This Post is Going to Get Weird

Ugh. *Makes this face:*

  

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Ask me what’s wrong. What’s wrong Jane?

Oh, nothing. 

Ask again. What’s wrong Jane? 

Okay, fine. If you absolutely must know, I was lying awake last night (you know, wondering if my boyfriend’s snoring was comparable to a vibrating mountain goat or a hungry llama. Standard) and I mentally wrote a poem. And it was amazing. I mean, I know it’s easy to say that now, but really, you guys would’ve been all like:

I mean, if you’re post 2007 Britney and you’ve made some questionable life choices…as you were.

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I even was practicing my Nobel prize acceptance speech, where I would’ve been all like “and finally…thank you Mother Nature, for the words.” 

I woke up this morning, and I had forgotten every word. Every. Single. Word. I don’t even know what my poem was about. It could have been Homeric in its epicness (or been about dancing iguanas) but alas…the world will never know. *wipes single tear away from eye* 

Anyway, I’ll get over it. I’m technically on Easter holidays at the moment, which means this:

 

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Jack is working most days, which means I’m just lolling about the house, trying to teach my cat how to do bookkeeping, ’cause I figure that’ll come in handy at some stage. She’ll be like my personal Andy Dufresne.

My health hasn’t been great. I’m not a hypochondriac…which is totally something a hypochondriac would say, d’oh. But I’ve had ongoing problems for over a year now and I’ve decided to abstain from dairy and wheat just to see if it helps. So far, it hasn’t and I’m super-cranky because I can’t have milk chocolate, which is the equivalent of taking hairspray off this guy: 

  

Hint: We both get a little stabby…

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I have a lot to look forward to, though. My sister is getting married in June and a week later, one of my best friends is getting married too. I’m her bridesmaid, which is potentially the worst decision she has ever made but hey, let’s go with it. Her hen party is next weekend, and I just ordered the most ridiculous costume to wear. Let’s just say it involves leg warmers and a tutu. I don’t even know how that happened. I’m going to make Lady Gaga’s fashion choices look conservative. 

So that’s basically my life right now. I have some fun things coming up, which I will reveal in due course. 

So…why don’t you tell me what’s been going on with you and I’ll tell you how I used to think line dancing was actually called lion dancing and wouldn’t lion dancing actually be amazing? Okay, bye. 

My Boyfriend is as weird as I am

For anyone who thinks I’m weird (hello!) my boyfriend, Jack, is at least 73% weirder than me. This just happened:

Jack walks into the living room while I’m watching TV, and I don’t look at him but I can feel that he wants me to look at him. He walks past me a few times and clears his throat.

He’s wearing a medium length black coat and a scarf. Jack isn’t really the scarf wearing type, particularly in mild weather, so he looks different than normal. I have to say, he looks very handsome and fashionable in his coat and scarf. The thing is, I can tell he is self conscious. He’s the sort of guy who doubts his fashion choices and who needs reassurance. He also overthinks everything.

He clears his throat again.

“What do you think?”
“Lovely.”
“Really?”
“Yeah…but what have you got it on for now? We aren’t going anywhere tonight.”
“Yeah…erm, I might go for a walk just…around.”

Now reader, this might seem perfectly normal but Jack and I never walk anywhere from our home. You see, we live a few kilometres from a forest park, so we always drive there for our walks instead. Hence, Jack going for a walk alone at night from our house is not a regular occurrence.

“Erm, why would you do that?” I ask.
The thing is, I already know the answer. Jack knows he looks handsome in his coat and much like a child who gets a new Ironman tshirt, he wants to show it off.

“I’m just…bored.”

There’s a silence.

“Does my coat really look nice?” he asks again, adjusting the sleeves. Before I can answer, he asks another question: “Do you think it’s too early in the year to wear a coat?”

Since I’m watching one of the last episodes of How I Met Your Mother, I’m not really paying adequate attention to Jack. I just shrug.

“It’s just…I don’t wanna go out wearing a coat if I look like a douche.”

“Mmm.”

“Maybe we could watch the news? If the reporters are wearing coats and scarves then maybe I can too?”

“I’m not changing the channel, love.”

“Right. Will ya just check the temperature there on your phone?”

I reluctantly check, silently worrying that my weirdness is contagious and I have seriously infected Jack.

“It’s thirteen degrees.”

