Saucer of milk for table 3!|
[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 18 most recent journal entries recorded in
|Friday, June 30th, 2006|
Setting him up for a fucking fall am I? I wish i was that manipulative.. i truely do.
Theres this guy at work. Craig.
He's the new chef, he's messy, slow, doesn't put thiongs where they belong, looks like he's perminantly stoned of his face, he's aggressive as fuck, he reguarly gives the bar manager and Chef the finger.. and now when he's been caught out doing a lamed ass job again he blamed me.. infront of both Head Chef and the Deputy Bar manager.. he said i was setting him up for the fall...
For fucks sake.. i don't need to.. the boy is a 'tard he's done 95% of it himself. Anyway... I have to deal with this shit until Steve fires him or i move house and get a nice new job..
The only nice thing i'll say about the bloke is he's got a nice arse. Current Mood: annoyed
|Tuesday, December 13th, 2005|
Simmering under, it had to go somewhere...
You know what? If I don't have you on my friends list, deal with it. It's not real life, it's Livejournal. And that means if you want to have people stick around and read about your life, you select the interesting parts of it, or make wry commentary on news events, or just *something*.
What on Earth makes you think I want to read on a thrice daily basis about:1) Your entirely unremarkable kid
Yep, I have a daughter. And yeah, I love her to bits. That is not an invitation to add me because "OMFG NO WAY I'M A MOM TOO!" - I am not in the least bit interested in reports of what your toddler has eaten on a meal by meal basis (I wish I was joking). Whether your baby turned over in the night, learned to say dada, pulled a face, is wearing pink pyjamas is of NO interest to me or anyone else, and frankly shouldn't be enough to send you into pant-wetting paroxysms of delight, either. It's CREEPY to be that obsessed with your kid. Would you post so often about your husband or brother's every move? No. That's a member of your family. Love is appropriate and healthy. Obsession isn't.
Which brings me neatly onto...2) Your carnal lust for My Chemical Romance
- or whatever other crappy band you like. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you 13 years old? Behave! You see that uncomfortable mix of pity and amusement on the lead singer's face in the photograph with his arm round you? Are you not embarassed? Get a life!
Leading me, naturally, to..3) Your dull, dull, dull life. With nary an interesting thought. Got up. Had muesli for breakfast, which makes a change from toast, maybe it's better for me. Went to work. Manager was being a bitch. Got home. Fed the cat. Phoned my mum and my uncle is in hospital to have his tonsils out.
- AAARRRRGH! How do you not throw yourself in traffic? WHY do you not throw yourself in traffic? At least it would stop you from leaving comments on everyone else's LJs that just say ":)" or "*HUGS*". Go AWAY. I don't get how you don't see how fucking dull you are!
I also don't get..4) Your fanfic
What? Someone wrote a book that you like. Or made a film you like. With you so far. So you wrote a story with your own barely-high-school-standard skills in prose wherein the leading character has sex with someone that they don't in the original story. I've ceased to follow.. WHAT? Ew. And, er, our survey says "CRAP!". I bet you were the sort of kid who got ignored by everyone at school. I bet you still don't understand why. You're only marginally less sad than the handful of grown women I've seen playing with oversized realistically proportioned dolls. And they are a subset I am not even going to get started on because I don't think I could stop. Current Mood: bitchy
|Tuesday, August 16th, 2005|
|Friday, June 3rd, 2005|
|Wednesday, March 2nd, 2005|
|Thursday, April 1st, 2004|
who is this serial-adder creep who has added me to his friends list and why is my friends list now showing as stalking and stalked by aaaarrrrrggh
|Sunday, December 21st, 2003|
reading the fakehair
community makes me want to gouge my own eyes out. It's just too hideous a lot of the time.
Yeah extensions that don't match your murky brown hair, braids that change colour halfway down where your real hair ends, a few matted turdy dread type things braided into the front of a head of greasy black hair, falls that only have like 10 dreads on them and don't even hide your hair, and wool wraps with gaps in them look REALLY GOOD. Yeah, of course nobody will notice your cack-handed poor braiding and uneven undercut and yeah of course it looks just as good as what Pepis do. Right, keep kidding yourselves you retards. I don't care whether you're colourblind, visually impaired or just terminally lacking in any form of good taste and technical ability. Just carry on looking fucking stupid. It props up everyone else's egos when we see you around and try not to laugh too hard at the horror.
|Sunday, November 23rd, 2003|
I need help..
