Butterfly Jones is dead...

It's certainly been a long time since I last posted on here. A combination of working hard, being brain dead once I got home, and no net connection meant a lack of motivation for posting. Plus quite frankly life got really boring. I mean stupidly, brain-numbingly boring. I had allowed 'being boring' to infiltrate me, and usurp my excitement gene.

So let's catch up then.

Am still at the BTN (Big Time Newspaper) having seen off bitch-boss and welcomed new, nicer Man Boss. My working life consists of writing about the unholy trinity of Britney, Lindsay and Queen of Chavs Victoria Beckham. For 'chav' see Britney but with marginally better clothes.

Got hit by a car cycling to work and felt like a Superhero when I lived to tell the tale, just a small cut on the ankle and a sore neck. Shame I didn't wake up the next day with a superpower - I would have liked the power of invisibility, imagine the mischief I could get up to with that. Weight no longer an issue.

Still single...I think I have been writing this blog for two years, and still no significant other has materialised. This sucks BIG TIME. I don't think men can smell desperation coming off me, more like the 'major pissed offness' I emananate due to being up in the club on a Saturday night rather than at home fucking my hot man silly during a DVD we have given up all pretence of watching. Clearly this is the honeymoon period I am talking about.

I met a guy last week, and during the first (and last) phone call we had, he was telling how much he enjoyed outlet shopping. What the fuck?!? I'm sure he heard the zzzzzz as I nodded off.

Another guy I liked, he had recently split up with his long-term girlfriend, told me he liked me but is not ready for 'a relationship'. Oh fuck off then you wet blanket! Man's almost 40 years old - WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR EXACTLY?!? Just do me a favour and as they say in EastEnders sling yer hook!

You see what I mean, major pissed offness. But I take solace in the fact that I'm not in one of those relationships where people have just given up the ghost already, and the best has come and gone. Sex is by appointment, and they're idea of being adventurous is to get a new duvet cover. Fuck. All. That.

The 21-year old body is still 38, but hey, cycling and hip-hop dance classes has helped the jiggle somewhat, and I feel better than my 21-year-old insecure self. Still a work in progress. So we'll see how that pans out.

All in all, as you can tell, I am on my way to being one bitter and twisted single woman...As the for the blog post title, I'm not that woman anymore, Butterfly Jones is dead. Long live Goldilocs.