I learned my passion in the good old fashioned school of loverboys.

When you really love something and connect to it you hate to see it condensed down to a fucking badge sitting in a smug cunt’s music shop where they sell DJ equipment to halfwits who go home and make more heinous ear pollution to keep my head in it’s current state of toxicity. I saw a badge in “Element Records” that said “No one is ugly after 2am” and I wanted to burst into tears. Like every spoiled, petty young (and maybe not so young) person I wanted to cry but not because someone else likes what I had first (yeah right) but because it’s been cheapened into a badge that slappers and rednecks will wear with the same kind of humour with which they attach mistletoe to their crotches.I hate slogans on t-shirts and badges, even the ones that are amusing enough will only become polished turds eventually by being trotted out by student after student whose friends will say "heh, wow, yeah...cool shirt" and go buy one of their own. Offensive t-shirts can be amusing, sure, but "I fucked the girl in Hanson" may as well be “I’m with stupid” after a while. Badges (or pins for my American friends) are even worse. I once knew a slack jawed girl who had a badge that said "psycho bitch from hell". When I say “slack-jawed” I’m not trying to be funny and imply that she was an idiot, although she was, she was in fact slack jawed. It just hung there with her braces glinting and winking at everyone and her bobbed haircut on that long, rectangular face completing her look as a ‘tard. But, I digress, she had one of those bloody badges. She would go to teen discos with that badge and her slack jaw and delicately headbang (fear of further jaw displacement?) to Guns and Roses tunes knocked out by overweight and over the hill Irish (IRISH) DJs. She was and is the epitome of the kind of people who wear those badges.I’m keeping my eyes peeled and as soon as I see that “2am” badge out someone is going to die. I will print out this journal entry and bring it to court with me and walk free of any assault or murder charges.

Long lasting, clean and gentle

Diese Zusammenfassung ist nicht verfügbar. Klicke hier, um den Post aufzurufen.

I'm the filling in the oreo

I don’t update this thing very often – but I have a night off tonight and my video heads are dirty so I can’t watch any more of the Oz tapes my brother gave me. Whew, Oz huh? Violence, guy on guy action and the ever perfect Christopher Meloni. Can’t get enough of the stuff I tell ya.I got my tongue pierced a little while ago, my usual guy did and it’s healing very well, no problems. I went back last week and got a surface piercing on the nape of my neck. I remember years ago when I first went with my brother who was getting his nipple pierced, one of the guys in the studio had three nape piercings arranged to look like a circle. I always fancied the idea myself so I thought I’d finally go for it.I fucking love it.It’s my favourite piercing, I could just purr when people touch it (with cleans hands of course kaylin, don’t spank me). Getting it done felt amazing – and you know, that feeling may have been compounded by the fact that my crush did it. I could go into the whole pain, penetration, blood and then tenderness thing but we’d all have to pull out a bucket to be sick in and I think you get me anyway. We’re going to monitor how it heals for two months and then if all is going well he’s going to do the other two together.All I wanted this Xmas was for certain stressful situations to be resolved and they have been so I’m a relatively happy and content bunny. If I could have a little extra though I’d like a little *cough* romantic *cough* interest over the Xmas period but I’m not greedy so I’ll probably just settle for reading a tonne of new books in front of the fire.Happy Xmas folks – lupe101, I hope to meet and perhaps beat you in the new Year and theda_b think the same but replace “beat” with “violate and leave on the side of the highway in a bin bag – tenderly”.

Endless mouths and assholes swallowing and shitting.

Bukowski had the right idea.I read “Ham on Rye” last night and I’ve never identified with a character as much as I have with Hank Chinaski. Sure, I’m not an alcoholic and I haven’t had many fistfights but everything else may as well have come pouring out through a hole in my head. He used words in a way that I simply don’t have the ability to and although I’m a bitter, jealous person I am also relieved and thankful.Every morning when I wake up I cling to the bed a little longer – I think I’d be perfectly happy just to stay there with a drip hooked up to my arm, maybe even without one if the only alternative is the monotony I live in at the moment. I go to work and that flapping mound of a flesh puppet Leon is there. He has beady, empty eyes and for a man that devotes his life to propelling himself to the top of his very limited job he seems to lack any kind of LIFE ambition. He’s married to a shrew with a pinched face and a slack jaw, they have a fat baby and they’ve got two mortgages and debt up to their eyeballs. They go on holiday to Greece and Turkey, or to some cheap villa in Spain and while they’re there they bicker about petty shit at home and live the same drudge in a sunnier location. His biggest dream is to have three mini-speedboats which he is going to use for fishing purposes – just like his last biggest dream was to get a projector instead of a television. I could weep. One day when he comes in the door and begins to talk I will. I’ll lie down on the floor and I’ll fucking wail until they drag me away. I’m not saying I’m any better, but I’m a hypocrite and would rather surround myself with people who at least superficially have some kind of passion for life and doing something worthwhile even if you know deep down that you’ll call them up in 10 years time and they’ll have a bungalow and a fat baby of their own. And I say this while buying - and worse still, ENJOYING buying - copious amounts of beautiful shoes. I want to vomit.I’m going to travel half way across the world in October. This miserable job will pay for it so I endure the stress and then laugh at myself for getting stressed about something that matters so little. Maybe tomorrow I won’t get out of bed after my first clinging fifteen minutes are over.

I have more holes than I did before.