Oh my god.
I never thought of myself as a hoarder..until now. Was sitting reading in my room until I saw some things lying on the floor, and tidied them away. Suddenly I found myself knee deep in rubbish from my drawers etc. I'm such a messy sod, when the Tidy Tidal Wave hits I need to just surf it out so I'm updating mid-room overhaul. If I'm meant to be moving sometime in the (hopefully) near future, I have to get ruthless and chuck a lot of stuff out. I've got loads of ex boyfriend stuff lying around for a start, and shitloads of clothes I never wear, as well as countless piles of utter junk. The only problem is I can't seem to chuck much out. I keep justifying it to myself. For example, clothes I never ever wear. I'll decide that the second I throw them out I'll get an urge to wear it the week after. If its an item thats too big, I'll think "I may put on loads of weight one day and need it", and if its too small, "I might get thinner and wanna wear it." So I stay with a wardrobe full of rank clothing gathering dust. Then theres the junk. Its all technically useful stuff like drawers full of Prit-Sticks, staplers, packs of Anadin or Synex, nail polish, a thousand or a million contact lens cases, more pens than you'd need to open a Pauline's Pens Factory, and lots of extremely inane shit. I can't throw any of this out. Rationally I know theres never likely to be some kind of dire emergancy where I will only be saved by my stash of Girlie Tape, or my dust covered packs of Strepsils, and even if I did I can just buy more. I realise this is an utterly dull and pointless rant but I'm trying to motivate myself to PURGE all this inane junk from my room-I don't have the space.
I'll say all this to myself, then refuse to throw out some cruddy old pack of staples. Argh!!
Deep breaths. Purge...purge....purge..... Current Mood: vengeful
|Tuesday, November 18th, 2003|
"I've met the man in the street and he's a cunt"
- Sid Vicious
|Thursday, October 2nd, 2003|
bitching about on the subject of Garth Brooks...
[Taken, yet again, from his collection of writings Things Snowball
which Asda are currently knocking out for £3-something, and which I DEMAND you all get]
"I probably don't need to explain who Garth Brooks is but, just for the record, he's a four-foot-one hick. In country music terms he's what's called a Hat Act. He wears a massive cowboy hat and a studded black and white shirt, which resembles Regency linoleum tiles glued to his chubby, weeble-like torso. He sings synthetic, molasses-laden, diabetes-inducing country shmaltz tunes about 'a Bull no one could ride' and having friends in 'low places'. He claims to be faithful to his wife (turns out he isn't) and habitually photo-ops himself with sick kids whilst rendering corn-pone axioms like 'a man never stands so tall as when he stoops to help a child'. I got news for you, Garth. You're forty-nine inches high. You'll never stand tall, full stop." ( More Garth bitching this-a-wayCollapse )
Chapters which made me lie awake snort-giggling to myself most of the night include:
'Waltzing the Ladder'
'Great Jokes Squandered'
'Go Home and Practise' (narrated supposedly by an embittered guitar teacher. kuang
, I thought you'd like that bit, especially ;) )
'Joo-joo eyeball' - a plaintive cry on behalf of the people who do not understand cryptic crosswords (myself, that would be) and includes a brilliant idea to drive smug cryptic crossword solvers to suicide.
'Gumball Minutes' - the imagined minutes of the Penny Gumball Machine Company's annual stockholders meeting.
Oh, lots of stuff.
Rich Hall is twisted, savage and sarcastic as hell. I'd invite him to tea anytime :D Current Mood: amused
|Monday, September 29th, 2003|
"To walk the teeming pavements of this town is to battle a tide of slack-jawed human rodentia." ~ Rich Hall, 'Things Snowball' Current Mood: amused
|Saturday, September 13th, 2003|
I am worried. There are women out there who believe they are duping us. They may even be so far down in the grip of their illness that they are duping themselves, too. We have all seen them. They are:Pram-faced bits of scrag-end carrying ludicrously obvious fake replicas of Louis Vuitton or Burberry bags.
Just what do they take us for, hmm? Are we to lower our sunglasses to drink in the full horror of their bobbled velour tracksuited appearance, only to rest upon one of those
handbags and think: "Oh well, I had
thought you were a crusty piece of nothingness... but now I see you are carrying a GENUINE DESIGNER BAG. I must have been completely wrong! Please forgive me, oh style icon, oh fashionista queen!"
