NO COMMAS AFTER ANDIFBUTNOTYETFORSO! NO COMMAS AFTER ANDIFBUTNOTYETFORSO!

I know the clause needs a comma! But just because you don't like the Oxford comma doesn't mean that putting the comma AFTER "and" fixes it! IT'S STILL INCORRECT!!! Goddamfuckingshit!

Catty, you have been evicted. Please leave the Slantytown house.

We've had the same estate agent "managing" our flat for the past four years. Let's call him Cockend. He's less than useless. When we moved in, there was no cooker and the shower was half-installed. Half installed as in a big pipe sticking out of the wall and the shower attachment in its opened box on the floor. Where it sat for six months.

Mr Krabapel has been very sneaky about making payments and managed to be a month behind for a good six months. Then when we started the house-buying process six months ago, he used our rent payments to pay the solicitor. So then we were two months behind. But we were going to pay them as soon as we closed on the house and tied up all the loose ends, a situation Mr Krabapel explained to Cockend when he sent us our first set of eviction papers.

Cockend said he'd take care of it, that it would be no problem, and we went along our merry way. Until....

We now have a court date and eviction proceedings have begun. Our former flatmate is also cited on these papers despite us telling them multiple times (and in writing) that she hasn't lived in that flat for more than two years.

Mr Krabapel called him again and said he was either the world's greatest actor or something got screwed up. Today I got an email from him with the following subject line:

To: Catty
From: Mr Krabapel
Re: Cockend is a fucking liar

And there we are. I hope he rots in hell.

Printers

Not as in nice people that print our magazines, but PRINTERS THAT DO NOT WORK.
Printers:
That eat paper.
That print out 20 copies of your report because some mong has set the printer default to produce 20 copies and forgotten to adjust it.
That run out of cyan just when you need to send 108 pages to the client.
GRRRRRRR

I will never fucking understand why someone always has to turn on my computer when I'm out of the office to go into my email, when every fucking piece of email I receive or send gets cc'd or bcc'd to 5 other people, all of whom were in the office when I was out.
Just because my mail is actually ORGANIZED.

How can someone who has been making the same brand of microwave popcorn twice a day every day in the same microwave for the past 3 or 4 years STILL burn the popcorn 50% of the time so that the entire office smells of burnt butter? You should have the time down to the NANOsecond at this point.

Coming in here, stealing our cats...

I've never been comfortable with the Nimby Brigade living so near to me. I've felt a prickly sensation across the back of my neck every time I passed by a local news stand bearing the legend: "More immigrants to flood the UK" - a prickly sensation that might have been cooties, but was more likely to be caused by my inner fear of racists.

Moreover, I have been pleased to see Polish delicatessens springing up over South London. The Sausages! Oh my sainted aunt Rosemary! The Sausages - great big dripping spicy rolls of proper meat and herbs and chunks of fat... and the sweetmeats! Why have you never seen a fat Polish person, if all they eat is sausages and caramel-filled pastries! I know my waistline has grown proportionately to the number of Polish nationals that have landed on our far shore.

All this kerfuffle about "taking our jobs"... come on, who would you rather have: a hard-working Polish builder who comes in, wipes his feet, does the job and then goes, or an English builder who comes in, looks around, sucks air through his teeth and makes tutting noises, then goes out to make a call to "Ed...Ed... yeah... how much more have we got to charge for VAT...?"; one who drinks all your coffee and leaves coffee rings on your sofa arm, while dropping biscuit crumbs down the cushions, then has to pick up strange and expensive thingies from B&Q for 5 hours and then charges you £1000 more than the estimate cost for "additional time".... And that's if he comes back from B&Q at all.... AND when you go upstairs, you find the most enormous chocolate log in your toilet that can't be flushed away unless you break it up with a rolling pin? (I am aware that there should be a question mark there, but it almost seems inappropriate).

A further idiot's guide to spotting a Nimby is if you hear someone say: "England's full"... Is it? What a ridiculous thing to say... of course it's not full - people are not falling off the edges or being pushed into ravines because there are JUST TOO MANY PEOPLE HERE. Someone mentioned that there are 4.3m people coming in - and there are 5.6 million UK expatriates around the world. We're in Credit! We're 1.3 million people cheaper...

All this I know, and yet... if my polish neighbour keeps "accidentally" letting my cat into her flat and saying to me "he can stay" (no he flaming well can't), I might have to thump on her. Get your own cat and stop stealing ours.

what kind of lazy fuck throws a half full bottle of pop in the breakroom garbage can instead of pouring the rest of the pop down the sink that is 3 feet away and putting the empty bottle in the recycling bin that is right next to the garbage can?

