So sue me.. I'm happy

The Bitchy one is happy. The Bitchy one is really really happy. The Bitchy one thinks she's found her future. The Bitchy one knows she's being cheesy and politely asks that you kick your bitter rocks thataway ------>

What does this not-so-recent discovery mean for the Bitchy one? (Apologies for the delay in sharing, the Bitchy one's happiness has consumed pretty much all of her spare time):

That she will not succumb to depression and despair;
That she will not become an obese alcoholic; and
That she will always have a bright light at the end of her tunnel.

The Bitchy one loves her happiness. He is her Bitch, and she is his too... Teehee!

Ode to the three mooses

Acheeka left,
mid way through the summer.
Good byes we said, whilst my heart bled.

The brother just left,
and at first I rejoiced.
But now, I would pay the fool ten pounds to hear his voice!

Chydo will leave,
come Friday I believe.
What does one do, when without one's boo?
One's confidante.. etcetera etceteroo?

I'm blue.

To lose a moose is tragic, as I'm sure you agree.

But to lose three,
oh help!

It's crushing Bitchy!!

Alice, Bitchy and E-weezy in Jazzywonderland

So, she was amazing..

I know you have no idea who I'm talking about, unless of course you're E-weezy (who deserves a medal for being so so cool and surprisingly daring enough to go to a concert on my recommendation having never heard of the artist before!). We saw Alice Russell this evening, and instead of sitting at a bar having post-show drinks with her and "the crew" (after dazzling my way through her security people of course), I'm here... on the internet... blogging!!

If you spoke to me today or yesterday,
you would've learned that I was more than just a little apprehensive about this concert. I'll have you know that it wasn't just because I was pulling the usual Bitchy stunt i.e. getting cold-feet and being all whingey before an event. I had legit reasons for calling up the Jazz Cafe and attempting to get my money back (Yah.. kinda didn't tell you that part E-weezy... teehee! But aren't you glad they said no? *Big grin*).

I discovered Alice in January or so this year, and was blooooown away... seriously! I raved about her to anyone and everyone who would listen. Her album was so flippin fantastic, and I couldn't believe no one knew about this "soul sister" who should've been "hotonthemuthafuckinblock," as Chydo would say.

A month later, after staring a little too intently at the back of her album cover, I noticed the face of a white woman grinning up at me. I ignored it at first cuz there was NO way in hell she could be white. Before I continue, I should add that I'm not racist.. I'm not saying white people can't sing.. What I am saying is that she sounded so black that she was blacker than black, and there was just no way she could be anything but black. Google came in handy, as it always does, and her website revealed that she was, in fact, white! Getting over that shock, took a while, but in that time I managed to get hold of her second album. I raced home to play it, only to skip from track to track, accept defeat and hand it back to the mother (who was actually the rightful owner, as she had been the one to make the purchase under the influence of all my gushing and raving). I didn't even stop to copy it onto my laptop. It was that heart-breaking.

A couple of weeks ago I remembered there was an Alice concert coming up, and so did some more Googling and Amazoning on her. Turns out she had a new album which had only just come out. So I did as anyone would do, and I ordered it. It took a while to get here, so in my haste I ordered the concert tickets too. The album arrived on Monday morning I think, and by Monday afternoon I was almost in tears. Okay fine I'm exaggerating again but it was .... terrible! There was none of the croony but funky but soulful but upbeat stuff that'd been on the first album. It was all techno and boring!

This morning therefore, when I thought of what the concert would be like, I did not for a second think that I would get anywhere close to Jazzywonderland. I didn't even get ready to go to the bloody thing until E-weezy arrived and looked down at me through her merchant banker spectacles (She's a Bitch in the City too by the way... but she's not a Bitchy Bitch, if that makes any sense). Actually its a lot more accurate if I say that she looked up at me (as I'm.. ehem.. taller, by.. ehem... quite a bit) but she did give a very disdainful, disapproving look. She may even have shaken her head at me.

Where was I going with this? Uh.. yah.. arriving at the Jazz Cafe first of all, was like a completely new experience. This time, we didn't approach the venue from the grotty, revolting end of Camden (apologies if you happen to live at this end, but you really should send a petition or something to your Council!). We came from the Primrose Hill end. So everything did look a lot nicer. I won't say what I said to E-weezy about the difference a crowd full of white, as opposed to black, corn-rowed and afro-puffed people, makes to the general ambience of a venue. Ooops! I said it. Last time I was there, was to see Erro who (in case you didn't know) is the definition (although the newly-pottbellied 'definition' as I woefully discovered) of neo soul. So of course, that time, everyone in the cafe was of African descent. In a place that's as dimly-lit as the Jazz Cafe, such faces and hairdos don't exactly brighten up the place, if you catch my drift. So it was rather refreshing to be one of only four or five negroid faces in the room.

