And so it is..Just like you said it would be..

So, I lived to tell the tale of my Vodabashing.
My disciplinary was today and this is roughly how it went;
Big scary Vodaboss: Rebecca, do you know why I'm here today?
Me: Yes sir, it's to do with the FaceAche incident.
Big Scary Vodaboss laughs and then puts his big scary face back on: And why do you think this is unacceptable?
Me- At this point I go on a brown nosing rant about promoting the company at all times, respecting company values and blah de fucking blah.

Basically, I kissed his arse, I got away with the whole shebang, not even a black mark next to my name in the Vodabooks (that I know of).

I am currently finishing off a bottle of wine, waiting for the one that never used to text back but now texts back pretty swift, to turn up at my door. He says he's bringing a surprise, which is kind of worrying. The last time a guy said he had a surprise for me it turned out he'd shaved his legs, balls and crack. Not a pleasant surprise I'll have you know. He went on to join the Army (go figure).

I'm going to geek out now and do what Vodafone want me to do and rave on and on about a new phone we have out. It's called the Google magic, it's amazing, Youtube it, etc, etc. That'll make them passionate red bastards smile, a bit of free advertising and it's not even during work hours.

I discovered the meaning of life today..The answer those silly fools have searched for hundreds of years for, and I worked it out in the blink of an eye. It's really quite simple when you think about it. I would tell you, but then it'd ruin all my dreams of owning a big mansion in the suburbs of Iran, with an anti aircraft and anti tank missile stuck on the roof.. We all have our own little dreams right?

Okay, I have said too much and drunk far too little this evening.
I have important news to tell you all, but it'll take a few more bottles of this beautiful white stuff (the wine..) before I can divulge that information..

Stay greasy you dirty mothertruckers.
One love

p.s prizes for guessing the lyrics in the title of this blogamagigthing

Firstly, I would like to prewarn you that I have been out on the lash this evening, and therefore (for a change) may be slightly intoxicated.
That's okay thought right? You wouldn't read these things if I was sober.
I got extremelty excited the other day when I found out I have THREE followers, a whole, fucking THREE. Shit man, I bet Ghandi didn't have that many followers when he first started out, and he wore flip flops..It's a win-win situation for me.

I'd like to tell you I've had a few good days, wrap this up proper quick and say something like 'Yeah, I woke up every morning, had breakfast,read the paper, left for work, enjoyed work, came home, had dinner and then read peacefully until I drifted off into slumber' That'd make quick reading for all you sods that are bored already, right? Well that's just utter tough shit, because I've had a stonker of a last couple of days and you're going to have to read all about it. (Can I just point out you don't HAVE to read it at all, but you will..out of boredom and/or interest).

So, I got a disciplinary at work, all down to Facebook. This was my Facebook status, and this is why I'm in all th trouble I am in;

'Well I've been a Vodafone customer for years..' Great, I'm still not giving you the most expensive phone for 20p a month and a twix. Carphone Warehouse are welcome to you..

That is the reason I'm in ten tonnes of shit with Vodafone. I feel like Vodafone bosses could do with an injection of humour..But who am I to say?!

I'm pretty bored of writing now, not because I have nothing else to say, darn I have a million and one words I could write, but because I'm about to finish a beer and get my damn cute arse into bed before I meet big Voda Boss tomorrow. FUN!

Anyway, he always texts back now so that gets rid of the 'P.S' on the end of my blogs.
But there is one person who deserves a P.S

P.S Emily, I love you, crazy bitch!

Until next time, if there will be a next time,
Your one and only

Mild racism on a Monday morning

So it is 8:44am on a Bank Holiday Monday and I am the only person on this planet to think that is a reasonable time to wake up on a day of rest. I should actually be going into work and opening up the store, but I woke up at 8am thinking I was tired and called in sick. That's the way our society works nowadays, 'just call in sick'. Whack a doctors note on the table that says you have swine flu and they'll give you as much time off as you need to hang around a pig farm, or a taco restaurant, or whatever it was that gave you swine flu in the first place. One thing I have learnt from this whole sorry 'pandemic' episode is that I dislike Mexicans. Don't ask me why, it's just some judgemental streak in me has decided I wouldn't give a Mexican my seat on the bus, pregnant or not.

Anyway, less of this mild racism, don't want the net police knocking on my door with a warrant to search my place for anti-mexican paraphernalia. 'Oh yes Mr net police, sorry, it's all hidden under the robe with the pointy white hood and the 10,000 BNP leaflets!'
I jest, I got rid of those leaflets weeks ago..


I've been thinking, what am I going to use this blog for? Will it be for the good of mankind? Will I use it to preach to the masses (masses being my two followers), on the need for change in the World? And then I thought, fuck no, I'm just going to use this bad boy to vent, randomly complain on matters like mexicans, and use it to better my career as a internet bum. Operation successful so far, in my opinion.