“That’s cold, right?”

“I’d say it’s more…mild.”

“Ah, damn it.”

And then all I see is Jack flouncing out of the room, dramatically ripping off his coat. He still hasn’t come back downstairs.

He’s adorable.

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He looked a little like this, except it wasn’t a duffel coat…and he’s not a cat.

Being Bob Newhart

Some of you might assume that if you were to meet me in real life I would be as friendly as a motherlovin’ seal.

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….Wait, wrong Seal…

To an extent, that’s true. Within a few minutes of meeting each other, who knows? We could be line dancing to Billy Ray Cyrus while eating fried shrimp (you’re right; that is weirdly specific for a spontaneous hypothetical situation…it’s almost like I’ve thought of us doing this before…). More than likely, however, I’ll be a little less Russell Brand and a bit more Bob Newhart.

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Remember this? My favourite Simpson’s moment because this is my life…

It’s not that I’m shy, it’s just that I’m…well, weird. I don’t need to go into that, you guys know the deal by now. I know how to function in everyday life, don’t get me wrong. I know that you probably shouldn’t fist bump a person the first time you meet them (although I would be totally okay if that replaced cheek kissing, because awkward). I also know that not everyone finds protracted conversations about owls interesting (whatever, Sally from accounts, pfft).
The thing is, when you’re a little, er, eccentric like myself, you need someone a little weird to bounce off.
When I meet someone who is just as “unique” as myself, it’s as magical as unicorn farts.

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When I meet a normal or serious person who doesn’t appreciate a good owl meme (or who doesn’t like dance-fighting and karaoke rap) I find conversation can be a little awkward. Something like this usually happens:

Normal person: Hi Jane.
Jane: Fine thanks.

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Wait, what?

Yes, this happens when I get awkward. I just can’t conversationalise…I can’t good talk…I can’t make mouth words…I… OH GODDAMMIT!

The more I try and force conversation, the worse I get. I end up saying the weirdest things. I just can’t shut up.

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Yep.

The worst instance of this was in a teaching job I had a few years back. My boss was a very serious lady, and while she was very nice, I found it nearly impossible to talk to her. One Monday morning, we were stuck awkwardly sitting beside each other in the staffroom when she initiated conversation:

Boss: Did you do anything this weekend?
Me: Not really. I mean, I didn’t do “nothing” just I didn’t… (all of a sudden brain Jane kicks in screaming at me: if you say you did nothing, she’ll think you’re lazy)… I actually went…diving. (Diving, Jane? WHAT THE EFF?) Er, driving. I meant driving. To the beach…sea…not into the sea. Haha. To the sea. (SHUT UP JANE, JUST SHUT UUUP!)
Boss: Er, right. Great.

So you see reader, life would be a lot easier if we were all weird. Or if we were all normal…but that would be boring.

What makes you awkward?

A Tour Through My Very Weird Camera Roll

Happy weekend everyone! LETS GO CRAAAAZY AND DO SHOTS! Haha, not really, let’s wear onesies and watch Finding Nemo.

So today Jack needed to send a text from my phone. I left the room to do important Jane stuff (eat marshmallows and line dance with my cat). When I came in, Jack looked confused.
“What’s up?” I asked, taking my phone back.
“Um, nothing”, he replied, eyeing me suspiciously.
“What?” I prodded. It was obvious something was bothering him.
“Your camera roll on your phone…is…really weird.”
“What else would you expect?” I asked, laughing. He’s right, by the way. It’s insane. Let’s take a look at some of my pictures, shall we?

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There this photo of a dog that I don’t own because cute dogs are to me what supermodels are to teenage boys.

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I’m not even gonna feel bad about this, it’s gold.

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Ditto.

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I like to intermittently send this to my friends when they text me gossip.

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And this if for when they insult me. Sorry not sorry.

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You’re probably sensing a theme here. And yes, there are dozens more of these. Seriously, if I’m ever hacked, this is 97% of my camera roll.

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I also like to photograph the back of my head…for art. And research.

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There’s an estimated 6000 pictures of my cat asleep. She’s majestic.

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I love Steven Seagal.

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Here’s a woman I don’t know!

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Escargot, aw haw haw!

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Messi looks like Eric Bana, yes?

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I send this to Jack because he is smarter than me.