[*Please remember at this juncture that I am not racist, neither am I some prejudiced negroid who has lost sight of her roots. I am... Bitchy! Politically-incorrect etc etc.. For a refresher on the characteristics of my.. ehem.. fictional character, kindly go to my first post*]

I can't believe I haven't gotten round to describing how phenomenal she was. She... was... phenomenal...

We went to Jazzywonderland and back, on a magic carpet ride (Yes, I know I'm mixing up my cartoons okay? It's deliberate.. sheesh!) Everything I'd thought or said about her previous two albums flew right out the window.. Her voice was incredible. CDs do her a terrible injustice. The other great thing about her is that she was fun.. like really fun. She danced about, and made faces, said funny things, forgot the words and made them up when she covered Gnarls Barkley's Crazy, which was the best remix ever!

I love her... I don't know if I'll be listening to her newer two albums again.. But I love her anyway... Maybe there's an "Alice Live in Concert" or something like that. If there is, I'm gonna get it. Why? Because.. I LOVE her!

Paris, the city of lovers... sigh

Envy is ugly. I should know.. I'm the subject of a lot of envy, or "beef".. hehe. When you're as pretty and smart as Bitchy, there're bound to be some haters hating on you because they hate how much they want to be you. Teehee!

At the moment I wouldn't say I was envious. There're some elements of envy, true.. but then I'm also really happy in a cheesy sorta way. K-lolly, a friend of mine, is in Paris at the moment. Nothing special about Paris, we've all been before.. (If you haven't, that is very very sad. Send me an email and I'll buy you a Eurostar ticket, that is simply appalling!) But we haven't, well I certainly haven't, been the way she's gone. She's gone with a boy (and not the kinda boy you say yes to when he pops the Paris question simply because you want a free ride and intend to ditch his ass when you get there). Nope.. she's gone with a boy she likes. Like, a boy she really likes.

This has made me, not sad, but perhaps a little wistful, for a number of reasons. The first, glaringly obvious reason is that I've never been to Paris with a boy. But more than that, I can't think of any boy who's ever offered to take me to Paris. Actually, I can think of one, but he has anger-management problems. Actually now I think about it, I so should've taken him up on his offer, even though I'd probably have pissed him off in some teeny way and then found myself abandoned in the hotel room with a fat bill to pick up! Okay I exaggerate, he's an angry person but he's not that angry! That boy also offered to take me to Barcelona by the way, so don't doubt for a second that I'm a hot-cake! I am...

I'm losing focus. I want to go to Paris with a boy. I want to go to Paris with a boy that I like enough to spend an entire weekend alone with and not for a second find myself wanting to slap him round the head! I want to go to Notre Dame and stand in the bell tower and sing the gargoyle song from Hunchback. You know the one.. (Okay you probably don't, because (a) you're not sad, and (b) you didn't grow up with a cartoon-obsessed little sister) It's..


"Paris, the city of lovers
Is glowing this evening
..That's because it's on fire
But still, there's "l'amooouur"
Somewhere out there in the night
Her Heart is also alight
And I know the guy she just might
Be burning foooooor"


Coyote comes over in exactly a month. Will he take me to Pareee? I doubt it.. I don't even think I wanna go to Paree with him. Its so played out.. I'm gonna go to Venice baybee! Yeah.. you heard me!! And when I get there? I'll sit in a gondola and be serenaded, and then go back to my lurrvely hotel and send you haters a postcard!

P.S. If I don't make it, you are allowed to snigger, not laugh, that's too painful.. Sniggering I can handle

"Gack!" "Egad!"

Okay so I did fall asleep with the face mask still on. Awoke at 3am with a rock-hard crust for a face. Needless to say I was not pleased.. I didn't scream, but I did make use of some exclamation or the other. Kinda like the ones you'd find in an Archie comic (hence the title.. in case you wondered where I was going with it).

Will all fingers of blame please point to a certain Coyote who disrupted my nightly schedule by falling ASLEEP before our nightly conversation, thus leaving me with a few more night-time hours than usual in which to amuse my stupid self?!

Thank you for your support

"I'm No Superman!" No .. You Don't Say..

Why is it the first time in an entire week that I decide I'm gonna put in some much-needed blog time that blogger decides to schedule an 'outage'?

The brother and I had a rather interesting and unecessarily drawn out debate today. After what must now be the 3rd or 4th episode in Season Two of Grey's Anatomy, he rolled over from his comfortable dent in the couch, focused on me and spouted some garbage about how the producers of Scrubs could sue Grey's Anatomy for the shameful pillaging of Scrubs story lines. This didn't go down well with me. As a dedicated viewer of the Shepherd-Grey-Shepherd triangle I assumed my natural duty and begun the tortuous defence of Grey's writers/producers/cast/whoever.

