Why I shouldn’t spend too much time on my own. Also, weapons.

As part of the recent office move, the team I work on was placed in an area on our own, completely separate from the other departments. It is a lovely area – we have an awful lot of space, floor to ceiling windows and are situated right by the kitchen (the perfect location for me to indulge my addiction to a good cup of tea). There are plenty of plants scattered around the place, and we get a view over the car park - which sounds a bit dull, but can be great for a little indulgence in the art of people watching. It really is a nice place to work.

I say that with one caveat. You see, I work on a team of only two people, which means that when one of us is out of the office, the other is left in a state of solitary confinement.

While this is fine for short periods of time, it became not so fine when my partner-in-crime went on holiday recently (not that we do office-based crime for a living, but partner-in-system-implementation-amongst-other-things-related-to-the-system just doesn’t have the same ring to it). While she was off having a jolly time of things in the sun, I was forced to spend a whole week at work sharing my own company. To make matters worse, on at least two nights of my stint alone, Fiance would be attending various drinking events in town. This meant, that with the exception of the drunken rambling I anticipated when Fiance got home, I was faced with two separate full days of nothing but me to keep me entertained.

Now, I have always known that I love talking, but I didn’t realise quite how much until I had no-one to talk to. By which I specifically mean no-one human to talk to.

You see, during this week of my own company I would catch myself turning to the stuffed toys I have on my desk to discuss some problem or other that had cropped up and how I could go about solving it. I’ll be honest – neither Piglet, or Penguin Poirot were particularly helpful, but that really wasn’t the problem here. I was talking to stuffed toys, because I just had to spend some of my day talking.

Whenever I heard a door opening, or footsteps moving around the office, I would instantly look towards the source of the sound, praying it was someone coming to see me so I could let my repressed chatter out. If the sound was someone not coming to see me, but simply someone moseying along to the kitchen to get a refreshing beverage, I would hijack their mission and talk at them for as long I could manage.

By the time I reached the 3^rd day of work-based loneliness, which coincided with the second of Fiance’s nights out, people had obviously started to take pity on the tortured soul who sat in the corner of the office and talked to her toys. When I revealed my plan for the evening – “I guess I’ll be going home and talking to the table about whatever rubbish happens to be on the telly” – I was instantly invited round to a sympathetic listener’s house for dinner and drinks with him and his missus.

While I was grateful for the offer, I still wasn’t sure whether I was going to accept it when I got home some hours later. Even though it would result in a further enforcement of time spent on my own, there was something appealing about the idea of crashing out on the couch in my comfies and just staying there for the duration of the evening.

All that changed, however, when I went to pour myself a glass of whiskey and coke. I had just opened the fridge door when I noticed the silver glint of a can of beer I didn’t know existed. I was so pleased I actually greeted it like an old friend.

Enough was enough. If I couldn’t find enough to do at home to stop me from talking to inanimate objects, then action most definitely had to be taken. Within half an hour, I was in a taxi en route to my saviour’s house.

This is where the weapons come in.

Despite knowing that he and his wife had a love of all things Taekwondo, I had never really linked the martial art to weapons. We didn’t even notice them in the living room when Fiance and I had visited their house before. But there were weapons, and there were lots of them and this time, I spotted them. Well, I spotted the handle of something that looked quite pretty and asked a question.

It turns out there was an entire arsenal of weaponry scattered around the room – I am not going to pretend I can remember the names of them, so I will stick to the general description of swords, knives and sticks.

At this point, I should stop before you get the wrong idea, and explain that I’m not for a second implying these friends are psychos with an unhealthy love of shiny sharp things that can hurt people. They are highly trained in the art of using them, the blades have all been blunted, and there was a lot of explanation about how the weapons should be used primarily as defensive tools.

There were also demonstrations and they were highly impressive. Especially considering the amount of whiskey that had been consumed prior to the weapon wielding. And never once did I feel nervous that nun-chucks were being flung around, or that a sword was being professionally twirled. I can’t say the same for the TV speaker, wall, or door panels that each lost a little chunk of their being, but despite those rather loud exceptions, it was clear that the various weapons were being brandished by an expert.

And then Fiance called as he reached the end of his night out, and was invited to join us. Now – and this is relevant – I am sure he would be the first to admit that he has experienced many clumsy tendencies throughout his years – if anyone is going to knock a drink over with an out-of-control flailing limb, the chances are it will be him. So while I was delighted when he arrived, I was rather nervous as I saw his eyes light up when he spotted one of the swords poking temptingly out of its storage place.

