Jando

My particular favourites are the boredom/hunger and the lack of productivity ones.

- More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can think about is that I can't wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that's not only better, but also more directly involves me.

- Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realise you're wrong.

- Have you ever been walking down the street and realised that you're going in the complete opposite direction of where you are supposed to be going? But instead of just turning a 180 and walking back in the direction from which you came, you have to first do something like check your watch or phone or make a grand arm gesture and mutter to yourself to ensure that no one in the surrounding area thinks you're crazy by randomly switching directions on the pavement.

- I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.

- Is it just me, or are 80% of the people in the "people you may know" feature on Facebook people that I do know, but I deliberately choose not to be friends with?

- Do you remember when you were a kid, playing Nintendo and it wouldn't work? You take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magically fix the problem. Every kid did that, but how did we all know how to fix the problem? There was no internet or message boards or FAQ's. We just figured it out. Today's kids are soft.

- I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.

- How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear what they said?

- I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars teams up to prevent a d*ck from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers!

- Every time I have to spell a word over the phone using 'as in' examples, I will undoubtedly draw a blank and sound like a complete idiot. Today I had to spell my boss's last name to an attorney and said "Yes that's G as in...(10 second lapse)..ummm...Goonies".

- Whenever I'm Facebook stalking someone and I find out that their profile is public, I feel like a kid on Christmas morning that just got the Red Ryder BB gun that I always wanted. 546 pictures? Don't mind if I do!

- Why is it that during an ice-breaker, when the whole room has to go around and say their name and where they are from, I get so incredibly nervous? Like I know my name, I know where I'm from, this shouldn't be a problem …

- You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you've made up your mind that you just aren't doing anything productive for the rest of the day.

- Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after DVDs? I don't want to have to restart my collection.

- There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.

- I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.

- I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Dammit!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What'd you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?

- I like all of the music in my iTunes, except when it's on shuffle, then I like about one in every fifteen songs in my iTunes.

- Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.

- Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey - but I'd bet my ass everyone can find and push the Snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time every time...

- I think the freezer deserves a light as well.

How have the ways you use your PC to stay connected with family and friends changed over the years?
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Many years ago, when I was a wee lass, I remember my parents would use our local PC to send messages to our friends and family.  Every time my mum would blow a special whistle he would turn up, bicycle clips still attached, his jolly, shiney face laughing away, ready to take the post card to Aunty Connie in Newton Abbot or the pair of socks to Grandpa in Usk.

On high days and holidays our PC would literally tie us together with lengths of string to our neighbours - the sense connection we felt to each other when we celebrated the Queen's silver jubilee in 1977 was something that has never been repeated.  Oh the merriment we had when one of us needed to use the loo - you just can't imagine!  The rope burns are just faint scars of a happy occasion.

Later, in my mis-spent youth, I used my PC to keep me in touch with far-flung friends.  All I would have to do was to commit some sort of petty crime (brick through the window of a local cattery, impersonating Bros - that sort of thing) and my PC would take me to a station where I was allowed one free phone call.  I'm telling you, before the invention of facebook - this was the most effective way of keeping in touch with the relatives you see infrequently.

As I grew older, I became PC myself - I started calling my friends and relations things like 'vertically challenged', 'hygienicly taxed', 'fiscally tested' - we found we could all connect by being PC - even our PC joined in and called us 'area squanderers' and 'gorey intellectually sub-normals'.

Since the days of the first PCs I think we have come a long way and I certainly feel more connected to my friends and family since it takes them ages to work out how I'm insulting them.

How do you cool off when you're upset?
Submitted by K.

The same way I cool off when I'm happy - take off a layer, open the window and have a cold drink.

Although when I'm upset I might also need a tissue as well.

What's the worst story about a time you locked yourself out?

It's not normally the sort of thing I'd do - I'm quite anal about stuff like keys, money, phone etc so don't usually get caught short.  I came across a TFLN today:

(970): Found a waterbottle filled with a bloody mary in my purse this morning. Blacked-out me is always trying to help hungover me, it's so cute.

