I snapped at my friends last night for the first time ever. It was the first time they'd pissed me off to the extent that I became Moody Bitch and didn't give a shit that they were seeing that side of me.

See - Tori, Natty and Laura went out last night but I was feeling pretty exhausted so just went to bed. Then at around 2.00am they got in screaming and laughing (I'm sure alcohol acts as a remote control with someone's volume. The more they drink, the louder they get) and, because I'm a very reasonable person, I thought that if they stop screaming and laughing in a few minutes then I wouldn't mind, but ohhhhh no. After fifteen minutes I aggresively and slitty-eyedly went up to them and said "DO YOU THINK YOU COULD KEEP THE FUCKING NOISE DOWN?" (praying now that that doesn't mean I'm turning into my mother) and then, THEN!!, the Mr. Burns lookalike had the cheek to tell me 'Hey, take it easy,' and I had to leave because otherwise Mr. Burns would have been the unfortunate owner of a punched face or a sharp kick in the groin. Or both.

And today I would still be Moody Bitch but I'm totally knackered. And I can't be fucked. And just grrrrrr.

Oh yeah, and I was in the bookshop yesterday and I found a book written by me! Ok, I didn't really write it but the lady who wrote it shares my first name and surname. As common a name as my first name is, there cannot be more than 25 people in the entire country who share my surname, which made it a bit weird. I might buy it though, just to sling on my shelf, and then I can impress people by pretending to be a semi-well-known author. Only I don't have the riches to go with it.

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