How to know when you’ve had too much to drink the night before:
- You think it’s logical to mix drinks and gleefully guzzle 7 different types of alcohol
- You’re buying rounds on your credit card but need to spend $30 minimum – so you buy extra drinks for each round!
- A boy asks you “how does it feel to go through life being truly ugly?” and it’s hilarious!?
- Even funnier when your co-worker admonishes him on your behalf and finishes off her insult with “and you’re short!”
- You don’t even make it back to your home because you decide to stay over at your colleague’s place...even if it is on the other side of Brisbane and over 2 hours away from your place on the Gold Coast!
- You decide that a drunken call to the U.S.A is a great idea at 3 in the morning
- You only know what time you got home when you check your phone to see who you drunkenly called
- You wake up and you’re not even hungover yet because you’re still boozed
- You cannot stomach Ronald, dry-reaching when you attempt to eat even a cheeseburger
- The bus driver who’s driving you back to the city asks you
“Are you alright love?” because he thinks you’re going to vomit and die on his bus!
A warning from Chelsea - Southern Comfort is nobody’s friend!
Monday, February 8, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
A Brazilian of a different kind
All this chat of Brazilians reminds me...
One of my friends (who shall just this once remain nameless) had her first Brazilian wax on the weekend! How exciting both for her and the lucky man in her life;)
I did however have to warn her. Not about the pain, nor about the regrowth either, but rather about how it affects your peeing.
See, when I’ve had a Brazilian wax, I lose the ability to aim when I pee. Sorry for any boys who might be reading this, but we have better aim than you would think...until we are hairless. Then you have the aim of a shower spout - so basically none. Not really all that big of a deal until you drunkenly head out and attempt to hover over the toilet seat without peeing everywhere.
Does everyone have this issue? Cause I know a few girls that do, Belle De Jour included (thank you Belle), but what about you? When you’ve had a Brazilian (wax that is, not a man), do you pee everywhere too?
Sorry if this is too much information...
One of my friends (who shall just this once remain nameless) had her first Brazilian wax on the weekend! How exciting both for her and the lucky man in her life;)
I did however have to warn her. Not about the pain, nor about the regrowth either, but rather about how it affects your peeing.
See, when I’ve had a Brazilian wax, I lose the ability to aim when I pee. Sorry for any boys who might be reading this, but we have better aim than you would think...until we are hairless. Then you have the aim of a shower spout - so basically none. Not really all that big of a deal until you drunkenly head out and attempt to hover over the toilet seat without peeing everywhere.
Does everyone have this issue? Cause I know a few girls that do, Belle De Jour included (thank you Belle), but what about you? When you’ve had a Brazilian (wax that is, not a man), do you pee everywhere too?
Sorry if this is too much information...
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Cheating on Ronald, Pizza, Brazil, Rain-dancing
So I’ve broken my detox and, being me, I did it with a flourish.
Me: ‘I’m going to need some pizza or Ronald.’ I announced.
We’d been dancing for hours in possibly the seediest bar in Surfers Paradise. Maybe in all of the Southern Hemisphere? The booze definitely made it far easier to bear. Amber had already left with her gentleman friend so Lana and I were finishing off out nite.
Lana: ‘Hmmm...pizza is closer. We’ll wait here.’
The ‘we’ in this case is Lana and her ‘friend’ Chris. That’s all I’m saying.
As I walked in, I saw the two pizza boys behind the counter putting what looked like an entire pizza in the bin.
Me: ‘Nooo!’ I cried out like I was in some kind of spy movie where I was trying to save the damsel in distress.
‘You’re not going to throw that out are you?’
Random Pizza Boy 1: ‘Um Yeah.’
Me: ‘Really? What a waste...do you think that I could please buy just one piece off you before you throw it away?’I asked as sweetly as I could.
They looked at each other. I was sweaty from all my dancing, wearing a breasty blue dress, black half tights, and heels to top it off. Clearly not at my cutest. But maybe at my tartiest?
Random Pizza Boy 2: ‘Well, I guess we can just give it to you.’
Me: ‘Really?’ I said excitedly.
RPB 1: ‘But if anyone asks, say that you paid $10 for it.’
Me: ‘If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I paid $15 for it!’ I answered gleefully. Ah, pizza, you’re like my naughty secret lover. Don’t tell Ronald.
‘You have such beautiful eyelashes.’ I both noticed and announced to the cute Pizza Boy (1).
RPB 1: ‘Oh, thankyou.’
Me: ‘You’re from Brazil aren’t you?’ I continued.
RPB 1: ‘Yeah, how did you know?’
Me: ‘I used to live in Japan and I have a few Brazillian friends...Do you want to hear the only Portuguese I know?’
RPB 1: ‘Sure.’
Me: ‘Fillio da puta.’
He started laughing. It means ‘Son of a Bitch’ but quite literally. I should probably learn some nicer Portuguese shouldn’t I?
