Insomnia

You only ever get insomnia, I find, when you have loads to do the next day. (I can see anyone who knows me raising an enquiring eyebrow at this point, strongly implying that the chances of me having anything to do are remarkably low). As a result of spending hours doing battle with idiot travel agents on the phone this morning and finally getting a flight booked to Buenos Aires in a few weeks, I now have multiple annoying niggling tasks to complete tomorrow (technically later today, but thinking like that just makes life complex).
1. Return overdue library books. Libraries are an awesome idea, except for this whole concept of 'fines'. There are some people - obviously including me - who are just incapable of remembering to return them on time. As a result, I have spent hundreds of pounds over the years on stupid fines. Why can't there be a compromise like... um... in future, you can only take out one book at a time. That would be a much better punishment, at least reducing future fines.
2. Change mobile phone tariff. Which knowing my sodding luck I wont be able to do for some obscure reason - there'll be some small print added to the contract, placed there by the company for the sole reason of cheesing me off.
3. Tidy the house. Since at the moment I'm staying in my Mother's house and she's returning in a couple of days. She probably knows I've lived by the settee for the last few days but doesn't really need the evidence of it.
4. I've no idea, I'm tired. I've forgotten. I should really have written these down earlier.
Maybe I should get one of those geeky dictaphone things and just talk into it whenever I have an idea. Seriously, surely you arent supposed to be my age - rapidly approaching 23, yikes - and not be able to remember stuff for more than five seconds. I've been known to call someone to specifically ask them something and by the time the ringing has stopped, I've forgotten the question. The line, 'if you can't remember it can't have been important' just doesn't work in relation to me.
Apologies going out to anybody tuning in for either a decent rant or at least some vaguely interesting viewpoint on something. Its nearly 2am, I didn't get much sleep last night, I'm basically only writing this so that I'd eventually reach a point of being totally shattered and fall asleep. Probably my laptop will slip from my bed at that time, smash on the floor, and today will just get worse.
Speaking of which, didn't rant about my awful experience in Boots today. (That would be a chemists). For one - and sorry guys, but its relevant - I hate buying 'women's stuff' at the best of times. You always end up with some spotty teenage lad who is so embarrassed and that makes you embarrassed... Anyway, I digress. So having armed self with suitable quantities of 'women's stuff' I stand in the queue to pay. Stupidly long queue, being a bank holiday. For some unknown reason, my contact lens takes the opportunity to step into the limelight and randomly fall out of my eye. Having attracted attention of entire queue by messing about with that for a few minutes (just so that EVERYONE knew what I was buying) , then finally make it to the front to hear that apparently my product was on a '3 for 2' special. Of course, one feels obliged to take advantage of this, which saw me charging to the other side of the store to collect my third item, skidding round the aisle and thus twisting my ankle. Hobbled back redder than I ever thought possible to confront the enraged queue and stuff change into pocket before gallopping out the door as best as one can with a throbbing ankle.
Note to self - never go back there.
I'm sorry, readers, I've developed rapidly into one of those amazingly boring bloggers who says sod all enlightening, interesting, or otherwise. Its late, I'm tired, I promise better things in a couple of days. Sigh - the responsibility that comes with a blog.

Remarkably little to rant about...

Firstly - who is Sideshow Bob?? Yes, I know he is from the Simpsons... but somebody actually READS this stuff?? Wow. If I'd known that, I'd have bothered to come online more often and update you, rant, rave, anything. In fact, over the last week I've had a load to rant about - principally job-oriented rants, that I'm sure most of the working population could relate to on multiple levels - but I've been in such a foul mood I haven't even felt able to rant. (Except by phone to various relatives, apologies go out to them).
Anyway, strange how when one thing goes well everything else falls into place. Having left Argentina at the end of January, I've spent every day since trying to work out how to get back there - and finally a solution has been offered to me. Straight after the Monaco Grand Prix on May 22nd, I'll be leaping onto a plane and hurling myself halfway round the planet to Buenos Aires for a couple of months. Ostensibly to work and do some research, but at a guess there will be multiple evenings involving considerably large quantities of vino...
So anybody staying at the Portal del Sur in Buenos Aires (you allowed to advertise on this thing??) at that time of year - look out for Jane returning to room 306. Yes, that is my name on the door, yes I did stay there so long I earned a name on a door in a hostel... Its a claim to fame, dammit. Don't knock it.
Life is good. Its the boat-race tomorrow that will see the annihilation of Cambridge by Oxford. I have nothing to rant about. Feel strangely empty. Maybe I'll sit here and fiddle with the colours on the screen or something. Apparently I can change them. Hmm. Get excited, dear reader.

Oxford

Ah, the irony... the day after I create a 'blog' (seriously, someone, confirm this terminology to me please) specifically designed to rant about the world at large, I get good news. Seriously good news. Oxford University have accepted me to study for a Masters in Women's Studies, starting October of this year. Why? No, I don't have any idea either - but I can't stop grinning and have the champagne all ready for tomorrow night. I'M GOING TO OXFORD! Good God. It hasn't sunk in at all. Am living in an alternative reality, am sure of it.
Am exhausted with this whole 'feeling happy' thing. Doesn't happen on this scale very regularly and to be honest, its quite knocked the wind out of my sails.
And on that note, I'm going to go fall asleep... Have suspicion am required to wake up horrendously early for the qualifying session of the Malaysian grand prix. Why can't the world just be flat, eh, and get rid of all these time-zone issues we have.
Weh hey - I managed to get a complaint in. My day is truly complete.

Intro Rant

If only because am still online... Okay, so I ambled along to update my Personal Profile (in other words, a form I can fill in that I write answers on I think to be accurate and everyone reads and goes 'yeah right, that isn't the Jane I know') and at one point am asked to put in my date of birth. Tell me, oh Americans, why do you insist on putting the darn MONTH first? Its ILLOGICAL. You build up from small to big to bigger... so from day to month to year. Jeez. Always damn well gets me on those daft forms have to fill in when entering your stupid country. That has to be the one good thing about flying into the UK:- get to walk into a country without waving a small book of paperwork and having my irises photographed. (Plural of iris, must look up. Iri? Irisi?).
Anyway - there you have it. More rants to come.

First Blogging. If that is the correct terminology.

So... I have a blog. Apparently. I get the feeling that what I type in here is going to end up appearing somewhere in the dark recesses of the internet... which means, what, anyone could read this? ANYONE? A few shout-outs therefore:
Potential stalkers:- I'm six feet tall and scary. Go away.
Potential employers:- I'm six feet tall, mostly leg, and prepared to wear short skirts.
Potential boyfriends:- Unless you're tall, dark and handsome, please do not apply for this demanding role.
Ex-employers:- Chances are, I mean every word of what I say on here...
Ex-friends:- I have the patience of a gnat on LSD. You should have known it, eh? And yup, chances are I mean every word of what I say on here...
Exes:- Hell yes, I mean what I write.
Think that covers enough groups for now. So I should probably stop writing for a minute and check that this is actually appearing where I think it is going to. I have a tendency to waste time, I know, but it really would be pointless my wittering away to thin air here. Doubtless I'll be back tomorrow - assuming I remember what on earth username and password I gave myself - and will introduce you to the art of ranting, Jane style. Sit back, take a deep breath, and prepare yourself to enter the diverse, exciting and eventful life (er - okay, sometimes just plain boring if I'm being honest) of Moi.