Creative Fruit Loop Seeks Exciting New Job Opportunity

CURRICULUM VITAE

JESSSEEKER, BA (Hons)

OBJECTIVE

Become a wildly successful full-time writer, working from home in the comfort of my favourite SpongeBob SquarePants pyjamas. Convince Stephen Fry to write the foreword to my first book.Take over the world. Retire on a bed of gold-plated chocolate money.

PERSONAL ATTRIBUTES AND TALENTS

  • Funky Chicken specialist.
  • Cheese on toast connoisseur.
  • Grand Master of tongue-rolling.
  • Highly proficient blagger.
  • Nifty right hook.
  • Can recite all the words to The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (abridged version, circa 1991).
  • Remarkable stamina – particularly when talking, shopping and eating chocolate.
  • Capable of solving a Rubik’s Cube within 3 hours, when armed with a screwdriver.
  • Able to hold own breath for an hour and a half, so long as no-one pinches my nose.

EXPERIENCE

Banker (not at all responsible for the global financial crisis) Feb 2006 – Feb 2012

Phone Monkey July 2005 – Feb 2006

Hostess with the Mostess Sep 2001 – June 2005

Shelf Stacker Specialist May 1999 – Sep 2001

EDUCATION 

Bachelor of Arts (honours) English. After over 3 years of study, having amassed approximately £18,000 of debt – I finally gained two letters after my name. Go me.

Advanced Level – English, Art and Media Studies. I shall never forget what I learnt at college: “When in an exam situation – if you can’t remember the year something happened, just put 1962. Lots of things happened in 1962”.

EXTENSIVE PORTFOLIO OF BRILLIANCE

HOBBIES AND INTERESTS

  • Discussing Syria’s uprising with the washing machine.
  • Attempting to catch dry roasted peanuts in my mouth (without choking).
  • Figuring out how to rid the world of Justin Bieber.
  • Playing along to The Voice at home in my office chair.
  • Preparing acceptance speeches for my inevitable, highly coveted Blue Peter badge and Nobel Prize.
  • Re-enacting The Emperor’s New Groove with my pet llama and next door’s cat.

12 Things You Really Don’t Want to Hear at a Dinner Party

1. “I could have sworn I had 10 fingers this morning. ‘Sausage Surprise’ anyone?” 

Oh drat. I’m all full-up from the Bloody Mary soup.

2. “You need to bite off the wichetty grub’s head first. Then you just suck out its insides”.

When you say “need” – is participation mandatory? 

3. “I might have mistaken washing powder for sugar. You may wish to give the trifle a miss”.

I think I’ll brave it. I’ve been looking for brilliant cleaning and long-lasting freshness for some time.

4. “Of course it’s vegetarian. Chicken is vegetarian, right?”

Don’t be an idiot. Fish however is fine.

5. “I don’t want to alarm anyone, but I appear to have misplaced my pet caterpillar Dilbert. Who’s for side-salad?”

That’s terrible. What kind of name is Dilbert? 

6. “You’ll be fine, so long as you eat around the highly poisonous parts of your long-spine porcupinefish”. I’m experiencing shooting pains down both sides and have just gone blind in one eye. Is that a bad sign?

7. “Is this how they cook food where you’re from?”

I spat in your starter.

8. “I’m a fruitarian. I only eat what naturally falls from the tree. Steak and marshmallows grow on trees, right? ”

Do me a favour – pass me your steak and let me beat you with it.

9. “I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t find a babysitter – so I brought along Candice, Chardonnay, Tia-Maria, Rocky and Tyson”.

Curious names. Are you familiar with the term ‘child abuse’?

10. “Is this triple chocolate caramel fudge cheesecake non-dairy and non-fat?”

Oh absolutely. Haven’t you heard? All food eaten on a Thursday is fat and dairy-free.

11. “Party games? I know LOTS of party games! Let’s start by throwing our keys into a bowl…”

Let’s start by showing you the door.

12. “Just updating Facebook. Does nauseating have one ‘S’ or two?”

Allow me to demonstrate by a show of fingers.

Salt Lowers Blood Sugar and Other Utterly Preposterous Things to Say

I have a confession. I secretly love it when other people say really dumb things. Does that make me a bad person?  Quite possibly, but I can live with that.

Here are a few of my favourites. All genuine:

“I don’t believe in God. I’m an amethyst”.

