I added this as a little extra sub-blogging gadget for when I can't be bothered to write a full blog, but still want to say something.
The cool thing about Twitter is that it not only updates that thing up there in the corner, it also updates my own twitter page and my facebook status all in one and I can use this very cool Firefox plug-in called Twitterbar to quickly post up updates.
So these days, rather than just posting a few blogs a day I post up a tweet every few hours as soon as anything less than mundane happens in my little world.
So on Friday, I went out to the local bar with Rich the flatmate. In the bar there is the most amazing looking Romanian barmaid, who I've fancied since I first got here. I've had her number for a while but been too geekshitscared to ever call, but on Friday I was in pretty high spirits so I asked her if she fancied coming out to El Hombre Rana's gig on Saturday night.
To my great surprise, she actually said yes and I spent most of Saturday shiteing myself and wondering what sort of a mediocre time I could treat her to.
I called to confirm that she was coming out and we arranged to meet at 8pm and head out.
With everything confirmed I raced home to do what any self-respecting nerd with social aspirations would do and updated my twitter so that it read
is worried that he is going to lose his geeky credentials when everyone sees who he's taking out tonight...
Obviously I wasn't showing off. Oh no not me. I was just genuinely concerned that when I walked in with some sort of technobabe, no-one would die of shock.
Havin arranged to meet at 8, I was there at 7:50, probably a bit keen, and I waited.
...and waited
...and waited
With 25 minutes gone I figured I'd best give her a call as she may have been sleeping or something.
And that's when reality hit.
I'd been blown out. Bugger.
So now with the scene set for a smug entrance on the arm of some uber-babe, all my facebook friends and blog reading mates now expecting me to walk through the door with Claudia Schiffer, I turned up like a twat on my own.
As I walked through the door, expectation heavy on my shoulders, Steph just HAD to ask,
So, erm.... Where's the date?
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!