Yes, I went through with it and got my nipples pierced yesterday. The piercer I fancy wasn't there which helped me out with my previous dilemma. The guy who has pierced Alison and I before did them, which I was happy about because he's a really sound guy and made me feel very comfortable. Well, as comfortable as you can feel when you're standing with your tits out in front of a window that overlooks a busy department store.I'm very good with pain, I don't mind needles, I've had some freaky accidents happen to me in the past like having nails stick through my foot and have come through them just fine; but when he pierced my right nipple it HURT. Fuck me it really hurt. Granted, the pain lasted for about 2 seconds but that was 2 seconds of "WHATTHEFUCKAREYOUDOINGTOMYPOORNIPPLEI'VECHANGEDMYMINDOHGODHELPME" pain. The left nipple hardly hurt at all. In work related news Leon, my manager, is back from Turkey where he had a near-death experience (the engine of his plane exploded while they were taking off, it was all over the news) and brought me home a nice silver "evil eye" necklace. I suppose I was glad he was alive but kind of bummed about not getting a sudden promotion to manager.We've been discussing the Xmas holidays and it doesn't seem to be sinking in for him that we DON'T GET ANY. We only close on Xmas day and as manager and assistant manager we have to be there all other days over the holiday to oversee stuff. He says considering how crap the pay is compared to his last job he's thinking of quitting. I, losing all sense of tact with my rapidly increasing impatience, ask him if he'd quit as soon as possible because I could use the extra money I'd get from his job to save up for my round the world trip.I'm waiting for an answer other than a look of shock and hurt.

I move on

I’ve taken the bells down because I am feeling well again, even if the apartment still isn’t fully clean. theda_b, I’m still taking applicants for that naked 50s housewife position so hurry up or I’ll end up with some mook.Leon, my manager, has been on holidays in Turkey all week and so I’ve had a (relatively) peaceful time doing both our jobs with half the stress and annoyances I normally face. It’s amazing how much faster you get stock checks and paperwork done when there isn’t a bloke with an annoying English accent standing behind you talking crap (“I’ve got a plan for you to help me steal a boat, do you have a pin-striped suit and a clipboard?” “I don’t care how many people were around; if I had to pretend to do that J-Lo doggy-style I’d have a huge erection!”). In fact on average I did double the work this week in just over half the time. I guess that “does not work well with others” thing applies to me after all.Of course the infamous Ray managed to fuck up – did I really expect anything less from the man who fills out important forms with spellings liked “dident” and “I tryed”? On Wednesday we were scheduled to have a BSI and PVT pull, which means that a lot of new releases were going to change price and become back catalogue rentals. To do this we need to match the covers to the tapes or DVDs, select which ones we’re going to keep and then sell the rest off for 7.50. It’s a big job, but it’s relatively brainless. Ray requested that he work that Wednesday and because I fancied the day off I allowed him to do it. He’d done a BSI pull hundreds of times; he couldn’t possibly fuck up with all of the instructions written out and me being only a phone call away, right? Wrong.I came in Thursday morning (our busiest day each week because we receive our deliveries) to find that he hadn’t done it. His excuse? “Uh, well, I listened to the voicemail in the morning and Frank said something and I couldn’t hear if he said the BSI had to be on FOR or ON Thursday so I left it just in case”.W. T. F?The fortunate thing about all of this was when my District Manager called and asked why the hell the system didn’t show the BSI as having been done I was able to innocently and neatly pass the buck onto that carnie twat. Let’s hope it goes some way towards getting his ass canned.One last thing, I’m going to be getting my nipples pierced in two weeks (despite being freaked out by a certain picture posted on a certain now-closed message board) and I was wondering – is it inappropriate to hit on your piercer? I quite fancy the pants off mine but I’m thinking hitting on someone who is piercing your nipples is a little bit sleazy. Think I should leave a few weeks in between?

Unclean

I’ve been sick for about a week now – I have a chest, ear and throat infection and I've been a phlegmy ball of misery since it began. I’ve also been off work all week and with my wonderful employers offering "0", yes, NOTHING AT ALL, in the line of sick pay I’m a worried little hotbed of molestuous germ sex. However, my biggest worry hasn’t been my increasing bills or all the time off work, it hasn’t even been figuring a way to not pee myself slightly every time I cough – no, this week I have become finally and fully disenchanted with my cleaning abilities. My name is Cat and I have a dirty apartment. That admission hasn’t lifted any weight off my chest just yet but then again that could be because there’s a foot thick layer of dust crushing it and there’s only so far uttering Wildean witticisms about fashionable dust can take you before you start to displace tiny mushroom clouds when you talk.I’d love to blame the bulk of it on the cats, because they are infernally mischievous and spread mayhem and white hair everywhere – but everyone knows having cats should make me extra-steely in my determination to keep the place spotless. Sure, I can manage to keep the litter situation relatively well controlled but they’ve had no accidents since they were kittens so it feels a bit unfair to take the credit for that one. I could reasonably pin the not hoovering thing on them because of their inexplicable terror of the vacuum cleaner but again we all know I find it sort of amusing that they hide above the top cupboards of the fitted kitchen and peep down with only their noses and eyes visible while I do it.My mother has cleaned this apartment much more than I have, in fact she STILL does my washing up when she visits (I have issues with submerging my hands in dirty water). Naturally, it makes me feel like crap when I see her walk in and pull out the cleaning products. The odd thing is though; it doesn’t seem to make her feel like crap. She seems to get some kind of bizarre satisfaction out of it. She cleans things for fun, “Sure I’ll just give this a tidy before Coronation Street comes on – you go in and have a little lie down while I wash up”. I don’t know if she wants to show off her superiority as a homemaker who managed to work for the last 30 years (albeit from home) and keep a well run house practically on her own but she’s certainly doing a good job of it.I feel inferior. Not in my abilities – when I get going I can scrub with the best of them, but more with my lack of energy and enthusiasm. Sometimes on my day off I’ll spend a few hours really cleaning and tidying a room but I know there are four others and by the time I get them done it’ll look like the bottom of a bird cage again. When I get home from work I usually strip, cook whatever convenience food I’ve got handy and then veg out before hitting the bed. I could don the gloves and give the loo a bit of a clean (lord knows it needs it) or even dust one of the beautiful pieces I own but as soon as the thought occurs to me I become an immoveable (m)ass.So I’ve come to the following conclusion: I need a 50s housewife. I’m more than happy to go to work every day to support her and will even go that extra step of buying her flowers and taking her out for dinner once in a while. All I ask for in return is clean laundry, a clean home and, outside of the bedroom, never having to pull on a pair of rubber gloves again.