“You’re going on holiday? Anywhere nice?” No, self catering in Afghanistan. In a cave. Alone. Or I might circumnavigate the Falkland Islands in a submarine.

“It’s raining. That horrible rain that gets you really wet”.  As opposed to…?

“What’s the number for 999?” We’re in an emergency situation. I don’t have time for your stupidity.

“I really fancy the black guy from JLS”. You’re going to have to narrow it down a bit more.

“You are driving erotically. Pull over!” I shall take that as a compliment.

[To a diabetic friend whose blood glucose was a little high] “Do you want me to get you some Ready Salted crisps? Salt lowers blood sugar”. They’re not acid and alkaline – salt doesn’t cancel out sugar. Who taught you Chemistry?

“Can you see out of your glass eye?” Who said that?

“The exception proves the rule”. Does it? Does it?

“How many sides does a triangle have?” I no longer wish to be associated with you.

“I could care less”. You could? Excellent.

[Having purchased one item at the supermarket, the checkout assistant asks] “Would you like help with your packing?” No, I think I can just about manage a loaf of bread singlehandedly, thank you.

“I recognise your voice from your email”.

“Tell me everything. Be pacific”. I’m not great at this role-play thing, so you’re going to have to help me. How exactly do I become an ocean? 

“My eyesight has been playing up, and I keep getting headaches, so I’m having a rectal scan tomorrow”. You need to change your doctor.

[Upon hearing Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ for the first time] “Has someone covered Hearsay?” 

“Well, me, myself, personally…” How many of you are there?

“Absolutely. 110%”. So Maths – not your strong point? 

[In the boardroom] “We don’t have to boil the ocean”. Always reassuring to know. Now back to work…

“I may not know a lot about politics, but I do know that James Cameron is not the right Prime Minister to lead us out of recession”. Very true. Despite a strong Directing career, his political credentials are somewhat lacking. Shall we see how David Cameron fares instead?

“Silence when you’re talking to me”.

Sometimes there are no words.

The Top 8 Pitfalls of Being a Superhero

Being unemployed does crazy things to a person. The longer I’m a jobless hobo, the more I find myself considering professions that would otherwise have gone overlooked. Such as, though not exclusive to:

  • Pole Dancer.
  • Forklift Truck Driver.
  • Brain Surgeon.
  • Life Model.
  • Superhero.

Fear not – I would never be a Life Model. Being a Superhero however does appeal. Just imagine – I could use my superpowers to rid the world of evil, hatred and Justin Bieber.

Being a caped crusader is not without its drawbacks though. Who knew?

THE TOP 8 PITFALLS OF BEING A SUPERHERO

The Moral Code. Goddam’ it. ’Willingness to risk one’s own safety for others, without expectation of reward’. No reward you say? None at all? Not even Jaffa Cakes?

Your Highly Questionable Outfit. Nobody looks good in Spandex. Not even David Beckham.

Chafing. Trust me – no amount of Vaseline can protect you.

Everyone Knows Your Achilles Heel. Most mere mortals can hide their flaws with some camouflage make-up and good lighting. Your faults make the front page.

You’re On-Call 24/7. Even during The Apprentice.

You Can Never Find a Phone Booth When You Need One. Like when you only have a nanosecond to get changed into your leotard. (I blame mobile phones).

Your Archenemy. One mega-villain trying to take over the world. Again. It’s exhausting.

There’s No Room in Your Utility Belt for Hair Straighteners. How can they expect you to be photo-ready at a moment’s notice if you can’t address the state of your tresses?

Upon reflection, I have decided that superheroism is not for me. I think I’ll give brain surgery a go instead.

Any volunteers?

Dearest Spammer, What Can I Say?

Dearest Spammer,

I would like to express my sincere gratitude for the mass-produced unsolicited marketing material you so thoughtfully sent to me and half a million others today.

And yesterday.

And every day for the last six and half years.

So good of you to think of me for your latest herbal supplement weight-loss campaign. You shouldn’t have. I feel that I owe you something in return; so please consider this letter my gift to you. No need to thank me…

There were several reasons I needed to decline your generous offer to test drive a Honda:

  1. I heard about the recent product recall over dodgy airbags and did not wish to risk breaking my face.
  2. As a jobless hobo I am currently unable to afford a paper aeroplane, let alone a shiny new car.
  3. They don’t make them in purple.
  4. I cannot drive.