It lead me to reflect that I rather like my 'blacked-out' me also.  Last Friday for instance; our summer party.  Free beer all 'round until the money ran out at about at about 9ish when tokens were introduced if you could be bothered to be nice to the people who had the stash of them.  Morag, IT Bloke and another colleague decided to leave and go to Blacks.  Can I remember leaving?  Can I remember getting home?  Did I find myself waking up on the bus past my stop.  Again?  The answers are no, no and yes respectively.

BUT all the evidence points to 'blacked-out' me, being a pretty decent chappess.  Not only did it not lose my travel card, but it was placed in exactly the right place in my bag.  Not only did it manage to take my contact lenses out but it also managed to remove some makeup.  For the love of all things goodly, I only wish I was that considerate and organised when I was sober.

Anyway, I'm getting off the point.  Once upon a time, I lived in a grotty bedsit in Tooting.  There was a bathroom and separate toilet shared between 6 bedsits.  Every time I needed to go to the loo, I'd have to take my own toilet roll with me and also remember my keys because I couldn't put the door to my bedsit on the latch.  One evening, the inevitable happened.  I just popped to the loo wearing just a t-shirt and tights and carrying some bog roll, but as soon as the door closed behind me I knew I was locked out.  It was a dark and rainy night in late-October.  I had no shoes, no money, no nothing.  I knew one of the downstairs bedsits had a young baby, so I thought best not to disturb them and the only other person I'd seen was a bloke on the floor above me so I thought I'd risk knocking on his door. 

He looked grumpy like I'd just disturbed him from dismembering a squirrel or something, but I explained what I'd done and he let me borrow a pair of tracksuit bottoms.  Luckily, I'd been paying attention to the landlord when I'd moved in and remembered that he'd vaguely indicated across the road and up a bit to a house where he said the people had spare sets of keys.  I tip-toed across the wet road in my tights and doubley luckily knocked on the correct door first time and picked up a spare set of keys.

And that is the worst story about a time I locked myself out.  An even worse story would be if I'd locked myself out and 30 seconds later my H came home with his keys and let me in again, although that story would have been so bad that it wouldn't have even counted as a story.

Would you rather have one best friend or ten acquaintances? Why?

One best friend.  I'm on a diet.

What makes a good internet friend?
Submitted by david c.

Ingredients

Kittens (x 3)
Imagination (4 lbs)
Imitation (2 tbsp)
Diets (3 different varieties according to taste)
Glitter (1kg)
Foxy shoes/boots (5 pairs)
Bile (1 pint, preferably fermented)
Literacy (desirable, but not essential)
Puppies (x 2)
Gin (2 pints)
Sociability (1 Tonne)
Champagne (Magnum)
Humour (2 quarts)
Dancing (5 hours)
Mutant work colleagues (6)
Slebs (as many as you can find)
Children (optional)

Recipe

Take the three kittens, preferably fluffy and cute, and post images on your home page.  While the kittens are getting comments from fellow kitten-lovers, simultaneously embark on 3 different diets.  A good combination is the Atkins, the F Plan and Weight Watchers Special Slimfast K.  Sit back and monitor the effects of these diets.  Liberally sprinkle with gin and champagne for extra zest.

Once the kittens have ceased to stimulate interest, post images of the puppies on your home page.  Use fresh ones if they're in season (i.e. at Christmas), otherwise freeze-dried are just as good.  Hot boys are a good alternative if you can't find puppies. Scour the internet for Memes and cut and paste them into your blog.  Good ones are "1001 Things You Didn't Know About My Toenails" and "My top 20 Dreams about Ponies".

Use your sociability to comment on other people's blogs folding in some of the humour, imitation and imagination that you should already have washed and grated for this purpose.  Add some glitter to the mix if need be.

Now, using the pint of fermented bile, write about all six of the mutant work colleagues.  Add any left-over humour from commenting on other people's blogs and again liberally sprinkle with gin and champagne, finishing off with 5 hours of dancing.

If you have a social life, write about the various Slebs you spot on your evenings out.  D-List and above is fine.  If you don't have a social life, write about children or shoes.  By this stage, you may still have some imagination in which case add it to the remaining glitter and gin to make a glaze.  Brush over the friend and put it in the oven for 2 hours at 180 degrees.  Remove from the oven and let it rest for 10 minutes before carving.