The cat stays

I spoke too soon - the aunt has changed her mind because she doesn't think she'd be home enough to look after the cat properly.Bloody fickle people - make up your frigging minds...although I guess she's doing the right thing instead of taking jess on and then neglecting him.I have to look for another home now.

Thanks to ever...

Thanks to everyone who replied to my last entry – the Jess situation has been resolved and happily so.I decided to follow Dr. Doom’s advice and wait it out a bit before judging the owners. Well, I waited and it turns out that my first instincts were right. Last night I got a text message from Annemarie saying that the lady had “made a mistake” and that Jess isn’t her kitten. I asked her if she had found hers and she said no, she just knew that it wasn’t hers. Suuuure lady…This leaves me in the fortunate position of being able to offer Jess to my aunt who has been thinking about taking another cat since hers died last year. She has a great home for a kitten – an enclosed garden, an outdoor cat house (no, not that kind you dirty birds), cat-flap so he can come indoors any time he wants and a family of people that love cats. Her youngest child is 10 years old too so we won’t be risking some toddler “giving him a bath” or something equally as torturous.She wanted some time to prepare the house for Jess so she’ll be picking him up tomorrow evening. I’m sad that this will be the last night he falls asleep sitting on my shoulder while I’m on the computer – but hey, at least I can visit him and check out how he’s doing.

Comment te dire adieu?

Jess’ owners may have been located. One of my co-workers told my ex boss Annemarie about the kitten and she called me today saying that her neighbours lost a kitten two days ago. The information I could gather from the conversation my ex boss was having with both me and the other lady at the same time was that their adult cat had a litter of kittens and that they had kept one but it had wandered off. Apparently it wandered off almost a mile from a housing estate into the centre of town. They think that yes, it was black and white (think, wtf?) and that it must be Jess. First of all I’m pretty pissed off that Annemarie didn’t have the smarts not to call me in front of this woman – she knows how I feel about people who can’t look after animals properly. I didn’t even know the woman was there at first but then I heard her shouting the information I was giving her to someone else in the room.She then told me that the woman would come down to see me at work and sort out collecting the kitten. All I could do was say yes – I was put on the spot. The woman didn’t bother showing up or even calling me to thank me for looking after her cat for the last two days – sounds like a real winner huh?All I know about her so far is that she has four young children, hasn’t got the intelligence to spay her current cat or look after a small kitten and is too lazy, ignorant or plain stupid to even call to get him back. What I’m wondering is – am I obliged to give Jess back to her? I’ve already found two potential homes with people a hell of a lot more responsible than this dumbass. Would “doing the right thing” in this situation be the wrong thing for the cat? What do you guys think?

Postman Pat, Postman Pat, Postman Pat and his black and white cat...

This week has been too eventful. This is my third journal entry in as many days – I can’t wait for things to get back to normal so that the most exciting thing happening to me is waking up from a nap to find a candy bar wedged between the bed and the wall (remind me to tell you that one some time).I left for working this afternoon in a grumpier-than-usual mood because I’d had my boss on the phone stressing me out with inane questions so by the time I arrived I was on the warpath only to be greeted with some good news. It turns out that a “spy” from Head Office (cleverly disguised as a person from Head Office who introduced herself to me and my co-worker) had evaluated our performances and given us a great review. Not only was she impressed by the employees but also by the figures I shown her. So impressed that she upgraded our shop to an “A” standard store. What the fuck does that mean? I’ll tell you:1. More money for my boss (eh…well, it doesn’t hurt me I guess)2. More staff positions allocated (hurrah! More minions to cover shifts = no calling Cat on her day off!)3. More payable hours for the store (hurrah! Employees will get enough hours to live on!)4. Higher quarterly targets but also higher bonus payouts for my boss and I. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t care less about the company but each time they dangle that fat bonus in front of me I’m like a donkey with a carrot addiction.This highlight of my day, however, was yet to come. In yesterdays “Saga of PM” I mentioned an offer we were running that included a free return flight for any customer who purchased a SONY Home Cinema System. I sold one to a nice couple last week who today returned to the store and asked me would I like to have their free flight because they won’t have time to take it.I was flabbergasted. I kept asking them if they were really sure, and offering to buy it off them, or suggesting they sell it to someone else but they insisted that they wanted to give it to me. The offer also includes a second flight for half price so my friend Alison and I shall soon be heading to Paris, Brussels, Barcelona or Amsterdam. After weighing up the expense and/or vast boredom of the cities offered we have chosen Amsterdam. And yes, my love of clogs played a big part in that choice.Somewhere between that great surprise (7pm) and closing (12am) a small kitten wandered into our shop. Being a cat lover I naturally picked it up and made my way around as best I could trying to find an owner. The town is busy and full of drunks at night so I ended up keeping the kitten in our bathroom and giving it some milk. It must be someone’s pet because it’s entirely tame and wants to be held and stroked all of the time – how could I do anything but bring it home? The babies (my own two cats) are in a kind of state that I could only describe as “enraged with anger”. I’ve never seen them so cross – hissing, spitting, growling and arching their backs. Jess (as I have named the kitten with the uncanny resemblance to Postman Pat’s cat) is now residing in my bedroom with his own litter box while I try to figure out what to do. As much as I’d love to I can’t keep him – the babies would never get used to him, they’ve lived here for 3 years and it’s their space. I’ll have to put some posters up tomorrow and start looking for someone else to adopt him. He’s adorable; it’s going to be hard saying goodbye, even after one night. Next time: Rays’ latest fuck-ups and “The time I found a candy bar wedged between my bed and the wall after a lovely nap”.

