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A Conclusion is the Place Where You Get Tired of ThinkingI wore the hat because I had to. And because I secretly liked it. I didn’t tell my employees, of course. I simply bitched about the establishment and ‘the man’ and how ‘they’ didn’t have to wear caps whilst ‘they’ gorged on lobster and ashed Cuban cigars over their ancient Californian Redwood desks in their plush fully furnished offices whilst WE did the hard stuff. But then the truth was exposed. Rubella, part time customer disenchantress extraordinaire, caught me posing in front of the mirror in the tea room. So, to save face, I made up an elaborate story about how I actually had a crush on the managing director, and seeing as the cap fiasco was ‘his baby’ I was merely endorsing the promotion because I thought he was dreamy. Luckily she didn’t question me further, she just snorted derisively at me and swished past to her locker, where she discarded her cap inside and scurried off to lunch. Cleatus liked the caps because he thought they made him even less conspicuous than he already was. He could pull it down low, pretend he was invisible and rock out with an air drum solo to the occasional Living End song that had been sneakily inserted (by forces unknown) into the music program (albeit accompanied on either side by Fergal Sharkey’s ‘A Good Heart’ and Dave Dobbins’ ‘Slice of Heaven’). FastTalker, with his immaculately pressed pants and shirt (the arm creases always in the right spot! On *both* sides!) looked like a Mormon in his. Nothing out of place. Eerily presentable. Eugene avoided everyone at all times. He resorted to darting about the store at the speed of light, lest being noticed and questioned by management as to the whereabouts of his hat. If caught, he would shrug noncommittally and mumble something about it being in his locker, under his register, in the stockroom, in the office, on the highest peak of the Alps. Heaven forbid one of his mates walk past the front of the store and see him wearing a promotional cap. He would be ruined. Ruined! He’d never be able to show his face in the KFC parking lot again. Billy Ray, of course, outright refused to wear his. Said that they couldn’t make him. Said he’d wear it for the GM’s visit, for the one hour that he’d be there, and that would be it. The GM was nice. Intimidating. Short. Handsome. He shook my hand and asked if I was excited about the transitional phase that the company was going through. Made jokes about the Thunderbirds that I didn’t understand because…I was born after 1962. I still laughed, though. Dutifully. When he had gone, my Area Manager told me how impressed he had been with us. With me. In my hat. The thing about hats is that they hide the top half of your face. Cast a shadow over the eyes. The thing about eyes is that they are a true indication of what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling, who you are. You can smile, but if your eyes don’t smile too, people can tell that you’re a fraud. I look at myself in the mirror and I see it - the vacant sheen. There’s nothing there right now. As much as it would be nice to vent about the shite my family has been through over the past nine months; the goodbye, the Alzheimer’s, the appalling state of the aged care system; I can’t bring myself to detail the intricacies of it all. That makes it too tangible. It’s easy to write down words. It’s harder to make them mean something - but in the interest of self indulgence (as blogging for the most part, is an act of self indulgence) - I will say that I’m simply waiting for my sense of humour to come back on a more permanent basis. Or perhaps another in store promotion involving a hat.
8:25 PM - 24/8/2008 - comments {0} - post commentummmmmmm....HELP!!