How considerate of you to address the emotive topic of death whilst trying to sell me life insurance via email. Most people just can’t find the right words, but you nailed it.

Thank you so much for drawing my attention on 5th April to the imminent festive season. Season’s Greetings to you too!

I have decided to spend every penny of my one thousand pounds on Christmas decorations to adorn the roof of my home. ‘Tis the season to be jolly, after all.

Moving on – thank you so much for the MBNA reminder. I would have happily provided all of my personal banking information, including sort code, account number and Pin, if it wasn’t for the fact I don’t have an MBNA account.

So I input my husband’s details instead.

Despite having no need whatsoever for Viagra tablets, your ‘professional packaging’ intrigues me. I’ll take seven batches.

While we’re on the topic, I also have no requirement for a cure to male pattern baldness, nor do I need to enhance my ‘member’.

Feel free to send me free chocolate though, to accompany the herbal weight-loss supplements.

Yours,

Jessseeker

Face to Faux with Simon Cowell

When meeting The Queen of England, one must abide by certain royal etiquette:

  1. Approach her face-on.
  2. Do not speak, unless spoken to.
  3. No touching.
  4. Try to mask the giant bolognaise stain you have on your blouse.
  5. Do not ask her to sign your cleavage; she doesn’t have a pen.

I was unsure of the correct etiquette for approaching television royalty Simon Cowell recently, when I faux-interviewed him. But I felt that a curtsy was in order:

Jessseeker: Your highness. I’m Jessseeker. It is great to meet you at last.

SC: Seriously though – what’s your real name?

Jessseeker: Jessseeker.

SC: No, really – what’s your real name?

Jessseeker: Jessseeker is my real name.

SC: Well, I’m not going to call you Jessseeker, because I think that’s a stupid name. I’m going to call you Paula Abdul instead.

Jessseeker: Moving on – you were recently confronted by a female intruder armed with a brick, in your London mansion. That must have been terrifying?

SC: It was. I told her “Take anything you want, just don’t hit the face”.

Jessseeker: So with hindsight, do you regret not hiring Kevin Costner as your Bodyguard?

SC: Along with high waisted trousers and dating Sinitta, that is one of my biggest regrets.

Jessseeker: Good to know you are so grounded in spite of your fame and fortune. I can see you look after yourself. You’re obviously in great shape.

SC: Tell me something I don’t know.

Jessseeker: Is it true you do two hundred press-ups a day?

SC: Five hundred. Sack your researcher.

Jessseeker: You’ve been accused of being rude, arrogant and insensitive to contestants. Do you think it is fair to be so critical of others when you’re not exactly perfect yourself?

SC: One million percent yes.

Jessseeker:  Final question. You said in the past that every show you have produced is something you would want to watch yourself. Can you explain Jedward to me please?

SC: Well Paula, let’s face it; they weren’t the act we were looking for. But the truth is – I don’t take myself too seriously and I don’t consider myself a star. Now where is that water I ordered? I wanted Evian, not Vittel. I said ‘tepid’; this is ‘lukewarm’ and I’m still waiting for my peeled grapes!

Incidentally – he offered to sign my cleavage, but I graciously declined. 

Time to Take Over the World: Day One

It turns out this jobless malarkey is highly overrated. There are only so many conversations a girl can have about the state of the economy with her dehydrated house plant. So having given the matter much thought, I have decided not to become a worthless vagabond, but to take over the world instead. It was that, or learn Latin.

Never let it be said that I lack ambition. Like many bloggers, my dream is to become a wildly successful full-time writer, working from home – in the comfort of my favourite SpongeBob SquarePants pyjamas.

In three short months, jessseeker has inexplicably amassed 33,500 hits. Being Freshly Pressed during week seven certainly helped and featuring in WordPress’ Recommended Blogs for humor hasn’t done any harm either. Thank you WordPress Gremlins. I love you!

All I need to do now is work out how to replicate this twenty-nine fold to achieve what I would consider blogging success, namely one million hits. Then I can turn professional.

I’m reliably informed by people in the know that this is nigh on impossible to do. Having spent twenty-nine years ignoring figures of authority though, I have opted to do just that. Why break the habit of a lifetime?

It would seem like an insurmountable task, if it wasn’t for the support, intelligence and techie insight of my big brother Oli, who has promised to help me make jessseeker so successful that I “can retire on a bed of gold-plated chocolate money”. Dark chocolate, naturally.