RPB 1: ‘Why does a nice girl like you know such dirty Portuguese?’
Me: ‘My friends only taught me the naughty stuff I guess.’
RPB 1: ‘Do you want me to teach you something else to say?’
Me: ‘Sure.’
RPB: ‘Blah blah blah.’ He made me repeat the phrase three times and I still have no idea how it went?
Me: ‘What does it mean?’ I asked after I’d repeated it.
RPB: ‘It means you have beautiful eyes.’ Oooh what a charmer.
Me: ‘Is that because I said that you had nice eyelashes?’
RPB: ‘No. It is you who has beautiful eyes, so I thought you should understand when a Brazillian man says it to you.’
Ah the Brazillian men are so very good at this game.
Me: ‘Well I’ve got to go now, how about a goodbye kiss?’ Subtle like a sledgehammer.
We met at the side of the counter and he put his hands around my waist, pulled me close and kissed me. He was tall, tan, dark-haired, brown eyed and he tasted like a sweet orange fizzy drink. Thank you Brazil.
He got my number and I pranced off, joyously devouring my free pizza.
Lana: ‘What happened there?’
Me: ‘I just thought I’d enjoy a little Brazillian with my pizza.’
Chris: ‘I can’t believe you just did that?’
You don’t know me well Chris, but that was a slow night for me.
Great nite of dancing and finished it off with free pizza and a snog from a sexy Brazillian man whose name I don’t remember – he’s in my phone as ‘Random Brazillian Pizza Man.’ Pity that I then did a little ‘rain dance’ in the pouring rain only to end up with a fever yesterday...
It seems drunken Chelsea has struck again;)
Me: ‘I’m going to need some pizza or Ronald.’ I announced.
We’d been dancing for hours in possibly the seediest bar in Surfers Paradise. Maybe in all of the Southern Hemisphere? The booze definitely made it far easier to bear. Amber had already left with her gentleman friend so Lana and I were finishing off out nite.
Lana: ‘Hmmm...pizza is closer. We’ll wait here.’
The ‘we’ in this case is Lana and her ‘friend’ Chris. That’s all I’m saying.
As I walked in, I saw the two pizza boys behind the counter putting what looked like an entire pizza in the bin.
Me: ‘Nooo!’ I cried out like I was in some kind of spy movie where I was trying to save the damsel in distress.
‘You’re not going to throw that out are you?’
Random Pizza Boy 1: ‘Um Yeah.’
Me: ‘Really? What a waste...do you think that I could please buy just one piece off you before you throw it away?’I asked as sweetly as I could.
They looked at each other. I was sweaty from all my dancing, wearing a breasty blue dress, black half tights, and heels to top it off. Clearly not at my cutest. But maybe at my tartiest?
Random Pizza Boy 2: ‘Well, I guess we can just give it to you.’
Me: ‘Really?’ I said excitedly.
RPB 1: ‘But if anyone asks, say that you paid $10 for it.’
Me: ‘If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I paid $15 for it!’ I answered gleefully. Ah, pizza, you’re like my naughty secret lover. Don’t tell Ronald.
‘You have such beautiful eyelashes.’ I both noticed and announced to the cute Pizza Boy (1).
RPB 1: ‘Oh, thankyou.’
Me: ‘You’re from Brazil aren’t you?’ I continued.
RPB 1: ‘Yeah, how did you know?’
Me: ‘I used to live in Japan and I have a few Brazillian friends...Do you want to hear the only Portuguese I know?’
RPB 1: ‘Sure.’
Me: ‘Fillio da puta.’
He started laughing. It means ‘Son of a Bitch’ but quite literally. I should probably learn some nicer Portuguese shouldn’t I?
RPB 1: ‘Why does a nice girl like you know such dirty Portuguese?’
Me: ‘My friends only taught me the naughty stuff I guess.’
RPB 1: ‘Do you want me to teach you something else to say?’
Me: ‘Sure.’
RPB: ‘Blah blah blah.’ He made me repeat the phrase three times and I still have no idea how it went?
Me: ‘What does it mean?’ I asked after I’d repeated it.
RPB: ‘It means you have beautiful eyes.’ Oooh what a charmer.
Me: ‘Is that because I said that you had nice eyelashes?’
RPB: ‘No. It is you who has beautiful eyes, so I thought you should understand when a Brazillian man says it to you.’
Ah the Brazillian men are so very good at this game.
Me: ‘Well I’ve got to go now, how about a goodbye kiss?’ Subtle like a sledgehammer.
We met at the side of the counter and he put his hands around my waist, pulled me close and kissed me. He was tall, tan, dark-haired, brown eyed and he tasted like a sweet orange fizzy drink. Thank you Brazil.
He got my number and I pranced off, joyously devouring my free pizza.
Lana: ‘What happened there?’
Me: ‘I just thought I’d enjoy a little Brazillian with my pizza.’
