Thursday, 13 June 2013

Seems About Right.

Whenever I have to fill out those medical or safety forms for my workplace or... I dunno - ice skating (-insert confused look-) or whatever, in the part that says: In case of emergency please notify...

I reckon people should always write "My doctor".

Because realistically, what the fuck is my mother going to do?

Wednesday, 12 June 2013

Women Logic.

I have never understood why women love cats.

Cats are independent, they don’t listen, they don’t come in when you call, they like to stay out all night, and when they’re home they like to be fed, given the occasional back hair brush and then left alone and sleep.

So... In other words, every quality that women hate in a man, they love in a cat.

Yet, I still love cats.

Tuesday, 11 June 2013

Acting My Age.

I got given the early finish at work, so I'm going home to do homework and sleep.

And by homework I mean, build a fort and by sleep I mean, play Crash Bandicoot.

Sick :(

Losing my voice.

I like to think I'm developing a really sexy husky whisper.

But really I just sound like a donkey with respiratory issues.

Monday, 10 June 2013

How I Amuse Myself At Work.

This week I'm sporting the Wookie Mating Call Chest Infection.

And whenever I'm a bit under the weather, I often get to work early and casually pace my way through the To Do List so that I have a longer but more leisurely day.

I can't even be a hypochondriac about it because there's antibiotics that cure just about everything these days. Not that I trust my doctor anyway. Her office plants are dead and she is the only person I know who doesn't have a "Sure Cure" for the common cold.

But hey, I'm not a fan of pharmacists anyway because I'm one of those little smart asses that goes in and says:

"May I please have a 24pack of acetylsalicylic acid?"

"... Aspirin?"

"Oh that's it, gosh I always forget that name."

Or I just scratch off the A and S and sell 'pirin' pills at Noizy for $25 a pop. (Thank you Birdcage for anybody that's seen it.) But it does make for a boring day if lunch is quiet. So instead of lounging around at a shrub-like level of lazy where instead of doing it myself, I'm more likely to stick my head out the car window and let the wind blow my nose, I thought I'd seek some entertainment.

Now, the Boss was in a particularly cunty mood yesterday. His wife's just had a baby and I don't think he's been sleeping much which to me, just screeeaaams out for me to be a raging little shit.

Chefs like pranks you see. It helps us get rid of the sweaty aftertaste that lingers from a stressful service. Plus there's nothing quite as pleasurable as seeing a bimbo maitre d' topple over because you've Vaselined her stilettos.

But I thought I'd share with you, my delightful giggle-inducing tricks that occupied my day.

WARNING: Unless you are at the standard of "married" relationship with your boss, I wouldn't recommend these. But my boss and I have been working together in a small environment for 60-70 hours of the week for the past year and safe to say, we know how to push each other enough to release the expletives but not enough to jump off the West Gate. But that is what will generally happen when you see your colleagues 60% more than any loved one.

I made a brilliant start to the day by expediting cold revenge on the complaints that had been thrown my way about my 'inability to efficiently label' my shit.

I Post-It Noted the bar.

Now, I don't mean I stuck a few around the place, I mean I saturated the fucker - including the fridge.

Every wine bottle, beer, coffee cup, the stapler, you name it, there was a note on it telling my dear boss exactly what it was and what it was used for. Took him half an hour to locate and destroy while I giggled my ass off from the back.

But to be slightly more subtle - I pulled a great little number on his laptop. Here's one for all you 9-5 office lads too.

I put a piece of sticky tape under the optical lens of the mouse. Just enough to cover the sensor. Or if you're really sneaky (like me), you do it when you duck into the bar to fill up your tea pot, after your boss has already been using it for an hour.

It was undeniably satisfying watching him slowly morph into a Gremlinesque physique and bitterly call everything in sight a cunt.

But finally, as my "Shit I hope I don't get fired for this" emotion peaked, I outdid myself.

I moved his car.

Not much - just one car spot over. Enough to make him think he was losing his shit when he went out to the bank. But of course, moving it back upon his return.

I know today will be payback day because I left before him and he was far too cheery saying: "Bye Cheffo, you have yourself a lovely night."

Oh well. You know those three guys in the Pepai ads?

Yeah, that was me.

Thursday, 6 June 2013

Did I Cross The Line?

So. I've always been known for having rather creative and somewhat... 'colourful' insults that rotate through my daily vocabulary.

You kind of need it in a kitchen when you factor in that you call your line cook a cunt and your pastry chef a jail bait whore's love child on a regular basis.

My old Sous got called Faggot so much his nickname actually became Fags... And it just stuck.

The top five which are partly original, some stolen, would have to be:

- I hope your morning shit is in the shape of a pine cone.
- Your mum wasn't good enough to be a whore, just her secretary.
- Go sandpaper your ass crack by fucking a toolbox.
- Calling anybody a "training bra".