So having observed some of the greats at work (Julie Powell, Dooce and James Altucher, to name but a few) I have tried to encapsulate their secret. Here goes:

  • Write well.
  • Write often.
  • Be different.
  • Make your blog look pretty.
  • Somehow establish universal appeal.
  • Get the world smiling, one blog at a time.

Do not under any circumstances:

  • Lose integrity.
  • Sell your soul to the devil.
  • Write anything nice whatsoever about Justin Bieber.

Okay, so I might have added the Justin Bieber thing. But it can’t do any harm.

I plan to measure my success by hits, followers, revenue and whether or not Stephen Fry is willing to write the foreword to my first book. Failure is not an option. That bed of gold-plated chocolate money will be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine.

I am fully aware that flying over Buckingham Palace, dressed as Wonder Woman, with an old bath towel for my cape and teddy bear for company would be a more realistic ambition. So please wish me luck and I shall keep you posted on my complete and utter failure resounding success!

This Season, I Shall Mostly Be Wearing Slippers

In a moment of genius yesterday, I decided to walk three miles home in four inch heels. My feet are now adorned with blisters and I think I lost a toe. So this season, I shall mostly be wearing slippers – an unexpected staple for my spring wardrobe.

Thank goodness animal prints are currently on trend, otherwise my faux giraffe skin, fleece-lined slipper boots might look out of place at my job interview next week.

Regrettably, this is not the first time I have suffered in the name of fashion:

Some boots aren’t made for walkin’.  If high heels weren’t pretty and painful in equal measure, then I wouldn’t have thirty-seven pairs in my wardrobe I never wear.

Step away from the cabbage. As a University student, my desperate bid to squeeze into a particularly stunning dress, two sizes smaller than me, involved living solely on cabbage soup for two weeks. If only I had been pre-warned about the side effects…

Breathe in. Now hold it there – for eighteen hours. My corseted wedding dress may have taken four inches off my waist, but I couldn’t eat, drink or breathe in it. I still maintain it was totally worth the damage to my internal organs – and I didn’t need those bottom ribs anyway. 

You can stand under my umbrella (ella ella ay ay ay) but only if it complements my dress. Having left my trusty umbrella at home last month because it didn’t go with my outfit, I got caught in a torrential downpour thirty minutes later. I soon discovered that my purple satin clutch bag made a very poor umbrella substitute and my waterproof mascara had definitely been sold to me under false pretences.

I found myself singing Rihanna at the bus-stop at ten of clock at night – at which point my husband quite rightly disowned me.

One of these days I shall learn from my mistakes, but until then, I anticipate a great many more blisters, fad diets, funny looks from total strangers and photos on Facebook of me looking like a drowned rat.

Sorry about that.

Oh Dear Diaries…

I have spoken before about the trauma I suffered aged six, when my brother Chris decapitated my beloved Tiny Tears doll. It is fair to say that none of us were ever the same again:

- Chris realised he should never mess with his little sister – due to her nifty right hook.

- I learnt to hide stuff from my brothers that I didn’t want damaged / maimed / beheaded.

- Tiny Tears developed a new-found appreciation for polo neck tops.

I became exceptionally good at concealing my possessions after Tiny Tearsgate, 1989. Anything of value or sentiment was stowed away in a safe place, until I left home at the age of eighteen. This included, though was not exclusive to:

- A second-hand paperback copy of Roald Dahl’s Matilda, purchased for fifteen pence.

- My extensive Pog collection.

- One hundred high quality fibre-tipped colouring pens.

- Three mixed tapes of Boyzone, Peter Andre, the Spice Girls, and Backstreet Boys.

- My top secret, highly confidential, tell-all diaries, that I began writing in 1995, at the             tempestuous age of twelve.

With impressive foresight at just fourteen, I acknowledged that I’d probably look back on my diaries in years to come and laugh. I may have underestimated just how much.

Here are some highlights from the last seventeen years in the life of me.

Names have been changed to protect the innocent:

11/05/1997 SECONDARY SCHOOL: Everything in this diary seemed to have a point to it when I wrote it. That’s why I refuse to look back and cross stuff out. Even the really embarrassing stuff about fancying Dave from my Maths class and cutting my own fringe. Again.