Oh for goodness sake, pull yourselves together wimmin. You may have flipped through Hello!
at the hairdressers and seen pictures of Tara-ra-ra-boom-di-ay (or whatever the bloody hell she's called) and her braying cohorts clutching these vile accessories in their desperate, grasping claws... but here's the thing: They can afford to spend £1,000 and upwards on a bag which has a fashion life of precisely three days. You can't and we all know you can't.
You have gone dahn-the-maaaaarkit and purchased your copy from a "any 3 bags for a fivah" stall. You shall not be wafted through the golden doors of Celebrity World with that on your arm, dear, no matter how hard you try to pull it off as the real thing. It wouldn't fool a lamb. Come to that, it wouldn't fool a particularly stupid blind
You see this type of thing advertised on ebay all the time. The blurb usually reads something like: "[not] LouisVuitton Burberry Desinger CHEAP!" NOT
real? You're kidding me, right? At £4.35 I assumed it must have been real, that you must have been a multi-millionairess selling off her treasured collection of designer handbags!
The funniest thing of all is the fact that the genuine articles, the real Louis Vuitton & Burberry bags you so crave.... THEY are hideous, too. There are lots of bags in the world you know, some gorgeous ones that cost more than most people own in a year, some gorgeous ones available for very reasonable prices.
How about you search deep down and try to buy something you actually like, something a bit more unique than a jumble-sale outcast from Posh Spice's trash pile, something that Hello!
hasn't told you that you "MUST HAVE!" Vanessa Feltz carries them around like some kind of security blanket: "Look, look everyone! My husband dumped me and I lost my TV show and I'm starting to pile the weight back on... but I can afford this horrible bag! I must be successful after all!" I mean for Christ's sake, have some dignity.
Oh, and whilst you're about it, credit us with a semblance of intelligence, too.
I mean really
N.B:The other day a tatty leaflet was pushed through the letterbox proclaiming the 'Grand Opening' of Dominic's Pizza Place Yes, Dominic's. Sounds suspiciously like Domino's, that, eh? Hmm. Well the people who buy these horrid fake bags are, I imagine, the walking equivallent of a Dominic's pizza: cheap, tasteless and the real thing ain't even all that to begin with. Current Mood: anxious
|Wednesday, September 10th, 2003|
So you've made a hairpiece which is "mad and scary". Oh really...
Just how is it mad, or scary? Does it have a psychological disorder? Has it recently declared it's adoration for both "Take That" and Bananarama, comparing their musical qualities and how the sound of their singing, together, soothes their, what, hair?
And scarey? Does it jump at you and shout boo? Or display grotesque images which would make even the most hardened goth shudder? Perhaps it is known to have amazing powers of persuasion which convinces people into wearing powder blue velour tracksuits.
I'm sorry, but just FUCK OFF!
You've not gone?
You want me to actually BUY your piece of shit?
It'll "make me stand out of the crowd" will it? Oh really...
It's so unique and unlike anything anyone has ever seen that people will be stopping dead in their tracks to adore and worship my hair.
Right. So that's why you've made three sets, just in different colour combinations. Really bloody unique then. And on the point or being original? It looks just like any other bloody set of dreads/plastic/wool hairpieces I've ever seen.
You're so good at this that you're opening a store?
I give in. Current Mood: bitchy
|Saturday, September 6th, 2003|
Words of Wisdom?
My [late] great, great Aunt was the bitchiest, most wonderful woman I have ever had the privillege to know. She wore fur stoles no matter what the weather and used to sit perched on a chair near the door at family gatherings. From this position she would regularly and ostentatiously check her watch and then tut loudly. This was to scare latecomers. She could do more to scewer the human soul with a curl of her lip and a raised eyebrow than a hundred venemous words.
She had also, in her time, been engaged 18 times (and kept all the rings), worked as a fan dancer and ran away to join the circus. She happened to very closely resemble Louise Brooks in old pictures of her - no wonder she was enagaged 18 times! I was utterly enraptured by her and miss her very much. She's the only member of my family who I got on well with.
Anyway, apropos of nothing, she once whispered some words of advice to me that I assumed she had made up but which I recently heard again on some radio programme (which made me remember what she'd said). The words of advice, which I found rather shocking being as I was about 12 or 13 when she told me, were the following:A man, my dear, is much like linoleum: Lay it right the first time and you can spend the rest of your life walking over it.
