Day of Doom

We were lead to believe it was a Day of Doom today, as the powers-that-pay (our saleries) would be visiting and inspecting our work. I went first (as I am certain I have spent my entire life doing) which I did not mind as it gave me an excuse to leave and miss the rest of the six hour meeting (but still have buffet lunch. Why so many parentheses today?)

What did bug me was Hated Colleague #1 pointing out a stylistic technicality when he didn’t have to. Why is it that no matter what the situation, whatever group you may be in, there is always one person that inexplicably deserves to be hated? I hate this man. Or rather I have an intolerance to him, very similar to a food intolerance in that if I get close to him he makes me feel sick and gives me a slight headache. I used to sit next to him but I’m so glad he was moved…

Enough of my irrational hatred: the other meaning of the title is a reference to the film Doomsday. If you can picture two guys sitting in a beer garden, somewhat anti-sober, having this conversation:

Dude A: oh man, what if, what if you like Robin Hood, bear with me on this, Robin Hood, versus Mad Max?

Dude B: But why would it be all Robin Hood-y, cos it would be, like, the future?

Dude A: Cos every one else died, and they all went crazy. We could totally make this into a movie.

Dude B: Yeah, with a hot chick who kills Everybody.

And that’s all you need to know about Doomsday.

And so back to my irrational hatred (because I love to express that) and generous use of parentheses (because I always have another layer of thought there for some reason). Last night BFF took me shopping so we could express some female stereotypes (the origin of the word ‘stereotype’ is facinating by the way) and I was in dire need of a bra. I have rage against bras, usually because they are poorly made and don’t do what they are supposed to, so I can only get them from department stores. Cheap bras are the devil, as they rub causing sores and don’t do anything to keep the boobs where they should be. In considering whether I would giving wearing them I remember an episode of 1900 House, where a family lived as Victorians. The mother of the family said that although she was not obliged to wear the corsets provided, if she didn’t she couldn’t get any of the other clothes on. I have that problem – clothes are designed for bra-wearers. And small breast owners, which I am not. Also if I had to run for the bus I’d probably take someone’s eye out.

So large breasts are difficult to take care of, but at least they make me look slim. Debenhams, on the other hand, were being absolute arseholes in order to try and saving their ailing store. Their ‘spectacular’ is spectacularly annoying, as the aisles are jammed with discount crap, the floors are littered with discount crap, most of the changing rooms were closed, there was no bra fitting service, and most of the till points had been abandoned by the time I came to pay. It’s like they were trying to compete with Primark by making themselves look like Primark! And it was shit (damnit, I didn’t really want to start swearing in my blog, but what’s the point of being so pretentious if no one knows who I am anyway) because a) people only go to Primark for uber-cheapness, which even at sale time Debenhams still doesn’t have, and b) if I had wanted to go to Primark there was one just down the street I could have easily reached. RAGE. A doom on both your department stores: I shall get my boulder-holders online.

And minor doom to giant 5 storey Waterstones for not having Zelda Fitzgerald’s Save me the Waltz but stocking all of Thomas Suckfest Hardy’s back catalogue. Although it did amuse me to consider the helpful staff member’s reaction to hearing apparently well-read women criticising literature using terms like ‘suckfest’.

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