That's Ms Sparkle to you

Tuesdays.
Trivia.
The Pub.
A Parma.
A love story in three acts.

Since moving in with friends, it has now become routine to go down to the local of a Tuesday for a cheap parma and some enlightening trivia.
Enlightening as we're finding out just how petty people can be when it's discovered that the winning team is only winning because they are cheating by, get this, answering more questions right!
The audacity of some people.
The motto for our team seems to be "consistently mediocre" as we come in a range of places from first to fourth last and just because we are loud doesn't make us right.
But we are finding that there are some teams who flat out don't like us and one team that was spoiling for a fight due to some mis-directed vengeance.

We are Mr Sparkle.

Or at least that's who we were for four months.
Now we are Sparkle Motion!
And will be a variant on the sparkle theme for as long as it's funny (to us).
But there is a team at our pub that changed their name each week to something slightly more amusing than the last.
Each week the points are tallied with the team with the highest score at the end of the month representing the pub at the monthly championships.
And when the Name Changers got the most points one month but were overlooked as champs because someone can't count, that's when things got messy.
The Name Changers were fine with it but the team that thought they won were most displeased.
So much so that, the following week, a relative of the rorted team (who belongs to another team) starts spouting out nonsense to the entire pub (at the top of her American voice) that we've robbed her friends by changing our name every week yada yada yada blah blah blah.
It took two months of us cheering them on whilst they bitched about us to make them realise that we're the good guys.

But yet again we are the monthly champs and will be repping our pub at the UTC where we have placed no better than fourth in the entire time that we've been trivial.
Let's hear it for knowing random crap.

Consistently Mediocre - that's us.

What's it all about, really?

I made the mistake of asking "do you like my blog?".
"It's a blog" came the reply with a hint of "oh she's so cute how she thinks she's a real blogger now" mixed with the tone.
Apparently everyone's first blog post sucks hard until they get a rhythm going and decide what it's actually going to be about.
"A good blog sticks to one topic, maybe two".
I'll be talking about myself - I'm one topic, aren't I?
So nuts to you all, I'm going to blog about whatever the hell I want.
With exception.
It would do no good to pour my heart out to my non-existent cyber friends that my house mates just don't get me only to have them read the blog and decide that it's not going to work and maybe I should leave.
But they do get me, they really do.
And interestingly they all get different parts about me.
Mister T (Not THE Mr T but similar build and not so much bling) has my food issues sorted, Missy K is on the same page with shoes and handbags having their own room and The Boy knows some stuff that will never come up as a blog topic (nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more).
But I will say this, we need a new bed.
I don't know how badly it squeeked before his bed became our bed but it goes off like a motherf**ker now.
It's at the stage where holding on to it makes no difference and our housemates feel obliged to comment on the energy and effort required to get it squeeking to that tempo.

So, like I said, this blog shall be about what ever I like.

I like M&M's.

I AM NOT A NERD!

So I'm not a nerd, really.
This is my first computer (an old one that The boy doesn't use anymore) and my first blog.
But in the tradition of peer pressure I have caved and decided to attempt to "Nerd Up"with my very own blog.
Plus I'm sick of reading about myself on my friend's blogs and not getting to tell my side of the story except by comment which no-one reads anyway.
Okay I read the comments buts that's because I'm checking for stuff about me.
So at this point you're thinking I'm very self-involved, that it's all about me and no-one else matters.
And to you I say "nice one, you figured me out".
But there's more to urbabe than just a great rack.
Let's take it back to the beginning. . .

I was born, adopted out to the bestest mum ever, given some opportunities that were quickly wasted, employed by random companies, optioned out as a permanent BFF, and picked up by The Boy after a marathon sesion of "moving house".
Actually I shouldn't have air quotes on the moving house part because that was literally what happened - he was moving house, had no-one to help and I, as the great friend that I am, was only too happy to provide assistance.
Then one thing led to another, as it tends to do, and a short time later he and I became "us".
I'm pretty sure it was my winning personality that did it.
Either that or my constant bending over to pick up things and the preview of what I might look like after sex (slightly out of breath with aching limbs and an arrogant smirk that I did good).
We've since shacked up (in the house that I helped move all his crap to - I wasn't about to do that twice) and are here with a couple of friends that have been trying to get me to live with them for years.
Missy K remarked that if she'd known all it would take was sex to get me moved in she would have made a pass at me ages ago.
Her husband remains quietly non-commital on the subject.

So back to my bit about not being a nerd.
The three other people in this house all have laptops (The Boy works from home so he has a PC too) and have been seen on numerous occassions sitting on the couch and IM'ing each other.
THEY'RE RIGHT BESIDE YOU!
JUST OPEN YOUR FRICKEN MOUTHES!
And this is how I know I am not a nerd.
That and the fact that I didn't know Doctor Who wasn't human, which is one of the random nerd facts that I have picked up from living here.
I will freely admit that I'm a dork from time to time but I can safely say that I am not a nerd.