Jesus Christ I was on the edge today. Today verged on the worst day ever in The Fish Tank.  It started off fairly well with a marathon sleep, followed by a walk to work in the pissing rain, yet I was still relatively chirpy by the time I finally swam up to The Tank....and then it all went downhill. 

No one would answer phones, I have a welt on my index finger from hitting the answer button "Good morning Nemo speaking!"...so at 12.20pm today the 26th of September in the year 2012, Nemo went on strike. Now when I say on strike I decided (in my head) that from that point until feeding time at the zoo 1pm, I would not answer the phone unless all four other individuals on the desk had answered and there was, quite literally, no one else to answer the phone except me. I SHALL NOT BE MOOOOOOVED.

So, not being satisfied with my attempt at de stroike, I felt that people really needed to know how I felt today.  Therefore throughout the afternoon, I:
- told my boss that I wasn't really a sales person at all
- told one of Flipper's helpers that I was in denial that I worked in any kind of tank
- announced really loudly that a bit of me died inside today and soon there'd be nothing alive inside, all dead, just black, dead eyes
- mouthed to one of the lads on the desk in full view of half the tank "I-hate-my-job!"
- snapped all the split ends on the left side of my head
- muttered under my breath every 30-40 minutes "I can't cope"
- told a work colleague to tell a customer who had phoned for me that I had jumped out the window, but if she wanted to leave a message, they'd pass it on should I survive
- sent crazy emails to my work buddies which I'm sure they've held on to as evidence of my psychotic behaviour should I lose the plot entirely
- downed tools at Levi Time(5.01 wha' wha'!) and ran out the door so fast I'd swear my feet did not touch the ground (and I'm not being cliched in saying that)

I'm wondering should I bother going in tomorrow at all!

It might surprise you to hear that Nemo is single 😆  Yes if you hadn’t already guessed by my reference to aged ovaries, my dream of the husband with the house and my free time to blog, let me set the record straight. Nemo is single. Now I don’t know if many of you folks are single or have been for some time, but do you find the “advice” offered a tad irritating and patronising??  I know it comes from a good place, but so too does Daniel O’Donnell and you wouldn’t clone him, now would ya?!  My two favourite are “Give him a chance, you might get to like him” and “Sure you work with tonnes of fellas in The Fish Tank, surely there are some great guys there?”  I’m a non-tank dater. I don’t do The Tank. I don’t believe in dipping the pen in the company ink (although I’m quite sure that’s a male phrase…that an ex said to me incidentally. Weird) It’s not an elitist thing, it’s more to do with the fact that I have an inability to deal with the unknown. If I hooked up with someone from The Fish Tank (well firstly I’d have to do a lot of searching, no disrespect WWs but…) I’d be able to cope with seeing him most days, with the morning after the night before, even with the “let’s not do this again” look, but I could not cope with all the other fish knowing that Nemo and Yer Felleh got together last night. God no!

Anyway, as it happens I’ve never had any problem with that whatsoever. No single Fish Tank resident has ever, ever made any kind of move on me! No SINGLE resident.  Ah yes, but I have to think every time I go to say the number of married residents who have.  At last count we are at six. Six! Six married fish have tried in some shape or form to get jiggy with Nemo.  Now, at last check I don't have "Mistress in the Making" tattooed on my forehead but it would seem I am more attractive to the not-so-attractive, older, married male fishies in The Tank.  Here's a run down of the six lucky suckers to date:

1. The boss. My first boss, 50s, bald, glasses, thin, smoked a pipe. I was about to turn 22, he told me my interview suit didn’t do anything for me, the clothes I was wearing right now were much better, then leaned over, put his hand on my knee and told me his wife didn't understand him and they were separating. I nearly vomited there on the spot.  I think when he saw me vomit on myself outside of the castle where we had our Christmas party, our potential relationship was doomed. Ach, what could have been… 

2. The “gentleman” who offered me a lift home after the Christmas party. I wouldn’t call myself naïve, but I would have called myself drunk and a cheapskate. After about 15 vodkas, a freebie lift from an oul fella from The Tank sounded like something my parents would commend me for.  He told me he thought I was as deep as the ocean and leaned over to lob the gob. I then knew that this was probably something I should not brag about to my parents (or colleagues or friends or therapist even!)

3. The newly married man (who incidentally was quite attractive, alas), asked me if my boobs were real and if I could prove it, then asked for a kiss.  The night continued with him trying to hold my hands under the table in front of a bar of friends from “the dark period in my life”. I can't say I wasn't tempted, but four months married seemed a tad early to be havin' it away with a work colleague...

4. The Penguin. About 5 foot tall, didn’t have much of a neck, wore a long floaty black rain coat, reminded me of the character from Batman from the way he laughed to the way he walked.  Concocted a story in his head that we’d “more than just pecked on the cheek” at a hotel room door, and asked to come in for coffee when dropping me to my rented accommodation after plying me with drink all night. I had to block this one out as I am quite sure there are many, many people in The Tank who, to this day, have heard Nemo had an affair with The Penguin. I can’t cope with the thought!!

5. The friend. Dedicated to his wife and children, spoke of them all the time, chastised me for being great fun on nights out, quiet and serious at work (never did understand it was the vodka that turned me into Fun Bobby!), cornered me with deep and meaningfuls every night we were out, when jokingly asked by the girls in a group “If you could shag anyone in The Tank, who would it be” refused to answer, but sidled up to me a couple of hours later with the random phrase “The answer is you" *roll eyes"

6. The shhhhhhleaze. Wavy hair, creepy eyes, followed and waited for me outside the toilets at a function in the actual tank, with Flipper and Flipper’s number two watching him. Eventually two people on his team came over to me and asked if I was OK and brought me over to their group...

