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

• My blog
• Facebook
• Twitter

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.

The 10 Commandments of Facebook

1. Thou Shalt Not Document Thy Every Move.

“Just got out of bed. Dreamt about being a pufferfish”. [0 Comments].

“Breakfast”. *Includes photo*. [0 Comments].

“On bus”. [0 Comments].

“At work. Photocopier broken”. [0 Comments].

“Lunch”. *Includes photo*. [0 Comments].

“Work update: Photocopier fixed”. [0 Comments].

“On bus again. Old man sitting next to me smells of socks”. *Includes photo*. [0 Comments].

“Walking from bus to my house”. [0 Comments].

“I wonder what I should have for tea”. [1 Comment: “Cyanide” (32 Likes)].

“Chicken nuggets, chips and peas. Yum yum”. *Includes photo*. [0 Comments].

“Jam roly-poly for dessert”. *Includes photo*. [0 Comments].

“Off to bed. Night night homies”. [0 Comments].

2. Thou Shalt Not Use Stupid Apps and then Invite Others to Use Said Apps.

I will throw an actual sheep at the next person who invites me to join FarmVille. 

Don’t think I’m joking.

3. Thou Shalt Not ‘Friend’ Thy Mother or Thy Boss.

Pictures of you dressed as Hitler will not impress them.

Status updates like “Dude, last night was so funked* up. Did anyone return the llama?” are also unlikely to put you in line for promotion. 

Also, if you really don’t want your mother to see the dodgy tattoo on your left buttock, then it is probably wise not to moon your best friend when he’s armed with a camera.

4. Thou Shalt Not Create a Group, Then Send Thirty-Two Thousand Frickin’ Messages.

“Hi guys,

I thought I’d message you again, just to say – there’s still no update. Once I have an update, I’ll let you know, but if I don’t hear anything then I’ll get back to you within 30 minutes”.

5. Thou Shalt Not ‘Friend’ People Thou Dost Not Know.

Nobody has 36,792 friends. Not even the cast of Friends.

6. Thou Shalt Not Air Thy Dirty Laundry in Public.

“You think you know someone, give them everything, then they funk* you over. Trust no one”.

There’s a time and a place for this sort of thing. You have 2 choices:

1. In a quiet bar, with close friends.
2. On national television with Jeremy Kyle.

*Censored for the women and children.

7. Thou Shalt Not Tag Friends in Incriminating Photos. Unless Thou Wanteth No Friends.

Your real concern however should be the ammunition your friends have against you.

Hot-pink leotards don’t look good on anyone – particularly 12 year old boys. Dancing to Madonna. With 7 girls. On stage. At Brownies.

8. Thou Shalt Not Divulge Too Much Information.

I am delighted that your baby made it here safely. Name, birth weight and “mother and baby doing well” will suffice. Details of the labour, how many centimetres dilated and reports that “it got a bit messy” are superfluous to requirements. I’m quite happy to maintain my belief that you found him or her in a cabbage patch. Thank you.

9. Thou Shalt Not Rant Chronically.

“I can’t believe the price of stamps have gone up by 10%! 10%!”

“God it’s hot. I hate this”.

“Freezing cold. Come back sun”.

In the words of Chandler Bing “My wallet’s too small for my fifties and my diamond shoes are too tight”.

10. Thou Shalt Not Contact Anyone Whilst Intoxicated. 

Never EVER declare your undying love or burning hatred to someone whilst inebriated.

Your spelling and grammar will be atrocious.

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 5^th 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

If Only I Had a Brain

So, it turns out that staring at a blank computer screen for one hundred and thirty-seven consecutive hours is not the best way to get ideas. Why did nobody tell me? 

I figured this out for myself eventually. Only five and a half days wasted.

Jusmeh recently asked me “Where do you find the inspiration for your blogs?” H’mm, let me see…

LIFE IS THE ANSWER

An unfortunate home hair dying incident when I was seventeen resulted in me adorning hats for the entire summer of 1999. This seemed a fitting tale to include in my post I Really Should Have Thought This Through, which, much to my delight embarrassment was Freshly Pressed in February.

Just to reiterate: I still don’t know whether blondes have more fun, but I can verify that oranges certainly do not. 

A few months ago, I noticed a sweet little girl on the bus, with big brown eyes, short curly auburn hair and a cheeky grin. She turned to her mother and said “When I grow up mummy, I want to be a tomato”. Quite clearly a god ‘dam genius – she inspired my post Think Different.

I have been unable to eat a tomato ever since. 

My brother Oli recently invited me for Sunday lunch. A prospect that would have filled me with joy, if it wasn’t for the fact his latest pancake attempt looked like scrambled eggs and he referred to his colander as coriander. I survived though and had lots of new material for my post “I Just Found a Chicken Bone in My Cheesecake. Is That Bad?”

Thank you brother. Your thrice microwaved chicken was delicious. 

A couple of weeks ago, I decided it would be a brilliant idea to walk three miles home in four inch heels. Turns out – it wasn’t.

I ended up in agony, with several blisters and one less toe. My post This Season I Shall Mostly Be Wearing Slippers was born. 

If only I had a brain.

Friends, Romans, Readers, Lend Me Your Ears

To mark my three month blogiversary, I’d like to pick your brains if you don’t mind? Ask me a question; any question. (Though please remember – there are women and children present).

Perhaps you’d like to know how I got that funny little scar in the middle of my forehead? Maybe you want to ask how on earth a crazy person like me got Freshly Pressed? Would you like to discover what it is like to live in England, or have four brothers, or how I cope with being unemployed and somewhat unbalanced? Does my husband Tony really want to name our first-born son Mister T?

If you’re a member of his fan club, then maybe you’re wondering why I keep picking on Justin Bieber? How on earth did I recover from Tiny Tearsgate?  What possessed me to share my diaries with the world?

The possibilities are endless. Ask me anything – apart from how I bagged my husband. I honestly have no idea. 

My favourite question or questions will feature in a future post and/or receive a fancy schmancy made-up award, courtesy of me and my mate PowerPoint.  

Happeeeeeeeee three month blogiversary, tooooo meeeeeeeeeeeee!! Where’s my cake?

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.