I Hope Today was the Worst Day of My Life

From 9.30 to 11.30 our supplier kept hanging up on me 6 times in a row,

and when finally got through they asked to speak to a man (because I am his imaginary Mrs.,)

so I handed the phone to my big boss, whom I assume knew the tricks,

and the big boss started panicking and so I told him it's OK, but the call was still hang up,

and the big boss started instant messaging me why I was not reporting him if he did a bad deed causing some trouble, (like I can tell my boss that he messed up because he forgot our conversation of 3 months ago,)

and he went how rude and unsympathetic I was for not telling him anything, kept him hangin' (because I was sorting the mess he caused,)

and he told me to make others aware of my calling to supplier in the future, which I responded I would definitely,

and he repeated that I was rude and that in the future I should be more informative rather than nipping through to kitchen to grab a cup of tea,

I said yes,

and he repeated himself once again,

so I said I won't bother him again with this as it was very difficult to inform him what was going on around my desk,

and he snapped and went on for 20 min how rude I was,

before letting me go so I could call up our supplier for next 5 hrs,

And work mate tells me that it was all my fault that boss snapped,

and the only friend I have there told me that basically I was inhumanly lacking the common sense and that's how I was making everyone around me suffer,

so I apologised to her by saying how sad it was for the company to keep me on, as well as the co-workers to had to tolerate and suffer from me,

and she tells me that is exactly why I have to change,

at which point I called her bitch.

Then after all this I was ready to go home and another guy send a message telling me not to work on my home PC during the work hours,

and I said that it was unavoidable and pre-arranged, and that he didn't have to tell me because I am so upset that my PC is actually broken and that I had no money to replace it.

I went to see a friend and watched JAWS and felt slightly better at last, so said bye-bye to her and went home.

This bloody red Micra was blocking my driveway, which was my pet-peeve as well as illegal,

nobody came out after me honking,

so I had to park on the kerb, blocking next door's drive way.

Next door came home and so I went out to apologise, and he suggested that I could still park if I squeeze through a tree and a brick wall.

Now, I am not a novice driver and I know if I can squeeze into things or not pretty well. In fact that's how I never scratched my car before. My car only bares the sand scratches from hard driving on motorways.

But this neighbour guy insisted to assist me, and I had to trust him rather than my judgement.

My brain said it was not going to work but he kept telling me to go,

and I heard this BAD noise.

He still said to go, in spite of my protest, and so I went, and there was even bigger noise.

Now this guy was kneeling down besides my car, clearly not looking pink,

I kept asking if it was scratched and he wouldn't answer.

I got out and there was this huge dent and scratch on the side. He said there was a brick sticking out from the wall (dah!) and I went OMG for 5 times before going into pieces and began sobbing. This guy then actually run away.

I did not enjoy today. It was Gazpacho Soup day bad. I haven't felt this shitty for a long time, and certainly never for all day long. Someone so miserable like I am should not deserve the day like this because it is pushing one to the edge. I rather have petite misery every day for whole month than having this again.

Please.

Are You Being Served?

I remember the first time I stepped into THE department store. The rotating glass doors were followed by costumed guards who told tourists to take the satchels off their back, then letting them to walk to hugely elaborated displays of the finest merchandise. It was a dream land. I especially loved the food court, with headless pheasants and pigeons in cold cases, with wall full of selections of wines, champagne and shelly. I loved the tea and coffee department, too. The clerks would let you sniff the tea leaves out of huge green tins, by taking out some onto the lid of the tin. They carried those tins like they are dancing with them.

It has been over 15 years ago. I went back there 10 years ago, and the place was already changing. The dreamy atmosphere was fading away. It was getting a bit common. But the tea and coffee department was surprisingly preserved in time, with this very English clerk looking professional and efficient. I ordered teas out of big green tins and he carried the tins to me, letting me sniff them, and tossing lids to weight out 100g of Flowery Earl Grey. He called me madam and I was still in teens.

I went back there once a year and the same clerk was serving me tea leaves for years.

One year, I decided that I want to buy morning tea, so asked for a bag of Morning Kick. The clerk came to me with the tin, and weighed 100g of leaves out, and put the label on the bag, then handed the bag with usual classy air, saying,
"Here is your Morning Fuck, madam."

That clerk has since gone, possibly to some other department, and I do miss him so much. The department store is really quite common and touristy now, feels like he took that dreamy air with him, leaving me totally served...

Blue Velvet

As standing in front of the office having a cigarette because it is no longer legal to smoke around people who don't smoke,

 

one gazed into a sea of tiny gravels in colours such as mocha, coral, Dover white, slate blue and nightly black,

 

and saw a piece of greyish white chunk but decided that it is a piece of really dry wood.

 

It stood out still on the corner of the eye because it was lot larger and in the different texture, appearing to be lighter in weight,

 

with unspeakably eely air to it that possibly came from the colour of grey which simmered into the piece.

