La Dulce Vida - Da Soul Hip Blog Queen

Updating this journal is becoming increasingly difficult now that it is more of an effort to find a computer with Broadband connection than to think of something to write. So, maybe I should do like 50Cent and withdraw with my dignity in place...
Hopefully Dani, Malaika and I find a house soon with big enough a garden to keep a couple of cows, and then I can sort out an internet connection and give this diary the attention it deserves.

Meanwhile, I have now finished and handed in my dissertation, which means that the levels of self-destruction are back to normal, and it's time to refer to the list of priorities again:



I got a temporary job as a secretary at a hospital, which I'm very pleased about, because now I don't need to start queueing at the Job Centre and have Tracy Towerhouse as my nextdoor neighbour. Shrimp must be very proud of her Mummy, who's so good at sorting things out.
Another good thing about the job is the location - in the case that I was too late with my priority number 3, and don't get any ante-natal training. Although it is in the Social Work department... but that may become handy, too.

And that reminds me that I need to find Babyfather, because I've now lost contact with Cuz T as well. My last message was undelivered and Dani said I should probably just accept that I won't hear from him again.
Which meant I started my Detective Project this morning. I phoned the police, where a lady told me that he probably doesn't want to be in contact with me and that these things happen and that I should get used to it. I started crying, because these things happen as well, so she referred me to the Custody Department. Unlike you, the officer there was less interested in my life story than in Babyfather's personal details, and I was happy I had his real name (things you probably took for granted) and that I remembered his birthday because we're both Capricorns and the baby will be too. As it turned out, Babyfather has been taken into police custody in July.

A-HA!

*frantically looks around to find anyone that could be 'told-you-so'ed.*

And then there is the Data Information Act and all that rubbish, so the officer told me to contact prisons to find out if they're accommodating my 'boyfriend', which is why I'm here at the university probably for the last time this year (but not ever, if I get accepted to do my PhD); printing out contact information for all prisons in the Midlands, because I'm assuming he's not been sent to Guantanamo.

The descriptions on the prison websites make me laugh (which probably makes me a very nihilistic and bad person, who should be in prison herself):

"Type of Accommocation: Cells".

I do hope that Babyfather is taking full advantage of the special features that the prisons offer; in particular the accredited "Coping with Dyslexia" skills course.

Best Friend says I am very, very mean.

The Apprentice tonight was nerve-racking. I think Sir Alan has made the right decision every single time, and I don’t know how he managed to trawl two likable candidates out of that bunch of opportunists.

What I found interesting is that both Christina and Katie were grilled about their family lives, marital status and homes… Katie walked out knowing she will have her Katie Hopkins TV show on Channel 4 by next year. That is if she wants to give up her 90k a year.

But I haven’t been spending the last week watching the Apprentice. I’ve been back and forth riding on the Chiltern Railways accompanied by cheerful football fans, thanks to the new Wembley Stadium.

My latest journey was to an interview for an internship with a big publishing company. I spent the weekend rehearsing the Apprentice type of answers (“Because you can’t perfect perfection”) to justify why I would be a better candidate than any English literature graduate from Oxbridge. In the interview, it turned out that they were looking for a researcher, not an editor in chief. I really wasn’t prepared to answer questions about my own career, let alone be myself!

The research project sounded interesting, though. It would be about learning and finding more opportunities for distance work. I wish I had seen the Apprentice before the interview, and although I came up with a lot of environmental rubbish, I can’t say whether I made a positive impression or not.
“We understand you’re currently living in Birmingham.”
“Yes.”
“Will you be able to move to London?” Able, if not willing.
“So, the concept of your research does not quite work in your reality, then.” My judges laughed; I do not know whether my wittiness will be counted in my favour.

I’ve been waiting for the news all week. Good ones. Good news are delivered on the phone, I believe. Whereas bad news – such as ‘enlarge your penis’ – bad news always come in emails. When I got a missed call and a voicemail from a London number I got excited. I decided to spend my lunch break and lunch money (and bus fare) to buy credit on my phone, so I could listen to the good news, because I may never have to have pasta and ketchup for lunch again!

I bet you people who are eager to leave voicemails don’t really think about the consequences. Think again.

I listened to the message:

“Hello Dulce, it’s Sophie from the Publishing Company… thank you for attending the interview… Could you let me know your e-mail address, please. Thank you.”

Great. I hope it’s going to be about enlarging my penis.