Chris: ‘I can’t believe you just did that?’
You don’t know me well Chris, but that was a slow night for me.
Great nite of dancing and finished it off with free pizza and a snog from a sexy Brazillian man whose name I don’t remember – he’s in my phone as ‘Random Brazillian Pizza Man.’ Pity that I then did a little ‘rain dance’ in the pouring rain only to end up with a fever yesterday...
It seems drunken Chelsea has struck again;)
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Eggs-capades
Roxy: ‘Mission abort! Mission abort.’ She yelled and bolted, nearly dropping her egg in the process.
I jumped up from the ground to follow her as did Amber.
Me: ‘What happened?’ I puffed.
Roxy: ‘A man inside the shop saw us.’ She yelled back.
Amber: ‘There was someone inside while we were egging it?’
We sprinted along behind her. But Roxy, our high school cross country champion was eons ahead of us. Amber and I reached the car where both Seb and a white unmarked security car were waiting for us. Roxy had already clambered into the back seat conveniently leaving the door open for Amber. Meanwhile I awkwardly opened my door and tried to climb in.
Seb: ‘Hurry the fuck up girls. What took you so long?’
Roxy: ‘We had a bit of a photo shoot.’
Seb: ‘A photo shoot? When you’re egging a place!?’ He said as he sped off...
Without me.
Me: ‘I’m not in!’ I squawked as I ran beside Seb’s car. He was going surprisingly fast for being in a carpark. I ran as fast as I could in my thongs, but kept thinking that he was going to inadvertently run over my foot.
Me: ‘Seb. Wait!’
Amber: ‘Chelsea’s not in the car!’
Seb: ‘Fuck!’
The car screeched to a halt and I tumbled inside.
While he’d stopped, the white security car crept closer towards us. It was like in a scary movie where the killer doesn’t bother running because he knows that he’s going to catch you anyhow.
Roxy: ‘Oh, we’re done. You should just stop the car and face it.’
Roxy had clearly never seen Seb drive. Saying that he drives like a maniac would be complementary!
Amber: ‘No way! Keep going!’
Me: ‘Come on Seb, let’s just get out of here.’ I couldn’t even look at the car behind us because I was too scared that they’d be super close.
Seb: ‘Fuck Fuck Fuck!’ He announced before driving off manically.
We swerved around corners, went out the ‘in’ section of the carpark and landed on the highway before driving quickly off.
Me: ‘Are they still following?’
Amber: ‘No, they stopped when we left the carpark.’
Roxy: ‘I can’t believe we got away. I thought we were done for sure when we had to stop to let grandma Chelsea in.’
Me: ‘Hey! My door was closed. And I managed to keep up running beside the car thank you very much.’
I was still puffed. Sweaty too. Who thought I’d get my exercise running beside our ‘getaway car’ after we’d egged Seb’s old work place?
Seb: ‘You are all fired! I can’t believe it took you that long to egg. This is why you don’t get girls to do a men’s job.’ He declared.
Clearly we were tired out because we didn’t even disagree with him. I think I’ll leave the next egging escapades up to the men who can run faster beside a moving vehicle than I can.
Normally, I would blame it on the GC (as is my way), but whenever Roxy’s around the trouble starts – so I think she’s going to cop the blame this time. Welcome back to the GC Roxy. We’ve missed you. :)
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Passive Aggressive letter that I wish I could paste in the work toilet...
To every lady that I work with,
Hi, I'm your receptionist. I'm the one who greets you every morning, lets you into the building, takes messages and puts through your calls. It might interest you to know that I'm also the one who fills up the toilet rolls in the toilet every day. No, the toilet fairy isn’t real, it is in fact me and it is most certainly not in my job description. If people could make an effort to fill the toilet rolls it would make my day. I don't understand how it can be so hard to grab a roll of toilet paper and put it in the toilet. Do I need to give lessons?
Oh and whomever is putting toilet rolls in the sanitary bin – you are an idiot. If you could please make yourself known to me, I will henceforth treat you as such.
Regards,
The ex-toilet fairy,
Chelsea
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Tie-dyed, groping, ‘pissing off’, BookFest, hunger
I should know by now not to whinge. Whenever I whinge about something, I get my comeuppance in odd and generally unpleasant ways.
Remember how I was complaining about my white work top that makes me look like a cream puff muffin? Well that top is no more.
It’s no more because I sleepily did my washing and didn’t pay proper attention to what I was throwing in...resulting in a blue dress that is actually dry clean only (oops), being put in with my white top and even worse, my sister’s white bed sheets.
Fuck.
No, everything didn’t go blue as you would expect. Instead, I have (impressively?) managed to tie-dye everything. I have a shirt that is white with scrunches of deep, dark blue yet has ripples of sky blue in various parts. Ditto with my sister’s bottom sheet and pillows. I wonder if she’ll notice? I mean, they’re still clean right?