Right, now I'm rambling and seeing as I hate reading people ramble, I can imagine you (yes, you! I'm pointing at you, the one with the eyes and the nose and the T-SHIRT) probably don't want to read ramblings either, so I shall try and construct them into something more beneficial for the both of us.

I feel this will be a short one this morning, as I am not on any form of alcohol or drugs. Although the alcohol is still swimming around in my stomach from last night, nicely mixed with a pint of milk now. Nothing beats a hangover like milk. Actually, drinking more alcohol tends to beat a hangover, but then I think they've got a word for that nowadays..Ah yes, 'alcoholic'.

Some people say I drink too much, smoke too much, bite my nails too much, think too much, talk too much, in fact it looks like I do everything to the extreme. I just have an excessive personality. As I typed in Google 'excessive' to make sure I was spelling it right it came up with some 'suggestions', one of those being 'excessive sweating'. Now I don't know about you, but I found that quite insulting that they would suggest such a thing. Who looks up excessive sweating? Which led me on to images.. Now, I know there is a fetish for everything, even for Mexicans I would assume, but what worries me is that people actually put pictures up of themselves sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish market.


I wonder what he's sweating about here? My bets are that this is some kind of spelling bee, and Mr Bush has been asked to spell 'America'. Poor Bush, gone but not forgotten.

Anyway, you may have noticed I have two beautiful and wonderful pictures in my blog today, there will be a prize for the best caption on either of them. What is this prize I hear you cry?! Well, it'd be a patronising pat on the head, and the knowledge that you are the best caption writer out of what I assume will be two entries.

Poodle Tip

p.s He replied, but now he's not replying again..Men?!

Word verification?!

So these random losers I know have just started writing blogs, it only needed time before I realised I'm a loser too, and where was my blog? I once wanted to write a blog before, but in my stoned, paranoid state, thought that everyone (especially the net police) would read it. That's a delusion of self importance right there, I think I know of two people who will read this; Myself and Emily (as I'll force her to read it anyway).

It's taken me about 4 hours to sign up to this site, just trying to get the word verification thing right on the sign up page. Why do they make it so fucking hard to read if you're slightly pissed and/or stoned? It's all wavy and stuck together, like what some form of STD would do to your pubic hair. Sick. Okay, so the first admittance in this blog is that I am on some kind of mind altering substance. I shan't divulge which (see the net police paranoia above), but you should all try some kind of drug at one point in your life. If you do and you dislike it, then good on you, you'll die in a better place than I will.

Okay, I was determined not to make this a rant until I just discovered that Spotify have taken off about 100 Kings Of Leon songs on their playlists. Why would they do that? THEY know it's what I listen to the most, so why take them all off? It's not like they've taken them all off, but it's specifically the ones I want to listen to. That's discrimination. But it leads me to my rant about Kings Of Leon (yeah, fuck politics, the economy, real life issues, I'm gonna rant about MUSIC!), what has happened to the bad boys of south central that I was so fond of in my teenage days? Before I hear it, yes I'm still a teenager, but still I'm allowed to say teenage days when I have the mind of a 40 year old woman that's been married for 20 years and has 3 children. While laughing at my own bad fortune there, I just found the song I was looking for, therefore rendering the beginning of my rant unvalid and unjust. I do apologise to Spotify for my bad judgement.

People say I think too much, they say I over-analyze. For example, a certain person hasn't replied in over an hour and my initial reaction is that they're clearly having much more fun not thinking about me. Another example, I've just received a text from someone saying it's their new number and I've got my paranoid head on, thinking it could be my ex, it could be my ex's new girlfriend (why would it be her?!), it could be the man whom I owe money, but most likely it's going to be one of my friends with a new number. That's something that bugs me though, why text someone saying 'This is my new number' and not put a name on the end of it? Real intelligence that is. What is happening to society that we all think we're so famous that names are unimportant anymore. 'Oh well dahhhlin' don't you know who I am?' No, I don't fucking know who you are when you don't put your name on the end of the text! Right, well I got a reply from my rude 'And you are?' text and they've said 'Silly me its Keeley mum'..Does that mean it's Keeley's mum? Or does it mean it's Keeley and she thinks I am her mum? Either way, I don't fucking know a Keeley, and I certainly would never name a child of mine Keeley. That's the name for cheap slappers with 'Tango'd' faces and white eyeliner, and piss poor glamour models from Lewisham. It'd be like calling my child Barbieheart Angelflower..
I heard some woman (I say woman, she looked about 14) calling after her child the other day as it was running off down the road into impeding doom, and what do you think a 14 year old would call her daughter? Glitter of course. I thought 'Glitter' was a name reserved for pets, not for small ginger toddlers with her 4 year old aunties old clothes on, and her 30 year old grannys present of gold hoop earrings addorning her ears.
Anyway, less of this stress, it's making me want to bite my nails, which I have in fact not done for 5 days, the longest time in 19 years that I have not bitten my nails.
If I think of anything else interesting, you'll be the second to know.

p.s he still hasn't replied