By varying the ingredients slightly you can experiment and create other sorts of internet friends, for example by removing the humour, kittens and puppies and by adding 10 spray cans of black you will get an emo internet friend.  Similarly if you remove literacy and humour, increase the kittens, puppies and imitation and then add soft-porn images you can make an ADHD internet friend.  The possibilities are endless.

Although many good internet friends must be enjoyed virtually, you may be lucky enough to occasionally meet your good internet friends in which case they are best served over the course of an evening in a pub with wine or beer.

Should we just be handing over the car keys when kids turn 16? Why or why not?

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I think if a goat has gone to the trouble and expense of learning to drive, I'm not going to stand in its way.

What's the biggest disappointment you've suffered?

To quote David Brent, "Alton Towers".

Are you worried about a swine flu pandemic?

Not as worried as my feckwit colleagues should be.  Every hayfever sneeze I do brings the response, "Oooh! Swine Flu! Ha ha ha ha ha!"

I feel like stapling their mouths to their fucking blackberries and sending them to Mexico, although they probably wouldn't be allowed in because they're a walking example of foot and mouth.

Personally, I have my own antidote to swine flu - a rather fine oinkment.

Where, when, and with whom was your very first kiss?

There was a lot of pressure to 'get off' with boys or to even know boys outside the social circles determined by my school and the surrounding boys' schools.  When I realised this at about age 14, I'd dredge up the names of boys that I used to go to junior school with and casually reference them in conversations about 'what I did at the weekend'.  There was Sean and Zak and Jason and Joe who I'd have seen when I was sailing - at least this last bit was true.  And at least Zak and Joe did occasionally go sailing but as for them speaking more than two words to me ... well, that was rather wishful thinking on my part.  According to my school friends, I 'got off' (or snogged, for those people born later than 1980) with Sean at a sailing club beer n bangers do in 1984 and he was, according to my fantasy life, my first kiss. 

I had the massivest of massive crushes on Bob; a tall, dark and handsome boy, fresh from the US of A.  We did a paper round from the same newsagents.  I'd linger over checking the papers before going out on my round until he turned up so I could say a squeaky 'Hi' before blushing off on my bike and then would spend the rest of the day micro-analysing the few seconds I'd spent in his presence.  This particular crush got ripped out of me at school one day when one of the girls said, "You know Bob don't you?  Yeah - he reckons you really fancy him".  I thought, "Bloody cheek!  How presumptuous".  Although to be fair, he might have got that impression because I asked him out, but you know, bloody cheek.

I was an immature teenager - while some girls were being very sophisticated and using Sun-In, fake tan products and had shoes that didn't come with width measurements, I was struggling to come to terms with being taller than everyone, which radio stations were 'cool' and where to buy the best baseball jackets from.

When I was eventually allowed to go out to parties in rooms over pubs or community centres, I ran around like a five-year-old who'd just eaten the entire Woolworth's stock of jelly tots.  I cringe when I remember myself and totally understand now why it was that some girls were snogging boys every weekend and no-one was interested in me at all.  In short, I was a bit of a prat.

At one party though, I must have been quieter than usual and stayed in one place for longer than a nanosecond.  A boy called John asked if I wanted to go for a walk.  I went.  We walked down a quiet road in Wimbledon and we chatted about school and who we knew at the party.  I didn't know of his school or any of his friends.  He suggested that we go down an alleyway and I declined.  I was terrified - not of any danger, but of what I was supposed to do - how do you kiss a boy?  We went back to the party and we went and sat down together.  He gave me a some of his lager and then after a minute or so we were kissing.  It was very weird and didn't last for long.  I felt that both lager and snogging were overrated.

The next day I kept thinking about John.  The conversation hadn't been scintillating, the kissing hadn't lived up to expectations, but there was a buzz to the experience that was thrilling and with the benefit of hindsight, I think it was the rather curious fact that someone had found me attractive.  I wanted to see John again to find out more and I imagined that he was moving mountains to track me down, to sweep me off my feet, to make me feel special again.  Needless to say, this never happened and I never saw him again, but to answer the question, my first kiss was in a community hall in Wimbledon in June 1986 and his name was John.