Dress for the Job You Want, Not the Job You Have

I am no slave to fashion, but I HAD to have one of the work uniform tops floating around.

It is snot green, and hideous.  It’s like a rugby shirt style, but without the style.  It is the cheapest material you could make clothes from (maybe plastic) and was so cheap it was light enough for staff to wear during the recent very hot weather in Ireland.  It is tight on top, and loose and flowing at the bottom, not in a swishy way, just in a way that makes every person who wears it look short.

I got one.

I wore it in front of Lilsister, and she had an instant headache.

Pure class.  I’ve asked my boss for three more.  Who needs to iron blouses?

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Under the Sea

Went swimming with my nieces today, very nice.  Mammy and Papabear were going to the gym and Little Niece N wanted to play mermaids, Little Star just looked bemused, so off we all went.  I drove behind because with the two car seats there was no room for me, but it turned out to be a fascinating drive, what with Little Niece N waving at me every two seconds and blowing me kisses from her back seat, and me doing my best to return the compliments whilst not killing myself.

In the pool it was go go go on mermaid duty and after Little Star stopped freaking about being waterborne I had a spell put on me by Little Niece N which involved me playing dead for a long time, but only if I had my tongue hanging out too, otherwise it wasn’t right.  It gave me some rest but then the spell would weaken and I would have to be Mermaid Orna (?) again.

Afterwards I ate a lot of carbs at Mammy’s house and came home to sleep.

Horoscopes are a Girl’s Best Friend

I know you shouldn’t read horoscopes but I must have the bloke from the Evening Herald, because he’s just so POSITIVE.   When I was going through the bullying rubbish at my last job my mother would read him out to me to make me feel better and he DID.  He is great.  My life is on the up; I am amazing; it’s all going to be fine.  Who doesn’t need to hear that?

He has turned to finances now, specifically, the fact I was coming into money last week.  I thought about the wages in my new job and knew it wouldn’t be that.  I have no discernible talents that would allow me to work unhindered and in joyous self employment so it wasn’t that either.

Then it happened.

I always make my bed before I go to work.  It’s what us good girls do.  I remember taking a boy home with me when I lived in Sydney and how horrified he was that my  room was clean and my bed was made that late on a Friday night/Saturday morning.  I never saw him again.  Well, I did, but the second time was even more horrifying.

After shaking out the sheets (there’s none of this just throwing the blankets over the pillows malarky in MY abode) I was thrilled to find a ten cent coin where my feet had lain.  Dare I say diamonds on the sole of my sole, Mr Simon?

But then.

I went to work, and did my standard pre-work wee in the ladies.  And there was a five cent piece in the floor.

No I didn’t pick it up.  I have never worked in an office where the kitchen and bathroom are so dirty.  I actually saw something crawl on the toilet floor one day.  It wasn’t a co-worker.  It was something that would survive the bomb.

And that, my friend, is the extend of the riches promised to me by the Evening Herald.

This week he said the new moon would contribute to more positive feelings, and I should love myself.

Trevor Becomes a Poor Diet Sponsor

Myself and Trevor have taken to ‘motivational diet texting’ in an effort to assist each other in losing weight.  The plan is to text each other everything we eat, and by having to write it down as it were, this may convince the both of us to think twice before stuffing our faces.   Failing that, we both might find ourselves competing  to out-diet text the other person.

I don’t think it’s working.

To be fair, we’ve both been alright this week, and I am particularly proud of myself having worked 3 12 hour shifts in a row without resorting to junk food.  I’ve been  reading back on today’s texts, where we both ended up having burgers and chips (me on an invite from Lilsister, she whilst out shopping with Little Niece NN).  We’ve both been honest in our descriptions of exactly what was inhaled, but have somehow managed to textually high five each other in the process for doing so – Trevor has declared ‘yay’, ‘oooohhh’, and ‘burger burger ra ra ra’ to my own texts which have read ‘I’M SO HAPPY (caps as per text to emphasise joy being felt)’, ‘you go T’, and ‘go us’.

Trevor has also just messaged to tell me she’s at a wedding tomorrow and is already planning to feast like a pig.  I’ve replied by saying that I have followed up my burger meal with a bar of chocolate which I am consuming whilst reading a very funny book by Charles Bukowski, a recommendation from a bloke I met on a dating site, which is an entirely separate story altogether.

 

Wash Out

It was a tough day in work, and my manager volunteered to hand out the valium in her handbag to the team.  I don’t think she was joking, and I certainly wasn’t when I stated I required double what everybody else was having.

As I am the most exciting person ever, I rang Mammy to see if tomorrow would be a good wash day for my sheets.  I was informed it was not (it is a bank holiday weekend in Ireland and therefore, the temperature will drop, and it will be raining so heavily there is to be localised flooding).  In the background I heard Little Niece N and Little Star, and resolved to ditch my post-work library trip (again note reference to being Exciting) and play with them instead, especially as the torrential downpours haven’t started yet.

I knocked on the door, and immediately heard the screams of Little Niece N yelping to the house that I was outside.  She then ran to the door, which is locked to prevent her opening it and running out into the streets, and squealed at me from behind the window at the side of the front door.  I squealed back, and we gave each other a big kiss on either side of the glass, because Mammy was taking all the time in the world to let me in.

During all of this, Little Star then entered the hall and when the door was finally flung open I was immediately pounced upon by Little Niece N and could see Little Star actually jumping up and down, chanting my name, in a state of what I can only call self-induced heart failure.

Then we chased each other round the back garden throwing water from a bucket at ourselves, filled the six euro paddling pool and dumped the girls into their swimsuits and into it.  Afterwards I wrapped up Little Niece N in a huge towel and held her like a big baby (Little Star wouldn’t get out of the pool).

It was possibly the happiest I have been in the longest time.