And no, I didn't mean THAT sort of virginity (although I may as well have been considering the sad lack of action these two years past, since the ex-bastard broke my heart - but that's another story for another day).

I meant my blog virginity.
Yup, being relatively new to the game (I'm 5 months old), and I'm still learning. When I grow up to be like the older bloggers, I'd like to be witty and addictive, and generate 20+ comments on my daily entry.

So imagine...

Oh the pleasure...
The titillation (isn't that a great word?!)...
When two days ago I realised not only that my total readership was no longer a grand total of two (thanks Bubs, thanks Jonners) but that I'd got my VERY OWN first comments without having to send badgering e-mails and text messages! Yes, congratulations to Zed, JonnyB and Laura for that accolade.

I always promised myself that I was writing this for myself, and not for the gratification that comes from knowing you have others reading your blog, but I tell you what, it makes it so much more exciting when you do know that they are.

I like big butt and I can not lie
You other brothers can't deny
When a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face...

DAMMIT!
It's stuck in my head and it won't go away.....noooohhhhhoooooo.

Is it criminal to find Jonathan Ross funny? I used to think he was such an objectionable bastard but recently I've become rather fond of him.

Friday gone's episode of Friday Night with Jonathan Ross was particularly genius as he had Simon Pegg as his first guest. For those who don't know, he's the comedy genius who along with another comedy genius Jessica Stephenson are the team behind Channel 4's Spaced.

Will there be a third series of Spaced? With Little Britain finished, I bloody hope so.

Someone purrrleeeease explain to me why the older I get, the harder the hangovers get.

In my prime I could get trashed and trolleyd on 7/8 pints of Stella and wake up the next day as freash as a daisy. These days I can't even handle lager, so it's wither vodka or red wine, then it takes me two nurofen before bed, a KFC zinger burger, a litre of Sprite a high carb diet and nigh on two days of sleep to get over it.

I don't know what you think, but that smacks of injustice to me.

"I want to be you"

Jonners to paranoidpromqueen - in a supposed fit of irony

So, if animal cruelty's not your bag, how about some serious dance lessons?

Five minutes to kill?

Bash some penguins...sounds cruel but it's oh so addictive

My record is 296.1

Okay, so my heart skips a few beats when he's on tv, I worship at his temple, and I drool over pictures of him. I think this can safely be said of the majority of the female population of Britain.

But I do not display stalking tendencies and I will not go this far!

Thank God!

"Blane? His name is Blane? Oh! That's a major appliance, that's not a name!"

I was walking down Wigmore Street last week, looking for a black cab but generally minding my own business. Admittedly the heels I was wearing weren't the quietest (well, I was dolled up for a posh do at the Dorchester). It started to rain and I could hear some sort of a kerfuffle in the background. Some smartly dressed woman with a general aura of crazy shouting random rude ramblings as she was walking.

Next thing I know she's walking past me screaming,

"Get your fucking heels out of my fucking ears. You big fat prostitute."

I couldn't help but laugh. But only when I realised I wasn't being picked out or targeted. She was hurling abuse at pretty much everyone.

Charming!

Oh, a surreal moment that I just had to write down...

The three of us decided to venture out on Sunday to forage for food in the hope of qwelling our raging hangovers. As I opened the door at the side entrance of our flats, we were greeted with a scene of mythic proportions - shards of rain and gale force winds.
"Oh shit" Jonners muttered
"What shall we do?" Bubs said
"I know," I piped up "Let's go and see if things look any different from the front entrance."

Lord knows why I suggested that. But I was humoured by my companions...and whaddya know, from the front, there was no wind, just a light drizzle and even some blue sky and sun.

Do you think this could have been the result of positive thinking?! Or was someone having a joke with us by changing the freakin' special effects on our film set?!

I have had one of THE best weekends. We laughed till our sides were aching, and then we laughed some more until tears ran down our rosy cheeks.