Ok, I did it...I ventured over to Vox... I created an account... Filled in my profile... yada, yada, yada BUT... how do I find people? where is everyone? where are everyone else's blogs? It looks like it is a HUGE community over there... Is there anyway of seeing who is online? I need a map and a compass ASAP Please!!! 6:17 PM - 18/6/2008 - comments {4} - post commentTaxi driver...Just Another Of My "Jobs"
Moving back home wasn't in my plans - long term or short term - but, as it has turned out, has been fortunate in some respects. My parents live here and both of them are getting on and now in their late 70's. Dad has been ill on and off for the last few years and in January this year became significantly worse than he had been. Bear in mind that the nearest town for seeing specialists is a 140km round trip it isn't easy for either of them to do that sort of driving on a regular basis. Bring on CC - now all kids are at school (yes, Miss 3 has turned into Miss 4 and is now Miss 5, therefore at school) - taxi driver extraordinaire! Over 5000kms has been added to the odometer or speedo or whatever that thingamajig is called on my car since we moved home...another 140 added this morning. Now dad is a stubborn old thing - insists he can still do things he could always do - he has now learnt one lesson....don't stand on a chair on a concrete floor to hammer a nail into a beam. (He has problems with remaining upright on solid ground as it is and has had several falls since he started getting unwell.) Left elbow needing to be wired and pinned the result of that escapade. Back and forth to hospital for surgery and in following weeks fracture clinic. The week after he has cast removed from arm (at this stage he is totally fed up with hospitals and I could do the drive in my sleep) he gets results of a colonscopy and is booked in (same hospital) for surgery. Needed half the large bowel removed. *lecture time (of sorts)* Bowel cancer is rampant in my father's family - several of his brothers have been diagnosed with it - all but one of them have died from it. For the last 4 or 5 years I have been trying to convince mum to make sure he gets screenings done. Finally he agreed to it....the result of the colonoscopy? A very large tumour and several polyps..had they been left even just a few more months it would have been inoperable. Yes, screening and tests are uncomfortable and somewhat embarassing but come on folks...far better to go through that than to have to deal with the other option. IF there is any history in your family..if you have reached those "ages" make appointments and get them done - for peace of mind if nothing else. *end of lecture time (of sorts)* Dad goes into surgery...half a day later he is still not out of recovery. Was several hours after that we find out he has ended up in HDU - not on the ward where he was supposed to be. Walking in and seeing him hooked up to all those machines with tubes coming out all over the place was frightening - he seemed to have aged 10 years overnight. For the first time ever he looked frail; he looked his age. His blood pressure was dangerously low (at one point it was 75/42) and his oxygen sats in the low 80's. He wasn't a well man at all. I think I mentioned up there that he was a tough old coot... 3 days of HDU and he was back on the ward - and complaining (knew then he would come through this ok.) Now 6 weeks down the track he has had his final appointment with the specialist - he doesn't want to see him again for another 12 months. In my mother's words, "he is back to normal. He's a confounded nuisance. He's bossing everyone about again." He's a tough old coot. I should mention that 2 weeks after dad came home from hospital mum was booked in to have a cataract removed from one of her eyes. Again, the surgery for that the 140km round trip from home. The check ups with doctor afterwards ditto. (Co ordinating appointments for the pair of them over the last couple of weeks has been fun to say the least lol). As of next week however mum is allowed to start driving again...and I can take off my taxi hat for a while. I'm not complaining at all - am relieved that we were here at the right time as they would have really struggled to cope with everything without my help. I wish I owned shares in an oil company though..... 1:30 PM - 18/6/2008 - comments {4} - post commentProcrastinating.......I'm good at that I vaguely remember sitting down a while back. I vaguely remember making an entry along the lines of "I really need to get back into this whole blog business". I vaguely remember trying to make a conscious effort. But hey...better late than never right?? (I can't for the life of me remember what font or font size I used to use.....am guessing this will look completely different to earlier entries...oh well...) Sometimes things happen in life that make you sit back and reassess everything. They might be big things or small things but no matter how big they often have a huge effect. There was an explosion here yesterday - at the service station diagonally across from our house. A diesel tanker exploded without warning - the owner of the service station died. A middle-aged man, married with 5 children - the eldest of them 21. Only a few hours earlier I had been into the servo for petrol...had a chat to his wife when she served me just like any other day...wished her a nice day as I left. 3 hours later and her whole world has been turned upside down. The mood in town is very subdued - a small town, everyone knows everyone else - this is affecting everybody. How suddenly things can change...no warnings...nothing...how fragile human life really is. RIP Tony I realise now that I am leaving major gaps - small town?? WTF?? Last time I posted regularly I was still living in Doonside....how time changes things in big ways huh? To cut a very long story short - we had to move. Guess most folk are aware of teh rental crisis going on in Sydney...yep..got us too! Owner of our place was unable to keep up mortgage repayments so had to sell...at very short notice. I lost count of the number of properties I looked at in Sydney that were within budget- most of which would not have been suitable for housing animals - and there was hot competition for those! In the time frame I had to work with (bear in mind we had to vacate early in the new year so looking in the run up to Christmas etc not a lot of fun) I drove hundreds of kms in the surrounding suburbs in the hope of finding somewhere suitable that wasn't going to blow my budget completely out of the water. Alas....mission impossible. Lots of sympathetic real estate agents but sympathy doesn't put a roof over the heads of kids. A house came up...in my old home town *gulp*. The biggest appeal - the rent less than half of what we had been paying in Sydney already and about a third of what I was looking at having to pay to stay there. The old home town....in the middle of freaking nowhere! argh We moved - between Christmas and New Year. 6 months on I am almost used to the fact that the nearest Woolworths is 50kms away. The nearest "good" shopping centre a mere 70kms away. I very quickly learned to be efficient with shopping but man oh man, there are so many times I really miss my old IGA being just around the corner. I miss civilisation often...but am getting used to the much slower pace of life here. I don't know how long we will stay....but for now it is working out ok. (So many things that at this moment are popping into my head.....but need to get them into a semblance of order before trying to share them.) The shitty times are less than they were - have certainly been a lot of good times - the balance is there. And so back to today... have spent the hours while the kids are at school sitting here and reading this blog of mine. It has been a long time since I went through it. So long since I read any of it. Some of it seems so remote and vague.....other parts of it I have literally been laughing out loud. This time...I promise myself as much as anyone else... I really will start sitting back down and writing. PS....have taken note of the comments you gusy have left and the messages as well re the other blog site...am going to get a move on over there as well when the motivation really does kick in......see you on the other side!! 3:21 PM - 17/6/2008 - comments {2} - post commentYeah......Oh Yeah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!And I can't believe how many new, and almostly immediately shunted to the outer mind, blogs and discussion groups have had to be endured to get back here.
