I must make this very clear to you. Shopping makes me very uncomfortable. I'm not a typical female. Whenever I shop, be it because of a conscious decision that I need a new jacket, or to kill time, or to calm me down when I'm stressed, it just flusters me incredibly. I don't know why I shop to try to calm myself down, it does the opposite. I actually feel physically uncomfortable: I get hot and fidgety. I do not enjoy making decisions - when I go out for a meal my stomach sinks if there are more than 6 dishes on the menu.

And if I start spending money, the floodgates open. I'm not going to add up how much money I spend last time I went clothes shopping because I'm ashamed to find out. I actually blanked a lot of that experience out, I got home and could barely remember what I'd bought. That's how traumatising it is for me. Online shopping is almost as bad, bar one thing:

Helpful shop assistants.

Now, I'm a Saturday girl for a big-brand shop selling CDs and DVDs and games (and various related accessories). And part of my job role involves 'floorwalking', or 'personal shopping'. This involves approaching customers and asking if they need any help. I don't enjoy doing this for a number of reasons: one, nobody ever accepts my help; and two, I know how much I hate it when it happens to me. But I get paid to do it, and it's usually only for an hour at the most, so if I can't find a reason for hiding in the stockroom instead then I'll put up with it.

The reason I bring this up now is because yesterday I had an encounter with a "helpful" shop assistant that was too much for my oddball brain to cope with.

I have the afternoon off college on Wednesdays so yesterday on my way back I decide to stop in the local department store where they have a great trendy make-up counter with brightly coloured eyeliners and things. I'm pleased to spot that the counter is unguarded; the lady on the payroll of my chosen brand is off chatting to her friends over by a distant perfume counter. So I begin browsing, dabbing things on the back of my hand, trying not to get foundation powder on my jacket sleeves.

But less than five minutes later, She appears. Hovering over me in her gaudy red lipstick, she is pretty and intimidating. So I carry on browsing, now feeling faintly embarrassed.

"We have liquid foundation down here too," she says. I do not know what the appropriate response to a comment like this is. Do I carry on looking at the powder, or do I look at what she suggests? Do I ignore her or do I say something?

"Uh... thanks." That's a safe reply, right? I carry on around the display, hoping that was enough for her, but she hangs around, cleaning the lipstick stand or some other task which keeps her less than a yard from me. A minute or so later:

"These matte eyeshadows are actually being discontinued soon, so if you want them you'll have to get them soon."

"Ok." I want to sound more assertive than I feel. I don't look at the matte eyeshadows straight away because I feel that if she gains any control over what I'm looking at, she'll have me hooked and she'll somehow manipulate me into having a full-blown makeover right there in the window of the department store when all I want to do is maybe buy some purple mascara, get the Number 7 bus home and eat my chicken fajita wrap.

As I dip my fingers into the luxury compact eyeshadows, desperately wishing that they provided tissues in this place so the back of my hand could have space left on it, she tries again. "Have you had a look at the powder eyeshadows?"

I'm a rabbit in the headlights. "No?" I don't know why it's a question, I really don't.

"They blend really well together and come in some really nice shades."

By this point I felt so awkward I could have cried. I have never wanted somebody to not do their job as much as I did at that moment. I think I nodded, I can't be sure by this point. I knew I had to make a dash for it, and, stammering a "Thank you", headed for the exit as fast as I could without breaking into a jog.

Now I'm stuck, because I want to buy my nice make-up, and that's the only place that in the area sells it. I'll buy lots of things online, make-up isn't one of those things. What do I do? It's horrific, I'm just a wreck. Maybe I have a phobia of make-up-counter-ladies. This is problematic, as I don't know how to work around it.

Dead Set is amazing. It's Big Brother with zombies and everybody must watch it.

I had a dream once about the zombie apocalypse. It's the only dream I've ever had that has felt like it's lasted for days, which convinced me that it wasn't a dream and that life as I knew it really was over. But I lasted for days before I woke up, and even then I didn't wake up because I was eaten, it was just because my alarm went off. So I'm quite confident that when that day does come, I'll get by ok.

But I'm getting a little paranoid about it now, because I can't stop making mental preparations. I'm beginning to feel sure that there's going to be an outbreak while I'm in London.

Also, I just lost the game again damnit!

Lot of sleepless nights recently, and difficulty eating. Which if you knew me, would seriously worry you. And walking around with this big stupid smile plastered over my face, even though that's the reverse of how I should be reacting to. It can only end in trouble. But I'm chilling out maxin relaxin this week, gwanin off to meet some friends and catch up on old times, and seeing a band and stuff, not doing my homework or learning my songs. So should be a cool kinda week.

And finally, I decided that I want to be an astronaut. So you'll be hearing some more about that in the future I reckon

So, I just found out that my Austrian e-pal, who I met on holiday and is in the army, is going to Georgia to help the people there. He told me that he hopes he'll come back.

Ugh, what a great end to a great day. I though that that awful iced caramel machiatto on the way home was the icing on the cake, but this is the multi-coloured super-sprinkles.


"This job would be great if it wasn't for the fucking customers." True say man, true say.


Oh, and I didn't see one interesting-looking person when I enrolled at college on Tuesday. I know I'm judging books by their covers but that's what I do; I have a library card which allows me to do so on a regular basis and I'm quite good at it. I kinda don't want to go back to school now.


I wish my icon was true.

It sounds sad, but my favourite part of my Lara Croft outfit for the sale event tomorrow is the long hair. I haven't had long hair since I was 7 years old, and I bought this cheap long hairpiece from Peacocks so that I could plait it, and it's lovely. I don't know how I'm going to manage my lunch hour though. I'm gonna have to hide under a large coat.