The Saga of PM

As you may have noticed, if you read my last update, I am a nice customer service representative. This is not from any innate kindness or love of my fellow man but rather because I find it to be the most effective way to do my job. It’s logical: when I am nice to customers, they are nice to me. Our transactions are faster, more pleasant and less stressful when we’re both smiling and in agreement as to what is to be done. Therefore I am helpful, friendly, polite and often willing to go out of my way to make sure the customer is happy. I am NOT, however, a pushover. Like a dog trainer (or good parent) I do not reward bad behaviour and if a customer whines, bitches or moans to me rest assured that I won’t be fucking budging on their late fees or any other problem they may have. I have a customer who we will refer to Psychotic Mum. PM has a history in our store and on a personal level with me (although she’s not aware of that). The personal history is that she once approached my mother (who baby-sits children) and asked her if she would be interested in taking hers on. She gave a long speech on how adorable, special, talented and generally fabulous ending almost in tears about how much she loves them. Naturally my mother said no (she can smell a fussy bitch a mile away) and left poor PM “bitterly disappointed”. This may have been useful practice though seeing as poor PM has had to face a lot of bitter disappointment since then.The first incident I can clearly remember with her (although I had always noticed her fat, 80s hippy ass marching around the store and speaking VERY LOUDLY to her companions about her video choices in a pseudo D4 accent) was when “The Animal” was released to rent. The film looked pretty bad and the idea behind it was that a guy is in a near fatal accident but is saved by having animal body parts put inside him. Anyone who had seen the trailers should know the full story of the film and the stupid (if a little distasteful) scenes. The film is certified as a 12, suitable for children aged 12 and over, although I wouldn’t describe it as a children’s film. Hence the reason it’s not in their section. PM decided to rent it for her children and bring it back in a state of “absolute disgust”. PM: (approaching counter) I am absolutely disgusted!Me: I’m sorry to hear that, what seems to be the problem?PM: I want this film removed from the shelves! (Thrusting a copy of The Animal at me)Me: Ok…what was the problem?PM: It is ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTING! (Creative, isn’t she?)Me: MmmhmmPM: My children are terrified, my daughter can’t even sleep. We rented this the other night and it contains bestiality and cannibalismMe: Really? I’m very sorry (sure I am) I had no idea.PM: Why is it certified 12?Me: Well, that’s the certification that the Irish Film Censor gave it.PM: It should be changed to 18!Me: I’m afraid we have no control over thatPM: Just label it 18. I’m so upset by this! (Tears filling her fat eyes)Me: I’m sorry but that would be illegal, we are legally obliged to use the certifications the film has been given in this country.PM: (15 minutes speech on her children whom she adores being traumatised for life) They’re only 7 and 9 years old!Me: The film is classified 12 though, only suitable for children over 12PM: That’s ridiculous! A film classified 12 should be suitable for all ages!I mean, what the fuck do you say to that?What she wanted: a refund, rental credit, the number of the Irish Censorship Board (hang on, I think I have it in my cell phone) and possibly counselling for her brats. What she got: 1.50 rental credit which was promptly eaten up by the late fee she had already incurred on the film. Obviously in her state of shock she hadn’t been able to bring it back for four days.Unfortunately this wasn’t the last I was to see of PM. She often popped by with stupid complaints and attempts to get free things. One great example was when we offered a free return flight to one of five European destinations when you bought a SONY Home Cinema system – she wanted two kids places free because (fat eyes filling with tears again) she couldn’t bear to be parted from her children whom she adores! No deal, bitchThe most recent, however, was today when she came in to resolve her “Spiderman DVD Issues”PM: I bought a Spiderman DVD about a month ago and it’s faulty. It just won’t work. At all. In any machine! It won’t work! It’s faulty!Me: I’m very sorry to hear that. Do you have the DVD and your receipt with you?PM: No! But it’s faulty! I have no receipt.Me: Ok, do you remember who served you?PM: EdelI check with Edel who indeed sold it to her – about 4 months prior, but remembers her solely because she’s a fucking dipshit.Me: OK, Edel remembers that so even though you don’t have your receipt I should be able to work something out for you.PM: It’s what I’m entitled to! It’s faulty!Me; Actually our policy states that you must return it within 28 days and with your receipt, but I’m willing to work something out because you were given a faulty product.PM: I was my 30 euro refundMe: I’m sorry but without a receipt and outside our 28 day period there’s no way I can issue you a refund, but I am willing to give you an exchange. The DVD you bought was 15 euros so I can give you any items worth up to 15 euros in exchange.PM: It was 30!Me: It was 30 when it was first released, but in the last four months it has been reduced to 15.PM: I bought it when it was first released!Me: Then that would be 8 months ago…are you sure?PM: Yes!Me: And you just found out it was faulty?PM: I’ve only played it onceMe: So you didn’t check it in any other players? Spiderman is a dual layered disk and is does state on the box that it may freeze momentarily on older playersPM: I tried it in several players, and played it many times and it just froze!Me: I thought you only played it once.PM: Yes, that’s what I saidAfter going around in circles over the cost of the DVD I finally ring head office who can trace back the sales on her account and find out when she bought the DVD: four months previously, for 15 euro.PM: Oh! Well, this is bitterly disappointing! I know I paid 30 for it.Me: (stifling laughter) Maybe you’re mistaken or thinking of another DVD.PM: No, it was this one. I suppose I’ll just have to accept this but I’m very upset. And my children are even more upset (you’ve guessed it, those fat eyes are swelling with tears again)Me: If you bring in the DVD tomorrow I’ll be happy to give you an exchange.PM: I’ll wait and see what you get in that’s better.Me: The exchange offer will run out in one week.PM: This is disgraceful! You know I used to work in a phone shop and I would never have treated my customers like this! (Marches off)Yeah. I’m bending company policy to new levels, spending 20 minutes listening to you verbally piss on me and still smiling – what a cunt I am!Next time she comes in I’m going to shake my head and blow raspberries at her. I figure it’s insane enough that if she makes a complaint no one will believe her. What do you think?