#3 different loaves of bread, a resolve of migration to America, and a deep desire to start punching those fucking Neanderthal mathematicians in front of me, at the food shop *(8) Eight Items or Less* aisle, have ensued that my mind is NEVER going to be restored to it's former gem-like glittering brilliance.
I have forgotten so much through this ECT. It's so hard to get back to the place that I was, to remember passwords, security numbers, even plain appointents. It feels like my head has had a huge knock; big enough to spill the endless streams of knowledge just a tad from their predetermined dedicated paths. It is incredibly distressing to not be able to take control, to utilize, to rely on your own mind with surety, when you KNOW that you are a very intelligent person and that some of your skills make you worthy of important intellectual activity.
Quite frankly, I can cook up a storm, look front-side of the bus-worthy, resent not bringing in a second income by not working, and am starting to get rather apprehensive. You blokes obviously have a LOT higher standards these days for your women (which makes me think I spoilt him first time around! (Actually, I damn well spoilt them all, come to think of it; but I satiated myself in the sensual drowning bath along the way).
Better for both of us babe, if we are actually NICE to each other. Much better if our offspring realise that we are both doing the best we can, in unwelcome circumstances.
Late now, I'm tired so maybe bed.
Please, please, please: somebody find even a tenuous excuse for me wearing my red vinyl stripper boots in the garbe I will end up in tomorrow night!
I've never worn them, not even for kinky sex, and I would absolutely love to. Trouble is, they scream 'slut!!!!!!' and I hate fighting drunken sleazebags when I should be dancing. A private party, in the presence of my dad, seems to suggest that the more basic level might be just a little controlled, when it is known that he is riding shotgun.
But I still need a reason to wear them. 11:18 PM - 16/5/2008I'm not sure what my problem is, but I bet it's hard to pronounce.Guilty:
Of being frivolous with my money.
Of having impure thoughts about a nineteen year old employee.
Of watching said employee as he lifts heavy cartons and sighing a lot.
Of getting frustrated with her when she calls for the fifth time in one night - even though I know she can’t remember the previous phone calls, and it’s not her fault.
Of being a bad person.
Of loving Keanu Reeves movies even though he may as well be holding a script in his hand and simply reading it aloud and having a puppet master control his movements.
Of wondering how it is exactly that my life came to be at this moment in time.
Of being impatient.
Of hating people who barter incessantly in nonsensical places. Like Supermarkets. And Discount Variety Retail. The prices are set, people. Either pay them, or trudge thousands of kilometres and use litres of fuel (thus rendering your carbon footprint more so a carbon bitch slap) ‘shopping around’.
Of knowing that I don’t really do anything to combat the ‘insolent retail worker’ stereotype.
Of not finishing all the books I’ve professed to have read.
Of lying, really.
Of quasi stalking a quasi celebrity.
Of developing a violent twitch when that horrific “Bleeding Love’ song seeps through the speaker system at work.
Of not spending enough time with her, and letting other people shoulder too much of the burden.
Of calling her a ‘burden’, even though she’s family .
Of feeling dark and wretched and hating myself for calling her a ‘burden’ even though I love her.
Of wondering when all this monotony and routine will end.
Of wishing someone would rescue me from it.
Of keeping secrets.
Of preferring to curl up with a book more often than go out dancing and drinking with friends.