I guess I could always palm off my new tie-dyed goods to Amber, she loves anything tie-dyed...
Otherwise, I need to get some bleach stat! Any suggestions on how to save my sister’s sheets? Because I think she may well disown me for this...
************************************************************
Apart from my ‘I suck at life’ washing dilemma, my weekend was pretty good, if ridiculously busy. I had dancing on Friday night with Lisa and Amber…
I realised that while I think I’m an awesome dancer when I’m dancing with Steve my flamboyant instructor, it’s completely different to be dancing with someone who isn’t confident. Or who only just reaches my breasts in height. It makes dancing cheek to cheek near impossible;)
The point of Friday nite was to learn some new steps and then to dance with a variety of people. The men came up to ask you to dance and when Mark (cute, tall, curly haired with a ‘Beatles’ top on), came to ask Amber to dance, she said that it felt like being asked to the prom. She stood up like the cat who’d got the cream, grinning from ear to ear.
Mark took pity on me as well and we had a little shimmy too. But I made him nervous and we stood on each other’s feet more than a few times. Meh. I figure that dancing with me, you have to be prepared for that.
We walked back over to have a break.
Me: ‘I am not as good a dancer as I am in my head. Or when I dance with Steve’
Lisa: ‘What do you mean? You and Mark were dancing quite nicely there.’
Me: ‘Yeah, except that I trod on his feet maybe five or six times.’
Amber: ‘Well I groped Bill.’
We both giggled. Bill is maybe 75 years old and I think the oldest dancer at our school.
Lisa: ‘What?’
Amber: ‘Yep. Oops.’
Me: ‘How is that even possible?’
Amber: ‘I guess I just pushed him too hard...’
Me: ‘And then you groped him?’
Amber: ‘What? Groped? No no no. I said that I’d broken him.’ She looked horrified.
Lisa cracked up and bent over and held her stomach as though it was going to fall out because she was laughing so hard.
Me: ‘Oooh I thought you said that you’d groped him.’
Lisa: ‘And you just thought that was perfectly normal. Amber dances with an older man and gropes him.’
Me: ‘I didn’t think that she’d done it on purpose...’
Amber: ‘I do enjoy a good groping.’ She mused.
‘But not usually with men three times my age!’
Me: ‘Sorry. I guess you ‘breaking’ Bill makes more sense than you ‘groping’ him.’
Must get my ears checked.
************************************************************
Saturday I was up fairly early to go to the Lifeline BookFest with Robyn and Lisa. But on the way there...
Me: ‘I’m going to need to eat something or I’ll get super cranky.’
Lisa: ‘How about you pop in there and grab something to eat?’ She asked, gesturing to the Snack Shop just outside South Brisbane Station.
Me: ‘Ok be back in a second.’
I walked in and saw a large, sweaty man nervously assisting a demanding older lady.
I grabbed a packet of chips and waited for awhile.
Old sweaty man: ‘Ok...I will put this through. And then you wanted a lotto quick pick didn’t you?’
Lady: ‘Yes please and I’d also like some scratchies for my grandchildren, I’d like them to be their ages as well so a $10 dollar and a $15 dollar scratchie please.’
Man: ‘We don’t actually have a $15 dollar scratchie….’ He said as his sweat dripped down onto the counter. Gross.
Lady: ‘You could just get three $5 dollar ones then and that should make it up just fine.’
Duh. Was this his first day?
I was getting super impatient. And hungry. I got out my wallet and started counting change so I’d be prepared when he finally got to me.
Me: ‘Excuse me, how much is a packet of chips?’
Man: ‘I’m helping this lady at the moment. I will get to you in a minute!’ He replied extremely rudely. Hey, it’s not my fault that you can’t do your job efficiently old man.
Me: ‘Actually, I’m fine thankyou.’ I said as I placed the chips on the counter and started to walk away. He didn’t deserve my patronage or my money if he was going to be rude.
Man: ‘Yeah, piss off.’ He called at my retreating back.
Oooh sweaty fat man, you shouldn’t mess with me. What happened to the customer is always right? I turned around near the entrance.
Me: ‘Get fucked.’ I said succinctly to both his and the old lady’s surprise and stormed off.
Lisa and Robyn had only heard the end of this exchange and were staring at me gob smacked.
Robyn: ‘What happened?’
Me: ‘I waited for awhile and starting counting change so I asked him how much the chips would cost. He rudely told me to wait, so I politely told him that I didn’t want the chips...And then he told me to piss off!’
Lisa: ‘He deserves to fuck off then.’
Robyn: ‘I’m surprised that’s all you said.’
Me: ‘Who can I write a letter to and complain? What happened to the customer always being right? I’ve never told anyone to piss off in my years of working in retail.’
Lisa: ‘What an asshole.!I wouldn’t worry. Let’s just forget about it and go to the BookFest.’
Robyn: ‘Yeah, don’t let jerk that ruin your day.’
