Not Caring For Sharing

Christmas passed uneventfully enough, the highlight being a Christmas day lecture from Little Niece N (now a soap box adorning 4 year old, and therefore full of opinions) about sharing.  I had begun to open my presents and squealed with delight when I found that Mammy had bought me a box of my most favourite chocolates, rafaello.  I would describe them but then I would have to leave the house immediately to buy another box as the one in question here is quite empty.

I never share food.  I will make you some, I will buy you some, but don’t eat mine.

I was immediately pounced on by Lilsister and Little Niece N so I attempted to flee the scene.  The aforementioned lecture then took off in earnest with Little Niece N going hell for leather on a long rambling introduction to ‘sharing’ and all its charms.  I was unmoved, and counter attacked with the fact that there were many other good things to eat in the house and this was MINE and I never had anything nice to myself.

As if unified in their hatred of me, Lilsister, Little Star, Little Niece N, Papabear, Baby Bro and Littlebro all demanded a rafaello.

It was a time of utter desolation.


Christmas in Ireland

Back to work tomorrow, not in the mood.   Overheard two girls comparing notes about how wonderful customers are when advised of delays due to traffic/weather/drivers not working as – Holy Codfish! – they decided to take a Christmas break to, you know, celebrate Christmas and all that it entails.

Many versions of ‘stick it up your hole’

‘Fuck you’

‘Go and fuck yourself’

‘Fuck yourself and your drivers and stick it up your hole’.

The winner being

‘Go and die’.

A gentle time in the delivery business, here’s to treating people like shite when you’re standing bravely behind your telephone.


Insert Heartwarming Christmas Message Here

Arms so sore from exercise yesterday that it hurt to turn the wheel in the car, I went gracefully to my nearest shopping centre for Christmas present ideas.  All that happened was that I got really annoyed, really fast.

Firstly, I usually do all this by October.  I don’t know what it is this year, but I am just completely uninterested in buying presents for presents’ sake.  Am I becoming a more rounded human being?  Probably not, I must just be tired.

And Christmas shouldn’t be about spending money for the sake of it.  The mad girl who does my waxing also works on call for our wonderful government with kids who have been removed from their homes; she will spend a 24 hour shift starting Christmas morning in a care home with some of them.  I say on call because she cannot get the hours to do this, despite the many many children who need professional care.  See, our country only values children when they are unborn.

Anyhoo, I walked into an already TEEMING shopping centre (it was only 10am!) full of ugly people and instantly wanted to leave.  I say ugly in the sense that perfectly normal people (well it was 95% women) had horrible, stressful, Christmasissuchaworry type frowns on their beaten faces.  People were bashing into each other, using shopping trolleys to clear pathways towards frozen food aisles (you know, stock up for that one day of the whole year when shops close, because you might starve!!!!) and screaming at kids to stand stock still in places full of glitter, christmas lights and toys.

I went to three stores for ideas, got none, and came home with a giant scone and a carrot and corriander flavoured falaffel wrap.  I will eat this whilst watching my recording of the German movie ‘Downfall’ about the last days of Hitler.





Stressful Dog Story

Another long day at work, today’s main topic being the Christmas party last night which I did NOT attend, and how one bloke thought it was hilarious to draw a girl’s lipstick all over her face.

This girl is of a gentle nature and I am quite upset on her behalf.  Last week she told me through tears in her eyes how she was walking around a block of flats and espied a dog standing on the edge of a balcony.  She screamed, told the dog to back the fuck back, which he of course didn’t do, and then she began to feel stressed as she was carrying a packet of ham in her hand, unbagged because she refuses to pay the 25 cents needed to buy them at the shops, and hoping the dog wasn’t thinking her screaming was an indication to jump down to her and the ham.

The dog never moved, but she stayed where she was whilst her boyfriend ran up to the apartment owners who expressed a total lack of concern, even stating that the dog regularly stood on the edges of the balcony, with no indication of jumping, for processed ham or any other reason.

My colleague was then so distraught at this additional information she went home for an immediate lie down.

Is this the sort of girl who deserves her lipstick smeared all over her face?


Where The Streets Have No Name (Literally)

So I finally hauled my increasingly flabby arse to a new gym for exercise classes, and today I can’t sit down it.

The gym was incredibly hard to find mainly because the roads surrounding it are so tough the STREET SIGNS have been kicked out!!!