With the same instant generosity that led me to spending the evening in company, Fiance was invited to hold the sword. I think even he was aware of the potential danger posed by his drunken grasp on the hilt, and he sat stock still with all his concentration aimed at not making contact between blade and anything. There wasn’t even a probing swish. Unless there was and I was so terrified I have blanked out the entire episode.

Fortunately, and somewhat surprisingly, I am able to report that on this occasion there were no incidents or accidents that resulted from Fiance wielding a weapon. However, that hasn’t stopped me from realising how dangerous being on my own for a prolonged period of time can be. As this story clearly demonstrates, it could easily lead to me being accidentally injured by a blunt sword held in the hands of a drunken Fiance.

Bridezilla Moves to a New Office - and I go Bridezilla

For the first time since this blog started, I was prepared for what I was going to write about today. I had little pictures drawn, a quip or two planned in my head and the fire in my belly to put pen to paper. Or finger to keypad, more accurately. Basically, I was raring to go.

But then today happened, and everything changed - I had a new tale that I simply couldn't not tell in tonight's post. My preparation work was wasted (for this week, anyway), because I had to talk about a period of about 30 minutes this afternoon when I turned into Bridezilla for the first time.

And by that, I mean I suffered my first bout of wedding stress.

And by wedding stress, I mean wedding anger.

I was busy having a very constructive day at work when my mobile rang. It was a local number, but not one that I had saved to my phone so I was unaware as to the origin of the call. Imagine my excitement when the tinny voice on the end of the phone announced it was the bridal shop that I had ordered my beautiful, wonderful wedding dress from!

My heart was in my mouth. My dress! Surely it can't be here already?

No, it wasn't. In fact, it was very far from being here. The voice on the end of the phone started to ask if I was able to come in for the measurements for my dress. I was confused. Confusion swiftly turned to worry as a noise resembling a nervous giggle emanated from the phone, and the voice went on to confirm that they had actually got my measurements, and they were clearly marked on the piece of paper she was looking at. My worry deepened as the voice explained that the dress hadn't been ordered yet.

I quickly calculated the time that had passed since we had been into the shop and confirmed that we wished to purchase the dress that I had tried on. A wish that we confirmed by actually paying the full amount at the time. A method I had assumed meant the dress would be ordered immediately. The voice sounded uncertain as it tried to ensure my worry didn't turn into anger by politely explaining that the order form had been placed into the binder without anyone having the foresight to speak to the supplier about actually ordering it.

The voice's efforts were in vain. I had transformed from reasonable bride in a good mood to an uncalmable Bridezilla in full rage in a matter of seconds. If I was playing Buzz Word Bingo, the phrase 'bad service' would have been a frequent scorer given the number of times I managed to splutter it out in the angry rant that ensued. "My bridesmaids!" I went on to exclaim. "I can't get their dresses sorted until I have an offcut from the alterations from my dress that I can use to match colours!" Despite this being a fairly recent realisation, it became an incredibly important point for the purposes of this discussion. "I simply cannot afford to wait an additional five weeks to dress my bridesmaids, and now I have to magic the extra time out of nowhere" I continued in a haze of naivety at how Bridezilla-ish I had suddenly become "...all because of your BAD SERVICE", I finished with a satisfying flourish.

To give her credit, the voice at the end of the phone was very apologetic. And probably very embarrassed when she phoned back ten minutes later to confirm that actually, the order had been placed, but the all important piece of paper hadn't been updated to show that it had been done. In order to throw water on an unstable bride's anger, they've also requested a sample of the material from the supplier - due to arrive early next week - that I can use to get my bridesmaids' dresses sorted. I am under strict instructions to contact them if I have not heard anything by Wednesday.

While the shop hasn't shown itself in the best light, I have been reassured that my dress will not be late. However, that doesn't stop my concern about the speed at which I turned from a chilled out bride who is convinced that everything will fall into place, into a manic, furious monster who is convinced the world is crashing down when something doesn't go according to plan. I believe this means the wedding planning has officially begun (even though it has been casually underway for months). I don't think I am ready for the transformation.

I am, however, ready to post the next installment of Bridezilla, who appears to be getting more and more autobiographical as the weeks progress. Today, she is moving office, as I did this week - although fortunately, my transition was much less stressful than that suffered by our comic bride.

However, I would say that the brown lumps in the cup of tea were inspired entirely by real life... 