I didn’t of course and the BookFest was wonderful. We walked in and there was a huge room that had books lined up as far as the eye could see. I was in book heaven. Especially because there were literally thousands of books and most expensive were only $7 or $8 dollars. We only made it to the first room which was as big as a football field, but apparently there were at least two other rooms.
Bliss.
I had foolishly mentioned to Lisa that I’d be happy if I found just one book...but about 30 books and a trolley later I exited the BookFest on cloud nine. I needed Seb to come with his car so that I could dump all the books that I couldn’t carry! Seb and I had lunch because I was starving by this time since I hadn’t eaten since the night before (courtesy of the rude and sweaty shop assistant who I’d like to add didn’t assist me in the least!). Seb then decided that we would drive for about half an hour while we hunted down a free park in the city.
Me: ‘If you don’t find a park soon I’m going to jump out at the nearest food place and eat anything I can get my hands on.’
Seb: ‘Calm down. We’ll get you fed soon. This place has the best ramen and you’ll be so thrilled that it won’t even matter than you’re hungry...I just need to find a park.’ He said as he drove erratically, searching for anywhere to park his car for free.
Me: ‘I can’t calm down because I am so hungry I could cry! Just park in a place where you can pay and I’ll pay for the park. I. Need. Food. Now.’ I warned him.
Seb: ‘Alright alright. Now, where do you think we can pay for parking?’
I was ready to strangle him. Stop being so flippant when I’m hungry!
Me: ‘Go back around the street that we just went through.’ I commanded.
‘Wait, there’s a park there! Go and claim it before I injure you!’
Seb did a marvellous parallel reverse park and ferried me off to the restaurant which was in fact delicious. Thank God.
Seb: ‘Wasn’t it worth the wait?’
Me: ‘I guess. You’re just lucky that I didn’t kill you before I got fed.’ I smiled sweetly as I finished off the most amazing guava sorbet that I’ve ever had in my life. I’m not sure if it was because I was so hungry though. Seb’s car interior had looked appealing towards the end of our car park hunting.
Seb: ‘Oh, you love me too much to kill me.’
Me: ‘Not when I’m starving.’ I warned him.
Is it any wonder that I’m tired after my weekend shenanigans?
Remember how I was complaining about my white work top that makes me look like a cream puff muffin? Well that top is no more.
It’s no more because I sleepily did my washing and didn’t pay proper attention to what I was throwing in...resulting in a blue dress that is actually dry clean only (oops), being put in with my white top and even worse, my sister’s white bed sheets.
Fuck.
No, everything didn’t go blue as you would expect. Instead, I have (impressively?) managed to tie-dye everything. I have a shirt that is white with scrunches of deep, dark blue yet has ripples of sky blue in various parts. Ditto with my sister’s bottom sheet and pillows. I wonder if she’ll notice? I mean, they’re still clean right?
I guess I could always palm off my new tie-dyed goods to Amber, she loves anything tie-dyed...
Otherwise, I need to get some bleach stat! Any suggestions on how to save my sister’s sheets? Because I think she may well disown me for this...
************************************************************
Apart from my ‘I suck at life’ washing dilemma, my weekend was pretty good, if ridiculously busy. I had dancing on Friday night with Lisa and Amber…
I realised that while I think I’m an awesome dancer when I’m dancing with Steve my flamboyant instructor, it’s completely different to be dancing with someone who isn’t confident. Or who only just reaches my breasts in height. It makes dancing cheek to cheek near impossible;)
The point of Friday nite was to learn some new steps and then to dance with a variety of people. The men came up to ask you to dance and when Mark (cute, tall, curly haired with a ‘Beatles’ top on), came to ask Amber to dance, she said that it felt like being asked to the prom. She stood up like the cat who’d got the cream, grinning from ear to ear.
Mark took pity on me as well and we had a little shimmy too. But I made him nervous and we stood on each other’s feet more than a few times. Meh. I figure that dancing with me, you have to be prepared for that.
We walked back over to have a break.
Me: ‘I am not as good a dancer as I am in my head. Or when I dance with Steve’
Lisa: ‘What do you mean? You and Mark were dancing quite nicely there.’
Me: ‘Yeah, except that I trod on his feet maybe five or six times.’
Amber: ‘Well I groped Bill.’
We both giggled. Bill is maybe 75 years old and I think the oldest dancer at our school.
Lisa: ‘What?’
Amber: ‘Yep. Oops.’
Me: ‘How is that even possible?’
Amber: ‘I guess I just pushed him too hard...’
Me: ‘And then you groped him?’
Amber: ‘What? Groped? No no no. I said that I’d broken him.’ She looked horrified.
Lisa cracked up and bent over and held her stomach as though it was going to fall out because she was laughing so hard.
Me: ‘Oooh I thought you said that you’d groped him.’
Lisa: ‘And you just thought that was perfectly normal. Amber dances with an older man and gropes him.’
