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.

 

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.

Hmmmpf.

 

 

 

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?

 

Oh, Vienna

Speaking to somebody the other day who said ‘if you love Vienna so much why not move there?’.  Indeed.  Many thoughts.  But my nieces don’t live there, even though the chocolate is amazing.

Maybe I should move.

Who will have me?

 

Bring in the Clowns

I’m on facebook, encouraging our Scottish clan to think clearly and freely.  I’ve just been sent a link for a circus page?  Isn’t facebook supposed to look at your profile, your thoughts, your likes – and calmly send you stuff that relates to you?

Why a circus?

I think it’s time to turn off the rainforest sounds and eat the biscuits I bought that are made for babies, they are so yummy though.

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.

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.

 

Lovely Food Go Away – I’m Concentrating

As if the day couldn’t get any more shite, all the girls bar me and the other new girl ordered takeaway chips and gravy (possibly my favourite food ever) whilst I binged out on my apple.

I comforted myself with the thought that in three months time when I am a slimmed down version of myself in my bridesmaid’s dress at Lilsister’s wedding I would be so amazing that men would instantly fall dead at my feet and I would have my pick of future playmates.

Then I thought of a recipe I cut out of the paper, to make a butternut squash smoothie with chia seeds and felt more depressed than ever.

At no stage did the apple taste bad, I was merely not in the mood for its natural goodness.

I went to buy a scone after work, and bought a brown one.  It was not the same at all.

Clean Desk Policy?

If a cluttered desk is the sign of a cluttered mind, what is the empty desk a sign of? wondered Einstein.  Had he been at my local unemployment office the other day, what would he have thought of the hand sanitiser that was sitting on MY side of the desk?  I was trying to look interested in what the welfare ‘officer’ was saying behind her bullet proof glass (no joke – and very inconvenient, all I could hear was Justin Timberlake on the radio behind me, meaning I had to lean forward a lot and develop lip-reading skills), but I couldn’t because all the time I was wondering why my side had been provided with a cleaning object.  Am I dirty?  Am I finally, irrefutably, now officially, part of ‘the great unwashed’?  And why did the dispensing part have a great big brown knob of dirt on it?

I also noticed the stubs of three airplane tickets to my left, and a long hair spreading over the part of the desk I was trying not to lean on.

The airplane tickets were to Berlin, the current owners of Ireland.

Justin continued to croon, I leaned away from the brown bit on the sanitiser and began to nod my head vigorously to imply understanding.

I came out with a headache, and did NOT buy a scone.

Handle With (Extra) Care

Left counselling this morning, with an awful rumbling in my belly.  Obviously went to buy scones (I ate cous cous and no bread yesterday) but was concerned as I always time my eating around my social commitments.  My session had run over by about 35 minutes!  Noted that we had spent a few minutes chatting about Honeymonster, who saw fit to call me at 7.30 am YES I SAID AM for ‘a chat’.  Clearly I hadn’t gotten over having to speak so early in the day, at a time when minimal grunting should do.

Anyway, I then thought back to a few weeks ago when my counsellor saw me on a bank holiday Monday.  Do counsellors normally do this?  I thought they worked mainly office days, if outside office hours occasionally.

Am now thinking counsellor either finds me completely hilarious, witty and fabulous, or I need to be seen on public holidays and for 35 extra minutes due to my extreme madness/hopelessness.

In order to enjoy a quiet sleep tonight, will assume the former.