Gym Pimping

Well, it’s official, I am unemployed again.  I took the plunge and signed on at the local dole office which has been spruced up after my last unfortunate visit.  It even had a fancy new name, giving me the heebie jeebies about unemployment being outsourced – but as my ‘case’ person advised, community services, employment services and the dole people are all ”one happy family” now (she was smiling, so I am unsure if this was sarcasm or not) meaning a fancy new name and actual help to find jobs.  She even told me there was a cv service in the employment bit and I should enquire about making an appointment, which I did straight after, only to be told that they ‘do not make appointments, someone will call’ which just goes to show that fancy name or no, there is still abounding disinterest seeping through our public services.

And so!  I am feeling a little less stressed that I will now receive some food money (I have given up even trying to pay the mortgage – it’s eaten all my savings, and the cretins to whom the bank have outsourced (that dirty practice again) the arrears area to will not speak to me until Exhimself, currently missing in Australia, signs all the paperwork with me.  Em…he is missing in Australia.  Yes, can he sign the paperwork, then we will have a chat to you about attempting to work out a reasonable payment schedule based on your circumstances.  Em but I’m only in these circumstances because…em…Exhimself is currently missing in Australia.  Yes, when he signs the 5,000 forms we will talk to you at a time that suits us).

There has been a lot written about the banking system currently barely not operating in Ireland, and none of it scathing enough about how us normals are treated.  To hell with you cretinous outsourcedwithnobenefits twaddle peddlers!

Sitting at home has given way to some black thoughts, and to celebrate, I have obtained some free guest passes at Mammy and Papabear’s gym, as exercise is good for you inside and out and all that crap.  First session today, and the main excitement for Papabear and I was that nobody asked to see my guest pass!  This means a freebie for me, and there is nothing that gets people more excited than not just doing something for free, but doing it for free when you should have paid, or at least produced a guess pass.  This buoyed up my spirits and I took these spirits with me to the cross trainer, feeling that I could handle the cardio workout.  Eighty six seconds later I was gasping for air, nearly out of water, and dabbing my womanmoustache with my hairy towel.

I had intended to do some belly crunches but alas this fell by the wayside too.   Papabear discussed life with his weights buddies (you know all gyms where men gather in front of the mirror to flex, look at themselves and cackle like groups of women do in bars where they serve cheap white wine).  Then Dad sent one of his buddies over to me whilst I was engrossed about how awful I was feeling on the exercise bike to see if I needed a boyfriend.

Afterwards we came home, me with a scone, Papabear with the paper and we called Lilsister to see how her day was going and was she proud of us for attempting to exercise.  I had to dial the number because Papabear can’t see the screen on the new phone, nor the numbers, because his pink glasses (no joke) were missing.  I put in the numbers and hit ‘call’ and handed the phone to him, he attempted to speak to Lilsister but gave up as he couldn’t hear her and passed the phone to me.  It was upside down.  I righted the error, admonished my father and apologised to my sister for our heritage.  Will this stupidity trickle down to us eventually?


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