 

One leaned forward to observe the piece with a cigarette still in one hand with its smoke blowing into the eyes,

 

and through those squinting eyes one sees that the piece is a partial animal bone cracked and showing its sponge like inside.

 

With much hesitation one picks up rather large piece and try to determine the age and origin of the bone.

 

One wonders if the gravels were a scheme to a perfect crime,

 

someone being dried and cracked by a hammer,

 

broken down into millions of pieces before scattered in front of every office in U.K.,

 

safely hidden up until the law changed forcing every cigarette butt sucker to come out and wonder their eyes into the gravels in front of them,

 

and gaze into the odd ones out,

 

those odd coloured, obviously-not-stone substances,

 

those sad looking pieces of someone,

 

wanting to tell stories, or wanting to be left alone.

 

The bone was put back into the gravels, to join the rest of the body.

 

See you again on next break.

Why Not

I remember this TV ad provoking audiences to do something out of ordinary. Not outrageously, but ever so slightly. It urged you to overdress for work.

 

One of the hardest things in day-to-day lives is, to wake up and pick up clothes to get the hell out of the door. I wake up in the morning, feeling like death, and barely manage to feed my dog, brush my teeth and then I have to get dressed. I have to do this every day. And Doing it every day does not come to me naturally at all.

 

I have an entire drawer dedicated to black clothes in all sorts of fibres, and that's where I reach first thing in the morning. Then I end up looking like Elvila or Vampira, a little moaner, or a goth secretary, or whatever takes your fancy.

 

By the third day of the week I get colour impaired, so I have to do colours. I go spectacular range of colours, yellow tops with pink skirt, with white socks, or whatever. I don't care if that's appropriate for work. I don't care if I partially blind the accountant by wearing a 60s red wool dress, or make people wonder what composes my coverage by wearing 3 different tops in one go. I don't care, because I am in absolute belief that nobody is looking at me with personal attention.

 

Call me adventurous, call me tasteless, call me ugly, call me original, call me loud, call me unique, call me whatever you call me. Why not.

Thank You, My Love

My Olivia has passed today at the great age of 16. She was my dear friend who went through thicks and thins right beside me. I loved her from the moment she came through my Baltimore apartment door, being a chunky little yorkie who had good heart and mind.

I thank her for everything she did and was. A truely beautiful dog in every way.

Thank you for everything. Love you, and sleep well. Say hello to Mandy for me.

2 yrs Today

The price for an ounce of happiness, was 2 years of absolute hell which tailed right after. It is something of the vicinity of you asking for a pink bon-bon, of which joy lasts for 3 minutes, and then you fall in to a diabetic coma for next 8 months.

Price of happiness is shot high, not even a comparison to the property values in London. That joy mashed me down to particles and I was high and dry, waiting to be blown off by the gash of wind.

"How other people were surviving,"

the dehydrated mind of mine was thinking,

"...in this mean world full of malice?"

The hatred was the first thing formed me back into human form. It was unhealthy but was better than nothing. Just knew that I was in the right and thus hated the ones in the wrong. Sense of justice was making me a bitter thing while I was reconstituting into breathing life.

I am OK now. I shouldn't be but I am. I still hate them. I still am angry. But I am OK. Never wanting happiness though. Anyone trying to make me happy has no business in my life because I will never trust one.

Happy 2 years anniversary. I wish you burn in hell.

Assumption is...

I was born under self-pitying stars. Us stingers are destined to sob in every corner of our lives and say,

"Why, why me? Nobody ever understands me!"

I am, very much, like that, but hate imposing the wrong "ass-u-me" on people. Fair enough, I am devil in a penguin disguise, any sod will not take me as serious and useful, but rather as creepy and weird. But that does not suggest me that you don't get me.

Being misunderstood is kind of a luxury. You can take an advantage of such situations. It is all about human psychology, and disguise is a useful tool when it comes to manipulating others.

Then, again, it can be the source of self-pitying, in some occasions. For instance, people decidedly call me a jumpy paranoia, who look at the half empty glass and put up defence walls all around me. I get accused for blowing up bad stories done to me because I jump to conclusions.

There is a difference between pointing facts out and assuming what other people think. If you are being a bully, I'd say,

"I think you are mean because you did this and that,"

I am merely pointing out what you practiced, not that I am assuming that you hate me. You being not nice to me is not making me to whip up a conclusion you don't want to hear or admit.

Yes, I was ignored by them bitches at work, and yes, they were loud and not working, and yes, one of them forgot to tell me what he was supposed to do and made me pay a few hundred extra quid to cover it up, and yes, I filed the complaints because he was not listening to me. Under those circumstances, did I ever say that them bitches hate me? No. Even though I REALLY do have to think they must dislike me, I NEVER said they did. You do NOT guess what's going on in others' head.

Assumption is a mother of all fuck-ups. It really is. Face the music, and eat the reality. (Tough!)