Shitty shit.
I hate myself for being so sensible with my groats.
Tomorrow, half the office fly out to Fiji for Kaf's wedding; then on thursday, half the band and the inbred village of ––––– (see posts passim) fly out to bloody Hawai'i to see Rod and Sharon get nuptualised.
Me? I'm going home in the rain, because I've "sensibly" decided to put the money toward a much needed extension to the house …
Shitty shit …
If any one of them checks out their tan against my pasty English November complexion, they're getting a slap.
I just hope they have to crash land on some isolated bloody island with nothing but polar bears and boring flashbacks and some stupid tin box full of nonsense to keep them company …
I'm normally so happy on a monday, but today I feel like Morrissey's writing a song about me …
Ho hum …
Apropos of absolutely bugger all, Niall from IT caught me twirling my Wacom pen this morning as I was attempting to explain to him the relative usefulness of our IT department and a fishnet condom.
"Cool", he said; "How do you do that?"
I advised him to get out of IT and acquire a life. But it reminded me of that bit at the start of Buffy where she twirls the old wooden stake.
Being a totally sad goitre, I once slowed that bit down on the DVD to see how she did it better than me. What an idol-shattering moment …
She has a big fat rubber band wrapped around her middle finger and just opens her hand and lets the thing go! Check it out for yourself. What a swizz!
And yes, I have the big box of Buffy on DVD. I am that sad. That's where a classical education gets you; sitting home alone on a rainy saturday watching old episodes of Buffy …
And now it's monday. And it's raining.
I'm going to go home and slam every door in the house …
Shitty shit.
12 comments:
Life is too short to be sensible (Lesson Number One of Staying Young). Alas, sometimes it needs to be done.
Relax, though. It isn't Sunday. Morrissey isn't singing about you.
He used to, though.
"Spending warm summer days indoors,
Writing frightening verse to a buck-toothed girl in Luxembourg."
"And you go on your own,
And you stand on your own,
And you come home.
And you cry and you want to die."
If staying young means going back to that, I'll remain a curmudgeonly old codger, thank you very much.
It doesn't mean going back at all. Really, it just means not being sensible ("curmudgeonly old codger," if you will) all the time.
I so sorry that you're feeling so shitty. I hate feeling left out and regretting your decisions when it's too late to do anything about it.
Just don't go home to watch Buffy. Do something unusual.
By the way, I love Lost, although this season does seem a little dull and stretched out.
Also, groats=money? A glossary might be helpful.
perhaps you should hope that they all get burnt like bloody lobsters. they'll return home from the holiday cracked and peeling, looking like lepers. that would definitely trump even the worst pasty november English complextion.
(besides, last time I checked, no polar bears lived in tropical regions like fiji...)
and really, you have a definite advantage. they'll all spend too much money and will be strapped upon returning, without much to show for it. they'll have to mortgage something just to make end meets. all the while, you will be relaxing in your extension ... adding on a sauna and sun-room complete with tanning bed so that you can be golden-skinned and superior to them all year round -- even on mondays. :)
Thank you all, I am much cheered (listening to The Smiths all the way home helped, too; Mozza is such a wit).
Sassy: I shall endeavour to be sensible in money matters only.
Robyn: I haven't actually watched Buffy in ages. And I gave up on Lost midway through series two; too many boring flashbacks. And what was that polar bear all about?
Oh, and the groat was a mediæval coin worth about as much as a handful of mud.
Adair: Thanks. I will look forward to giving out friendly slaps on exposed sunburn.
Much as I love a good wallow in self pity, it is really nice to receive cheery messages.
Thanks again.
(I half expected Old Knudson to tell me to pull my f'ing self together).
I've spent some time trying to find the relevance of those numbers (without using Google). I was sure that there would be more to them than simply being your lottery numbers (and I know you're way too rational to gamble on the lottery!)
No idea what LOST is (other than bits and pieces I've just found on the web) but I'm sure you'll be happy to pollyfilla over that gap in my sci-fi knowledge!
Out of curiosity - is there anything genuinely (ie fact rather than fiction) mathematically interesting about that sequence of numbers?
Hi P.
They're some stupid sequence of numbers from the bunch of stupendous arse that is Lost. They keep turning up in everybody's REALLY BORING flashbacks.
As the cast have signed up for another five series of confusing tosh, I doubt we'll be finding out what they mean for a long time yet.
Lost started out very promisingly, but as you can judge from the above comments, it has since 'lost' me. The entire first two series would have made an exciting three hour movie, but it's stretched out so much it just gets SOO BORING.
Basically, a bunch of unfeasably attractive people (and a token comedy fat guy) crash land on a remote island and much silliness ensues. And that is all anyone needs to know. Get lives, people!
And mathematically, the numbers mean absolutely toss.
Thank you again for the wonderful Regina Spektor album. Spiffy to the max.
And if anyone is wondering, Peahen is one of the few people on the planet smart enough to not have a TV.
I went without one for fifteen years, but cracked under the onslaught of the Simpsons, Frasier and Buffy (damn)!
Who cares about the stake twirling? the show is intelligent, funny and she kicks high,I want to be lied to.
I'm not mad about being lied to, but any show that gives me pretty young girls in miniskirts kicking the shit out of vampires has got my vote.
It almost doesn't matter that it was one of the smartest and funniest shows ever.
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