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.