A terrible accident

August 11, 2008

Something awful happened yesterday. I was meeting one of my significants in town he called to ask where he could find me – on the spot I answered Borders. He arrived just ten minutes later but it was already too late and I had picked up a massive stack of books. It is the first time I have used a basket in a bookshop it was that bad. I purchased:

  1. The Watchmen graphic novel (that I tried to get last year but is now suddenly available since the movie trailers started showing)
  2. The Gothic and Lolita Bible (I had no idea that non-goth lolita was so popular. Also included bonus sewing patterns)
  3. Red Seas under Red Skies (the sequel to the Lies of Locke Lamora)
  4. An economics book (for the education of my brain)
  5. That GMTV Penny Smith book for my mum
  6. A gift for my partner to calm him down before his job interview

This is what happens when I decide to not spend money for a bit. And now my book pile is mountainous and will probably fall on me causing me to die horribly of crushing injuries and papercuts. If I should die with books unread I will ensure a clause in my will forces someone to read them all.


June 2, 2008

Being new to the so called Blogoshere I had no idea how common circle-jerking was and how incredibly obvious my previous comment about it is. This embarrasses me. How can I complain about other people reveling in the delight of their own retardation when I fall prey to it myself? I suppose at the very least I can now see what I have done and freely admit it.

In other news: worst shopping experience of my life including an hour spent in the TB hotbox known as Housefolk Epsilon’s car. My glands were actually swollen for the rest of the day after that – if I wasn’t such an avid fan of fruit and veg I am certain I would have succumbed to a terrible disease. We were on this pointless car journey to what had been heralded as the most amazing hypermarket this side of Lebanon but actually turned out to be someone else’s local Tesco. The ceiling was low, the isles cramped together and clogged with obese children. The selection was not good, turned out more expensive than our usual shop despite not getting everything we wanted and we were all longing for death.The signs stuck on the shelves cheekily saying “cheaper than #insert name of rival supermarket#” just served to remind me of all the places I could be that wasn’t there. Plus self-promotion by denigrating others really pisses me off because it makes the offender look petty, callous and lacking in good qualities to brag about. Which they are, because they’re Tesco. Never, ever, ever go to Tesco.

Also never, ever, ever watch American Pie 6: Beta House. Unless you promise to turn off the sound and use it as softporn.

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’.