I have to freelance because I have no money. So please do not give me the hairdryer treatment for doing freelance work when I am still in the office, still working, but it is after the time I am scheduled to leave and therefore is overtime.

Don't worry. It'll probably be the first and last time I do it.

estate agents.

you suck.

Lily Allen. Don't become a pop star and then complain that you hate doing press on tour and then cut it short and go home. You don't write your music, you don't write your lyrics, and if you don't tour, you don't do ANYTHING, so don't be a pop star. THIS IS THE JOB. Dumbass.

Marketers. Mr K, via Douglas Adams, assures me you will be first against the wall when the revolution comes and I pray every day that he will be right.

Broken bottles of nail polish. All over my hands, five minutes before an interview, with no remover in sight. FUCK!

people that call me on my cellphone asking for people who not only are not me but whom i also do not know and then when i tell them that they have the wrong number they call right back, get annoyed with me, and ASK ME IF I'M SURE THIS ISN'T SOMEONE ELSE'S PHONE

just do your goddamn job.

Don't whinge at me, don't pout your lip and play cute, don't act like the bare minimum of what is expected of you is an imposition. You cow.

The bank that likes to say YES

I piss myself off. I am like the bank that says YES. I keep saying yes to people when I should say no. I don't like saying No. But when I say yes that gives me more work to do and then I am rarely in bed before 1:30 in the morning these days. NO NO NO NO. Must say NO. and MEAN No.

So Charlie asks,

Who is The Little Punk?
And I ask why.
And he says, 'cause his business cards are sitting on my desk.
So I go to The Little Punk and slap the cards on his desk and call him a punk.
Later The Man and Deputy the Man receive their cards.
No cards for me.


Of course all of these cards have the wrong publication on them, but THAT'S NOT THE POINT DAMMIT!

I really, honestly cannot believe I was just bollocked for doing something without being told to do it. Something that was requested and is normally fobbed off to me. “Don’t do anything until I tell you to do it!”
“Sorry for being efficient. I’ll just drop those IQ points and be a robot to do your bidding. Better?”

addendum

Should I also be more offended by the fact I wasn't chosen for the unexpected desk-tidy windfall considering my annual pay increase was HALF of that my colleagues earned on the sister paper?

is it just me or

when someone comes over with a big ol' roll of American dollars and asks, WHO'S GOING TO AMERICA SOON?, and hands up oh I am oh I am, that you give it to The American, or to the owl-screechy Scot on the overpaid gak force?

Sigh....

Um, I realize what I'm eating must be fascinating to you. But I'm reading a book and eating quietly for a reason. You know where you buy Cookie crisp? At the store. Yes they still make it. No, you don't have to be 7 to eat it. Leave me alone.

pointless queueing barriers

I just spent three minutes navigating a pointless porta-barrier in marks & spencer's. Now usually I think these are a good idea, especially around Christmas when you want to avoid some miserable pikey family coming up and stealing your place in the queue, or something out of your bag, the bastards.

But when the shop is empty, why oh why the hell do they have to have those stupid things up? It's not like the bloody Krypton factor, we don't get a gold star for being the fastest around the mini-maze. There was no-one in the queue ahead of me, but instead of being able to nip round the side to buy my salad, some pimly-faced student worker/numbskull oik said I had to go through the barrier-maze. "But there's no-one in the queue!" I protested. "No, but there could be and then you would be pushing in front of them". WTF? Where do they find these quality jobbers? Care in the Community?

But by the time I went back to the barrier, several people had of course then started on their long trek to the counters. So pimple-head then decided to be helpful, and undid one of the barrier things, and stuck it in diagonally across one of the four (YES, FOUR!!!) line demarkations.

Of course, the bloke in front of me ended up stuck at a dead end. He then tried to turn round, but there were too many of us in the queue behind him. So the man tried to dodge under the barrier, whereupon the red-neck commie pinko Nazi bastard just pissed off, probably to have a hand shandy over the WI calendar somewhere. In the end, I undid the stupid barriers and just went straight up to a till. A SALAD should NOT be this much trauma.

So I picked up a bag of chips and a blueberry muffin as well. Hey, I needed something to calm my nerves.

http://mermaidofmoorgate.blogspot.com

staying home sick

If I have to stay home sick from work, can I at least not actually be sick, as it makes staying home much more fun than nursing a tummy ache. A tummy ache! I'm thirty-four years old! That's just stupid!

make up my mind

All week I've been hearing Zod bang on about what's it gonna take to turn me into a chief, I've got it in me, but I spend too much time pissing about with websites (this coming from the man who was to read NME.com each morning and spends all day Wednesdays playing shockwave puzzle games on fhm.com). So this morning I say, I'm going to teach the newbie to do graphs in Illustrator and he goes off his nut about how that's his or Deputy The Man's job.
So what's it going to take to let him turn me into a chief sub? Christ.