Bridezilla Tries to Leave the House - it is the weekend after all

Yay! Friday is finally here, and it's great to welcome it with a giant hug from our open arms. Fiance  is watching the England game, and in time honoured fashion in our household, I shall distract myself with writing and marinating myself in a lager or two - 'drunk' is my most preferred method for observing football - and if I concentrate hard enough on this post, I might even be able to ignore the one-way discussion Fiance will be aiming at the telly-box for the next 90 minutes.

We're off to the Wedding Fair on Sunday - I'd only heard about it through word of mouth so took the time to check out the website earlier today. Boy, am I glad I did. Still feeling like a wedding newbie, I was astounded to read that you had to pay for the privilege of entry - although with hindsight, I see that I was naive to think that anything related to weddings might not cost us anything.

Navigating away from the main page, however, I stumbled across a delightful piece of news - brides don't have to pay anything for entry! I signed up straight away and printed off my complimentary ticket. I'm guessing the engagement ring, and bored looking man in tow will be sufficient proof of my impending bridal status when we get there. And I can totally handle the two days worth of solid spam I'm bound to get after exchanging my email address for free entry (I will, of course, unsubscribe as soon as I have returned home after enjoying the aforementioned free entry).

Fiance is very happy about going - on top of the X-box gadget on the way home, we discovered we will be greeted with canapes and champagne. This is a great idea from the organisers to placate and relax the hubbies-to-be before they are dragged around a myriad of stalls, and demonstrations and... well, I don't really know what else to expect. I just hope I don't see my dress there - I would be incapable of responding to it in some way or other, and I know Fiance would notice and suspect something. I just have to pray we don't meet - because for one day only, the dress will be my nemesis.

I guess I've returned to the aimless rambling there, but eventually I have reached the purpose of the post - so it's time to roll out the next Bridezilla, where she is trying the simple task of leaving the house...

Bridezilla Goes to the Cinema - while I cook sausages

Well, what do you know. Apparently, "because I am too busy trying to be funny" is not a recognised as a valid excuse by the 'Why You Should Cook Dinner Tonight' panel (which is comprised solely of Lovely Fiance). So I started writing this post whilst having to make frequent dashes through to the kitchen to make sure I'm not burning the house down by neglecting the frying sausages. For the record, it went well - the house is still standing and the sausages were lovely.

It has been a GOOD DAY today- I went back to an article I'd pitched at Cracked.com with the intention of tidying it up in preparation for this week's editorial meeting, only to find that it had been accepted while I wasn't looking. I love surprises like that one. So rather than doing wedding things, I've been busy writing, and messing about with GIMP. (I guess I should specify that's GIMP the photo-manipulation program rather than anything sordid).

We are definitely going to a wedding fayre this weekend though - I have convinced Fiance it is a good idea (suggesting that we stop on the way home to buy a gadget for the new X-Box was, I think, the winning manoeuvre). And we ARE going to secure the services of a photographer. See, there is nothing to worry about. Well, there won't be after the weekend at least.

So that's more than enough rambling on my part - the next installment of Bridezilla is well overdue:

Bridezilla Goes to Work - and so do I

Thanks to the birth of this blog falling on a weekend, today has been my first day of blogging and working (not at the same time, I hasten to add!) - it's been a long day at the office, and I've been exhausted which hasn't helped. Needless to say, I have done nothing wedding related. However, that doesn't make for a great post, so before throwing out the next installment of Bridezilla, I figured I might as well share one of my favourite wedding stories so far.

Mum is rather excited about the forthcoming wedding, and I will always recall a discussion we had not long after the engagement where we deliberated over the guest list and who would be invited. There was a brief lull in the conversation after I'd gone into detail naming every relative I could think of to ensure no-one had cause to feel neglected. After a comfortable silence, my mum asked a question which struck me as rather straightforward for her usually cautious approach: "Will you be having children?"

As soon as my blood reached the decision that my face had turned a sufficient shade of red, it returned to the various parts of my body that allowed me to stutter a response along the lines of "Bit early...I mean... not no... but... straighaway... too soon".

Mum looked shocked before giggling a reply: "Actually, I was asking if you'd be inviting children to the wedding".

Yep, that sure explained a lot. This has quickly become a family favourite tale - I'm sure I'll be hearing it for the rest of my days.

Aaaaanyway, let me get back to the purpose of this post by finishing with the next comic, in which Bridezilla heads off for a day's gainful employment...