Why?

I woke this morning to a bombardment of 'why?' questions.

(This dog asks 'why?' a lot too).

Why does my bag smell like Jagermeister?

Why did i give my number to a very strange (in a kind of scary way) male?

Why did i tell my grandmother to come over for tea this afternoon after work when i knew i'd be hung-over?

Why did i tell her i'd bake?

Why is there a rooster outside my door here at work?

Why did i send people text messages when i should have kept my hands in my pockets?

Why am i such an embarrassment to all things female?

Why won't my 'Nice day for a Picnic' totally awesome picture story not post on this stupid blog?

Why did i insist we call 'new' Nathan, Nathan original?

Why did Ben Hermann keep calling me 'Northam' and then ruffle my hair? How did he even know that was my last name? And who ruffles hair these days?

And finally, now this is the real puzzler, why the fuck do i remember everything when i was so very drunk?





For those lucky souls who don't know me in 'real' life i'm one of those special kids who as soon as they even sniff alcohol will have no recollection of anything thereafter. But not last night! Oh no, painfully i remember everything. Everything (i think). I like it the other way, as much as i bitch about it i kind of like not remembering anything.

So Vanessa, i'm sorry. You know why. But we did look pretty freakin' awesome as Velma and Gloria, Film Noir hatted Femme Fatales.





Oh, on a really hilarious unrelated side note, yesterday when Torben and i went to buy alcohol (what a mistake that was), he realised he'd forgotten his money, he then lamented this fact by saying, 'Oh Jaimie, i've left my money at home. I'm such a muffin'





I nearly cried i laughed so hard.