She was only tiny and used to dye her hair black until she died, aged 99. She had a laugh like a gutter being dredged. Goodness, I do miss her.
R.I.P Auntie Anne - I am attempting to carry your mantle :) Current Mood: nostalgic
|Friday, September 5th, 2003|
Now I am all for a fabulous strop of titanic proportions now and again, but really, if you can't do it properly you shouldn't bother at all.
People who come under the heading of Tedious #5
~ Those who decide to vent their wrath and shake their fist at the Gods by..... deleting their Live Journal. Gasp!
nothing can be THAT bad? How shall the world continue turning without their turgid meanderings? If the deleted journal stayed deleted then that would be fine, but these types tend to delete/reinstate on a weekly basis
. They probably saw an article about people with Bi Polar disorder in Take a Break
once and now think they have It. They don't, they are just attention-seeking dullards.
Usually the 'last' post is written along the lines of: "Nobody loves me and I am oh so sad, goodbye cruel LJ World. Forever!"
But it's not forever, oh no. Two days (max) later, up they pop again with an "I'm okay now so have undeleted my LJ" post. Well thank the lord
for that, eh? I, for one, cannot sleep at night for worrying about such things.
The deleted and then hastily reinstated Live Journal is the cyber equivalent of a pouty teenager running to their room and slamming the door, then coming downstairs 10 minutes later to ask for cheese on toast. Why not do something really dramatic like, oh I don't know, screwing up some paper and throwing it at your teddies?
Delete your Live Journals if you will, we can't stop you, but shall we try to retain a sense of dignity and limit it to once a month or something? Thank you so
much.This post has been brought to you by the Get a Fucking Grip Co. Current Mood: bitchy
Oh lordy, people have not only joined my little community, they have posted
! Oh, I am so proud of you all.
I have many many
things I want to dredge from the pools of acid in my stomach and wrench into words for your delectation, (a charming image I hope will stay with you for some time) and shall shortly be making my first post.
Keep it up, the world needs to be purged of idiots and we are the people to do it. Or something. At least we can tut-tut and raise eyebrows in a threatening manner, and this cannot but help our cause. Current Mood: amused
|Tuesday, August 26th, 2003|
So I went to make myself a cup of tea at work. Now, this being a small office, the only way we have to heat water is to microwave it. (I suppose I could run it through the drip coffeemaker, but that would take longer and would probably leave the water tasting like stale crappy coffee. Not exactly desirable, thanks.)
I open the microwave to put my cup of water in, and see that someone else has forgotten a cup in there. This is one of those old "carousel"-type microwaves, that has a glass plate that's supposed to rotate your food so that it heats evenly... except that it ceased rotating some time ago. Ah well, no biggie. Anyhow, I go to pick up the forgotten coffee cup to remove it from the microwave... and the entire glass plate comes up with it! It had slopped over and then been baked into the goo and filth encrusted on the plate.... bleah!
The worst part of this is that it's entirely typical of the way that our office "kitchen" is maintained -- or should I say, isn't
maintained. The tables are never wiped up, and are frequently encrusted with unknown substances. The area in front of the coffeemaker is usually covered in spilled coffee and empty creamer containers, and stirring spoons are left sitting there (unrinsed even) -- it sickens me to think of someone using
one of those spoons. There's always dirty dishes in the sink, if not food chunks and tea bags. I don't want to think about how old some of the crap in the refrigerator might be. (At least none of it could possibly be more than a few years old -- the fridge was replaced at that time, after the old one stopped working and was left full of ripening food for a week or two.... :P )
Now, my coworkers are (supposedly) adults. These are people who are working to support themselves, and in some cases their families. You'd think
that they would be responsible people who are capable of maintaining their environment in a reasonable state. Apparently, though, if you thought that you'd be wrong. I shudder to imagine what some of their homes must be like. It's a wonder that we don't have a much higher absentee rate due to food poisoning.This
is why, despite the financial and nutritional costs, I am always getting fast food for lunch and eating it in my car. Because I really don't want to have to thoroughly clean a table every day
before I sit down to lunch, and still be aware of the miasma of filth. (I wouldn't even think
of not providing my own dishes/silverware, kept in my own desk and washed by myself every time I use them...) Well, that and that I don't want to have to actually talk
to any of these fine specimens of humanity, but that's another rant. Current Mood: nauseated