I wandered in to work the other morning, humming a merry tune and trying to make my trousers not look as though they'd had an argument with my ankles, when I literally bumped in to my boss, who greeted me with, I kid you not, "EH OH!!" and offered me some "tubby toast" in the form of a slice of cheese. Yup, that's my big boss man! Conversation that morning was about The Telletubbies. Thankfully, we didn't change the topic to sex until quite some time afterwards. Talking about a child's TV show and sex in the same context just reeks of 'Paedophile'.
The Tubbies of course, consist of Tinky Winky, Dipsy, Lala and Po, 4, er, children-esque creatures of unknown species with TV screens on their stomachs, funny shaped ariels on their head and each with their own special item. The main message that this show seems to give across to children? 'TV GOOOOOOOOOOD!!! IMAGINATION BAD!!' Which contradicts what most parents should be telling their children, which is a fantastic start.
Next, the names of the damn things - Tinky Winky? The male tubbie who is quite clearly a raving poofter as his special item is a friggin' handbag! Judging by his name, he has a tiny penis too. Dipsy? With a straight ariel, which is quite obviously a symbol for him being a total knobhead. Lala? A ditzy blonde who is always in 'Lalaland' and finally Po. All the tubbies were blatantly named by children, Po was probably originally christened 'Poo' and censored. 'nuff said.
Tinky Winky has a handbag, a clear expression of his sexuality, and Dipsy has a hat. With a hole in it, rendering it useless anyway. The male tubbies have fashion statements, and the female ones have toys. Again, the males are clearly massive homosexuals - not that it's a bad thing, I just think it'll make children confused about how they should act when they get older. No wonder there are so many 11 year olds claiming that they're gay or bi. Lala has a massive bollock, sorry, BALL, clearly demonstrating her slaggish tendancies and she obviously is a fan of balls. Po is clearly on something - there's no normal way for her to be able to move so fast on that scooter.
The sun with the baby face is just terrifying, all the characters have OCD or ADHD or are on the autistic spectrum, or all 3 (Christ, my spelling's taken a tumble, hasn't it?) and there is a scene that has scarred me for life - a puppet running around a house and turning lights on and off. That's the sort of thing I have nightmares about.
But yes, I spent the rest of the day singing "Hat, hat haaa-aaaaat, hat!" with Sarah. We are adults. It was a lovely last day, seeing as I return to Derby on Saturday! Yeeeee!!! Oh, wait, did I say saturday? I meant to say "I was meant to enroll today, despite having already done so online!!!" So, it was up at 6 to get to Derby for 10 in order to just sit at a desk with some random woman, say "100147846", look at a picture of myself, and say "Yes, that's me." I spent 5 hours using almost a full tank of petrol covering almost 200 miles in order to say a mere 2 sentences.
...
...
...
...
I'M A HAPPY CAMPERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Oh, and I'm back on Plentyoffish.com. Again. Fishing is fun, and some conversations with a certain Mr provide a wonderful pick me up ^^ (No, of course I'm not writing this because I know he'll read it... :P)
My mum just came and presented me with a new sticker for my car. It says 'POTATO!'. My mum is awesome.
Thursday 22 September 2011
Sunday 18 September 2011
That's What She Said
Y'know, I think I have a mind that is not capable of anything other than turning everything I ever see or hear ever in to something rude or dirty or sexual or sexual. Or sexual.
Whenever someone says so much as "oooh, that's a big one!" (i.e. my mother in reference to a spot on my brother's nose) I immediately start grinning like a baffoon. Just last night as I was stood hideously sober in the middle of a club, my GORGEOUS new high heels slowly eating away at the balls of my feet and steadily snapping my toes in half, without even the pain-numbing qualities of vast quantities of alcohol to stop tears from being brought to my eyes, I turned to Sarah and asked her what she was drinking. "Sex On The Beach." She replied with a smile. Yes, that drink title obviously has the word 'sex' in the title, but my mind immediately started babbling away about "how much fun that would like to be.. Wouldn't mind trying that some time..."
Every conversation we have at work seems to work its way back on to the topic of sex in one way or another. We are massive fans of 'pub dilemas', such as "If you could sleep with any male celebrities. Repeatedly. Who would you pick?" I've even earned a nickname of 'Mrs Bucket' or 'Sex Machine' at work, which are delightful titles as you can imagine. I don't help myself, but then again, why should I try to?
I'm just being me, and that person just happens to be very comfortable with her own sexuality and expressive in her mannerisms about it. Feel free to take this any way you want (oooer). But yes, sex is fantastic (well, depending on who you're sleeping with of course,) although it is rather like eating a Pringle - 'Once You Pop, You Can't Stop'.