Stop jigging about like a frigging meat puppet

It has been a while since my last update but no, I still haven’t pierced my nipples. I make decisions like this at the speed of a retarded sloth (I also eat and sleep like one in case you wanted to know).It was an interesting few weeks even my by abnormally thrilling life’s standards. Here are just some of the exhilarating episodes I’ve had:1. Burning my hand making soup for the brother, having a blister the size of a grape and “enjoying” having my boss gleefully poke it when I am distracted.2. Buying Strictly Ballroom and Sunset Boulevard special edition DVDs (thus having to rearrange categorized DVDs)3. Mysteriously injuring my middle finger on my right hand making it appear to have “extra” bones and click whenever I move it.4. Stopping taking the pill after 10 years (12 year old slut?) and becoming hormonally deranged (who knew toilet paper commercials could be so moving?)5. Spending an hour epilating the brother’s back. Yes, an hour. Yes, my brother’s back. 6. Wondering what sadistic cunt invented the epilator after trying it for a second on my leg.7. Cleaning vomit off the carpet at work after some child threw up.8. Receiving a thank you card and terry’s chocolate orange from her family for being so nice to them and not making them clean it up.But out of all of these experiences my favourite one has been watching Magnolia for the first time. I finally watched it after my brother loaned me his DVD about a year ago. I haven’t enjoyed or reacted to a film as much since I first saw the director’s cut of Betty Blue and whether or not that’s a bi-product of my recent hormonal insanity shall be known when I give it a second viewing some time.If you’ve seen it tell me what you thought of it.If you haven’t seen it rent it out some time.P.S – Ray is still a moron.

Nipples

I'm thinking of getting my nipples pierced. I've had it on my mind for a while. Pain doesn't bother me but for some reason I have odd image reservations in my mind. Therefore, a question (which is the free version of a poll for cheapies like me):By getting my nipples pierced I will become:a. A skanky biker chick type with pendulous breasts covered in cheap looking tattoos who shoves bottles up her ass in cheap porn movies.b. A fat, gothic camwhore with opendulous breasts covered in cheap looking tattoos (not meaning anyone in particular) who shoves bottles up her ass on her webcam.c. The same as I was before but with pierced nipples, no one will give a fuck.Alright, B might refer to someone.

Somebody left the gate open…

I worked a much shorter shift than usual tonight, 8-12 instead of 3 or 4-12. In that four hour period I can honestly say I dealt with more stupid customers and situations than I have done in the last four weeks. I knew I was overdue for some real hum dingers because the worst I’d had was someone complaining about the slow service (after the twat forgot his card and we had to look up his name and then address which he couldn’t remember if he’d changed or not). I must have missed the flyers because I had no idea that tonight was the official “Ulster Moron and Dimwit Gathering” and that it was taking place in Video Drama.As I walked to work I got caught in a heavy shower and without an umbrella or jacket I was soaked by the time I reached the store. A man whose breath smell I can only liken to manure greeted me with “is it raining out?” Harmless stupidity I suppose and one of those situations that, working in retail, you learn to grin and bear. After drying off I clock on and open the till to begin counting for my shift change. We do this at every change of shift, it only takes about 3 minutes and we explain to any customers waiting that we have to do it. Nevertheless there will ALWAYS be a customer who has to sigh/tap their feet/tap their finger or rudely shout inane questions at you while you count and tonight was no exception. Never mind that you’re obviously counting coins, that you’ve already told them that you will be with them in less than 3 minutes or that your co-worker has their videos ready to be rung through as soon as you’ve finished. It’s just not good enough for your average Video Drama customer. You wouldn’t believe the people that have demanded free rentals for the 180 second hold up we’ve forced them to endure. Not a fucking chance…Ms. Yu-Gi-OhFrankly I don’t really know what the hell Yu-Gi-Oh is or if I’ve spelled it correctly. All I know is that for some unknown reason we’ve started selling trading cards and the kids swarm like flies on a turd for them. Tonight we had a pretty long queue and, as is the custom in our store, people queue by standing anywhere they want at the counter – sort of the way they do at a bar. One large, simple–looking woman was about fifth or sixth in the queue and for the duration of her wait said “Yoo-gee-oh”. I mean for the duration. She must have said it over a thousand times in her horrible flat country accent. I began to wonder if she perhaps had Tourette’s syndrome but when her turn came to be served she stopped her chanting and asked “are those Pokémon cards?” I shit you not folksThe Bill and Ted GirlsI hate teenagers as much as the next person but as customers they’re pretty easy to handle. They usually know what they want, don’t chit chat and can be easily intimidated into shutting up if they get lippy. The girls I encountered tonight were a little different. They rented out “The Fellowship of the Ring” only to return it minutes later saying “we meant to get The Twin Towers!”I’m used to this slip of the tongue so I tell them that “The Two Towers” won’t be out for another month. At this point we were playing “Wayne’s World” in the store. A pretty memorable and easily recognisable film, right? Maybe not.Girl #1: Look Bill and Ted! We should rent that!Girl #2: No, that’s Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey, it wasn’t as good.Girl #1; But it has Keanu Reeves in it. I love him!Girl #2: Ok then.Me: We don’t have either of the Bill and Ted movies – that’s Wayne’s World that’s on right now.Girl #1: Oh! Well we’ll take it anyway, it has the same actors.She seemed so happy with her choice that I didn’t have the heart to say anything more.And finally:Mr. Mee (his real name)I always groan inwardly when I see a farmer with a stupid grin plastered on his mug approach the counter. I know he’s either going to waste my time by asking something ridiculous like do we sell tobacco or would a DVD play in a cassette walkman or he’s going to try to cut a deal with me. This usually involves winking and the saying of “sure you wouldn’t charge me THAT for a video!” I don’t cut deals. Tonight I had a prime example of one such sheep fucker who wanted to be exonerated from our membership rules.Mr. Mee: Hello. I want to get a Video Drama card.Me: You want to open a rental account with us?Mr. Mee: AyeMe: Alright sir. I will need two pieces of identification with your address and one with a photograph.Mr. Mee: Let me see…*fumbles through his pockets*Me: We accept any two of the following: drivers licence, passport, ESB bill, phone bill or bank statement. I’m afraid those are the only forms of identification that we are allowed to accept.Mr. Mee: Aye. (Produces rumpled envelope with handwritten address on it) Will this be alright? You can see my address there.Me: (repeating list). I’m very sorry sir, I know it’s inconvenient but Head Office is very strict on this. There is no way that I can accept any other form of ID. Do you at least have your drivers licence with you? If you had that I could see what I could do.Mr Mee: (glaring) I’ll go and look in the car (returning five minutes later with a look of glee on his face) Here you go – this’ll do you. (He handed me a receipt with the words “Chair 55 euros” on it and a signature on the bottom.)Mr. Mee: That’s my signature.Me: (Somewhere between dismay, amusement and disbelief) I’m sorry sir but I will need one of the five forms I mentioned to you.This was where Mr. Mee flipped his lid. He cursed the store, he cursed me, he shook his head, this was ridiculous – did I know how many times he had rented out films here??WHAT?Me: Sir, you have an account here already?Mr. Mee: WELL I USED TO! I USED IT TWO WEEKS AGO!Me: Sir you can use that account.Mr. Mee: Well why didn’t you tell me that right away?What do you say to that? I mean, really. I just had to go sit in the back and drink some water to stop from slapping the guy with a pan.