The brother's argument was as follows:
- Grey's copied Scrubs by being a hospital show
- Grey's copied Scrubs by being a witty hospital show
- Grey's copied Scrubs' use of the main character (JD/Meredith) as a narrator at the start of the show
- Grey's copied Scrubs' storyline of the unwanted wife who forces herself on a wilfully estranged husband and takes up a job at his hospital
- Grey's is worse than Scrubs because its cheesy and its a stupid show for chics

My argument was somewhat more dynamic. To tackle his first point, I stated that Grey's involved actual complex medical procedures whereas Scrubs centred more on areas like the hospital cafeteria than the "O.R.". I also added that the characters in Grey's were real people who sometimes had to be cheesy, as what would human life be without the odd ounce of Dairylee thrown in here and there? Now the bit about the ex-wife storyline, I believe that Grey's handles the situation in a much more realistic and daft-stunt-free manner. Secondly, there're a number of differences. Shepherd left his biatch of a wife because she cheated on him with his best friend. She then showed up and took the job as the best gynaecological surgeon at Seattle Grace, and ruined his relationship with Grey (for which I will never forgive her, no matter how nice they attempt to make us believe she is!) Cox on the other hand (the dude in Scrubs, if you're still following) left his wife because he hated her (see how much more simplistic this stupid show is?). She then showed up at his hospital and became a secretary! Did she interrupt an exciting and too-good-to-be-true relationship? NO!!! That's because no one in their right mind would ever go out with Cox! He has nothing on McDreamy (a.k.a. Shepherd).. Do you hear me? Nothing!!

*Inhale*

Perhaps the creators of Grey's took the piss by deciding to include one or two witticisms here and there in the show? There's already one funny hospital show, so why the hell should they be such blatant copy cats, and make another? Is that not the most ridiculous argument you've ever heard? I have found, (and my findings are usually accurate.. some of you even hail me as "Prophetess P") that regulars of Grey's are never regulars of Scrubs, and vice versa. They are completely different shows! To be a Scrubs fan.. first, you've gotta be male cuz yeah I'll admit its funny, but I'll also be the first to add that its incredibly daft and extremely unrealistic! You'd also have to be a bit of a neanderthal. Okay.. I'm being a bit extreme, but the brother pissed me off and I'm even more frustrated cuz I'm waaay too tired to write all my arguments out properly. Drifting in and out of sleep is not good blogger practice, neither does it produce a stimulating read.

Shit! I am actually falling asleep, and my face is still smothered in Aveda facemask... Good night!

Bitchy loves Rosie

Mmmm... rosé

G.A.Y- The gaydar never lies

Meeting a friend for the first time in a long while can be awkward. Meeting a friend you used to fancy and had weird history with for the first time in a long while can also be, pretty awkward. Meeting a friend you used to fancy and had weird history with for the first time in a long while, and realising on first sight that he is gay, is bloody awkward!!

He was wearing drainpipes. He was also wearing a ratty moth-eaten scarf that you would think was cool only if you were a confused goth-cum-grunge. On his head, I thought, was a bowler hat with bushy, straggly hair glued to it... you know, the type you find in comedy or halloween stores? But in fact, it was his real hair, and the hat was just the sorta accessory he is now known for.

He used to be, in American terms, a "mack-daddy". He was smooth, and outrageously flirtatious. He was also very goodlooking, in the pretty-boy way, and he dressed really really well. His look was well put-together and fashionable, but it was clear he hadn't had to stare at his reflection for over an hour to achieve the look. It was calculated and effortless all at the same time.

He was a player. Every girl thought she was the only one, the one he spent hours on the phone talking to, late at night.. Who knew that one boy could converse at length so many times a night? Pretty girls couldn't get enough of him, and you could even say that being wooed by him was rather flattering.

The only flaw at the time was what he called, and still refers to as, his "fear of commitment". With a normal guy, that phobia would inspire a series of flings with a number of women. But then, he would succumb to the temptation to date at least one seriously or semi-seriously.. at least once over a six year period!!!

My friend never went beyond the flirtatious, tentative stage. He would call you everyday and take you out nonstop for three or four months, make you fall hopelessly in love with him, and then vanish into thin air. I know, because stupidly, I allowed this to be done to me.... 3 times.

I first knew there was a problem when he (after the 3rd try with me) did the same thing to one of my friends who, would honestly receive marriage proposals on a daily basis but for the fact that she has a boyfriend. According to him, she didn't show enough interest. He was a man of the 21st century, and he needed the woman to do some work in return. I suppose by 'work' he meant calling him crying and begging everyday.