Me: ‘I didn’t think that she’d done it on purpose...’
Amber: ‘I do enjoy a good groping.’ She mused.
‘But not usually with men three times my age!’
Me: ‘Sorry. I guess you ‘breaking’ Bill makes more sense than you ‘groping’ him.’
Must get my ears checked.
************************************************************
Saturday I was up fairly early to go to the Lifeline BookFest with Robyn and Lisa. But on the way there...
Me: ‘I’m going to need to eat something or I’ll get super cranky.’
Lisa: ‘How about you pop in there and grab something to eat?’ She asked, gesturing to the Snack Shop just outside South Brisbane Station.
Me: ‘Ok be back in a second.’
I walked in and saw a large, sweaty man nervously assisting a demanding older lady.
I grabbed a packet of chips and waited for awhile.
Old sweaty man: ‘Ok...I will put this through. And then you wanted a lotto quick pick didn’t you?’
Lady: ‘Yes please and I’d also like some scratchies for my grandchildren, I’d like them to be their ages as well so a $10 dollar and a $15 dollar scratchie please.’
Man: ‘We don’t actually have a $15 dollar scratchie….’ He said as his sweat dripped down onto the counter. Gross.
Lady: ‘You could just get three $5 dollar ones then and that should make it up just fine.’
Duh. Was this his first day?
I was getting super impatient. And hungry. I got out my wallet and started counting change so I’d be prepared when he finally got to me.
Me: ‘Excuse me, how much is a packet of chips?’
Man: ‘I’m helping this lady at the moment. I will get to you in a minute!’ He replied extremely rudely. Hey, it’s not my fault that you can’t do your job efficiently old man.
Me: ‘Actually, I’m fine thankyou.’ I said as I placed the chips on the counter and started to walk away. He didn’t deserve my patronage or my money if he was going to be rude.
Man: ‘Yeah, piss off.’ He called at my retreating back.
Oooh sweaty fat man, you shouldn’t mess with me. What happened to the customer is always right? I turned around near the entrance.
Me: ‘Get fucked.’ I said succinctly to both his and the old lady’s surprise and stormed off.
Lisa and Robyn had only heard the end of this exchange and were staring at me gob smacked.
Robyn: ‘What happened?’
Me: ‘I waited for awhile and starting counting change so I asked him how much the chips would cost. He rudely told me to wait, so I politely told him that I didn’t want the chips...And then he told me to piss off!’
Lisa: ‘He deserves to fuck off then.’
Robyn: ‘I’m surprised that’s all you said.’
Me: ‘Who can I write a letter to and complain? What happened to the customer always being right? I’ve never told anyone to piss off in my years of working in retail.’
Lisa: ‘What an asshole.!I wouldn’t worry. Let’s just forget about it and go to the BookFest.’
Robyn: ‘Yeah, don’t let jerk that ruin your day.’
I didn’t of course and the BookFest was wonderful. We walked in and there was a huge room that had books lined up as far as the eye could see. I was in book heaven. Especially because there were literally thousands of books and most expensive were only $7 or $8 dollars. We only made it to the first room which was as big as a football field, but apparently there were at least two other rooms.
Bliss.
I had foolishly mentioned to Lisa that I’d be happy if I found just one book...but about 30 books and a trolley later I exited the BookFest on cloud nine. I needed Seb to come with his car so that I could dump all the books that I couldn’t carry! Seb and I had lunch because I was starving by this time since I hadn’t eaten since the night before (courtesy of the rude and sweaty shop assistant who I’d like to add didn’t assist me in the least!). Seb then decided that we would drive for about half an hour while we hunted down a free park in the city.
Me: ‘If you don’t find a park soon I’m going to jump out at the nearest food place and eat anything I can get my hands on.’
Seb: ‘Calm down. We’ll get you fed soon. This place has the best ramen and you’ll be so thrilled that it won’t even matter than you’re hungry...I just need to find a park.’ He said as he drove erratically, searching for anywhere to park his car for free.
Me: ‘I can’t calm down because I am so hungry I could cry! Just park in a place where you can pay and I’ll pay for the park. I. Need. Food. Now.’ I warned him.
Seb: ‘Alright alright. Now, where do you think we can pay for parking?’
I was ready to strangle him. Stop being so flippant when I’m hungry!
Me: ‘Go back around the street that we just went through.’ I commanded.
‘Wait, there’s a park there! Go and claim it before I injure you!’
Seb did a marvellous parallel reverse park and ferried me off to the restaurant which was in fact delicious. Thank God.
Seb: ‘Wasn’t it worth the wait?’
Me: ‘I guess. You’re just lucky that I didn’t kill you before I got fed.’ I smiled sweetly as I finished off the most amazing guava sorbet that I’ve ever had in my life. I’m not sure if it was because I was so hungry though. Seb’s car interior had looked appealing towards the end of our car park hunting.
