Sunday, May 27, 2007
"I'm getting my mail. Until you give me my deposit I have right of entry." smug smug smug bug. I laughed, disbelieving. "What a crock of fucking shit! what a bunch of made up shit! What shit! " I thought and should have said. Then he left.
We kicked him out over a month ago! He keeps emailing Dan condescening emails and setting deadlines for us he can't back up! He's threatened to take us to small claims tribunal over 80 dollars! He broke the oven door then refused to pick up the glass! He eats babies!
I wish the property managment company would give us an estimate already, so he'd fuck off.
I hope his stringy hair catches fire from a shitty oregano-filled blunt.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Some kind of guy
Was he one of the over-compensators? I was to be his trainee for the day at my new baking job. If ever there were a time to assert his smidgen power, this would be it. "Hey! You must be Madge" he smiled openly, I found myself smiling back, bathing in his cheer "just throw your stuff over there" he pointed to an open locker "and let skip on down to the chiller so I can show you where we keep everything." I did as I was told, then followed behind him as he skipped to the chiller.
He was some kind of man, but he was definitely not that kind of man.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
I was watching a recording of Nirvanas rehearsal for Saturday Night Live when I noticed the drummer. "Jesus, Dave Grohl looks completely different in this video. And he's really throwing his head into the drums." This made me want to look at other pictures of Dave Grohl, to see the progression from a skinny long-haired lad playing drums to a dude with a stylish haircut and permanent goatee, fronting his own band. This led me to a website about one woman and her secret love with Dave Grohl. Enjoy Dave Grohl's best-kept secret
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Work solutions
“God, I hate work. I just want to leave.” Sighed the dishwasher.
“Do you think if I shat my pants I would be able to go home?”
I looked up at him skeptically.
“I wonder if you shat your pants, would you be allowed back? Or” I said laughing,
“if you did come back, would anyone be able to look you in the eye?”
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Pointing towards trouble
"Ah, shit." I said, unworried. Then I actually looked at my finger and noticed a sizeable piece missing.
I wheezed in surprise, a few thoughts went through my head in rapid succession as I tried to figure out what I should do:
- Oh shit, I've never cut my finger, this is the first real cut I've ever had.
- It's not bad enough to warrant a freaking out or calling anyone.
- It is bleeding rather profusely though, more than a bandaid could handle
- It really fucking stings!
- I should do something and not just stand here.
- I'll hold it over my head and get a napkin to stop it from running everywhere.
- and cut off the circulation.
Later my flatmates and I sat around in the kitchen and shared stories of people we knew losing pieces of fingers.
Wooing
It was shortly after
“Oi, girly what’s your star sign?” Shouted a drunk scottishman behind me. I didn’t bother to turn around, just a few more flights to go.
“Baby, don’t ignore meeee” he whined.
I considered throwing my water bottle at him, or perhaps telling him to piss off, but nothing you do to a drunk person ever has good results.
“White shirt! Oi, white shirt don’t walk away! Come here!”
And then, when nothing came of that:
“Stupid whore!”
I laughed loudly, surprised and yet quite unsurprised. What a sweetheart.