Boring Shoe Update

Donna and other shoe lovers - what do you guys think of these? I'm drawn to them because they're red and Prada - not to mention dirt cheap.The one thing that's stopping me from bidding is the oddly shaped heel. Anyone else think it looks a bit weird?http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&category=11629&item=2843880000

An Ode To Ray

Ray, I wish you were dead. More than that, I wish that I could be the person that deals the final blow that knocks your dermatitis-ridden head from your fat, greasy shoulders. From the moment you entered my life you have caused me nothing but trouble and tainted the very air that I breathe with your foul stench of batter and sweat.Not long after I started working at Video Drama you entered my store, your dirty baseball cap covering your balding head – chubby red cheeks stretched upwards in a smile that revealed your yellowing teeth. You were a carnie. A “man of the fair”. You had decided to give up the gypsy life, as romantic as it was with its swindles, dodgy deals and lack of plumbing, to settle in my town after you knocked up some local girl.Not having any proper identification to open an account with us I thought I had perhaps seen the last of your cheap gold chains and sovereign rings but unfortunately the girlfriend (and a nice one too) had all of the papers needed and you were free to begin annoying all the staff five minutes before closing every night by coming in to choose a game – perhaps in the hope that we’d give you one free out of frustration. You can take the boy out of the funfair, but you can’t take the lecherous cheating scumbag out of the boy.You told my boss that it was your dream to work at Video Drama. I overheard you and shuddered at the thought, but sure enough when a position came up you were there, brown nosing your way in with the then manager who wasn’t much of a bright spark anyway. I protested, all the other members of staff protested but there was nothing we could do. Your stupid remarks and thick accent had reached the other side of the counter. Little did we know you’d be as hard as bowel cancer to root out.When I returned to college you were given my old job automatically due to your new “seniority” in the store. They had overlooked the fact that you had stolen games from another branch a few years before that because, hey, Video Drama are fucking morons. When our manager had to leave you were temporarily given her job, not a smart decision considering you can’t seem to count or spell. For the following 8 weeks I received either no pay, or less than half of what I was due because you couldn’t get the hang of the time sheets. You spent your days eating cream buns and flirting on the phone with managers from other stores who, luckily for them, had never seen you. Every evening the night staff would have to do your work as well as theirs. The towels in the bathroom stank of feet and we found out why after we caught you wiping your stinky feet in them. You didn’t do any stock checks, you didn’t do any vault checks – you let the place fall apart. Almost a year later we’re still trying to get it back on track. And you’re still here.Before you arrived there was a great family feeling in the store. We trusted and liked eachother. You squealed on anyone who had a mishap – even on our manager which was pretty dumb considering she was told about it. Even though you had done this we still felt bad about reporting your imbecilic antics but there’s only so much people can take before they snap. When we did snap we began writing down your worst blunders and presented them to our district manager. He gave you a verbal warning – the same thing given to people who forget to sign out in the diary. We have guessed that in true carny fashion you have something on our DM and that’s why he can’t fire you.That’s why I’ve decided that you have to die. I hate you Ray. I hope you choke the next time you shovel a battered sausage down your throat. I hope you have a heart attack the next time you stare down a young girl’s top. I hope the fungus on your feet is somehow lethal and you wake up one night to find it suffocating you and poisoning your lungs.It’s either that or you get another job.