Today is supposed to be the longest day of the year. And it's miserable, overcast and spitting with rain. It's pretty depressing, from here on in the days are going to be getting shorter again.

I know I make inappropriate comments but I can't stop myself saying them. I've picked that up from my stepdad or something. Except, you know, he has mild Tourette's Syndrome. Which means I don't really have an excuse like he does, I just have no self-restraint.

But, you know, it's all about how you present yourself in the end.

And in world news, a police helicopter chased after a UFO from Cardiff to Devon, before turning back to refuel. It doesn't say whether or not they stopped off in Devon for a house party, but I have my suspicions.

I heard something that made me smile yesterday.

Somebody I know at work lost his bank card recently. It was the day before he was due to go down to a festival in London too, so as you can guess that pretty much totally sucked. He got by, luckily. And, as anybody would do in these times, he cancelled his card as soon as possible, given that in this day and age nobody can be trusted. Ever.

Then, a couple of days ago, he got a letter in the post and inside was a note from Lloyds Tsb saying 'With Compliments'; his card was enclosed. Somebody had found his card and handed it into the bank, who had sent him back his card.

He's a really decent guy so if anybody deserved to get his lost card back it was him. But I really love that not everybody is a fraudulent thief. It gives me hope. I think we are, as a race, very slightly nicer than the papers make us out to be.


Just a final note; I am now well and truly obsessed with Death Note. It becomes even more interesting when you start to wonder what you'd do if you found a Death Note. I really think that the person who wrote this has a maximum IQ score. It's so wonderfully intricate.

Good news!: I'm back to my old depressed and dysthymic self. Yippee. And all of that missed sleep that didn't affect me before has come down on me like a lorry. Carrying bricks. Being driven by Michael Moore.

I saw Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Lost Skull today. It wasn't as good as the Last Penultimate Crusade, but there are extremely few films that ever will be. *mourns Sean Connery* And before any people are like 'OMGSEANCONNERYISDEAD?*HANGSSELF*' as I know I would be, he's not dead in real life. Just in Indiana Jones. But still, I am very disappointed with everybody who made the film for allowing that to happen.

Also, if you guys were expecting some face-melting (as I was - can't have an Indiana Jones film without some face-melting!), Cate Blanchett gets owned. And Shia LaBoeuf tries to do the whole symbolic thing at the end of the film by picking up Indy's hat and trying to put it on. So Indiana promptly jacks the hat from his hand and puts it on his own head. That's right, bitch. Try and come back for a spin-off now.

Now, I'm a freak and I enjoy watching the credits of films. Why, I hear you ask? Because I like trying to find funny names in the credits. I know, it's cruel. But I feel that otherwise, nobody would read the names of the people who put time and effort into making that film, who feel proud at having their name on the credits. The least I can do for them is read the credits; even if I don't remember their names at least I'll have read them. And in return, they provide me with mild humour. The best name in the credits I ever saw was when I went to see Mr Bean's Holiday: 'Christian Blood'. I don't think I will ever see something that good in my life again. But the disclaimer at the end of Goblet of Fire ('No dragons have been harmed in the making of this film') comes pretty close. A couple of humourous names that I read today included the surname 'Labiana' and 'Yurih Fuks'. Childish, I know. Sometimes I wonder if film-makers put in weird names to reward the people who read the credits. I'm not a bully, honestly.

I did two perfect three point turns and a perfect reverse around a corner today, according to my driving instructor. If I'm so perfect give me a license already!  *look of daggers*

In other news, somebody beat me on ebay. I was trying to buy a copy of the Fountain for £2... the winning bid was £2.01. *facepalm* I'm so lame I can't even win on ebay.

And finally. Rock Band (Xbox 360) is, at long last released tomorrow here in the UK. But because in work we're so freaking awesome like that, we set it up on the shop floor today to let everybody have a go. Which all of the staff did, meaning that none of the customers got to have a go. When I finished at the record shop I went and played it some more, then I had to go have lunch before my afternoon shift at the menswear shop of doom. But I came back for more after lunch. It goes on sale tomorrow. It wouldn't even fit in my attic room. But then again, who needs savings? I mean, I don't really need an Aygo... or food...

Right, well, I think I started hallucinating. Yesterday I saw a massive crawling insect on the bathroom floor during my shower, moving just behind the towels as I caught sight of it. I was petrified. But when I finally plucked up the courage to get out of the shower and fetch my mum to help me investigate, it had vanished.  (And by 'me investigat[ing]', I mean standing at the doorway shuddering while my mum looked.) And then, a few hours later, I saw a giant moth flapping around behind my door in the corner of my eye.

There was no moth.

But I'm not helping myself here. I'm drinking coffee (and I drink it pretty damn strong) and it's five minutes past midnight, according to my new £5 watch with a face that's a third of the size of the actual watch. I'm a sucker for cheap things that look snazzy, even though it's not very practical at all. For example, I bought four Family Guy badges today for £2.99. An individual, slightly smaller badge, costs 49 pence. I'm paying a pound for cardboard. Cardboard which I'm going to throw away.

I spent about £80 in the last two days. Seriously, what the hell?! At least I'm getting my wage from the menswear shop of doom tomorrow. That'll just about cover it.

But my Toyota Aygo dream is driving further and further away from me... come back little Aygo! I love you! *sobs* I don't care about your small bootspace. I have more than enough behind for the both of us!