I mean who can blame me? Crazy, older, married male fish groping at every angle.  No, no, for now I'll spread my fins further afield...and maintain my non-tank dating strategy.

I have decided to change Normal PT's name to Super PT because he has actual super powers.  Today I weighed in at an all time low. He said "This is your lowest Nemo, the lowest I have here on record" "Oh Super PT this is the lowest this body has on record, I think I was born, weighing in around 10 stone!" I shit you not  my friends, I never, ever remembering being anything under 10 stone. And today I hit 10 stone 8.5 pounds. Not bad for a 30 something single fish who on Feb 21st weighed in at 12 stone 7 piounds, eh?!

Yesterday I bit the bullet and hit the shops for that dreaded trip. Buying work suits. VOMIT!  You may remember a few months back I mentioned Flipper had told us to brush up, step up and pay up for some professional, corporate threads. And when I am (temporarily) released from the tank I'm expected to look oh so very professional indeed and that means suits.  So with all my running, eating less shite and training with Super PT, I now look like I'm dressing up in my father's suits!!

So off I trekked into town to buy two suits that fit me and do the job in demonstrating an air of professionalism at student prices. I arrived at Marks & Spencer, dying for a pee and therefore vowing I'd be in, tried on and bought in 20 minutes max.  I raced around the not-so-varied selection of work suits, grabbed three in two sizes, 14 and 12, and ran, very quickly (the pee!) into the changing rooms

I tried the 14 jacket, swimming on me. The 12 jackets fit perfectly.  I tried the 14 skirt, zipped it up and it dutifully fell to the ground. Too big so!  I tried the 12 skirt and it was weird, I think it looked too big, it just did not look right. I turned it this way and that way, I sat it on my hips, I sat it on my waist, nope this was not going to work. Oh for God's sake now I've just gone from being between a 14 and 16 to between a 14 and 12 and now a 12 doesn't look right either.  I had now forgotten about my need to pee and thought "Ah sure, just for the laugh..."  "Em excuse me, could I get this skirt in a size 10 please?" No sniggers or smirks, no "yeah right" eyes, um OK, this is kinda weird.  She returned with the skirt and I snuck back into the changing rooms. I took the skirt off the hanger, unzipped it, stepped into it and slipped it up. What? No rrrrrrrrripppp when it got to my arse? No sweat patches when I finally zipped it up?  No panic trying to figure out how I'd get out of it? No... eh what th... This is really strange, I've never felt this bef...eh I think this size 10 skirt fits me. It fits! It fits!  I got outta that skirt so fast I, I nearly peed!! I smiled cheerily at the fitting room attendant, I cooed at the snotty child in the way, I skipped over to the counter...."I'll have this size 12 jacket and size 10 skirt suit please", I beamed at the (male) cashier.

So I now own the first size 10 skirt since my 2nd year school uniform skirt when I was 13. (The fact that I continued to beat myself into it every school morning until I was 16 is something I will have to live with for the rest of my life.) OK so it's M&S and we know they're on the generous side but give me this - please.  I now hold four different sized skirts in my wardrobe, 10-16, all of which fit me, which is telling of the good old high street shops!  And Normal PT, I hereby pronounce you SUPER PT!!!!!!! You are a superhero!

I went out with the other tankers there last week. We were all sitting around a table of food and cheap wine pretending we were a random group of friends and not actually all working in The Fish Tank, in case the meeja (media) got wind of it and we end up with really unattractive photos of fish tankers in The Tankard Post boozin' and laughin' and acting the eejit alongside "Tankers in €40,000 Bond themed party".

The table was split down the middle right by me.  On the one side we had "management" and most of their brown nosers. The other side populated by the young ones and a few of the not so young who just did not fit in the other end.  It was ironic that I was straddling two sides of the table as the 30 something professional within me could have acted with a bit of decorum, laughed pleasantly at Flipper's jokes and stop slapping people's hands when they touched the bottle of red wine that I'd placed beside me; the young 'un within me could stay down the "boisterous end" being loud, boisterous and secretly giving two fingers to "management"...and yet the Nemo within me wanted to stand up on the table, strut down to one end, glare, then down the other end, stand tall and say "See you boys tomorrow - suckerrrrrs".  Alas I did none of the above, but I did enjoy picking up the many titbits from the ridiculous conversations that were being had:

"Fishy was conceived that weekend we all went to Donegal" (Did we need to know this?)
"You've got a great poker face Nemo, I can never tell what you're thinking" (before spilling a pint of cider all over my trousers)
"So, you have your new girlfriend on a 3 month rollover" (Married fish to mid 30s fish)

I suffered with the most almighty hangover the next day. I could eat nothing and water was not settling well in the stomach. Eventually, at 10.07a.m. I vomited. I vomited in The Tank. Yes, at 30 something, I was sticking my head down the bog, trying to silently vomit (impossible FYI!) and burst as few blood vessels as possible in my eyes so as not to raise further suspicions.  The previous week I'd experienced light headedness and dizzy spells and I wasn't exactly quiet about this. I've also been rather vocal about my reduction in the consumption of alcohol...and then puke at work. Fortunately I was sufficiently drunk the previous night to banish any concerns that I was in fact withchild and about to become Nemo, a single mother. Jesus Christ!