Hello there. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Annie. Annie Ball. I am 28, live in London and work as a telesales representative (which I loath) for a company that has something to do with selling art products. I have a 2.2 degree in fine art (yawn), I drink too much wine & coffee, I am desperately trying to quit smoking (although, these days, it would seem that smoking is trying to quit me!), I have a cat (jasper), I am addicted to game shows & reality tv, I love crosswords, cartoon strips & "Heat" magazine, I despise any famous actress who is prettier than me (especially Keira Knightly...), I live on my own, I don't have a boyfriend and I get fed up all too often with this fact, but the one thing that makes me feel better is taking a hot bubble bath every Sunday night with my Kenny G CD on and a bottle of red wine (again, too much wine.)
That's me. That's who I am.
So why have I decided to start writing this? Well, the other day I got out of bed and slumped in front of the TV with a bowl of Kelloggs Crunchy Nut and a cup of coffee. I usually make a habit of taking a shower before I do anything, but this was a Saturday and I had promised myself some much deserved R&R time. Anyway...on comes the news with a story about the internet and all the 'stuff' that it has out there! Now, I must admit, I know as much about the internet as I do about the way men think...YouTube this, Myspace that...but, as I was sat there in my fleece dressing down, I came to the realisation that I am actually in the minority with all of this cyber stuff. I had no computer. No wireless bandbroady thing (or whatever the hell you call it) and no clue about what any of it did. It was time for Annie Ball to 'modernise' herself a little bit. So, that afternoon, I bought myself a little PC & had had a crash course on how to use it by some 40-something geek called Neville, who no doubt still lived with his mother and, I'm pretty sure, was trying to come on to me. I was tempted to ask him if he truly did believe he was a sex god...but, I stopped myself. I needed to learn how to turn this damn computer on, and this comic reading, star trek obsessing, attic residing weirdo was the only way I could learn!
So, by the evening I had my new PC all set up, internet was on, lights were flashing...everything seemed to be going well. It was actually rather exciting when I saw my very first webpage! The colourful logo from the Google site made me tingle inside! Sad, I know, but when you come from a family who downright rejects all things modern and new, its hard to progress your technological knowledge. It's not that my family are Amish farmers or anything. Nothing of the sort! They are just very black and white people, opinionated sometimes, complacent at others...middle of the road, sitting on the fence...you find a saying that describes neutrality and it'll fit my parents! My Dad, bless him, working in a train engine factory from the age of 16 until the age of 40. He then left and landed himself a little desk job in a solicitors office. My mum...well, she was a housewife and raised me to become to woman I am today...nice job mum (note the sarcasm). My mother and I have never really got on, but we pretend...
As I was saying...I was getting used to this internet thing, when I came across this website. I quite liked the idea of 'blogging'...so that's why I am here today. That's why I am writing this. I quite simply like the idea!
Right, I have to get moving. I have work soon. I am doing the night shift at the call centre. *sigh* my job is awful. I dont think there could be anything quite so degrading as an aspiring artist realising that her dream to paint beautiful landscapes will never happen, and having to resort to working long graveyard hours, flogging boxes of novelty paint and glitter tubes to people who are crazy enough to part with their money for them. I honestly don't know how I sleep at night. I have to sit on the phone and talk clueless parents into spending £50 for our paint set, one that you could quite easily put together yourself for half the price. It's morally wrong, but people do it, and its those people who pay may wages. No wages, no living in this flat. See? There is some justifiable logic to why I do this job: I need the money. How pathetic is that? I used to dream about getting out there and painting the world - meeting new people, seeing new things...but, sadly, things don't work out as you plan them, do they? You get your degree and you suddenly realise that you are in the big bad world, and you need to earn some money...fast. No room for idealistic fantasy lands. Just bills, 9-5, looking forward to your lunch break, carpet shopping at the weekend, the never-ending frantic search for utility companies that could save money, complaining about the raise in council tax...cest la vie though, right?
I really must go now. I think I may write later, from my desk. I'll wait for my supervisor to go home. If boredom strikes, I know where to come.