The building, which is actually a proper, sweaty, ‘Rocky I’ style boxing club complete with smells, dirt, and aincent old men with huge bellies, is behind a school that appears to have a bit of a ‘reputation’.  Lilsister advises me that as a student she was driven to a basketball match there, and told that scores were not to be kept, to prevent rioting and the burning of teacher’s cars after, should the result not match the hopes of this evil place.

Lilsister is a terrible person and decided that if she could not win, she would have many fights during the match, and she hated her teachers anyways, so who cared if their cars got burnt?


Vomit Negotiations

Occasionally we serfs at work are left alone to chat amongst ourselves and get to know each other.

There seem to be a lot of hangovers in the building, are people drinking to escape the complete non-excitement that is our office?

Personally, I haven’t been drinking in months, perhaps I am going into reverse alcoholism, whatever that is.

I have had to listen to my colleagues vomit whilst I had my tea and biscuits, as the bathrooms are, naturally, next to the kitchen.

One girl vomited out her balcony before coming to work (small mercies) and was too ill to clean it up.  She got her younger brother, aged 18, to do it, after paying him seven euro.

There was a WHOLE tomato in her vomit, and he had originally requested ten euro.



You Asked!

I have ‘taken’ a job in a delivery company.  It fails to ignite fascination, and I pretend to be surprised.

It is one of those places where mistakes are often made, and never tolerated.

When asked why a mistake had been made, a staff member told our boss the reason:

‘My brain did a fart.’


Mammy Usurps the Irish Medical System, Adds Gin

After shelling out for the world’s nosiest doctor, Mammy and Daddy depart Irish shores to travel to the lovely Lanzarote, where it’s warm and medication costs less.

‘Get me my sleeping tablets,’ I bark at Mammy, ‘as I have no money left from the Doctor Prat-a-lot.’

Mammy does, and hands them over upon her return, alongside a very cheap bottle of gin, my drink of choice.

Gin and sleeping tablets – would the doctor be worried?  Surely they don’t cause alarm bells to ring if your mother gets them for you in a sunny place?


My Doctor Hates Me

I’ve been really ill so I went to the doctor.  Not because I was ill, but because my job refused to believe I was ill unless I paid sixty euro to a doctor to scribble a note to them saying ‘she is ill’.

Sixty euro?  I want something more than mere notage from a doctor.

‘Can I have some sleeping tablets?’

‘Why do you want sleeping tablets?’

‘To help me sleep.’

‘Why can’t you sleep?’

‘I am stressed out.’

‘You should assess the root of your stress which will help you sleep.’

‘I have and I am trying to deal with my problems.  However I am very tired.’

‘I am not giving you sleeping tablets.’

‘I haven’t slept properly in two years.  I would love a night off.’

‘This is no good.  Why are you stressed?’

‘I don’t want to talk to you about it.’

‘I need to understand why you are not sleeping.’

‘I am not sleeping because I am worried all the time.  Can you give me something to help me sleep?’

‘No because tablets will not solve your problems.’

‘I am not looking for tablets to solve my problems.  I just want some sleep.’

‘You need to work out why you are worried and work on that.’

‘I am working on them.  In the meantime it would be great to get some good night’s sleep before work.’

‘I need to know why you are stressed.’

‘I don’t want to talk to you about it.’

‘But I need to know.’

At this stage, I burst into tears, quite by accident.

I get two weeks worth of sleeping tablets, and my sick note says I have the shits.


Wallop! Your Boobs Have Grown

I was being measured for a bra today, and the girl charged with the task kept slapping me.

My crime?  First one was that my straps were too loose.  These were straightened, and I was smacked for being silly.

Second time I wasn’t putting my boobs into my bra properly.  I was shown how (lean forward, place boobs in with hands) and I mentioned the last time I got a fitting I had been told this.  Another slap.

After being disciplined I discovered to my horror that my boobs have gotten bigger and I am now the owner of totally unnecessary double F cups.  After moaning that it was difficult enough to get bras to fit as a ‘normal’ F I was smacked again because I was in the ‘fuller bust’ section of this particular department store, and they literally had tonnes of bras for unfortunate double F carriers.

I bought several bras, matching knickers, and was told off at the till for thinking nothing would fit me.  Then I ate cake.