Of being afraid of the dark.
Of being afraid, in general.
Of singing ‘The Rainbow Connection’ in the shower.
Of knowing all the words to the theme of ‘The Muppet Show’.
Of mentioning Muppets far too often. It's a compulsion.
Of neglecting to finish the half finished paintings in my garage, the half finished dress hanging behind my bedroom door, the half finished letters on my desk.
Of denying that I’m disorganised and fickle, even though all the evidence gathered and subjected to intense scrutiny suggests otherwise.
Of watching ‘Gladiators’ on television.
Of liking it.
Of wanting so much more than this, but not knowing what. 7:17 PM - 17/4/2008 - comments {1} - post commentThe Not So Incredible Me.I think it’s far more difficult to be happy. To allow yourself to take one day at a time and accept what eventuates with quiet dignity and serenity. I’ve always been the exact opposite - indignant, appalled; prone to rampaging about when life decided to be far less than perfect; but that said, it would take absolute and complete wrongdoing on the part of absolutely all that lives, breathes, or even resides in an inanimate fashion in the vicinity of me, to snap that last rubber band holding my psyche together. Even upon reaching breaking point and crossing that line, and after going on an incredible hulk-like rampage (Me Angry! Me going to turn over cars! Me going to lock myself in a small, dark space and cry!), I would always look back and lament over my lack of control, my inability to try harder to accept, to take a deep breath, to be calm. Part of me wants to write off the past three months as being inconsequential, just a series of things that happened, and happened for a reason; and not to worry about the snowball effect they will have on what’s to come. What is, is. Easy. Or not so much - because now there’s that new headstone to visit at the cemetery and a woman trapped in a world of forgetting things; without the one person she had to remind her of who she is. There’s a travesty of a health system and the indifference of everyone; of the people in said health system, of co-workers…of friends. And somewhere, behind the dozens of telephone calls, the explanations regarding why it’s important not to leave the oven turned on, that buying four loaves of bread in one day is a bit excessive, that no, he didn’t leave you, he would never have done that, he simply passed away; are the plans that I have put on hold. They gather dust and so they should - some things are bigger than the things I want to do; like the things I need to do. Me bad person. But only sometimes. So instead of surrendering myself completely to the dark side - but then, not quite willing to commit to the hard work required to be deliriously happy and/or dignified - I keep myself busy. I go to work. I joke with my employees. I sing the theme to the Muppet Show without reason. I organise my bookshelves and become increasingly disgusted in myself with every chick literature title I find - and yet can’t bear to throw a book away. So I hide them behind several Leunig titles and console myself with the fact that it was just a phase. Like my shoe feti…. never mind. There are application forms for a language course via distance education on my desk; the new gym membership; the emails I write for my friends, telling them that everything is OK, more so to convince myself than anything else. The problem therein is that they then assume everything is OK, and keeping up the façade is exhausting. More than all that, though - there’s seeing her, and thinking that she’s in there somewhere. That woman, who chased the nice men who came to talk about God off her property with a smouldering stick from her incinerator when we were just kids, giggling in the front garden with vivid icy pole stains around our mouths. The woman who would look after us when our parents had to go away, and would hide Minties under our pillows and let us use his milk crates to make gargantuan cubby houses. Sometimes I can see her there, albeit far more frail, tired; and then she’s gone again, wondering where her keys are, where her husband is, where her life has gone. Every few days I am gripped by panic, the type that can only really take hold just before you go to sleep; and wonder if this is my future too. Or even worse, the future of someone else I love. I research ways to prevent memory loss (I google ‘memory loss’). I buy ginkgo biloba and force those around me to take it. I work myself up into a frenzy of probably worthless vitamin tablets and google searches. I convince myself that I can control the future. That the rubber bands can stretch just that little bit further.
