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.

Stalker #2

Mr Undies told me a little while ago that he purposely kept from me and the other flatmate that he knew our ex-flattie who we HATED (and who on thinking back now, was the original Mr Undies). In fact, not just that he knew him, but that he was friends with him, regularly went drinking with him and purposely kept that knowledge from us because of his own sinister purposes.

Anyway, Mr Undies told me he was moving out with his (ahem, vomit) girlfriend. Cue screaming, eye scratching images of Mr and Mrs Undies shagging. VOMIT. Right... um... where was I? OK. So I interview a gazillion people for the room and make a decision without telling Flatmate #2 because he doesn't care anyway.

I ponder and eventually make my decision public on facebook who I have picked. Flatmate #2 and Mr Undies are not on my facebook (Mr Undies is in fact pre-emptively blocked in a story for another occasion). However, Mr Original Undies IS on my facebook.

A few hours after posting the details of the new flatmate, I see Mr Undies (and Mrs Undies! She exists!!) and he asks me about "the new girl". It doesn't click with me til later that he clearly has knowledge of my facebook stuff and I and my friends have been slagging him off this whole time. No wonder he's moving out. But either way I'm happy to be rid of him at long last.

I also surreptitiously act like a spy and take secret photos of Mr and Mrs Undies to show people who have yet to see them in person. Unfortunately Mrs Undies is too quick to be captured by camera, but Mr Undies has been. Woo.

Hello stalker

Hi Daniel.

Hookers

I live in the Cross. There are lots of hookers around. Near me the local hookers are often tranny hookers that look like rugby players.

So tonight, as I was walking home and opening the door to my building a bucktoothed, suited, gross suited man in his 40s wiggles his eyebrows at me asking me if I am a hooker. ICK.

If I wasn't so grossed out to touch him or even to be in the same vicinity as him I would have kicked the shit out of him. But alas, my only reaction was to go OMG NOOOOO and run into the building, leaving him to his bucktoothedness and wiggly eyebrows.

UGH.

People are fuckwit dickheads

See heading.

Crush

While it is nice to have a random shag on call, I have developed a crush on the Aboriginal-Irish-English guy at work. I don't know why, he's just nice and there's this uncontrollable urge drawing me to him. Even though he's got a kid and a partner, he's just really hot. Not in a conventional way but in a really surprising phhwoooooarr! sort of way that kinda knocks you about abit and takes you months to realise you're falling for someone.

It's fucked. I hate this.

Verbal Diarrhoea

Stress = dodgy flatmate doing a runner and trying to top herself. Stress = dodgier undies-man flatmate being super dodgy and revealing he is friends with a similarly crazy dodgy prior undies-man style flatmate, while not acknowledging that you are sobbing uncontrollably.

So now I have verbal diarhhoea. I can't stop. When someone says how are you innocently, I bombard them with that and more. I need to stop it.

Stress

Shagged a random last Sunday.

Feeling sorry for myself

I don't know if my scratchy sore throat is the result of scream-singing to the JJJ Hottest 100 of all time, combined with the cold air being too contrasting for my throat. I really really hope it's just poor decision making in singing about the house loudly, rather than being sick.

I hate being sick. I hate a flu shot this year for the first time ever and have been lucky to avoid illness, especially considering how bloody accident prone in general I am (hello Tetanus in Thailand, Torn Ligament Christmas in Holland, more ligament damage Missing a Mini-step In My Own Garage and Tumbling Head Over Ass With A Laptop in the Backpack I Was Wearing and Broken Toe Opening the Freezer Door on Sunday Morning).

On a non-whingeing note, wow I forgot how cute and sweet the Beach Boys God Only Knows was and super glad all those people made it the top 50 of all time so that I could rediscover it today. Seriously, despite my throat and now snotty runny nose, I am all happy and feeling all aaaaaaawwwwww over everything.

Booty Calls

I just booty called someone. Well, booty texted. Weird but whatever. I'm drunk!