Poo

I saw a poo on the way to work yesterday, on the ground. Man. It was HUGE. Like seriously huge that I think the person/animal that shat it out must have torn their bumhole. It was about 4cm in diameter and nearly 1/2 a foot in length.

Today someone stuck a little flag in it.

I would take a photo but that'd be gross.

Love song dedications

I received another late night love song voicemail from Mr Zig Zog. This time it was backed up by Unchained Melody and telling me about his heart bleeding love. Thank god he didn't discover Leona Lewis.

And he also revealed he was leaving voicemails for me on someone else's voicemail because he was typing my name into the phone from the letters on the telephone keypad, so it was going to their phones and not mine.

If he wasn't verifiably psychotic, I woulda thought he was just getting drunk and leaving me midnight messages inspired by Mix 106.5 Love Song Dedications or something.

I want to stalk you #2

Gave in. Google stalked him.

I want to stalk you

I met a journo at work the other day. We are not allowed to talk to journos, cos the work we do has to remain private and secure (not like spy-secretive or anything but it would be very bad) and we aren't allowed to fraternise with em.

But..... He was really hot. And he was oblivious to the fact that the big boss' EA and all his camera crew were heading off for the actual interview he was supposed to be doing and going oi hey let's go while he was talking to me about the TIO. It was funny. Except the death stares from the EA that is at why I was talking the journo and he was ignoring her firm requests to hurry the fuck up.

So yeah. I really like him and would really really love to google stalk him but have somehow resisted.

Sigh.

Poo

It's okay if you need to do a poo when at work. You gotta go when you gotta go. Poo ain't gonna wait and if you wait, it's not a good thing.

BUT if you have to do a poo at work, I don't get why or how you can leave the toilet stall without checking that all the poo has been flushed away. I do not like, I dislike very very much, when I go into the toilet and there is not just a remnant, a floater or skids... You know I can deal with little things like that, even though they are still gross.

But it is an entirely whole 'nother thing when there is an entire poo log in the toilet. Sometimes smoooshed into big bits because they did a mini flush. So if you know enough to flush the toilet, I don't see why you can't hold down the button an extra 3 seconds, or wait the 5 seconds for it to be confirmed that your shit is gone.

Seriously, how can someone do that? Unless they are a Poo Phantom, or even more comfortable with the poo thing than I am. And I am not shy about poo. I wish I could out this poo phantom.

Boooo Ms Poo.

Awkward

Received some awkward news yesterday and had to explain to my manager why it would be awkward, which made things even more awkward.

Also, Mr Zig Zog left me 3 voicemails, begging of Saint Helen. The last one was a spoken word tribute over James Blunt's You're Beautiful. So fucking weird.

Are butchers hot/the new firemen?

Although it is often irrational, the phhwooooaar! of firemen can also be rationalised in the hero role they play, and of course that big truck, that fire pole, the long hoses they use to douse fires and all that PVC they're always running about in.

Today I witnessed 3 different pairs of women flirt furiously with the butcher boys at Broadway. The boys are not that hot. I mean, they are tall-ish. But they have no muscles. They could pass for geeks (but the dorky geek, not the cool geek). They are generally pretty non-decript, non-anythings.

So I have 4 theories:

1. The GFC is hitting really hard, so these mothers and daughters are pimping themselves out to get a discount on meat.
2. It was a bet/challenge/dare.
3. There is a resurgence of women wanting to be Kath and finding their Kel.
4. Butchers are the new firemen, revisiting the days of the Neanderthal with their role in the meatiness of the world.

It confuses me.

Well, maybe just go away instead of dying

Glutton for punishment. Am I really surprised that having a job that involves negative, negative, negative, emotional blackmail, desperation, and the impending notion of life or death consequences on a daily basis was going to do anything except make me even more of a bitter and twisted bitch?

And yet, here I am still, not totally hating my job, prepared to go back for more more more. What the fuck is wrong with me? Or maybe it's that I am realistic and rational and a well paying job that allows me to the pay the bills and then some, maybe somehow that's keeping me in it.

Sometimes the little randomness makes it. The certifiably crazy man who told me about the failure of the "zig zog" that led me to the site of Why zig and zag, when you can Zog! that bizarrely made sense in his ramblings of fighting the powers and the corruption of the world. It was kind of touching and very enlightening to realise that there is always some semblance of sanity behind the insanity. The way all the crazies seem to say the same thing about the special messages being sent to them from the telly.

Ok, maybe I am being infected with this insanity now...... I mean, Mr Zig Zog did tell me after our 15 minute conversation (involving me going mmm hmmm huh? what? huh? hang on, huh?) that he loved me, because he had begged to Saint Helen for such a long time and he loved me, I love you Saint Helen.

He also had this weird way of phrasing things. "She was negative to I, disruptive to I, interrupting I". It may not be contagious but listen to that sort of stuff all day every day and you lose your way in being able to calibrate what is normal anymore.

Or perhaps it is because Mr Undies is out of my life and the poison I'm sure he laced through all my food is finally leaving my system. God. Mr Undies was such a tumourous cancer.

Anyway, I have ginger beer now. And inspiration to change my house (albeit from a crushed Ikea catalogue.... but still, you gotta get that inspirational vibe and take it when it comes no matter the source). I am looking forward to a lazy weekend of silence, of no whingeing, of being wonderfully, gleefully slothful. To being non-murderous!

Yes, the world is looking a little brighter, despite the very real thunderstorms outside.

Hello Manic-Depressive eh?

I hate you

Now fuck off and die.

Seriously

Still angry

Plus I left my phone at home, and I didn't get time to wash my hair so I felt gross. And work was a bitch. Seriously. Over. It.

No soup for you

Sometimes irrational hatred hits. And all I want to do is lash out at people, cut them off completely. For really silly reasons, nothing they're probably even aware of. Lately this is happening all too frequently.

Today I am super dooper angry. People who just don't get it are really getting to me. I want to fucking annihiliate stupid people. Let them rot away in some dreary god forsaken shack on a horrible lost island that's shitty. I just can't stand it anymore. This job doesn't help either.

Only 3 more weeks left though til I get mini respite from the relentless drivel and moaning. Then I actually have to figure shit out like I promised my boss I would. At least he is starting to get it.

I hate it when

Zeke was right. It worked.