I can’t think of a suitably momentous title but heeeere’s Suzy…

Because I’m a sucker for flattery I’m back! Briefly! Well, not so briefly, actually; I intended to be brief but it turns out I had more to say than I thought I did, so this isn’t really that brief at all… as you can see, instead of collapsing hard drives across the globe I split it into chunks and put the chunks on pages, and this way it’s like an entire year’s worth of blogging in one post! You’ve got all the ingredients:

1. The post where there are several dramatic descriptions of the current state of me
2. The charmingly irrelevant anecdote post
3. The ‘because no mini-blog is complete without a crappy little bit of self-indulgence…’ post
4. The climactic and eagerly anticipated finale post

It’s all there! Contain your excitement!

Anyway, I get the feeling that some people may have given up on the idea that poor old DBAH would ever have another post on it (pessimists! Whatever would have given them that impression?), so tell your friends, tell your mother, tell your ex, rickroll it, spread the word like a Jehovah’s missionary, make the relentless spamming of this post around the internet your New Year’s resolution! It is also an excellent way to improve your karma. Seriously.

I am telling you to click this link! Do it! Now!

I’d like to steer you towards flatdietcoke, possibly the greatest thing to hit the web since garfieldminusgarfield. The URL comes courtesy of la and its name comes courtesy of, uh, me. So what is this name? you cry. Ah. Well, that’d be telling. Go have a look. (For those of you who are too lazy to click the link, I’m already calling it Dumped By An Hallucination in my head – note that vital extra N! – not that that is the name.) You don’t have to be crazy to go there and I’m not even going to add ‘but it helps’ (crap, I just did) because it doesn’t: I’m not (haven’t been for a while), and it’s my forum. So nyeh!

I guess that just about rounds this off, then. I’d like to say something spectacularly mind-blowing but I can’t think of anything. Oh, well.

Happy Monday!

Suzy the Grot

Erm. I just went to make dumpedbyanotherhallucination.somethingorother.com and it turns out the URL must be twenty letters or less. This is probably called outstaying my welcome, but seeing as:

butimkeepingthesandwich

morepossessivethanthegenitivecase

anothernameforeggnoodles

janeeyresurvivorsleague

thehallucinationstrikesback

iameatingmyeggnoodles

are now all ruled out (not that some of them were ever ruled in – ahem!), are there any brevity-loving readers out there who feel currently inspired? Even the word ‘hallucination’ on its own takes up thirteen of those letters – not that it has to be included, o’ course.

(I feel so stupid sticking around here for so long! Like the last bit of grot on a dirty pan… that’s me all over.)

I cannot let that sentence be the last thing I post here (because obviously I’ll never post again, yeah right, Robinson). OK. How about this: the winner gets… my real name (not to keep. Just to have and to hold till – erk. Don’t go there). Jeez, what an incentive! Your mind just started ticking over so loudly I can hear it from down Cardiff way. And I might not stick to that. So let’s just pretend there never was an incentive to spare all my lying blushes.

Pretty please cake-style with a metaphorical or possibly simply allusory cherry on the allegorical top?

Edit: ah, I forgot! Here’s a better note to leave on, because, yeah, I’m rather fond of Facebook (and OK, ’Because everybody knows Suzy is a sucker for attention’) : http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=31819553045, courtesy of zulululu who is lovely and has nothing I can link back to to show my appreciation of her loveliness, unfortunately. (I think you have to log in to Facebook before it works but I’m not sure.)

Yes yes, OK, I’m eating my words…

Yes, all right, it’s another post, big whoop. Anyway. I’ve been convinced it’s entirely possible for a techno-retard to set up an internet forum and the forum website actually looks like it might not sabotage this computer if I did. It would be like conversation without having to have anyone’s posts spark the conversation off! Yes! See the exclamatory enthusiasm here?! (I really hate double-punctuated sentences like that one!)

Erm. Anyway (again). So, anyone up for it? All are welcome…

Edit: I’m lazy competition time, then: what do we call it? I have no decent ideas whatsoever; the quote for my blog title took all the title-related creativity out of me…

The record shows I took the blows and did it my [fill gap with word of choice]

I’m alive. Mm-hm, contrary to popular belief I am alive and well and have been alive and well for the last however-long-it’s-been-since-I-posted-last. As I intend to continue in this generally alive-and-well state, I think I’m giving up blogging. All my kneejerk self-analysis isn’t really very helpful. It’s so not-really-helpful it’s unhelpful. (As is excessive hyphenation, Suzanne.) I need to phase it out.

(It was all so perfect I couldn’t decide which line to take, but obviously I finally settled on one barely more apt than the rest…)

A centenary of faeces and faces

I realise that when I’m down I post bitchy things about people you don’t know and probably never will, and I’m sure that for anyone other than me, it’s confusing and unnecessary and pointless; but it helps me, in a very strange way, find a very strange form of catharsis. And if I tried to keep my friends and acquaintances out of what I write, and tried to neutralise the tone of my writing when they are unavoidably brought in, then I would have nothing to say – it’s the people problems that cause all my problems, though I guess in a greater or lesser way all problems are caused by people, so that was hardly the most profound statement I’ve ever made. I just mean that if I never mentioned Rhiannon (and her ilk), and if I never mentioned my multifarious and various issues with Rhiannon (and her ilk), then, o my Reader, you would find yourself dearly in need of contextual information: this girl says she is touchy but how touchy does she mean? She says she is possessive but how possessive does she mean? She says she is shit with friends but is this a proper fibrous shit or a sloppy yellow one like off You Are What You Eat (as I’m not sure which of those would be worse I can’t tell you)?

Not saying I’m the Son of God, but…

I made a big post. I may yet post the big post. But as, at the moment, that famous capacity for unstable interpersonal relationships is being displayed to its fullest extent, the sitch is somewhat tricky. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going, and unfortunately nor does anybody else I speak to. The only person who appears to be getting through this unscathed is Danny, and it’s strange – I have a screaming fit at somebody and am leaping round yelling, and Danny walks in, and I sit at her feet, and I can see them staring at me in confusion because all of a sudden I’m calm as Jesus ever was. All the charm I’m so infamous for is all being saved up and used on her. She doesn’t mind. I’ve never argued with her, not in six years of being friends. She sees nothing unusual in my being friendly and chatty, because for her, it’s not. She doesn’t even notice Rhiannon et al. staring at her in amazement: what’s she got that I don’t? How does she get off like that without even trying? And it’s so odd. Danny is now garnering the same respect a natural-born lion tamer might.

In related news, Rhiannon is starting to grow a backbone: sixteen years overdue, but hey. I feel absurdly maternal. I was having a fairly justified go at New Kid Katie and Rhiannon was there so she got some of it too, and she started yelling back at me that she was nothing to do with it, she’d never said that, what new shit was I chatting now, eh?

Then Danny came in.

Jeez, I love school. (I am sincere. I do.)