Blimey!

Dear Diary,

Oh, I am so fucking pleased I got dressed up for work tonight! A quite good-looking 21 year-old lad called Oliver (one of the punters) asked for my number. Oh happy days! Was a very average shift, very strange..... I expected it to be quiet and it was quite busy - then I expected it to be busier but it was quiet. Very strange.... I wore my new big fluffy belted jumper with a white vest, short ruffled skirt, leggings and brown boots. With a charm bracelet, heart pendant, and (straightened) pulled back hair. Nothing special, but the sort of nice I'm-celebrating-Christmas-homely-barmaid look.

Anyway, got chatting to him while he was stood with his mates (older), who kept telling me he wanted my number - although I didn't believe them as they were ever so slightly pissed. But it turned out he did! Blimey. Waited until he bought me a drink (twice) before writing my number on a betting slip. Have to say, he looked quite chuffed. So continued chatting to him and said mates (and not doing much work) all night. They constantly told me how nice he was, one lifted up his shirt sleeve to show me his biceps (3 words: Oh. Good. GOD!! *fans self*) and we chatted some more - asking about uni, jobs, and the like. it turns out he does LOTS of weight-lifting at the gym. Clearly! This carried on for a while, until Landlady called an early Last Orders. Which, needless to say, caused Rhianne and I to literally jump around in excitement. We cleaned up, talking to Oliver all the while, as he stayed behind, even after all his mates had gone. I chatted to him some more and started sweeping up - eventually he gave me a lovely hug (arm lingering round waist and everything) and left. I bounced around squealing while everyone rolled their eyes. Well, give me credit, it's been almost a YEAR since I got all sparkly over a guy! A girl needs a-romancin'!

Oooh, did I mention? Landlady and Landlord gave Rhianne and I a LITRE BOTTLE OF SMIRNOFF VODKA each as a Christmas present. Good Lord, now that I didn't expect..... Hadn't got them anything, which made me feel bad for about 5 seconds, before thinking "VODKA!!!!!!!" Sweet.

So yeah. Oli (as he apparently liked to be known) promised to text in the morning, despite me predicting he'd be too pissed to remember. That's one of my best techniques, you see, you frequently tell your potential paramour not to worry, that you know they've drank a lot, will probably forget to text, and that you don't mind. They insist they won't forget. You insist they will. By the end of the night, you've gone over it so much, it is ingrained into their head, and they would behead their own mothers to prove you wrong, and text you the next morning. Genius, no?

Got home, ate the rest of a chocolate trifle and came up to bed. Exchanged this series of texts:

HIM: "Hi, really hope this is ur number and u got home ok, text me if im textin the right person"
ME: "Well it depends - who are you trying to reach? It's Katrina anyway, and yes I did get home safe. Is this Ollie?"
HIM: "Yup, but it's Oli, not Ollie plz, if u don't mind, glad u got home safe. I thought u were really nice, can't believe u don't have a bf!!"
ME: "Well, that's very kind of you to say so, Oli! Lol. You were very nice too..... even if your mates were trying to pimp you out, haha"
HIM: "No, I'm not the pimpy kind of guy (i'm a big softy rly) altho don't let anyone no it. I play rugby league n i hate being soft, but i thought u were rly nice!"
ME: "Lol, thank you! Ah, a rugby player, impressive...... (*wink face*) I love rugby, my brother plays it too! Well, I'm off to bed, got work tomorrow. Night night! xxx"

Very nearly (upon his disbelief at me not having a boyfriend) made a crack about it being "because I have extreme schizophrenia and give terrible head." But then I realised, as a sheer matter of pride that I'd have to then tell him I actually give good head (and have the book to prove it) - and then that would either make me seem like I was a mental or a self-advertiser. Hmmm, intrigueing! Left it in the end, as you can see. Well, at least someone new to fancy would distract me from thinking about Lee very selfishly having a girlfriend..... Speaking of which, I'm in work tomorrow, maybe I'll see him, if indeed he still has his job (*worry worry*). Surely he will do, he's a fucking BRILLIANT manager, everyone agrees. Can just imagine starting a petition. Or would that look too keen.....?

Apart from said pub incident, nothing really to report about today. I woke up about half 1, mooched around all day, we had leftovers for tea - I had a "Blackadder" marathon and ate my body weight in chocolate before going to work at half 8. Nothing interesting, just your average Boxing Day. On a bad note, the bruise on my arm looks terrible - it's now progressed to a gigantic, noticable purply-brown fucker that catches the eye of anyone within a 3 mile radius. Spent about 20 minutes trying to convince a particularly indignant punter that I was not being domestically abused.

Alice's turn for Come Dine with Me tomorrow. Can't wait!!
And on that note, I'm off. Tatty-bye!

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