He spouted this same shpeel yesterday when we hung out, but the veil that had clouded my vision and understanding in the past, had floated away. He also divulged a number of "humorous" anecdotes detailing instances when his sexuality had been questioned, without realising (as I couldn't help but point out) that being mistaken for a gay guy by other gay guys isn't a good thing. If anything it confirms that you really are gay, as gay guys are reputed to be like wolves on a blood-trail when it comes to sniffing out those who swing their way!

The last straw was when he spoke with great intensity about the joys of the East End, and about its "unspoiled" vintage warehouses that lacked the commercialism of Camden and Portobello.

He's so gay.. but he doesn't know this song is about him!! Stay tuned for an invite to his coming-out party.

Star light Star bright Star blind

This morning, at about 02:30am I had what can only be described as an out-of-body experience. I lost my mind, I lost track of time and I lost all sense of propriety.

After dinner last night, the FTs, Zozo and I made our way to Mo*vida. That turned out to be crawling with slimey, bright orange Antonio Banderas lookalikes who were clearly loaded but extremely tacky as well. That was, the first (Yeah I know I'm over a year late okay?) and last time I will ever step foot into Mo*vida.

Next stop was Kabaret. A bunch of old friends were gonna be there, and we were desperate to get away from the fake tan and cigar sparklers. The music was great, the people were great and it was turning out to be an awesome night. And then at 02:00am I felt myself being pushed ever-so-slightly, and in a flash, caught a glimpse of JayZ's face as he was bundled into a table in the corner of the club.

Now, if you've never been there, it might be helpful for me to add that Kabaret is tiny! It's probably the smallest club I've ever been to. Its so small I don't know what I go looking for there on such a regular basis. So as you can imagine, my friends and I were shoved and bumped around as several desperate people (surprisingly fewer than I would have expected though) crammed themselves into the small space between my friends and I, and JayZ's bodyguards.

I'm not gonna pretend that I wasn't excited that he was there, but obviously, after like 15 minutes, my focus returned to the music. And then I got tapped on the shoulder by Steve, the puffy-afro'd promoter, and he goes "Do you and your friend wanna meet JayZ?" At first I thought he meant me and all my friends, so grabbed hold of Zozo and FT1. And then he's like "No... just you two" i.e. me and FT1. Dazed and confused, I let him lead us past the massivo bodyguard, thinking that I was gonna shake this guy's hand, say hello for a couple of seconds, and walk back out to meet my friends.

45 minutes later, I was sitting at a table with Chris Martin (Coldplay), to whom the first thing I said was "Oh my God, so sorry I didn't recognise you earlier! I love your wife!" Before hastily adding, "Ooh I love you too! 'Fix you' and all that!" [Yes... I'm an idiot!] I had also met Hype Williams, said brief hellos to Woody Harrelson and David Blaine (in my head I was like "don't you dare come near me, weirdo").. and I'd met JayZ, who I was sitting next to. Did I know that I had been sitting there for bloody ages? Not really. Was I having fun? Not really.. He's not exactly gifted at making conversation, and there were some other irritating model-wannabe/pouty types sitting with us, who were having the most enthralling (not!) conversation about..... Shit! I can't even remember what they were on about.. they really were that stupid! Did I remember that I had left two amazing people (one of whom is probably never gonna forgive me) on their own, in a club where they didn't know anyone else, and barely knew each other? No.

For like the first time ever in my life, I had stopped thinking. Obviously I was extremely flattered that Steve had considered us hot enough to be part of the "groupie" crew, and that JayZ and co obviously agreed with his verdict otherwise they would've sent us away, as they did to one girl! But I still can't explain why my mind (well, the part that's supposed to make you sensible) shut down like it did.. I mean, I'm not exactly the biggest JayZ fan. I did buy his last album (a bootleg version of course), but did I ever play it? No! Yeah I appreciate that he is one of the biggest entertainers of all-time, but then I don't really care much for rap, and I've only really gone crazy over the stuff he's done with other people. Although that said, I was completely clueless as to what to do when Beyonce's "Deja Vu" came on, which (as you know) has him, the man I was sitting next to, "doing his thing" on the track or whatever. It was so bloody awkward.. I love the song, and if I'd been with my friends, I would've been gyrating like a maniac, but I wasn't.. I was with the boyfriend of the singer, who was doing this clappy thing (which was so cool.. until his 50-something year old manager joined in, and I realised that "the clappy" was some kinda routine they had going on) and who wasn't really talking to me, or anyone else for that matter, so I couldn't exactly start bumping and grinding like a maniac in their midst.. I would've been kicked out.

