*as in, 'I am injecting some wieners into the blog,' not whatever you were thinking. It's been that kind of a day.
Biased games of Pass the Parcel - When I was little (and annoying) I had a fierce sense of injustice about Pass the Parcel. When it was played at my birthday party, with my five-year-old social circle (some of whom I would later grow up and sleep with), the music stopped by pure chance because my parents closed their eyes. Which is how the game is supposed to work. But sometimes, when I went to other kids' birthday parties, the music stopped on the Birthday Child (not by chance) and all the other kids had to sit there and simper through gritted teeth, "Ooh, Pippa! How lucky! You got the prize! And it's your birthday, too!" While Pippa's mother sat there grinning smugly and thinking no-one knows. Well we know, Karen Ensor. We know.
Ridiculously good-looking douchebags - Such a disappointment!
Worms - The intestinal kind, not the earth kind. Raise your hand if you had worms when you were a child. Now put your hand down and put a bit of masking tape over your, uh, anus (we use grown up words on this blog) then take it off and have a look because that is how you tell whether or not you have worms! Yep, worms are gross. Even the concept of worms is wienerish because it's one of those things, like nits or spiders, where the very thought makes you itchy. Raise your hand and scratch your head if you are itchy. Fun fact: a friend of mine had worms when she was quite little, and during the night her mother lifted the blankets, shone a torch on my friend's bum, and picked out the worms. (I didn't ask what with but I think we can presume tweezers.) Worms are gross. Ew worms ew! Make you very thin, though, don't they. Ye-es.
People who think they are being Very Profound, when they're not - You know the ones. World-changing yet inexplicably unemployed creative types who wank madly on about the state of the world for ten minutes, then build up to a heavy pause, get their Thinking Face on, and say something stupendously basic. Something like, "You just can't live your life for other people, you know? You have to do what you want." And then, having dug this Enormous and Great Thought from their their Enormous and Great Brain, they sit back and have a large and smug sip of their soy chai no-foam latte. Whole thing is rather Pooh Bear-esque: "Before beginning a Hunt, it is wise to ask someone what you are looking for before you begin looking for it." See? Sounds profound. But actually it's NOTHING NEW, POOH which is how I'm going to respond to these Great Thoughts from now on.
Networking - I am all for networking in a business setting: "Hi I'm Ally and I work in Advertising and my favourite animal is Aardvark." "Oh Hi Ally I'm Tom and I work in Transport and I am a Twat." Etc. That is all A-OK. You know what is lame, though? Obvious networking in social situations. Here is my just-developed theory about networking in social situations: it's like scratching your balls through your pocket, in that it ceases to become acceptable the moment people notice you're doing it. If you're at a party, at least pretend to be interested in people as people, not as business accessories, or you might not get invited to many more parties. If you can't network discreetly, maybe you aren't actually that good at it anyway. No-one likes being treated like they're a copy of PowerPoint which you may or may not buy. (If you're still having trouble with this, imagine that you meet someone, and they ask, "So, are you single?" And you say, "No." And they go, "Oh..." and wander off. Just like that. For some reason it's OK to be that level of rude when you're networking.)
Sleaze merchants - The elements of a good pickup line are a) confidence and b) humour and c) the promise of smut. You can't just forge ahead with filth and a sweaty handshake. People will spit on you. And you will get worms. Karmic worms. Itchy, itchy karmic worms. And there is no butthole torch for that.