Profile for hellabella:
I live in Toronto, have boyfriend from UK, spend much time in London with friends & family, worked as Designer in ad agency & hated my job. Got laid off one week before Christmas with no severance. F*ckers!
May post better bio when can be bothered...
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- a member for 20 years, 1 month and 15 days
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I live in Toronto, have boyfriend from UK, spend much time in London with friends & family, worked as Designer in ad agency & hated my job. Got laid off one week before Christmas with no severance. F*ckers!
May post better bio when can be bothered...
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» My Worst Date
A night to remember
My worst date would have to be with a guy named George, who I had originally met several years before, and he seemed reasonably nice back then, so when I ran into him one day and he asked me out, I agreed. Our evening commenced with George turning up at the pub where we had arranged to meet quite obviously already drunk. The bartender took one look at him and said that she wasn't going to serve him, because he was too smashed. I should have just cut my losses at that point and excused myself to "go powder my nose" or something, never to return, but stupidly I stayed with him.
I had also noticed that George had a crusty smear of toothpaste caked onto the side of his mouth, and told him, and he tried to rub it off. "Is it gone? No. Is it gone now? No. Is that OK? No." It just stayed, and I couldn't help but stare at it. The smell of it mixed with the beer on his breath started to make me nauseous.
We went from the pub to a nearby Thai restaurant to get something to eat, and to sober George up. We ordered the food and had the fragmented sort of conversation that takes place between an extremely drunk person and a totally sober one.
The food finally arrived, and as soon as it was placed in front of me, I was hit with a wave - no, a tsunami - of nausea. I just couldn't face eating a mouthful. It was then that the stabbing abdominal pain started. I told George I wasn't feeling well and had to go. I fished his wallet out of his jacket and paid for the uneaten meal, and I don't even think he noticed. Then I left him sitting there, and hailed a taxi home.
Before the taxi arrived at my house, the pains got worse. They got so bad that the only thing I could think of was "Hospital. Must go to hospital." So I told the cab to take me to casualty instead. I got to the hospital, and upon examination was told that my appendix had ruptured and I needed to be operated on NOW. So they pumped my stomach, which was via a tube up my nose and down my throat, and the tube was completely clear, so I could see everything squelching along on its way out, which made me feel even sicker. Then I underwent the surgery.
When I came to the next day, I got a phone call from my mother, saying that George had been calling her place which he looked up in the directory because he had lost my number, wondering what had happened to me, and did I want her to give him my number. Thankfully she didn't.
Flash ahead several years. I was walking with my current boyfriend around an area in the west end of the city that I normally don't frequent. My BF says, "hey look at that poor homeless guy over there, boy, does he ever look rough." I looked over, then quickly grabbed my boyfriend and dragged him down a side street. The "homeless guy" turned out to be my dearest George.
(Mon 25th Oct 2004, 21:49, More)
A night to remember
My worst date would have to be with a guy named George, who I had originally met several years before, and he seemed reasonably nice back then, so when I ran into him one day and he asked me out, I agreed. Our evening commenced with George turning up at the pub where we had arranged to meet quite obviously already drunk. The bartender took one look at him and said that she wasn't going to serve him, because he was too smashed. I should have just cut my losses at that point and excused myself to "go powder my nose" or something, never to return, but stupidly I stayed with him.
I had also noticed that George had a crusty smear of toothpaste caked onto the side of his mouth, and told him, and he tried to rub it off. "Is it gone? No. Is it gone now? No. Is that OK? No." It just stayed, and I couldn't help but stare at it. The smell of it mixed with the beer on his breath started to make me nauseous.
We went from the pub to a nearby Thai restaurant to get something to eat, and to sober George up. We ordered the food and had the fragmented sort of conversation that takes place between an extremely drunk person and a totally sober one.
The food finally arrived, and as soon as it was placed in front of me, I was hit with a wave - no, a tsunami - of nausea. I just couldn't face eating a mouthful. It was then that the stabbing abdominal pain started. I told George I wasn't feeling well and had to go. I fished his wallet out of his jacket and paid for the uneaten meal, and I don't even think he noticed. Then I left him sitting there, and hailed a taxi home.
Before the taxi arrived at my house, the pains got worse. They got so bad that the only thing I could think of was "Hospital. Must go to hospital." So I told the cab to take me to casualty instead. I got to the hospital, and upon examination was told that my appendix had ruptured and I needed to be operated on NOW. So they pumped my stomach, which was via a tube up my nose and down my throat, and the tube was completely clear, so I could see everything squelching along on its way out, which made me feel even sicker. Then I underwent the surgery.
When I came to the next day, I got a phone call from my mother, saying that George had been calling her place which he looked up in the directory because he had lost my number, wondering what had happened to me, and did I want her to give him my number. Thankfully she didn't.
Flash ahead several years. I was walking with my current boyfriend around an area in the west end of the city that I normally don't frequent. My BF says, "hey look at that poor homeless guy over there, boy, does he ever look rough." I looked over, then quickly grabbed my boyfriend and dragged him down a side street. The "homeless guy" turned out to be my dearest George.
(Mon 25th Oct 2004, 21:49, More)
» You're a moviestar baby
video star, baby!
I was, regrettably, in the audience in the Duran Duran video for the execrable "Reflex" (the reflex, fle-fle-fle-flex!). I also appear on an almost daily basis walking past the window behind the VeeJays on MuchMusic (Canada's version of MTV). Relatives inevitably call up my mother and tell her that they caught me walking past, SMOKING! (gasp!) And then she calls me and tells me off.
(Thu 11th Nov 2004, 18:10, More)
video star, baby!
I was, regrettably, in the audience in the Duran Duran video for the execrable "Reflex" (the reflex, fle-fle-fle-flex!). I also appear on an almost daily basis walking past the window behind the VeeJays on MuchMusic (Canada's version of MTV). Relatives inevitably call up my mother and tell her that they caught me walking past, SMOKING! (gasp!) And then she calls me and tells me off.
(Thu 11th Nov 2004, 18:10, More)
» Evidence that you're getting old
What makes me feel old?
Hearing my boyfriend's niece refer to Green Day as "old school". ACK!
Glancing up on our shelf, spying a copy of "Bostin' Steve Austin". On vinyl. And realizing that it is older than people I work with.
Telemarketers call me Ma'am.
People on the street have stopped offering to sell me illegal substances. The last drugs I consumed were for my bad back and heartburn.
I remember to water my houseplants, and I know their latin names. I attended the Chelsea Flower Show last year.
I have become very finicky about the vintages of wine I consume.
I have maxed out my pension contributions for this tax year and now sometimes agree with things my father says about the government.
I have been known to take a hot water bottle with me when I go to bed... at 10 pm.
It's pretty much a luge ride to the grave from here...
(Tue 2nd Nov 2004, 20:34, More)
What makes me feel old?
Hearing my boyfriend's niece refer to Green Day as "old school". ACK!
Glancing up on our shelf, spying a copy of "Bostin' Steve Austin". On vinyl. And realizing that it is older than people I work with.
Telemarketers call me Ma'am.
People on the street have stopped offering to sell me illegal substances. The last drugs I consumed were for my bad back and heartburn.
I remember to water my houseplants, and I know their latin names. I attended the Chelsea Flower Show last year.
I have become very finicky about the vintages of wine I consume.
I have maxed out my pension contributions for this tax year and now sometimes agree with things my father says about the government.
I have been known to take a hot water bottle with me when I go to bed... at 10 pm.
It's pretty much a luge ride to the grave from here...
(Tue 2nd Nov 2004, 20:34, More)