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I’m sure there’s a good reason I have a picture of Emily Dickinson in my phone…

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WHY WOULD SOMEONE HAVE THIS IN THEIR CAR??!!!

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I gave Jack a makeover.

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My cat decided she wanted a bath….

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…and that she wanted to wear a turban.

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There were some pretty pictures…

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…and some pictures of Kevin’s Mom from Home Alone.

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My guinea pig taking selfies…

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…and a hitch-hiking sheep.

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The time I realised my cat is also Spider-Man.

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WINDMILL FTW!

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*Snigger*

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Apparently there was an instance where I needed a picture of the scary nun from The Magdalene Sisters and Emilio from Dangerous Minds. Perhaps I was writing very very weird fan fiction.

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This donkey confused me. Is it Rastafarian?

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I got sunburnt and looked like the Swiss flag.

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I probably had this picture for a very good reason but I cannot remember what that reason was.

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There are 36 pictures of my own teeth. I can only assume I was drunk when this happened. Very, very drunk.

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There are several face-swap pictures of Jack and I. Disturbing. Very disturbing.

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Yes. That is frogspawn.

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More Beyonce.

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My cat sure knew how to chill.

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I bought my guinea pigs a swing and they’re all Little House On The Prairie.

That’s only the ones that are safe for here. Most were of me hugging strangers and climbing lampposts. There were 3 photos of me eating hotdogs and no that is not a euphemism, I was actually eating hotdogs.
If you like, why don’t you show us some of your camera roll? Is it as random as mine?

Cupid or Cats is one year old today*

This blog is one year old today! I just want to say a massive thank you and give an awkward arm punch to all of my wonderful followers, commenters and likers for sharing this weird and wacky journey with me.

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I decided that for my blogaversary, I would do a blog Q&A, with myself…because, well you already know weird is how I roll.

Hey Jane.

Hey, Janey. Wait, am I Jane or Janey?

It doesn’t matter. Man, you’re annoying sometimes.

Ditto, bitch.

Well, we’d better get started. Why did you begin blogging?

It was actually my boyfriend’s idea. I was always either ranting or making silly jokes, and he felt that a receptive audience would be a lot better than just him and our cat. My cat thinks I’m s**t, by the way.
Anyway, I was going through a tough time and I thought it would be a great way of expressing myself.

Does your blog have a niche or a theme? Because it seems random as hell.

Originally, I had intended it to be a relationship blog but then my brain got in the way (wearing a bikini and being all distracting) and was like “no Jane, talk about farts, talk about owls…” so yeah, that idea quickly went out the window (along with my dignity).
Now, I just write whatever makes me smile. Essentially, I just want blogging to make me happy. I’m selfish like that.

You’re a teacher. Why don’t you blog about that?

Occasionally, I’ll mention it. It is a big part of who I am, but this was intended as an escape from all of that. I love my job, I do. And I try to be fun in class and have a laugh with my students, but obviously I have to be professional. Here I can just be whatever I want, including a ballerina. *does awkward arabesque*
I know that if I had a proper niche, I would have more followers but I never began this to gain thousands of followers; I did this for stress release.

Why the name Cupid or Cats?

I don’t know. I really don’t. It just came into my head. I think it was because, like I said, it was supposed to be a relationship blog. And I thought I want people in relationships (who’ve been hit by Cupid’s arrow) and single people (erm, I don’t know what to say without offending anyone so here’s a picture of a happy kitten:)

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…to read my blog. By the way, I once had, like, five cats so what do I know?
And anyway, if I keep blowing foghorns in my boyfriend’s ears, this is what will happen to me:

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Smooth Jane. Really smooth. So, be honest, what do you like best and
least about blogging?

Best: The people. Really.
I have met funny, kind, intelligent, insightful, loving, cheeky and generally BRILLIANT people here. It’s great, because we are all united in our desire to say something relevant and to listen to others.
I can’t really believe how nice anyone is. Or how engaged people are. We have lots of fun on here.

Worst: Ugh. That’s tough. Sometimes I read blogs that are just amazing and I know I’ll never measure up. But then I look at owl memes and I feel okay.
Also, keeping up with all the blogs I follow can be difficult and I don’t want anyone to think that I don’t value what they do. I try my best. I get a little paranoid that people will think I’m a selfish blogger, but really I make as best an attempt as I can to catch up with all of you. I reply to virtually every single comment I receive because I appreciate them so much. And also, because they’re always great and make me smile.
Something happened lately that has upset me a little, but I’m not going to discuss it here (sorry). It just made me realise that there definitely are downsides to this blogging malarkey.
But the pros definitely outweigh the cons.

