change, however, but they're not as odd as some - one of my friends had crushes on both Sean Connery (not so odd really; I suppose he could be considered as a bit of a silver fox) and Captain Von Trapp. Yes, you read that right. The Sound of Music dude. Each to their own!

The art of procrastination...

Let me tell you something about today: I've done bot all. This phrase made an esteemed colleague of mine giggle profusely when I emailed her from two desks away to tell her so, but it's true. Well, it's part true. I've done bot all work-wise. But I've been a Grade-A procrastinator. Today's been one of those days where I've had a million and one things to do but the motivation of a tortoise about to go into hibernation. Tiredness? A little bit. That Monday feeling? Yep. Easily distracted by shiny things? Definitely. You're listening to the Queen of Procrastination.

I was always that kid at school who did their homework at 10:30 on a Sunday night. And I'll always be that girl who leaves everything to the last minute. And no matter how many urgent things I have to do or how many deadlines I'm against, I'll always find something more important. But procrastination is an art form. You can't just sit and do nothing - that's just a waste of time. You have to so something - however trivial - to use up your time and distract you from what you should be doing. It's a skill. And a skill I've mastered over the years. It's almost mandatory at university.

For instance, a true procrastinator will not sit and stare into space doing nothing. No. A true procrastinator will make a list about what they could make for their tea using the ingredients in their fridge. Or reorganise the pens in their desk tidy. Or maybe write out their name backwards and try to memorise how to pronounce it. Perhaps even draw a diagram of how they're going to re-file the papers on their desk when they get around to it. There's a distinction. And all these things I have completed today instead of my work. The down side to my top-class dallying is that by the end of the week, I'll feel terrible. I'll become an insomniac and stress about not finishing half the things I needed to, and I'll only have myself to blame. But I can live with that.

I'm just not sure my boss will agree with me when she returns from holiday to find my to-do list doesn't have any ticks against it. I don't think she studied procrastination at uni.

Back to the old school...

Yesterday, whilst congregating and gossiping around the kettle in the office kitchen with several of my regular kettle-attendees for the umpteenth time that day (don't tell my boss), it struck me that the workplace is not unlike school. And the more I thought about it, the more comparisons I could make. Maybe I've seen Mean Girls too many many times.

School: The classy house-block loos were the place to bitch every break time.
Office: We meet in the kitchen to gossip several times a day.

School: Passing notes to friends in classes when bored about who we fancy.
Office: Write chain emails to equally bored colleagues about anything.

School: If you didn't do your homework your teacher shouted at you and put you on detention.
Office: Miss a deadline and your boss yells at you; you then have a silent cry in the toilets.

School: Sit at several desks throughout the day, often covered in graffiti and chewing gum.
Office: Sit at a desk. A very messy one with an overflowing in-tray.

School: Spend pocket money on make-up, clothes, junk you don't need and nights out.
Office: Spend payslip on make-up, clothes, junk you don't need, nights out and the bills.

School: Have lunch in the cafeteria with your mates. Moan when the bell goes for lessons again.
Office: Have lunch in the cafe with your pals. Moan when you can only manage a half-hour break.

School: Complaining to your PE teacher that you had terrible cramps would never get you out of cross country.
Office: Complaining about period pains in an office full of women gets you off nothing.

School: Watch new episodes of 'Friends'.
Office: Watch the endless repeats of old 'Friends' episodes on E4.

School: Reading magazines by stealth - under desks, behind textbooks etc - and giggling at the problem pages.
Office: Reading Digital Spy and Heatworld online, and closing the screen when someone important walks past. Forward on the articles with the celebrity shock-factor.

And the sad thing is, that after seven years of school and sixth form, four of uni and three of full-time work so far... I'm just as unmotivated now as I was then. And just as clumsy. At school I'd often walk into doors, fall off seats and drop things. Today, I'm well know for being completely unable to text-and-walk; frequently sit down where there is no seat; and yesterday I tripped over someone's bin and was caught by a quick-witted colleague who exclaimed very loudly that I'd just 'kicked the bucket.' Sigh.

Dear Diary...

How do.

I'm new to this whole blogging malarkey and not entirely sure why I set one up or who it's for, to be perfectly honest. I used to keep a diary when I was a teenager - and recently rediscovered what a huge mess of angst and calamity they were - but gave up on it all when I hit my twenties and became too lazy (and started my working life properly, which sometimes equates to the same thing). I suppose this will be the new-improved version of those diaries. But of course, down the line I may decide that this is all a bit too egotistical for me and never write another post again.

So, why am I feeling the need to document my so-called life now, then? Well, my reasons are three-fold:

1. I'm growing more forgetful as I approach the dreaded late-twenties.
2. My life becomes more like a car-crash or bad BBC sitcom every day and if I don't laugh about it, I'll cry.
3. By writing things down I can hopefully get stuff straight in my head because, as you may come to see, I'm one of the most indecisive people I know and change my mind constantly about everything.

That's something you should know about me straight off. My indecisiveness. Don't be surprised if the next time you visit this blog it looks completely different (if I haven't bored you enough already, that is). Hmm, what else do you need to know about me? The main bits are up in my profile box. Ooh, another thing though - I ramble on a lot. Turn back now while you still have the chance if you're adverse to witterers. And I rant. Often about nothing.

As well as wittering on about my daily mundanities I think I'll be including some posts about the flicks I've been watching. Which can be a lot. I'm a film graduate and have been in love with film since the age of 3 when I first saw Ghostbusters and decided I wanted to catch ghosts for a living. Consequently, there's a library of film twaddle and trivia in my head so I may infer some of that on here too. Oh, and lists. I like lists. We'll see how it goes.

Anyway, as a first post this is pretty rubbish so I'll leave it at that and get back to my pjs. What a rock n roll Saturday night.