6:46 PM - 16/3/2008 - comments {3} - post commentBeen away far too long...Don't Know Where To Start
Hmmmmmm....is going to take forever to get the thoughts in any sort of order...is funny hey, time seems to disappear so fast and in such a way that you lose all sense of perspective. I hadn't realised that it had been so long since I last logged in here - shit, is almost 12 months - really don't know where the time has gone. So much has happened - have got no idea where to start... so many changes... so many things gone wrong... some things have actually gone right *shock horror*... so out of touch with everyone and everything in so many ways though...that I really do regret. "Sorry" is my middle name - well, it should be - and guilt. My god, just thinking about a handful of things that have happened I realise how I should have handled them differently; my judgment should have been far far better than it was; only hindsight vision is 20/20 - at times I think I should have had a dog leading the way. There is no way in this one entry that I am going to be able to deal with everything.... one little bit at a time... 6:50 PM - 3/2/2008 - comments {4} - post commentNew direction in my life; new blogYou can find me here http://www.blognow.com.au/kittycat/
4:37 PM - 3/1/2008New Year's Eve is party time!Even if it does consist of just you and the cat.. My New Year's Eve involved of two bottles of champagne , a cat who comes into his own in the witching hours and the fervent idea that my bathroom needed to be repainted in blue and silver. So, that's what I did: drank champagne and painted. Apparently, I must have thought that nude painting would require less of a cleanup. My thoughts must have then logically progressed to the idea that my body look very, well, plain. I awoke on New Year's day with a horrendous hangover, silver kitten paw marks all over the apartment, cobalt blue streaks all over me and two carefully painted silver nipples. In my single, younger days, there probably would have been a much more exciting reenactment to be slowly recollected. It probably would have involved a mutual paint-by-body-part game and at least FOUR bottles of champagne, a lot of it sipped from each other's navels. Nowadays, its a lot more pedestrian. I got drunk, convinced myself that gorgeous me needed some tribal war paint and that silver nipples really set off the nipple jewellery. God, it's dull getting old on my own. (The cat? I assume he wanted to play too and thought painting a great game. I've left quite a lot of the prints in hard to reach areas and I think they add a certain something). 12:33 AM - 3/1/2008Still PaintingA word of warning.
Hypothetically speaking, of course. If a female was totally engaged in painting her apartment, and hypothetically found it easier to wear nothing while doing it, for clean up ease, problems can occur. It is not infeasible that oil paint could get onto this hypothetical female's nipples, by brushing against a too wet painted door. If hypo girl failed to notice until it had hardened, she would would first try to peel it off and then go for the turps. NO! Nipples of fire is not pleasant. Hypothetical girl wishes to advise against painting in the nude. Or frying eggs. 9:26 PM - 2/1/2008Silly BN wouldn't work so lots of posts right nowI can't stop laughing. In between debating the finer points of good and bad, via PM, I've been painting a corner unit white.
White gloss oil painted. My cat just leapt on to the top of it, in spite of me diving to obstruct him. It was fairly tacky by then and the look on his face was priceless, as he started to try and pull up his paws, with tacky strings of half dried paint adhering to his pads. I was laughing so much that I couldn't catch him as he fled. There are now little trails of pussycat pads, neat little tracking marks, all over my apartment. Oh well, they add character to the place, I suppose. 9:24 PM - 2/1/2008You know what sucks?When the delivery service and post office closes over Christmas and the New Year and you [B]know[/B] that you are expecting a parcel. You know because they leave a card saying they tried at 6.15 [B]fucking a.m.[/B], at a time when you don't even wake up to an alarm clock (well, if one was set, you don't: for important stuff worth getting up for, you tape your mobile phone to the top of your thigh and set it on 'vibrate mode' and ask a friend to call you. That works, my oh my.) You know that the parcel contains desperately slutty footware and you can't even get to it!
Also, a word to everybody out there. It maybe that because we know Telstra has outsourced its support crew for more profits, we automatically assume that we are being rerouted to India. And that everybody who has an Indian accent is in the telecentre overthere. It ain't necessarily so.
Which is a point of view that should be considered, when telling lies to expedite the fixing of your wireless broadband connection. I always try to make myself memorable and tell them how I need the wireless card for my raunchy pay-by-the-minute live sex cam shows. And that Telstra is costing me money.
Not a good idea when the latest Indian accent guy actually lives in the same suburb and is way too fucking keen to come around in person and fix the problem! 4:59 PM - 31/12/2007Ssssshhhhhhh!The medications are working; I am starting to feel better. I am on a combination of drugs because apparently the brain is not producing enough serotonin and the uptake receptor axions are not working properly either.
But this combination of drugs is really helping me and I don't want to jinx myself by saying so but there are actual moments of happiness here and there.
I am staying at my Mum's for Christmas and my girls are sleeping here overnight so that we can do the the stocking /present thing in the morning. I am looking forward to it.
The only said thing is that my thigh high red stripper boots haven't arrived. I really wanted to wear them tomorrow night for Christmas dinner but oh well.
A very happy Christmas to all of my freinds out there.