... What amazes me, is the speed at which I forgot that my friends were out there, and had been out there for bloody ages, by themselves, with no clue as to when FT1 and I were gonna go back to them, or what they should be doing. Worse still, neither of them had wanted to go out, it'd been FT1 and I dragging them (literally!) along with us. And what I don't get is that I wasn't exactly having the time of my life, yet I couldn't bring myself to leave. My head was not working, and neither were my legs. Like the idiot-girls at the table (excluding FT1 of course) I simply sat there, dancing a little in my seat, smiling, making rubbish conversation with Jay's manager, in fact, completely ignoring "Jay" himself, who I had absolutely nothing to say to... and who didn't really wanna talk to me, or anyone else, for that matter. He was so uncharismatic (is that a word?) that at one point, FT1 leaned across the table and yelled, in her heavy Spanish accent, "Stop sulking!!" .. which was hilarious, but kinda scary, cuz I had a mental image of us being thrown (Fresh Prince of BelAir style) off the table, which, at that time, would honestly have been the worst thing in the world! My 'world' really had become that microscopic!!!

I didn't remember my friends were out there (God I am so SO ashamed) until the grizzly bouncer turned to face us, and announced that one of them was crying, at which point I started to regain my mind and cranial instruments. She was tired, she was angry, and as I later found out, she had been yelled at and publicly humiliated by the hideous bouncer for simply trying to get him to get a message across to me that she was leaving. She was pissed, she was livid.. and she was hurt.

A whirlwind of chaos followed, and somehow (I swear, my brain was still trailing some 5 or 6 looong paces behind me! Although it was catching up) we made it back to my flat. I discovered (here comes the cheesy revelation you've been waiting for.. teehee) that I'm really not cut out for the heartless bitch role. I cried and sobbed like a baby when I realised just how upset she was! And then cried on the phone like a lunatic, apologising to FT2. And then I tried to get all excited again about the night by phoning Chydo, who is a huge fan of my.. uh.. "buddy" Jay, but she wasn't having it... So I.. uh.. cried myself to sleep. What a night

Bye Bye Bummie

Its gonna be Friday in just under an hour, and I canNOT believe this is the first time all week I've been free to blog. The workload has been ridiculous. Every day literally, I've had to do some form of work at home after class, and it has been the most annoying thing ever. I suppose you could ask why I'm so surprised that I'm expected to work this hard at law school, but then you've gotta allow for the fact that I only recently graduated from a relatively chilled-out school where it was pretty much up to you whether or not you did your essays, or showed up to lectures, or went to classes, or did anything vaguely school-related all year round. The only 'sanction' you would face if you took the piss, was an automated email demanding that you (the bum who had been couch-bound for an insane amount of time and who was clearly one of the laziest things crawling on the planet) find some way to get in touch with your tutor to explain your absences. What an ingenius (and cost-effective) way to deal with truancy.

Tonight, for the first time all week, I watched tv. Who knew that an exercise as basic as channel-surfing would one day fill me with the immeasurable amount of joy I experienced this evening. Not only did I watch TV... No.. I watched something I have been waiting for, for a long time.. the return of Grey's Anatomy!!! My excitement was quelled somewhat by my brother's revelation that I had in fact missed the season premiere, which aired last Thursday (I honestly cannot remember what I was doing that day).. but nonetheless I was, and still am, ecstatic!

My evening just got a thousand times better! Given that I have regained control of the remote-control tonight, and that Grey's is over, I'm on 352 i.e. Magic. And what're they playing? Lionel Richie's "My Destiny".. a song that I love, cheesy as it is. Yaaay! I'm so happy. Life is gooood.

I noticed something about these lawyer-types this week, which has highlighted the fact that I'm really outta my depth here. That whole myth about lawyer/city-types working hard but then playing very very hard was never really something I gave much thought to. I couldn't understand, when I was on the outside looking in, how it was possible to party and club and drink after having slogged away for 11 hours straight! [Ronan Keating's "If tomorrow never comes" Oh my God! I LOVE Magic!!] People on the LPC are phenomenal. Fine, they're not exactly working from 9 till 8pm, but they do go home each evening to a mountain of i-tutorials (these ridiculous lectures on DVD that I am, somewhat worryingly, beginning to enjoy and look forward to) and workshop prep tasks (which consist of pages and pages of boring textbook reading, followed by mind-numbing regurgitation exercises). Despite this however, they can be found, every evening without fail, at Parker Macmillan, where they will remain until 10 or 11pm. Now, I don't know about you, but when I know I have to get up at 7.30 in order to make it to my 9 o' clock the next morning, and that I have at least 4 hours' worth of reading to do before walking into that class, there is no way it would ever cross my mind to make "a quick stop" at a bar! And what's even more amazing is that if they're not going for drinks with one another, then they're going for drinks with non-LPC friends, or having people over for dinner, or just doing something.. anything.. to avoid having to spend one unbearable minute in peace and quiet at home!!
[Will Young - "Leave Right Now".. this is incredible!!!]