How do most people find your blog?

Through Google searches about farting. No joke.

That’s weird. So, how does your boyfriend feel about all of this?

He doesn’t really care either way because he’s so busy with his PhD. He does like what I write whenever he happens to read my posts, though.
Sometimes he even laughs.

Does anyone else know about your blog?

Yes, I drunkenly confessed to a friend but I doubt she reads it much. She’s cool though, I trust her and I don’t mind her reading it at all.
I also think I told my best friend but she didn’t really say anything at all.
There is no way I would tell anyone else, though. My family would not be impressed (they’re great, but very private) and I would be really paranoid I’ve written something negative about someone that would cause offense, so I won’t be sharing this blog with anyone else in my personal life.

Why the picture of yourself then?

I think the chances of someone that I know stumbling across my blog are very small. I probably will change it, but I’m lazy.
I like that my readers can put a face to my blog, even if I do look super-bitchy in my gravatar. M to the e-ow.

What do you think is wrong with your blog?

Nothing, of course.

Jane, stop being an ass.

Okay, I was kidding. I thought you of all people would know that.
I have no grand plan or scheme, I don’t edit my posts, I write exclusively on my phone, I post too much…okay, now everyone is just going to unfollow me. Thanks, Jane. (Little do they know, every time someone unfollows me, a dolphin cries.)

So Jane, how’s your Mom heh heh heh…

What are you talking about? She’s your Mom too, smartass.

Oh yeah. That’s embarrassing. . So what do you think the future holds for your blog?

I don’t know. I want to tidy it up a little and maybe include some features.
If I ever get to 1000 followers, and that’s a big if, I’m going to do something really really special. It’ll probably be a while before that happens but let’s just say, it going to involve me, wine, maybe some karaoke and a camera. Oh yeah.

That should class up the place a bit Jane..

Natch.

So, that’s a whole year guys. Here’s to a whole bunch more.

*Technically, it’s tomorrow. But the idea was born on the fifth and….look over there…*runs*

Weird Search Terms

Ding ding, we have a winner! The weirdest search engine phrase that has ever been used to find my blog is in and it’s a beauty:

How do I stop farting on Heinz Baked Beans?

I really hope this person found the answer to their frankly bewildering question when they visited my blog. If they did not, I will now answer this question as best I can. Firstly, perhaps you should stop farting on the beans and direct your blusters else where. Also, are you farting on the beans and then eating them? Because if so, ew that’s disgusting, and secondly, maybe the beans have something to do with your excessive flatulence?

I hope I have helped you in your search for an answer to this…problem, oh weird weird stranger of the internet.

Owl Make You Smile

I feel like I can honest with you guys. You guys get me. You guys know how weird I am.
So I’m gonna share one of my many weird quirks with you guys. Sometimes I get sad. And when I get sad, I go on the internet and I look at pictures. I look at pictures of…owls. Yes, owls. Before you judge me, have a look at the gallery I have specially compiled for your viewing pleasure and then judge me. Just be advised, any negative comments about owls and I’ll get my army of owls after you. Okay, I don’t have an army of owls.

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I know, right??
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If you met me in person…

Do you ever wonder what it would be like to meet another blogger in “real” life?

I know I give off quite the weird vibe on here, but if you were to meet me in real life….actually, I’d give off a weird vibe there too.

Here’s what you would probably think about me:

1. Her accent is funny
My accent ranges from a mild Irish lilt to a full on crazy incomprehensible Cork accent when I’m angry. Think Tom Cruise in Far and Away. Yeah, it’s nothing like that.

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2. She’s actually kinda shy at first
Don’t worry, I wouldn’t just run into the room yelling

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because that would be creepy. I’m more of a “release the creepy slowly” kinda gal.

3. But wait, she is hugging me. And asking me to do karaoke and dance fight with her.
Don’t worry, that just means I’m highly intoxicated. In which case, WATCH OUT.

4. She plays with her hair a lot
This is my worst habit. I just can’t stop. It really takes away the poignancy of “Dulce et Decorum Est” when I’m reading it and twirling my hair.

