Shallow, moi?

June 30, 2008

What’s that word, the one you would use to describe the feeling of reassurance you get from seeing others not do too well at things? It’s not shallow, it’s not really cruel as you don’t wish it on the other person nor are you glad that it’s happening to them – just glad it’s not happening to you. If only there was a thesaurus of vagueness I could use to look it up.

At present I am reassured that although I don’t think I’m doing very well with my money I am at least ticking over and standing still, unlike certain people of my acquaintance. It is always unfortunate when a rent cheque bounces but in this case the person will be able to cover it with a little rejigging of accounts. The idea of not having my rent makes me very sad in a nauseous way, and I hope it does not become a concern in the future when budgeting for a higher rent in the new house may be tricky.

What I find highly irritating in terms of financial failures is Housefolk Epsilon’s failure to pay the bills. All the other housefolks gave him the money a month ago, when the bill came, and now we are getting red letters. He said he was waiting until he got paid, but I think he already has been. And now he’s gone home – presumably to beg the money from his mum. Because he spent his on more computers. I kind of hope we get cut off – even though it will cause huge disruptions and loss to all of us – so I can justify my anger towards him for this, for putting us all at risk and impacting all our credit histories and being so drastically irresponsible. I even wonder if he spent our bill money, if maybe that is the reason he needs to beg a buy out.

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Day of Doom

May 16, 2008

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’.