I am not writing so much at the moment because my interent wireless card has stopped working. Countless phone calls to Telstra haven't really resolved things until today. I told Avinol (who assures me he lives in WA, in spite of his his Indian accent, and lack of knowledge of Perth, where he supposedly lives) that the lack of a wireless card for ten days has seriously inhibited my personal and professional life. I told him I was an online camera sex slut and I was losing all my regular customers. He assured me that I would get a new card, expidited post haste. I also told him that lack of internet was severely affecting my hot cyber sex relationship with my overseas boyfriend and that love needed physical satisfaction to blossom.
He'll remember me, all right. I might even get the new wireless card sooner.
11:24 PM - 24/12/2007remind me that my daughter's opinion is not always correct in modern life.My nearly 14 year old daughter tells me that I swear too much. She says that, instead of saying the naughty cuss words, I should just yell 'PENIS' when I need to swear. She says that it is a proper biological term and that people are perfectly entitled to say it out loud.
So, this afternoon, when I dropped the hedge clippers on my foot, I yelled out "PENIS". She thought that was cool; my next door neighbour not so much.
6:41 PM - 23/12/2007Chair broke when I was trying to hang curtainsThis is the result:
5:39 AM - 22/12/2007I've got a secretI don't dare talk about it, though, or that might make it less real. I try not to think about it even, lest the gods above cotton on and decide that its time for another round of 'screw kitty'.
I've got a secret and I like having it all to myself. These days, I don't trust anybody with anything. Its y secret and I hug it tight to me last thing at night.
Hey, I went interent shopping again! Yes, I am bad. I haven't paid the phone bill yet but I desperately needed some nipple jewellery. My nipples have had first rings then barbells in them but its been strictly totalitarian and practical. I bought these online.
Aren't they gorgeous? 4:55 AM - 22/12/2007Is it pathetic?Or am I pathetic?
My mum gave me an early Christmas present of a ginger kitten. I called him ORLANDO and he gives mee a reason to keep struggling though, He destroys everything around hte house and there is toilet paper confetti everywhere. I have scratches and deep punctures for where he loved to grab my arms and play (as an aside, I don;t think the doctor believed me when I told him tht they weren't self inflicted).
He likes to sleep on my hair at night and has been known to bat a paw on my eyelids if he deems it time to get up. he can smell human food a mile off and will be begging immediately. His favourite is feta cheese,
I've fallen in love with his character and his devotion and he makes me feel a lot better (plus drugs, too).,
My mu and stepdad absolutely adore him and have seen alot of him as i've been spending time up at their place so Mum could be less worried that i was going to snuff my candle out. Not unreasonable fear either. I have been a millimetre away at times.
They love dat puddy tat as much as I do so we have worked out a shared custody arrangement! 6:46 PM - 21/12/2007Wanna have dinner with me?Dinner tonight is a hunk of Haloumi cheese, a big piece of almond nougat and wine.
I just dropped the cheese and the nougat on the floor but I'm eating them both anyway. Lest you think I have the sort of floors that are so scrubbed Clorox bleachy clean that you CAN eat your dinner off them, let me disabuse you of that notion. I was just going to have a liquid dinner but figured I'd make it a balanced meal, ala college style: a grease, an alcohol, a sugar. I left out the caffeine and nicotine but I can inhale next door's second hand smoke if I ask nicely and I can brew some expresso to make up the five food groups. I am fairly sure that there are roaches in this apartment complex in spite of my x million baits laid down all over. I'm still eating my dropped-on-the-floor dinner, dammit. I'm fucking POOR, people.
7:20 PM - 18/12/2007Butt plugs and paintI went out for supplies. First migraine free day for a while so had to stock up. Why does my hardware store choose just before Christmas to do away with bags as part of their 'green friendly' policy? We have the Kyoto treaty, thank you: let the damn politicians work out how many bags etc. Yes, thank you for the offer of a cardboard box, but I ride a damn scooter and those things are hard to balance boxes on, let alone two cans of ten litres of paints plus painting accompaniments. It takes practice to carry everything and a whole family on a scooter, you know. We are close to Asia but not that damn close. Something that made me laugh, though, in the fresh produce place - large King Oyster Mushrooms. I picked up a tray and remarked casually to nobody in particular, "hey, these look just like butt plugs!". Several little old ladies gave me disturbed looks and I felt bad. I am getting very unihibited in my old age.
4:34 PM - 18/12/2007
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