5. For an English teacher, she uses a lot of incorrect grammar in conversation

What I would write:
I met Mary at the weekend. She asked my how my mother is so I responded that my mother is doing well. In fact, I told her, she’s great.

What I would say:
I ran into Mary at the weekend. She says “how’s yer mudder?” so I goes “she’s grand like. She’s feckin’ great even.”

Don’t hate me.

6. She laughs at her own jokes

I can’t help it if I’m hilarious.

7. Why is she wearing owl jewellery?

Because owls are f**king amazing. Duh.

8. We were talking about the Ukrainian Crisis and she just blurted out that her cat can do handstands

Er, sometimes my mind…goes other places. Weird places.

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9. Her Al Pacino impression is off the hook, yo!

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I don’t know how I figured out I can do this but the important thing is, I can.

10. She says “aaam” constantly. STOP SAYING AM!

I guess this is the Irish various of “um”, but because of my accent, I drag it out and it sounds awful. I say it in every sentence.
When I was training to be a teacher I had to video record one of my classes and show it to my class in college. Hearing myself say “am” 995 times* in a thirty minute period was excruciating. As was tripping over a student’s bag and trying to pretend it didn’t happen.

*sometimes I like to put random asterisks in my posts for no reason. I’m totally joking, I put it there because 995 times is a slight exaggeration. It was more like 980, tops.

Now that you have practically met me, tell me what I would notice about you?

P.S. I also have an annoying slight lisp and a tattoo but no one cares about that.

Do you talk to yourself?

I talk to myself on an almost daily basis. I would really like to think that I’m not crazy but, well, there’s only so many conversations I can have with myself before I start questioning my own sanity.

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This morning, Jack went to work before me. When my alarm went off, this is how my monologue went:

“Suppose I’d better get up. Man, I’m so warm and snuggly. Is snuggly even a word? Snuggly. Snugg-ly. Hmm. Jane, you’re talking to yourself. I think you need a holiday.”

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Really Joker? REALLY?

Then of course, there was my fight with the toaster. The toaster burned my toast cause the toaster is a d**k.

“Ugh, why can’t you be a regular toaster? Why do you have to be all ‘ooh, I’m a hot toaster’ and incinerate everything?!”

I realised my cat was looking at me, possibly thinking Um, human, there doesn’t seem to be another human around sooo…. who the hell are you talking to?

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Of course, I don’t talk to myself all the time. I’m not a total weirdo. Right? RIGHT?

I just find myself thinking aloud, I suppose. I also have arguments with household appliances, which I almost always win.

The way I look at it, if Hamlet could talk to himself, then so can I. I mean, he turned out fine. Ahem.

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So I’m going to put it to you, lovely readers. Do you talk to yourself? Or am I even more insane than I thought? Am I going to wake up to my cat saying this in the morning?

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My blog is weird

You guys see a very different side to me in comparison to what many people in my life see. My closest friends know that I am pretty…erm…odd, but my work colleagues and casual acquaintances see “professional Jane.”

Professional Jane likes pencil skirts and blazers. She eats rye crackers and discusses politics with men in suits. She analyses exam results and collates them in the form of pie charts. She attends meetings with colleagues and has an actual clipboard. Sometimes, she ties her hair up with a pencil. Yes, professional Jane is a straight-laced, no-nonsense nine to fiver.

Then there’s “crazy Jane”. Crazy Jane tries to teach her cat how to curtsy (she *almost* has it). She has an inexplicable fear of foam and waltzes with herself. She likes to not stalk her neighbours with binoculars and pretend she’s a French mime artist. She also loves wrestling and tequila (in that order). Sometimes, she likes to drive slowly beside random joggers she’s never met while playing Eye of the Tiger. She also likes to frequent karaoke bars where she can rap California Love in its entirety.

So yes, I’m weird. But I’m not always weird. I could come on here and be normal but then you guys wouldn’t be (hopefully) laughing at with me.

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In case you guys are wondering, crazy Jane mostly lives in a cage while professional Jane is at work. I let her out in the evening, where she likes to dance to Abba and blog. Crazy Jane sure loves to blog. She also loves talking to all her fellow weirdos and sending them virtual cake. She is uncomfortable with referring to herself in the third person so she’s going to stop now and knit some tea cosies even though she doesn’t have a tea pot. Sinister.