Basically, what I'm trying to say is, there is no middle ground with these people. They flit from hard work to hard play and back again, without ever feeling the need to slow down. I on the other hand, operate in a completely different way.. The middle ground is where I dwell.. it is where I fester and "kotch" and create dents and moulds in my couch. Without the middle ground, I would explode.. No joke. And to be honest, I probably would've exploded tonight if another phone call (like the one I got yesterday) had come through pleading with me to come down to some bar where "every one" was going to be. I still can't believe, that in "the spirit of sociability", I actually got out of my pyjamas and kissed goodbye to a night of golden relaxation (like the one I'm having now) and made it down to meet the FTs. I did have a good time, but I know for a fact that I would've had as good a time on my couch. Yes.. I'm sad, but so what?! I like to be at home. I like to sit in slouchy tracky-bums and talk to friends on the phone (and to PFB " Possible Future Boyfriend"- more about him later) and blog and watch tv and just bum! Despite my best efforts to bring the others round to what they now see as "the dark side", it looks as though I'm gonna be saying goodbye to this very comfortable way of living, if I'm to stand a chance of gelling and being immersed in LPC/lawyer-ville. The aim for now though, is to reach a compromise. I intend to secure at least one night mid-week for the sole act of bumming (and yes.. it is an "act"!!), as well as the weekend. Is that too much to ask for? I don't think so. I'm prepared to say bye bye to bummie for the sake of being sociable with these people (who I actually really like).. but like all other junkies and addicts, I need to be weaned off the bum drug ... slooowly.. very very slowly.
[Extreme - "More than words".. I can now die a happy bunny! Magic ROCKS!!]

A little tid-bit

It pays to have an online subscription to the FT. (Just had to slip that in there somehow so that you could choose, if you are that way inclined, to be impressed at my commitment to becoming a commercially-aware/business-minded individual, even though such things bore me to death!!!)

Where was I? Oh yes... You wake up on a Saturday morning, apprehensive about the nature of the 'world' you will officially dive into on Monday morning... and then you see something like this on the frontpage of the FT.. (Bear in mind, as you read, that my FF [Future Firm!! Get with the lingo!] has been the leading M&A firm in all of Europe for the last five years or so, and still is.. )

M&A drives surge in drinking problems
"The pressures of the recent boom in mergers and acquisitions have driven a surge in alcohol addiction among City professionals such as investment bankers, lawyers and accountants, according to counselling organisations and attendance levels at Alcoholics Anonymous. AA now holds up to 22 meetings a week across the City of London and Canary Wharf, compared with what the organisation says was “substantially fewer” a decade ago."

The rest of the article is pointless and boring... But.. uh.. yah.. say a little prayer for me will ya?

Hey Bobby! What's the French for Va Va Voom?

Its 05:30am and I have only just gotten back home. Not because I was at a bar, or a club.. But because I was at my cousins' house. Nothing particularly exciting was going on there but somehow we managed to sustain a stimulating conversation from 9pm when I arrived, till a few minutes ago.

My cousins, as it turns out.. know everyone!! When I got to theirs, I knew I was going to end up divulging the name of the young gentleman whose acquaintance I had recently made. This gentleman hasn't been mentioned here before because, at this moment in time, he and I are only just friends.. and there really and truly is nothing exciting to report back. I suppose we've only known ourselves for a couple of weeks and I should be the last person (given past experience) wanting to jump the gun, but I am really having trouble with the fact that nothing exciting has happened yet. Another problem I have is that its proven very difficult to dig up any dirt on him.. everything's been just a bit too straightforward. Its not that there's anything wrong with him... He's a really really nice guy, but I'm not comfortable knowing that I have no info about his character aside from the little he has chosen to reveal to me.

Anyway... so it turns out that there is no dirt. And so, for the first time ever in my life, my cousins have more or less given me the go ahead to pursue a relationship with a guy! This is not to say that I have decided to go into a relationship of any sort with him, but at least now I know that my cousins (who are so judgemental by the way) will approve.

Encouraging as that should have been, all I've done since then is doubt the nature of the feelings I have for this 'gentleman' or 'dude'. As yet, I don't think there are any real feelings there. Yes.. I'm intrigued by him and I like what I know thus far, but, as I whinged all day to my 'personal fashion-guru' (who by the way is excellent!!), there's no Va Va Voom! She thinks I'm ridiculous.

