I've got my office Christmas party tonight, which I've been helping to organise since last February. Finally, after months of work, it's upon us. And I'm really not looking forward to it. At all.
The problem with my work is that there seems to be an abundance of very good looking girls who work in my team. You'd think that that wouldn't be the case since I work in IT, notorious as it is for being a male dominated industry, but there you go. These size 0 girls, who laugh allot in the way popular girls in high school do, and get chatted up by all the guys in my team, means that I end up just standing there like a nigel-no-friends, getting more and more pissed, trying to be funny and interesting to anyone who'll talk to me, in a desperate attempt to compensate for my lack of looks. (Why? Why do I care? Why do I often spend nights in the toilets texting the Flatmate screaming "it's not fair! Why can't I be annorexic. Then I'd be popular" Why? Because I like to eat food that's why. (I know, I know, being annorexic will not make you popular when your a walking skelaton, but from this end of the weight spectrum it sure seems to fucking help)).
Last night I spent about 2 hours in the bowels of my wardrobe trying on every single article of clothing that I own that vagully resembles something dressy to try and work out what dress/trousers/top/shoes/ear ring combination to wear. And since our house is so crap, we do not have one single mirror where you can see yourself in fully head to toe. So to check myself out from my head to my chest I have to go to my bathroom mirror, to see my chest to my lower thighs I have to go to the Flatmates room and look in the mirror on his bedside table, positioned just at the right height to be nicknamed "The Gut Mirror", from there down I'm on my own. This constant circular trek from my bedroom, to my bathroom, to the Flatmates room is exhausting and frustrating. Then I end up moaning at the Flatmate about how unattractive and wide I look , to which he at first replies "no you look fine", however a few hours later, after my millionth costume change and footstamp, he will just roll his eyes and go "I liked the first thing you had on, just wear that. Or just wear ANYTHING, I do not care any more. Please, it's 2 am. Go away".
The party is in 3 hours, and I still do not know what to wear. God damn it. I was going to leave now at 4pm to get home, shower, change and get ready, but then I realised that even though I am heffer like, even I do not need 2 hours to get ready for the ball.
Grrr. So there is no zen like moment today. Just angst and annoyance. Merry fucking Christmas