And my personal favourite, a gift from a girl I worked at the club with:

- Go deep throat a cactus.

But I may have gone too far today... On the tram. Some 15 year old sluz with her iPod in and her $10 Kmart polyester fluffy snow bunny hoodie pulled up, wouldn't give up her seat for this sweet little old guy that I helped up the stairs.

Now that just fucking shits me to tears. Get off your Maccas diet bum and give the man your seat.

So I asked her to move for him. It was obvious she wasn't going to. She just giggled with her friend and said:

"Sorry love, I gots a disability in my hip." -giggle giggle- (Don't even get me started on all the problems I have with that sentence - but seeing as I'd seen her bouncing around at QV Market, obvious reasons aside, it was a load of crap.)

Maaaaybe I was just in a bad mood. Maaaaybe I overreacted. But I stared this girl right in the face and said:

"You're the type of dirty slut that wipes ass to crutch aren't you?"

I got off at the next stop and left her with a gaping expression as I was hifived by a random.

I still see it as win.

Happy Friday!!

Today I got in the elevator at Melbourne Central 'cos I had a trolley. And before I hit the button to close the doors I turned to everyone around me and said:

"Are you ready to take this shit to a whole new level?!"


Wednesday, 5 June 2013

Internet Sexy Times.

Yesterday marked a very important day in my household.

In fact, a significantly emotional moment in my life I should say.

-wipes tears of happiness-

I got WiFi.

For the first time in my entire life, I have proper internet instead of rocking the Dial-Up.

No longer will I have to get up in the morning, make myself a cup of coffee and go onto myhomeclip to download the latest sexy amateur clip - before walking away saying:

"I'll see you after dinner baby."

This, is happiness.

I'm Stupid.

I like to think I'm an intelligent person, at least for the majority of the day and only after coffee.

I like to believe that on occasion, I allow my education to abruptly get in the way of my ignorance and stupidity - in the form of a little old cranky lady with a lollipop sign in my head, screeching on her whistle to: "STOP! Think about what the fuck you're doing!"

Thanks little old lady, you've prevented me from being a typical bimbo who says things like : "A day without sunshine is like... Night."

Go me -waves tiny congratulatory flag-

But because I'm human, I do have my moments where thought becomes unfamiliar territory and somewhere out there, I am cruelling depriving a village of their idiot.

Times like when I'm at the supermarket and there's no self serve and suddenly have to live through the what should be relatively simple ordeal of purchasing my groceries.

Instead my mind decides to do a diagonal park in a parrallel universe and everything turns to shit.

It's a habit I'd like to kick... With both feet... In giant boots... Beckham style.

It's all going fine just gettin' some cheese, gettin' some fruit, swipe swipe swipe...

"Cheque, Savings or Credit?"

No idea.

Every. Fucking. Time. I'll freeze up and stand there looking like someone who is dry reaching their vocabulary.

Come ooon! I've used the same damn credit card for 7 years! I KNOW this shit.

"Savings please. Wait. Fuck. Cheque. No credit!!! Definitely credit!"

Yeah that's cool you can give me a patronising little stare, I can hack it. Hell, I've once vomited out the door of the Night Rider, after requesting that the driver pull over along Burwood Hwy in order for me to projectile hurl the 12 Black Sambucas I'd slammed down at Wobble. There's not a lot of looks I can't handle.

"PIN or sign?"

"Errr... Um... PIN." (Fuck! What the fuck is my number?)

While I stumble through an attempt or two, I am fully aware that the cashier is yawning at me with an expression of: "Oh please, do take your time, I always yawn when I'm interested."

Lady, you swipe tampons for a living. Stop it.

Tuesday, 4 June 2013

True Story.

Sometimes my mind worries about things like famine, war, global warming and the possibility that Australia could have a ranga as a PM again.

But I'm usually distracted with : "Oh fuck! I forgot to feed my Tamagotchi!"

Life's tough.

Saturday, 1 June 2013

What I Like In A Boy.

I like a boy in a tie. I think it's fucking sexy.

I'm not sure if this is because I'm attracted to class and a good dress sense...

Or if I just have this stereotypical Hollywood fantasy of pulling a boy in close by this tie and passionately kissing the crap out of him (cue seductive music and most likely torrential downpour on the eve of us departing our relationship due to... I don't know, military service or a fishing trip).

But knowing me, being the clumsy, depth perceptionally challenged individual that I am, (yes it's a fucking word because I said so) I'd attempt to achieve this and just smash straight into his head, concussing us both.

So in the event of me catapulting my chin into his nose, (for ego's sake) I'm going to choose to believe I am so good at subjecting someone's face to an onslaught of tongue violations, that it would be a kiss to make him see stars...

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

But back to my point - boys in ties, nom om nom om om.