Saturday, my mission if I chose to accept it was to find some trendy, urban threads and footwear for Jonners. Needless to say, I accepted. I'm not scared of a little challenge, besides, amongst my inner circle of male friends I am renowned for my talent as a personal shopper. Nearly £300 quid, 1 pair of shoes, 3 shirts, and 2 pairs of trousers later even though I hate to blow my own trumpet, I have to say I out did myself.

The two highlights from the day were Chris Eubank driving a whopping great American truck through the cobbled streets protesting against the war, and the barber shop quartet buskers who brought a whole new dimension to Bohemian Rhapsody. I'll admit I didn't wanna stay all afternoon and watch them - although they were incredibly talented, the fat guy's gurning was disturbing me, but Jonners insisted.
"If you don't take the time to stop and listen to this stuff, there's just no point" (or something to that effect).
And he was so right. Although I fight it vehemently, I am slowly and inevitably turning into one of those Londoners who is all elbows and scowls. I was about to let myself walk away from the good stuff.

Then we decided to go home for a cuppa with Bubs, collect our thoughts, freshen up and go out. Knackered and still a little monged out from drinking the previous night, the prospect of another large one was not too enticing, but the three of us hopped on the 98 and ended up in Jamie's for a couple of bottles of red. Shame the place closes at normal pub closing times, but a good time was had nevertheless as we moved on to Cafe Boheme for THE most delicious chicken salad, moules, frites and some more wine. Some crazy antics ensued - role-playing to encourage me to learn how to flirt (!), shameless flirting with the waiter (from all parties at our table) and a game of write-your-own personals ad. And we got home at a decadent 4am.

It doesn't sound like that much to some, but it was just perfect.

I wanna live on Harold's Planet.

Anyone wanna join me?

On Saturday I decided to let do of this crazy notion of me and B ever getting together.

That night, I dreamt that Mr D rang me to tell me that the lovely B had died in a car crash.

Pretty rough huh? You dream about someone dying, and you can't help but feel terribly guilty about it, lest it come true. In fact, I feel pretty damn tight wirting about it, in case it comes true. (Please God, don't be that cruel!)

Bubs and Jonners both said independently (and with smatterings of fromage)
"Maybe that means he's dead in your heart!"

Sheesh, those two are scarily alike.

...of the beautiful Nigel Harman...

mmmmmmmm.

Oh, and another thing Mister John Hughes...as much as I love Pretty in Pink, HOW ON EARTH DO YOU EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE that Andy was even vaguely attractive enough in that monstrous pink shambles of a creation for the swoon-worthy Blane to realise he'd made a mistake dumping her? Huh huh?

Frankly? If I was Blane? I'd run a mile from that pink assault on the senses.

It just doesn't cut the mustard with me PAL!

In honour of Bubs

"I have a room for life at the home for the chronically groovy"
(Floyd Pepper - The Muppets)

Uggh.
This is the week he's meant to call and arrange drinks. I don't think he's going to, but I really hope he does and God I'm on tenter hooks.

Yuk.

Mmmmm, what I wouldn't give for a drag on a fag right now....

Wow!

Yesterday I took one step closer to being a grown up, plucked my head out of the sand and got in touch with the lovely B. Admittedly I took the coward's way out and sent him a text, but hey, give me some credit - this is all so new to me and I'm only just beginning (even though I'm nearly 28!)! Anyway, I suggested I repay his generousity the other drunken night by buying him drinks for once.

He replied. Hurrah!He's going to call me and arrange for us to go out for a drink sometime next week...

Dangerous I know.

I'm thinking about what I'll wear, and what we'll talk about and how he'll act and whether I'll be a loud-mouthed nervous over-compensator! Because this means that I'm slowly breaking down the fantasy world and hurtling to reality where I could get humiliated, hurt or worse still, rejected. But hell I got fed up of a life of mediocrity where life was just rushing past me. Besides, the excitement is addictive, almost unbearable, and frankly, after giving up cigarettes nearly four weeks ago, I need a little pick-me-up.

Watch this space...

Would my love life be ANY easier/better if I was a lesbian?!