27/12/1997 SECONDARY SCHOOL: New Year’s Resolutions for 1998

  1. I will slap the next person who says I fancy Dave, because I don’t.
  2. I will tidy my room at some point this year.
  3. I will keep my room tidy for at least a week.
  4. I will stop worrying so much about how I look.
  5. I will marry Ronan Keating.

30/12/1998 SECONDARY SCHOOL: New Year’s Resolutions for 1999

  1. I will cut down on chips and chocolate, eat my greens and drink more milk.
  2. I will either slap or kiss Smith for being such a git.
  3. I will snog any (well, just about any) boy who offers.
  4. I will not take my mobile to school for the sole purpose of showing off. Well, maybe.

11/05/2000 COLLEGE: Oh fudge. I tried to pluck my eyebrows to make them look better, but now it’s a case of “Eyebrows? What eyebrows?” Will have to draw them on with pencil until further notice. Note to self: step away from the tweezers.

11/03/2001 COLLEGE: 

21/06/2001 COLLEGE: Have opted to come down with food poisoning on Friday. Not actual food poisoning, but this is my brilliant plan to get out of work. I am brilliant.

30/11/2001 UNIVERSITY: Nothing to report apart from my slow spiralling descent into madness.

“I didn’t lose my mind; it was mine to give away.” Robbie Williams.

11/02/2002 UNIVERSITY: This afternoon was highly productive. I finally mastered the art of reading half a book and blagging the fact I read the whole thing. It’s a talent. One I am proud of and grateful for.

19/04/2002 UNIVERSITY: My plans to go into Uni today were scuppered by an overwhelming desire to sit at home on my bed and highlight stuff. Very important stuff; naturally.

22/04/2003 UNIVERSITY: 

13/08/2003 UNIVERSITY: Mental note: Everything happens for a reason and anything pants that seems to crush you at the time, just makes you stronger in the end. H’mm, that’s very phylosophical of me for a Thursday afternoon. Must learn to spell phylosophycal philospohycal philosophical.

19/10/2003 UNIVERSITY: Am so proud of me! Have spent the entire day doing boring Postmodernism coursework. All something to do with hyperreality. Very confusing. Despite having written 2,503 words, I still don’t understand it. This does not bode well for the ‘A’ grade I was hoping for.

29/11/2004 UNIVERSITY: Momentous occasion: Handed in my dissertation. *Takes a bow*.

03/10/2005 POST-UNIVERSITY: An ode to Tony: “When I fall in love, it will be forever”. Thank you Nat King Cole. 

Note to self: Must put prophetic talents to good use. A winning lottery ticket would be a great start.

I Just Found a Chicken Bone in My Cheesecake… Is that Bad?

Having founded his own internet solutions company, run the New York marathon and purchased his first sports car, my brother Oliver decided recently that 2012 would be the year he finally learnt to boil an egg. Cooking has never been a priority to him, with culinary talents at the age of thirty-something on par with my neighbour’s cat.

So to address this glaring oversight, Oli set himself a challenge to cook a different meal every day for thirty days, in the hope he would magically metamorphose into a slim, follicly-challenged Jamie Oliver. Once a week, he held a ‘Come Dine with Me’ style dinner party where each guest rated his cooking and general hosting skills.

I was fortunate enough to be invited along with my mother and youngest brother Mike for Sunday lunch at the end of this process, once Oli had mastered the basics.

Oli's attempt at a pancake didn't exactly fill me with confidence

There was still a moderate risk of food poisoning, but having taken advantage our mother’s cooking for over thirty years, we were all in agreement that it was about time Oli returned the favour. I should have noticed the warning signs though:

1. The roast chicken was the size of an albatross and had only been cooking for an hour and twenty-five minutes.

2. The carrots made a bid for freedom by jumping off the kitchen worktop.

3. Oli referred to his colander as coriander.

But the food was surprisingly yummy. Had it not been for the fact the chef needed to nuke the undercooked albatross in the microwave three times after it first came out of the oven, we may have eaten within an hour and a half of schedule.

Dessert was also delightful – a fabulous boozy cheesecake, laced with glacé cherries. The biscuity base was quite crumbly though, due to Oli neglecting to purchase butter at the supermarket. Praying alone was insufficient to bind the biscuit crumbs together. Mike however loved it. I think… 

Oli took the liberty of documenting the event for prosperity. See if you can notice the subliminal jessseeker plug. It’s really quite subtle:

I would like to take this opportunity to point out that the camera adds ten pounds – and there were at least six cameras on me at the time.