What she asked of me at the end of the night, Caligula would have blushed.

budgieinspector’s last entry made me think about all of the insane people I too encounter on a daily basis. Except that I don’t live in L.A. I don’t even live in Dublin. I live in a relatively small border town that has a population of about 6,000. How is it, then, that I am constantly under attack (for want of a better expression) from perverts, deviants and the mentally incapacitated?Let me clear a couple of things up before I begin my tales of woe. See my icon? Yes, there be breasts here, but I don’t walk around displaying my cleavage on a daily basis (I’d get quite a chill if I did I’m sure). I am normally quite covered up, quiet and apparently morose looking if I am to take any of the “cheer up, it might never happen” comments to heart. Yet, even with this unstudied air of mild anti-social tendencies I constantly find myself a magnet for people who have named and have relationships with their shoes (shut up drdoom77, it’s different if they’re Blahniks).I must admit that I don’t really mind your average eccentric person chattering to me on a bus; it can help pass the time of a boring two hour journey to Dublin very well. I’ve had old ladies tell me fascinating tales of murdered sisters-in-law and institutionalised abuse in orphanages that have made my toes curl. In contrast I’ve had a yellow toothed drug addict with infected looking scabby arms and spray me with her “Tommy Girl” perfume before vomiting on the seat in front of us and passing out. Whatever bus or train I get on, whether it’s the junkie-filled 27 from Coolock or the Bus Eireann evening bus back to Cavan I’ll find some soul with a story to tell who finds my eye-contact-avoiding, headphone-wearing, staring-out-of-the-window or pretending-to-be-asleep stance simply irresistible. Fair enough, I can handle it; it’s just the ones who want to show me their genitals that really bother me.It’s not a recent phenomenon either. Unfortunately some of my earliest childhood recollections involve old men flashing at me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been molested, abused or sexually assaulted but walking to school with an old man following slowly behind you with his penis dangling out isn’t exactly going to produce a golden memory. Then you had the not-so-obvious perverts who would do something innocent like ask for directions before springing their insanity on you. I recall being asked when I was about 11 where the equestrian centre was. After I told the old man he proceeded to ask me if I’d ever seen a horses cock and if I’d enjoy rubbing one. I should perhaps have been expecting it, but nothing like this ever seemed to happen to my friends.Recently my job with Video Drama has opened a new door for perverts who want to persecute me. Apart from pubs we’re the only business that opens late at night so, after being refused admission elsewhere, the crazies are drawn to our bright, welcoming glass fronted shop likes moths to the proverbial flame. After a few incidents of flashers, grabbing and suspicious liquids being found on covers in the children’s section and, typically, on the cover of the newer version of “Lolita” I have armed myself with a hollow, metal bar (the handle of an old brush). The next fucker who shows me his pole is going to see mine - and guess what? It’s bigger, redder and harder than yours pal.

Both spineless and sublime

I have as much backbone as a dishcloth. I arrived at work today to be greeted by my district manager and my store manager who wanted to have a chat with me about why I don’t want to take the assistant manager’s job. I explained to them that it’s mainly financial and that it breaks down like this:1.To get to Asia and Australia in October of next year I need to save €80 per week to get the money I need for my flight and agency fee. This amount would also leave me with a comfortable cushion if things don’t work out.2. To save €80 a week while paying rent, buying food and living at least a little comfortably I need to be making at least over €300 before tax. 3. My plan has been to stay in Video Drama working enough part time hours to earn the €80 and to get another full time job to cover everything else. No other job would be as flexible as Video Drama for part time work so I thought I had it all figured out.They, however, had some counter points which made me think:1. They are offering me a guaranteed 40 hours per week, all evening shifts (I prefer working evenings) or my choice of a mix of both, managers bonus and premium and a promise that I will never have to do an evening shift or lock up alone. All of this will be added to my contract.2. I would be making €306 before tax. They pointed out that if I had a second job my income would push me into a higher tax bracket and I wouldn’t come out with much more than €20 extra despite much more work.3. I’ve done the job before, I can do it with my eyes closed and I would only have two extra duties that I don’t already cover (time sheets and alarm calls).I’m going to think about it and give them an answer on Monday but I’m definitely leaning towards taking it now. What do you guys think?On a lighter note I got my Bettie Page print from budplant on eBay today and I’m chuffed with it. It was the limited print that came free with the first 1100 copies of Queen of Hearts. Hurrah for me! I recommend this budplant guy to anyone, he was great to deal with and his catalogue is pretty cool too.

Why do I smile at people who I'd much rather kick in the eye?