Seb: ‘Oh, you love me too much to kill me.’
Me: ‘Not when I’m starving.’ I warned him.
Is it any wonder that I’m tired after my weekend shenanigans?
Friday, January 15, 2010
Late, sexy motorbike man, ginger-loving
I am perpetually late for my morning train. Choosing to sleep in instead of being organised (foolish girl that I am), so most mornings find me hastily parking my car at the station before sprinting to make the train. However there is one definite upside to being late for work. When I’m late, I get to see ‘motorbike man’, the very sexy man who catches my train.
Motorbike man is a little shorter than me (but then I’m a giraffe), on the stocky side with lovely broad shoulders, ginger hair and the pertest bum I’ve had the pleasure of perving on in quite sometime. He usually comes to work late because he has a fast motorbike (how sexy is a motorbike, I mean honestly!?) or an equally fast red car that he powers to work in.
Hot. Hot. Hot.
This morning I was late as usual and followed motorbike man to work. He was in his red car and he weaved skilfully through traffic while I tried to keep up with him. I don’t know if it’s because his car is faster or because he’s a good driver, but even if I start out ahead of him, he will always make it to work ahead of me. Today was the same as usual, but I knew that if I didn’t hurry I wouldn’t make it in time. I hurriedly parked and ran because I could hear the train coming in.
Usually motorbike man is the personification of cool. He doesn’t show a lot of expression, he walks without moving his hips (all the better to appreciate just how well maintained his body is), and I’ve never seen him run.
Until today that is.
I sprinted to the train when I heard steps behind me and watched mesmerised as motorbike man easily overtook me, taking the stairs two at a time and disappearing from sight. He was waiting patiently for the train by the time that I’d sweatily scampered up the stairs. Meanwhile I made it on to the train just before the doors closed in my face.
I glanced over at him not even breathing heavily while I puffed like a packet-a-day smoker. As I reached for my asthma puffer he smiled and winked.
Ah Motorbike Man. You truly are a spunk. And I should really do some form of exercise.
When we got off the train.
Me: ‘Aaah.’ I sighed with satisfaction as sexy motorbike man walked up the stairs.
Lisa: ‘He’s back now, I knew you’d be pleased.’
Me: ‘Thrilled.’ I grinned
Charity walked over.
Charity: ‘Thrilled about who?’
Me: ‘Sexy motorbike man.’
Charity: ‘Who?’
Me: ‘I’ll tell you while we walk to work.’
Lisa: ‘Have a great day.’ She yelled us off as she walked up the stairs.
Charity: ‘You too.’
Me: ‘See you tonite.’ I called out. We have a dancing ‘party’ tonite. Should be a laugh. I'm just hoping that someone will want to partner me on the dance floor...
Charity: ‘So who’s the motorbike man?’
Me: ‘He’s that super sexy man who always stands up so straight and gets on our train carriage.’
Charity: ‘What’s his hair like?’
Me: ‘It’s kind of ginger.’
She looked shocked.
Me: ‘But in a sexy, 'I have no freckles' kind of way.’ I assured her.
Charity: ‘No! I totally think he’s hot too!’
Me: ‘You do?’
Charity: ‘We had a moment the other week where he gave me this kind of approving up and down look.’ We walked out of the tunnel and into ANZAC square.
Me: ‘Jealous. Jealous. Jealous.’
Charity: ‘But then I looked down and realised he’s married.’
I stopped walking. Crushed. My crush is married?
Me: ‘No! Married? Are you sure?’
Charity: ‘Pretty sure because I remember thinking ‘you’re flirting with me and you’re married!’’
Me: ‘Ummm...’ I hesitated.
Charity: ‘But then I remembered that I’m married too so it doesn’t matter.’
Me: ‘It totally matters. Sexy motorbike man is married? Poo.’ The good ones are always taken bugger it. I stomped crankily up the stairs.
Charity: ‘I’m surprised that you like him though.’
Me: ‘What’s not to like? He’s sexy. Shorter than me, but kind of understatedly smouldering.’
Charity: ‘He’s ginger too.’ She commented.
Me: ‘Oh I know, I seem to go for that.’
Charity: ‘Seriously? Me too! My friends are always giving me heaps because I go for the ginger men.’
Me: ‘What about Shane? Has he got red hair?’
Charity: ‘Well, no...’
Me: ‘Does he have a red beard?’ I persisted.
Charity: ‘He has a red beard...but the carpet doesn’t exactly match the drapes.’
I snorted. We stopped on the side of the road while I tried to suppress my giggles.
Me: ‘Must have been a real treat for you when you found that out.’
Charity: ‘I can’t believe you go for ginger men too. I thought I was the only one.’
Me: ‘Apparently not. Now that sexy motorbike man is selfishly married, you’re going to have to keep an eye out for single ginger men please.’
I reconsidered.
‘Or even just single men that will call me perhaps?’