Now.. I know I need the Va Va Voom! I just do.. okay? Like many other young people, I've had one or two relationships in which the VVV played a vital role, and others in which it quite simply did not exist! The latter, on the whole, tended to be boring, drawn-out relationships at the end of which the VVV-lacking dude was left hurting. Why? Because I got bored! I've been struggling to identify the characteristics that incite the VVV in a relationship, but could come up with nothing other than the fact that I tend to like, and be very attracted to, very bad (and very stupid mind you..) boys. The arrogant bastard who has no reason whatsoever to be up himself, is the sort at whose feet I have been known to swoon. One friend's diagnosis was that I like the thrill of wanting and having someone whilst knowing that I in fact do not 'have' the person (because he's probably playing me), and neither should I be wanting him (because he's a dog and I deserve better)! Does that make any sense? I don't know..

I'm hoping that friend will be proved wrong. On paper, 'the gentleman' is perfect. On paper, he and I together, could be perfect.. and unlike all the other guys I've considered, he's so nice and so mature and really interesting and genuine... Basically, he's great. Despite all this I can't help but worry over the absence in my stomach of fluttery butterflies and caterpillars. I have chosen to think that they're away on holiday at the moment on the pretext of incredible fatigue caused during the past month by my dancing from the possibility of a relationship with one boy, to the possibility of one with another. If I was in Nigeria, I would probably say my stomach bugs have gone on strike. So what do I do? PFG says I should wait. But I hate waiting! She says, wait for something big to happen.. something that will jolt the lazy creatures back into action. The theory is that if I allow my butterflies to rest now, and then something big happens (I really can't imagine what could possibly happen!), because by then they'll be well rested and will have gotten over the trauma of the summer, they will warm instantly to the idea of a long long season of flitting and fluttering to their hearts' content. And then me and my love (who by then will also be my 'lust' *thumbs up*) will dance the night away... under a blanket of twinkle twinkle little stars.. and Thierry Henry and his band will provide the background music. Hooraaay!

Chalk Farm Tube

Who knew it was on the Northern Line? And who knew that it involved a 45 minute journey from Baker Street consisting of a change at Kings Cross and a bewildered meander through a million and one tunnels? I certainly didn't. If I did, I wouldn't have ended up feeling incredibly stupid when I discovered that it was a mere 15 minute walk from my flat!

I got a call from a really lovely 'fellow-future-trainee' (FFT) yesterday, who I'd met last week and had really liked. She invited me to a picnic with her and another really nice girl, and said - meet at Chalk Farm tube at 12.30. This morning, admittedly a little late (at 11.30) I had a look at the TFL (Transport for London) website which, I am not ashamed to say I still use, after five years of living in London. Now, the TFL Journey Planner has never failed me in the past. You put in the postcode, street or tube stn at which you want to begin your journey, similar details for your destination, and then the amazing planner presents a number of bus routes by which you can get there. It even goes so far as to give you an estimate for the journey time, and a PDF map for each stage of the journey (depending on if you have to change buses etc). Now.. I'm a lazy bum. I hate the tube for the same reasons as all other normal people (non-Londoners included) which are, that its dirty, its hot, its dirty, its slow, its dirty, it smells and.. (you get it..) its dirty!! But another reason why I hate the tube, which I never ever disclose for fear of being seen as an utter slob, is that the nearest tube station to me, is a 5-6 minute walk from my flat. For this very shameful reason, I much prefer the bus, as there's a stop right outside my doorstep, at which I can have my pick of 4 different red buses (my favourite of which is the 274, to digress slighty).

Yeah.. so.. anyway.. TFL.gov.uk or whatever the url is, told me that I'd have to change buses twice and then walk for about 15 minutes, which I thought was basically, ridiculous. So, despite the fact that I would have to walk to the station and change at Kings Cross (another thing I never do is take the tube if I have to change lines), I decided to go by tube. Anyway, to cut this story short, it took me abso-bloody-lutely ages to get to Chalk Farm. In fact, I was 45 minutes late!! I was also ridiculously hot, and had developed two not-inconspicuous sweat patches under my arms. This of course meant that I would remain insanely hot for the rest of the afternoon, as I didn't want my new friends to think I was some native who had never heard of a razor or hair removal cream, and therefore, didn't take my cardigan off the entire afternoon.. not once, not even when the sun was burning up my back and I began to fear that I might faint!!