Some of you will know that since I graduated I’ve been looking for a full time job so that I can start saving for my trip to Asia and Australia. At the moment I work for a video store, one of a nationwide chain owned by a very large multinational company which, for legal reasons I will call “Video Drama”. Before I went to college I spent a year working there as an assistant manager and then I moved to a part time position which I’ve had since. My plan has been to work two jobs so that I can save the amount required for my trip.Today I got offered my old job as assistant manager again and even though I was tempted to take it, I realised that it just wouldn’t work out financially. I need to work two jobs to meet my goal and nowhere is going to be more suitable and convenient for a supplementary income than Video Drama. Coming home this evening and doing out my budget for the week is making turning down this offer seem even more foolish but I know I’ve got to keep focused on those long term goals. I got a reply from a bookie company that I applied to so hopefully it won’t be too long before I’m more financially stable.One of precizzion’s latest entries about moronic shoppers made me think of all of the amusing stories I have about customers that I’ve dealt with for the last three years so I’ve decided to post a few stories. I’m gonna start today with one of my personal favourites:About a year ago Video Drama had a rather stupid system in place for Playstation game rentals. Out on the floor were covers of the games and behind them were yellow boxes with barcodes. People would bring a yellow box to us and we would swap it for an identical box with the same barcode that contained the game. I’d really love to find the genius in head office who came up with that idea and give them a swift kick in the crotch because, as you can imagine, there were often mix ups where people were given empty boxes or boxes with games inside were left out on the floor. I live in a small town and with a job like mine you get to know just about everyone. One day a family, let’s call them the Plebs, who I could best describe as having a “reputation” (and no, not a good one) rented out a copy of some game for their dullard daughter. About an hour after they left I noticed that there was a spare disk lying around, the same kind as they had rented. Being a considerate person I decided to ring them to check if they had been given an empty box and to offer them a replacement if they had.Big mistake. Here’s how our conversation went:Me: Hi, this is Catriona from Video Drama. You rented a Playstation game from us about an hour ago and I was just ringing to check if you were given the correct game.Mrs. Pleb: I paid for that game for two nights!Me: Oh yes I know, we just want to make sure that we gave you the correct game.Mrs. Pleb: We already paid for it when we rented it! For two nights!Me: Yes, it is fully paid for and it is a two night rental. Has your daughter played it yet? We think we may have given you the wrong box.Mrs. Pleb: I want to speak to your manager. I have paid for that game and I don’t have to bring it back for two nights. Me: I’m afraid the manager isn’t here right now but I can get her to call you this evening if you’d like. There really is no problem with your rental though. It’s fully paid for and you can keep it for two nights.Mrs. Pleb: Right *hangs up*To keep my sanity intact I tried to move swiftly along from this conversation and had forgotten it until a week later when Mrs. Pleb’s dense daughter was renting again and I informed her of a late fee for the game in question. It had been returned four nights late, which I found amusing seeing as Mrs. Pleb seemed to have been very clear on the amount of time she had rented it for. The daughter gave me a slack jawed look of incomprehension when I told her how much was owed (a whopping £2.00) and left the store only to return with the entire Pleb brood (Mama, papa and brother) in tow. This was where the real fun began.Mr. Pleb: *slamming fist onto counter* YOU HAVE LIED TO MY DAUGHTER! WE DO NOT OWE ANY BILLS HERE!Me: Mr. Pleb is it? I’m afraid the game you rented from us was returned four nights late to the store. It was returned to Edel at the counter on Thursday at 6.00pmby your son.Pleb son: *incredulous look and head shaking*Mr. Pleb: *more banging* WE DO NOT OWE ANYTHING HERE! THIS IS THE THIRD TIME YOU’VE TRIED TO GET MONEY OUT OF ME!Mrs. Pleb: This is a disgrace. We’re a well-known and respected family in this town and you’re spreading rumours that we run up bills with you.Me: I haven’t told anyone else and it’s not a bill, it’s an overdue charge of $2.00.Mr. Pleb: First you harass my wife about not paying for the game she rented, then you lie about us owing you a bill.Pleb son: My little sister is in tears over this. She was in tears the other night over your phone call.Me: *looking around for candid camera crew*The same conversation took place for another 20 minutes despite the fact that I offered to erase their debt and write it off as a misunderstanding. No, that was not good enough for the Plebs. They called me a liar, a thief and accused me of harassing them over the phone. At this stage other customers had gathered around and were watching in disbelief and giving me sympathetic looks.Eventually they left but, of course, that was not the end of it. The next morning I got a call from my district manager. Mr. Pleb had contacted him to inform him that I was stealing from the company by inventing late fees and pocketing them. I explained the situation and fortunately a customer who had witnessed the whole thing backed up my version of events.The Plebs were compensated for their terrible trauma (don’t you just hate big company customer policies?) but I was not asked to apologise.I was extremely happy to find out that Mr. Pleb and his family were barred from our store a few months ago after he threw a video case at another employee who was no doubt cheating his poor family again. As my grandmother used to say “it’s a long road that hasn’t a turning”.

Bus chocolate is the best kind

My brother Robert came home from London today, he went over to see Type O Negative play and seems to have had a wonderful time. He brought me a nice picture of Bettie Page with some shoes, one that I haven’t seen before, which was quite kind of him. He never goes anywhere without bringing some sort of gift back for me. Whether it’s “bus chocolate” (ask me again), books or films he’ll turn up with something quirky but entirely appropriate.Robert and I are quite close – I suppose we’d have to be considering it’s just the two of us. My parents had Robert a year after they got married and I don’t think they ever intended having another child. When Robert was seven, however, my mother says she realised that if he died she’d be quite lonely and so they decided to throw (pre)caution to the wind and ended up with a bouncing baby girl. I’ve been told that Robert was quite put out by the fact that his specific requests for a brother and subsequently that I be named “Rosie” were ignored but he eventually accepted me. Like all little girls I looked up to my big brother and worshipped him but like most little girls I also kept this admiration hidden behind a veil of bossiness and generally erratic, annoying behaviour which ranged from the accidental (locking him out of the house, laughing at his naked form [I was only 3] and standing in his breakfast cereal) to the not-so-innocent (I swear, if I had know what lay in wait for me in my teens I’d never have used the term “pizzaface”).Of course the more serious rows happened when we were both adults and shutting us up with the threat of dad coming home was no longer effective. Of all of the people I’ve had steaming arguments with Robert has been the worst. We both have hot tempers and are as stubborn as mules. We’ve had fights where we’ve not only threatened to kill each other but have physically attempted it too.Robert is almost always first to extend the olive branch, he’s very like my father in that way. Both of them will storm off after a row only to soon after make an excuse to start a polite conversation and act as though nothing has happened. It may not sound like much, but to me this is an amazing skill – I could never swallow my pride in that way. My mother and I, on the other hand, are experts in the fine art of giving the cold shoulder. We remain tight lipped and cool until our (sometimes imagined) hurts have healed. We don’t apologise in our house, we just get back on track and get on with things.Looking back now I can see how many times in the past 22 years I must have driven Robert insane both intentionally and otherwise, but we’ve still managed to keep the bond between us as strong as it ever was. I find it sad when I see friends of mine who hardly speak to their siblings and several friends have mentioned how envious they are of the friendship Robert and I have. He’s funny, extremely intelligent, compassionate, generous, thoughtful and the best brother anyone could have……you can probably expect my next entry to detail our latest fight.

These boots are made for walking

I am posting a picture of my $1200 boots today. I am now superior to all of you. Feel free to bow down at my feet and worship them (and me), but please keep your distance and do not attempt to kiss the boots lest they smite thee in thine eye. (Haha drdoom77)

No mama, let me go

Well, I always said I'd never do it but I've been dragged into the world of LJ - you can blame/thank mehndi_chick for giving me the code.I'm not sure how I should proceed after having always denounced journals as boring drivel adding only to the continuous growth of ego stroking and mutual masturbation online. I suppose I'll just put on the kid gloves and join in.Tomorrow.