Whenever someone says so much as "oooh, that's a big one!" (i.e. my mother in reference to a spot on my brother's nose) I immediately start grinning like a baffoon. Just last night as I was stood hideously sober in the middle of a club, my GORGEOUS new high heels slowly eating away at the balls of my feet and steadily snapping my toes in half, without even the pain-numbing qualities of vast quantities of alcohol to stop tears from being brought to my eyes, I turned to Sarah and asked her what she was drinking. "Sex On The Beach." She replied with a smile. Yes, that drink title obviously has the word 'sex' in the title, but my mind immediately started babbling away about "how much fun that would like to be.. Wouldn't mind trying that some time..."
Every conversation we have at work seems to work its way back on to the topic of sex in one way or another. We are massive fans of 'pub dilemas', such as "If you could sleep with any male celebrities. Repeatedly. Who would you pick?" I've even earned a nickname of 'Mrs Bucket' or 'Sex Machine' at work, which are delightful titles as you can imagine. I don't help myself, but then again, why should I try to?
I'm just being me, and that person just happens to be very comfortable with her own sexuality and expressive in her mannerisms about it. Feel free to take this any way you want (oooer). But yes, sex is fantastic (well, depending on who you're sleeping with of course,) although it is rather like eating a Pringle - 'Once You Pop, You Can't Stop'.
Sunday 11 September 2011
I've Never Killed A Man Just To Watch Him Die
I haven't. Although, some of the plebs that I have to deal with on a daily basis have come pretty close to causing me to change the title to something like "I once killed a man because he threw a chilled hot wing at my face because he hadn't eaten it within half an hour of purchasing it because he was an utter moron." That, of course, is a true story.
Naturally, I'm not capable of having a normal day at work. Last week I collapsed after I pulled a box of fries on to my head. The next day I walked in to an open (hot) cress door and got a nose bleed. The day after that a customer threw a drink at me. The day after that my shirt burst open, yet again, and I didn't realise for about 10 minutes. The day after that Daniel thought he'd slap my ass with full force while I was serving a customer causing me to scream in their face. Finally, yesterday Chubbs thought it would be absolutely HYSTERICAL to demonstrate how loose my work trousers actually are and pulled them down infront of the entire store.
Ah, I do love my male work mates. It's like they've never seen a woman before! There is actually now a small percentage that look me in the eye when they talk to me, which is nice. It's an improvement from virtually none of them. Male customers are the same, which is incredibly irritating. Today I had some of our friends from 'Across The Big Pond' i.e. America who asked me, I kid you not, literally 6 times for mashed potatoes. I told them at least 9 times which side orders with have, which doesn't include mashed potatoes. Every time I looked at them there was a slight pause while they looked up to find my face again.
People get so touchy about their chicken. I'd normally say it's absolutely hilarious but when you're on the recieving ends of threats, insults, throws and physical grabbing, the situation somewhat loses it hilarity. It is fun when you are faced with an extremely red-faced customer screaming blue murder because he "didn't want fucking cheese on his fucking burger" and you are an "ugly skank who needs a breast reduction" and you can smile and wave as they are escorted out of the store by your boss and banned while the entire restaurant claps.
Naturally, I'm not capable of having a normal day at work. Last week I collapsed after I pulled a box of fries on to my head. The next day I walked in to an open (hot) cress door and got a nose bleed. The day after that a customer threw a drink at me. The day after that my shirt burst open, yet again, and I didn't realise for about 10 minutes. The day after that Daniel thought he'd slap my ass with full force while I was serving a customer causing me to scream in their face. Finally, yesterday Chubbs thought it would be absolutely HYSTERICAL to demonstrate how loose my work trousers actually are and pulled them down infront of the entire store.
Ah, I do love my male work mates. It's like they've never seen a woman before! There is actually now a small percentage that look me in the eye when they talk to me, which is nice. It's an improvement from virtually none of them. Male customers are the same, which is incredibly irritating. Today I had some of our friends from 'Across The Big Pond' i.e. America who asked me, I kid you not, literally 6 times for mashed potatoes. I told them at least 9 times which side orders with have, which doesn't include mashed potatoes. Every time I looked at them there was a slight pause while they looked up to find my face again.
People get so touchy about their chicken. I'd normally say it's absolutely hilarious but when you're on the recieving ends of threats, insults, throws and physical grabbing, the situation somewhat loses it hilarity. It is fun when you are faced with an extremely red-faced customer screaming blue murder because he "didn't want fucking cheese on his fucking burger" and you are an "ugly skank who needs a breast reduction" and you can smile and wave as they are escorted out of the store by your boss and banned while the entire restaurant claps.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)