Grey Hairs

I attribute the appearance of grey hairs to the strains of raising a teenager. The more stress she gives me, the more that appear. Last week I almost wept as I saw a least a handful of the suckers snaking through my two tone locks. Clearly I have been leaving it too long between re-touches.

Zesty wants to know what happened with the Crazy Boss? Well, I decided to take two weeks off and re-group. Obviously I had showed my ass and couldn't back-track on the all too evident hatred I had for the man. So I took a vacation from the 'tation to think through the options.

Decided to pop over to Barcelona (thanks to cycle accident cash that came through), and enjoyed my first real solo holiday. Just me, myself and I. The Brat went to Paris with her father.

And it was great, I definitely got a new attitude, enjoyed lounging on beach, walking the Ramblas, and in general being a Jamaican/English gyal in Barcelona.

Getting 'dipped'(pickpocketed) on the first day didn't dampen my enthusiasm for wandering around solo. I ain't new to this homies. My cash was safely stowed away, purse back in the suitcase, and all they got was a few coins in my sunglasses case.

Didn't get bothered too much by the locals. Although of course my very cheap accomodation was in Drassanes, an area that was cool by day but dodgy at night. If I still did drugs I would have been a-ok.

Instead I just enjoyed a nightly beer, and a couple of killer Capirinhas that put my ass out for the count.

So now I'm back, and ready to wreck shop.

Ola Barcelona.

When good jobs go bad

It's finally happened. The honeymoon is over. I hate my job.

I hate my job a lot. I've got a new boss – and the man is crazy. He has a man-period every day, and is very passive aggressive.

I hate him, and I failed to hide it, so he knows I hate him, and is trying his best to make my life a misery – and succeeding.

Last week I was told I had to do nightshifts again – after a year of not doing them. I now have to do a week at nights a month. Apparently, they need the best people on at nights now for my department. Yet, we have been given barely any training on the new system.

It's so important – but yet, he has not signed up for them as well.

Up until his arrival, I can truly say that I was enjoying my job – but now. I hate it. In a way it's a good thing, because it's not like I was doing anything ground-breaking there.

Most of my daily stories centre around celebrity cellulite, an ENORMOUS baby bump, and the comings and going of SCABBY Amy Winehouse. But there was a rhythm and a buzz about it that I enjoyed.

So now, I have to get out there and find another job. I hope something else comes along soon. Because my mum always told me it's not good to hate people.

Sorry Mum

And I'm feeling good...

I didn't realise that raving had become my life. Although clearly other people had judging from the comments of 'your always raving!' - because now that I'm not doing it every weekend – it seems that there isn't much else.

Of course, being a parent – there is my child. But she's now at the age where spending the WHOLE day hanging with your mother – as cool and hip and she might like to think she is - is deeply uncool. And means avoiding any shopping area (in south London) where she is likely to 'buck' any of her school friends.

Most of my friends have children – so Saturday nights are our times for meeting up, after we had enjoyed mummy time, and doing all the stuff necessary to keep home and hearth running – or in my case, ignoring all that shit completely and going shopping, gym or somewhere most interesting instead.

Most Saturday’s I roll out of bed and go for a run – cos if I don't do it the a.m. ...'forgettaboutit'. Plus it's nice to get out there early before all the tourists take over the South Bank making it impossible to run.

Then, I come back sweaty and shattered and have breakfast or take Daughter Dearest to Giraffe for brunch. That's cool – we usually have a chat about the goings on at school. Still no boyfriend action (cool), no chemicals in hair (good) and no piercings, tatts or underage drinking (awesome).

Sometimes when I just need to get away from it all I pop into my local arthouse cinema – either the Ritzy or Clapham Picturehouse. On Saturday I went to see 27 Dresses. I recognised one of my sistren there – "i.e. Single sister who can't be bothered to wait pon people to see a film so chooses to go by herself but is looked on with pity by male ticket attendants".

I don't know why I wanted to see this film – but I guess as much as us post-feminists try to hide it, that romance thing is ingrained, and I thought it would have the feelgood factor. Cos Lord knows I ain't getting it much 'good feeling' elsewhere.

Five minutes into the film I pretty much feel embarrassed that I am even there.

But of course I chomp on my popcorn (small) and continue watching – and much like heroin does for Pete Doherty (I'm guessing) - for those 94mins I am transported to NYC – which looks great by the way. Bills, work stress, and the lack of available men fade into the background.

Cheap at the price for £8.50, and safer than injecting yourself with a needle.

I'm bored...

I know it's been some time since I have posted. But let's catch up. I'm not strung out on drugs, nor am I an alcoholic (any more). To my great consternation, I'm still single, and I'm still gainfully employed for the big time newspaper.

In fact, it's that which has seen my life change in ways I would not have foreseen. I was very much a party girl, a social butterfly if you like. But when you have to get up at 5.30am on a weekday, motherfuck a midweek party.

I made up for it though on the weekends, staying out from dusk til dawn in various ghetto raves with my girlfriends. But I don't know, this year, something changed. And now, I no longer want to do this. Maybe I'm a late developer, cos some of my friends gave up on raving from time. But now, as I am fast approaching the ripe old age of *cough*-ty nine...it's my turn.

So what am I doing instead of staying out until the wee hours, and sleeping my Sunday away...? FUCK ALL! And ohmigod, do I hate it. It is so fucking boring. I think I am going die of the boredom.

And being bored is dangerous for me, because then I have to fill the void with some drama. And believe me there has been plenty of that too. Inappropriate flirtations, arguments with my family (really boring), comfort eating and comfort shopping.

Those two don't really co-exist that well though, because if you comfort eat, you can't actually fit in any clothes that you want to buy. But thankfully we have shoes to compensate for that. New black and tan Mary Janes from Topshop...they're the bomb. Apart from the fact that they are killing my corn!

I work, I go gym, and then I go home, trying desperately to get into bed before eleven o' clock, so that I won't be moody and curse out my 'boss'. Yeah I have a new boss, but more about him later...

The weather hasn't exactly helped, but I'm hoping that now we are actually in the midst of British Summer Time, things might perk up somewhat. I need some new adventures. Especially if I'm gonna have something to tell y'all here!