You will therefore probably be as surprised as I was, when, despite the aforementioned mishaps, it turned out to be a really lovely afternoon! The two FFTs are such nice people, and they're so my kind of people! Something small to illustrate this, is what we had for lunch. I know I'm about to come off sounding like a pretentious ass, but I really couldn't care less. I could not believe it when we stopped at this gorgeous delicatessen, and they pounced on the pate, cheese and tapenade! In fact, if I'm honest, I felt totally out of my league, as, even though I'm a lover of "fine" food, I don't actually know much about it, or about the different types available. So there they were ranting about Chaume cheese (which I had to confess I'd never tried, although it turned out that I had had it once before, but I'm just not the type who remembers the names of cheeses!) and Forrestiere pate, and all I could do was grin like a complete loser, cuz I'd already discovered many other things we had in common, and was just so happy! (F.y.i I do have friends by the way. I realise I'm coming off as a complete desperado/overeagerbeaver, so I just had to stress that I do have other friends of my own, who are in fact very cool, and will probably be the only people to ever read this blog. Gosh.. they're so gonna roll their eyes at that last bit) So anyway... I've decided I love the two FFTs, because, pretentious as I've made them sound (which they so aren't), they're also really really nice, down to earth people!

All this time I've spent gushing about the FFTs has made me really really late to meet my own real friends (who do exist.. I promise!), and they're probably already mad at me as I live 5 minutes away from the restaurant we were meant to meet at half an hour ago, but will most likely be the last to arrive. So.. till next time..

Strawberry Sensations

The box says "Delicious eaten hot or cold". I disagree. They're only good when they're hot... and fresh from the toaster. But then they're too hot to handle when they're fresh from the toaster, which means you're left with a fuzzy, fried tongue. There's no denying that they're delicious though. When I was younger, I thought they were sickly and too sweet... Isn't that ironic? My tastebuds were a lot more mature then than they are now. Having gone out into the big bad world however, I now jump, literally, at the chance to devour something sweet and.. uh.. sugary. There's a lot of bitterness out there, and consequently, with the passing of time, I've become a sucker for sugar. A favoured medium of the sugar fix, is the Pop Tart, especially the Strawberry variety. All I need is one to see me through the day.

Last week, I met the other 129 'young professionals' in the same boat as me. The boat was bloody crowded mind you, which meant that at every coffee break I lunged frantically at the scantily-clad tables which screamed out promises of "sugar, sugar and more sugar!!!" I'm not saying the environment was bitter, rather, that the growing realisation of my sheer incompetence when compared to the other 129, did incredible things to my own personal levels of bitterness.

Take Day Two of the Induction Programme for example... On that memorable day, I found myself feeling rather drunk and disoriented as a result of a poorly-prescribed dosage of malaria medication. The 'medic' who proffered the prescription was in fact my mother, who has no medical training whatsoever, so I can't exactly say I was surprised to find myself stumbling over my abnormally-large shoes, falling off chairs, and slurring my oddly-constructed sentences. I was put to work in a team of five, which proved to be a total disaster for the simple reason that in such a small team, the efficiency of each member is paramount. This also means, that any dummies within the team are immediately exposed, as there really is nowhere to run or nothing to hide behind when there're so few of you. I made not one useful contribution over the course of the 8 hour day. By the 5th hour, I resigned myself to the menial task of moving the counters around the board (.. we were playing a game, not studying rocket science, which makes this memory all the more painful) and counting out the money. I also proved to be a dab hand at wiping out the figures recorded from the previous round, without leaving the slightest trace of black ink behind on the board - Talk about a fait accompli!

By the end of the day I had eaten six or seven chocolate biscuits and had drank 3 cups of tea (each with 3 cubes of sugar). If only I'd had a trusty Pop Tart to hand. First, it would have spared me having to drink disgusting tea (I hate tea.. but more on that later). Second, it would have gone some way towards compensating me for the shame, dismay and extreme sorrow I felt on that terrible terrible day. Actually, now that I think about it, it would have taken a hell of a lot more than one Pop Tart to do the trick. Day Two was a bad bad day

Bitchy.. c'est qui exactement?

Bitchy is a girl, aged 21, living in London, not in the City, but who, very soon, will begin working in the City.

Bitchy is me. I am Bitchy. My name, in fact, is Bitchy.. not because I'm a particularly bitchy female, but because of my creator's inexplicable obsession with all things bitch-related.

I am a fictional character. At first glance, my profile may be remarkably similar to that of my creator.. but, despite what you may think, I am, in fact, a different person.

In a year's time, I will be joining a gynormous corporation - a city law firm to be exact. Am I happy about this? I don't know. At the moment, you could say I was 'ambivalent'.

Over the next year I will be at a Law School, in London, attending a course that has been created, designed and manipulated by my future firm (FF) to ensure that I will in no way deviate from the stereotype of which the firm is so proud. I will emerge a smarter, and more mentally-stimulated individual.

In the process, I will have no life, no love (how on earth am I to pencil boyfriend-discovery time into a schedule that is already teeming with 50hrs of 'constructive' learning a week?), an alcohol addiction (because everyone around me will be substance-dependent and I draw the line at anything that is smoked, snorted or injected), and will most likely be overweight (who goes to the gym after 50 hours? Nobody.. that's who).

Things do not look good.