T.G.I.F.

Thank god indeed. I was beginning to feel as though this week would never end.

Yesterday saw (to my immense joy) the return of the OC. I like to think he was pleased to see me too, though I couldn't be entirely sure - his illness has made him even more grumpy than usual. Sadly I find this endearing rather than off-putting, and so spent a sizeable chunk of my day thinking up witty things to email him.

I was also informed by one of the girls in the office that I was "absolutely brilliant" the last Friday before Christmas (the night of the wildly inappropriate dancing). This worries me somewhat, as I have absolutely no recollection of even seeing her. Neither do I recall leaving the pub, arriving at the club, how we got there or most of what we did on arrival. She assured me that myself, the OC (I had no idea he was there either) and my aforementioned dance victim partner were the drunkest people there, the most fun to be around, and definitely the ones having the best time. Am now totally paranoid that both she, the OC and anyone else from work who might have been in attendance witnessed our little performance (flashbacks of which involve us both pressed up against the bar, foreheads touching, and a certain amount of bum-grabbing on my part), and probably remembers more about it than I do. It'll be round work in a flash - our office loves gossip; the more scandalous the better. Thank fuck I didn't get with him. I might have been up close and personal with the line, but at least I didn't cross it.

Tonight was, in contrast, a calmer affair. A few drinks in the pub and then dinner in a nearby Italian which I deserve some sort of loyalty card to, the amount of times I've been. It was also much more sedate than the previous time I was there, which involved the crazy Polish girl in Accounts and one of the interns supplementing their respective dinners with three lines of coke each, one of which Polish did off my lap at the table. I thought she was getting something out of her handbag. The waiter did a triple-take and I thought we were going to get arrested.

Who needs to live vicariously eh?

Back to work

Oh London, how I have missed you.

Today marked my first day of work in 2013, and a welcome return to the relative sanity of the office (relative compared to my family, that is). As much as I love my parents and brother, the holiday spirit was definitely beginning to fray around the edges by last night.

I enjoy my job, and love everyone at work an unreasonable amount, almost without exception (those exceptions being a couple of the more terrifying directors, and the guy I accidentally slept with a couple of times who now no longer talks to me unless it is absolutely necessary.) That being said, it took until 3pm, aided by a large burger, chips, five cups of tea and a slice of birthday cake, before I was actually able to work up any kind of enthusiasm, project management wise. I mean really, how excited can one get about gluten-intolerant Sainsbury's shoppers?

I was also mildly devastated to discover that my Office Crush was off sick today. The OC is a fair bit older than me, cynical, sarcastic, tactless, utterly hilarious and (mercifully) completely oblivious to the fact that my friend and I spend an inordinate amount of time plotting ways to get him to marry me.

Today also marked my return to my beloved flat, sadly sans my equally beloved but emotionally unstable flatmate, S. S and I lived together in halls at university and then again in our third year, in a ramshackle house that we loved and my mother referred to as a health hazard. (She memorably refused to use our bathroom, oven or any of our crockery on one of her very few visitations.) Thus, we are very used to each other and our little foibles: S is an expert worrier who frequently dashes back to check the oven is switched off; I am a borderline OCD-freak who rearranges the cupboards to suit my mood. I miss S inordinately; her return will doubtless be greeted by hugs, vodka and swapping tales of horrendous New Year's Eve shenanigans, followed equally doubtlessly by tears over Russell Brand, her douchebag not-quite-ex boyfriend with whom she is kind-of-sort-of back together.

I also had an emergency Whatsapp confab with the Slug Club over my most recent Boy-related heartache. The Slug Club comprises of myself and two friends who took English with me at university. We bonded over our shared love of all things geek (Harry Potter, Doctor Who and more specifically David Tennant, Sherlock Holmes and more specifically Benedict Cumberbatch, Lord of the Rings, Game of Thrones, Mario Kart), as well as good food, English literature, and excellent conversation. The general SG consensus on the Boy was basically "he's a twat", which while informative, wasn't all that helpful.

Incidentally, that was S's pronouncement when I told her about the New Year's Eve messages. "Let him go", she advised. Slightly pot calling kettle, given her current situation, but as Oscar Wilde famously remarked, "I always pass on good advice. It is the only thing to do with it. It is never of any use to oneself."

New Year's Day

So much for a fresh start.

New Year's Day is traditionally greeted with a raging hangover, a full English breakfast, and a sense of unease as you slowly begin to recall what happened the night before. This year, however, I woke hangoverless and alone (parents presumably having gone to the pub), emptied the dishwasher listening to my mother's borderline-depressive The Script album, and generally felt a little bit sorry for myself.

Last night was interesting, in the way that gastroenteritis, literary critical theory and Facebook statuses about parties you weren't invited to are interesting. My claims that I was too unwell to go out became something of a self-fulfilling prophecy (Karma's a vindictive bitch), so I rang in the new year with stomach cramps, chills and an inability to eat or drink anything without feeling violently ill. I also received a series of drunken Whatsapp messages from the Boy, who decided that 2am was a great time to update me on how his night was going. "Punxh claimed first vixtim at 12 midnight exactly. Ot's alright I kissed girflforend so he's okqy."

I deduced from this (and from subsequent misspelled missives) that one of his friends was too busy throwing up to kiss his girlfriend as 2013 began, so the Boy kindly stepped in and did the honours. Three times. As any good friend would.

Following my overtones of disapproval at his attempts to justify himself (including but not limited to "it was only a joke", "she always liked me but nothing serious", "it was friendly", "it didn't mean anything", and "he won't find out", only less well-spelled), I was informed that I love the idea of such debauchery, but I am too afraid and guilty to pursue it myself, so I live vicariously through him.

With this scathing character critique in mind, my New Year's To Do List:

1. Get promoted.
2. See my friends more; plan more exciting things to do.
3. Stop buying so many things I don't need and can't afford.
4. Stop dancing in a wildly inappropriate fashion with guys from work, particularly those who have girlfriends.
5. Stop getting so out-of-control drunk that I think the above is not only acceptable, but a marvellous idea with zero repercussions.
6. Stop correcting people's grammar.
7. Be nice to everybody, even people I find intensely irritating.
8. Stop thinking about the Boy.
9. Stop talking about the Boy.
10. Stop waiting for the Boy to move to London, realise we'd be perfect together and ask me out.

God damnit.

New Year's Eve

Tonight, I have absolutely no intention of following the old adage "start as you mean to go on." If this were the case, then I would spend 2013 thus:

- pretending to be sicker than I actually am to garner sympathy and cover up the fact that I have no social life
- seriously considering the benefits of video games over actual human interaction
- being out-drunk, out-partied and out-funned by my parents
- using alcohol as a coping mechanism for my crippling loneliness
- in a one-sided fantasy relationship with a boy I'm pretty sure has no romantic feelings for me whatsoever.

Nope. No way. Tomorrow will be a fresh start. Roll on January.