She laughed.
Charity: ‘Sure thing.’
We said our goodbyes and, late again I sprinted off to work. Which was not nearly as exciting without sexy motorbike man pounding the pavement beside me.
Of course he’s married...but it doesn’t mean that I can’t still enjoy a good perve now does it?
Motorbike man is a little shorter than me (but then I’m a giraffe), on the stocky side with lovely broad shoulders, ginger hair and the pertest bum I’ve had the pleasure of perving on in quite sometime. He usually comes to work late because he has a fast motorbike (how sexy is a motorbike, I mean honestly!?) or an equally fast red car that he powers to work in.
Hot. Hot. Hot.
This morning I was late as usual and followed motorbike man to work. He was in his red car and he weaved skilfully through traffic while I tried to keep up with him. I don’t know if it’s because his car is faster or because he’s a good driver, but even if I start out ahead of him, he will always make it to work ahead of me. Today was the same as usual, but I knew that if I didn’t hurry I wouldn’t make it in time. I hurriedly parked and ran because I could hear the train coming in.
Usually motorbike man is the personification of cool. He doesn’t show a lot of expression, he walks without moving his hips (all the better to appreciate just how well maintained his body is), and I’ve never seen him run.
Until today that is.
I sprinted to the train when I heard steps behind me and watched mesmerised as motorbike man easily overtook me, taking the stairs two at a time and disappearing from sight. He was waiting patiently for the train by the time that I’d sweatily scampered up the stairs. Meanwhile I made it on to the train just before the doors closed in my face.
I glanced over at him not even breathing heavily while I puffed like a packet-a-day smoker. As I reached for my asthma puffer he smiled and winked.
Ah Motorbike Man. You truly are a spunk. And I should really do some form of exercise.
When we got off the train.
Me: ‘Aaah.’ I sighed with satisfaction as sexy motorbike man walked up the stairs.
Lisa: ‘He’s back now, I knew you’d be pleased.’
Me: ‘Thrilled.’ I grinned
Charity walked over.
Charity: ‘Thrilled about who?’
Me: ‘Sexy motorbike man.’
Charity: ‘Who?’
Me: ‘I’ll tell you while we walk to work.’
Lisa: ‘Have a great day.’ She yelled us off as she walked up the stairs.
Charity: ‘You too.’
Me: ‘See you tonite.’ I called out. We have a dancing ‘party’ tonite. Should be a laugh. I'm just hoping that someone will want to partner me on the dance floor...
Charity: ‘So who’s the motorbike man?’
Me: ‘He’s that super sexy man who always stands up so straight and gets on our train carriage.’
Charity: ‘What’s his hair like?’
Me: ‘It’s kind of ginger.’
She looked shocked.
Me: ‘But in a sexy, 'I have no freckles' kind of way.’ I assured her.
Charity: ‘No! I totally think he’s hot too!’
Me: ‘You do?’
Charity: ‘We had a moment the other week where he gave me this kind of approving up and down look.’ We walked out of the tunnel and into ANZAC square.
Me: ‘Jealous. Jealous. Jealous.’
Charity: ‘But then I looked down and realised he’s married.’
I stopped walking. Crushed. My crush is married?
Me: ‘No! Married? Are you sure?’
Charity: ‘Pretty sure because I remember thinking ‘you’re flirting with me and you’re married!’’
Me: ‘Ummm...’ I hesitated.
Charity: ‘But then I remembered that I’m married too so it doesn’t matter.’
Me: ‘It totally matters. Sexy motorbike man is married? Poo.’ The good ones are always taken bugger it. I stomped crankily up the stairs.
Charity: ‘I’m surprised that you like him though.’
Me: ‘What’s not to like? He’s sexy. Shorter than me, but kind of understatedly smouldering.’
Charity: ‘He’s ginger too.’ She commented.
Me: ‘Oh I know, I seem to go for that.’
Charity: ‘Seriously? Me too! My friends are always giving me heaps because I go for the ginger men.’
Me: ‘What about Shane? Has he got red hair?’
Charity: ‘Well, no...’
Me: ‘Does he have a red beard?’ I persisted.
Charity: ‘He has a red beard...but the carpet doesn’t exactly match the drapes.’
I snorted. We stopped on the side of the road while I tried to suppress my giggles.
Me: ‘Must have been a real treat for you when you found that out.’
Charity: ‘I can’t believe you go for ginger men too. I thought I was the only one.’
Me: ‘Apparently not. Now that sexy motorbike man is selfishly married, you’re going to have to keep an eye out for single ginger men please.’
I reconsidered.
‘Or even just single men that will call me perhaps?’
She laughed.
Charity: ‘Sure thing.’
We said our goodbyes and, late again I sprinted off to work. Which was not nearly as exciting without sexy motorbike man pounding the pavement beside me.
Of course he’s married...but it doesn’t mean that I can’t still enjoy a good perve now does it?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