Letter to an idiot

Yeah, pardon me for spending the last 3-4 months basically depleting my savings and my checking account and working a temp job where I made barely over 300 bucks a week while looking for, you know, a JOB so I could support myself and not put all the burden on my girlfriend....rather than worrying about your frail, fragile ego and how you need people to telepathically figure out when something is troubling you.

No wonder your supposed "best friend" packed up and moved out of town without saying goodbye. You're a clingy, co-dependent nutjob. I was nothing but nice to you and listened to you whine and vent about how mean the world is and how no guy will have you. Well, face facts, sister. No guy in his right mind would willingly hook up with some chick who constantly pines for the acceptance of people who treat her with disdain. Or, for that matter, one who accuses someone of being out to fuck them over when quite frankly, they've had more important things on their mind.

If your life is crap, more than likely, you made it that way...so do everyone a favor and either quit feeling sorry for yourself and taking out your anger on the rest of the world, or go work an actual nine to five job and then see if you have anything to whine about. Oh, but it's more important to keep your cushy condo and show everyone what a great life you have than actually get off your ASS and fix the problems in your life, right?

Fuck off.

Death cab

I hate it when people try to tell me about early Death Cab. Um, I know. And you're wrong.

MUMBLER!!!!!!

You know you really should stop mumbling, it's starting to bum me out!
Dude. I only hear you when you shout, why do you think that is? Could it be:
A. You talk with your hand over your mouth
B. You only enunciate when you're shouting
C. You talk with your mouth full
D. All of the above

How Do You Think It Feels?

When you revealed your betrayal, the ONE THING that I asked you was not to bring him to gigs, so as not to rub it in my face.

So I turn up to the gig last night, and who is the first person I see, but HIM?

How do you think it feels, for me, to watch you, standing onstage, singing the song I wrote about how much he hurt me, singing those words "I know you felt that click when our heads aligned, but did I make you sick, when our bodies intertwined" with him standing up front, oblivious, staring at you like a lovestruck puppydog?

How the FUCK do you think that feels?

Bizarre Love Triangle

You know, leaving aside issues of morality, because I know that I'm kind of old fashioned with regards to these things, and I know that you rather pride yourself in being amoral... the fact of the matter is, here is an action which you *knew* if you persued it, would greatly hurt someone who viewed you as a close friend. The fact that you *chose* to do it, even though you knew how much it would hurt me, has completely destroyed any trust between us, and has, essentially, destroyed our intimacy, and therefore our friendship.

However... I have worked HARD on this band, I have invested too much of my time and my effort and my LIFE in this band to let you destroy it because you can't keep your twat in your pants.

When stupid effing high maintenance real estate bitches give me input on their brochures piecemeal, as if I know everything they want and can read their mind. HEY, DIPSHIT....SEND ME THE SPECS FOR WHAT YOU WANT IN WRITING!!!!!

I think regardless of what happens, after this week, I am OUTTA THERE.

'Cleb Life

-I cannot go to a gig I was invited to, because the band goes on at 10pm and it's in KILBURN. Might as well be on THE MOON as far as transport back to Sarf London goes.

-The club where my friends are DJing does not even START until 9pm. Sorry, but I cannot do your average 10pm-3am Shoreditch nightclubbing when I have to get up and WORK the next day.

-Birthday drinks for a work colleague and I can't even go to that because I CANNOT DRINK as I am bloody detoxing in order to be able to fit into last autumn's clothes as I cannot afford to buy a new set in a larger size.

I know it's stupid to think that once you've been on TV, everything will be brilliant from then on, because you will be a CLEB and everyone will love you, and you will never be lonely again. But it would be nice... :-(

nothing trumps toddlers

I have this friend who had A BABY. And she used to send photos directly to my email account but now she's discovered an online storage system so thank god, i can delete babyspamming at will.
I decided to try sending some of my own photos out, and said I would have more from Warsaw and Lisbon later this year. And in response, three more posts: "This weekend we went to a birthday party! Last sunday we went apple picking! This morning we had a bath! Here are 306 photos of each event!"
I guess apple-picking is way more interesting than foreign travel. Maybe I'm just annoying about it. I LIVE IN EUROPE! I SEE EUROPEAN THINGS!

overheard

Blowjobmouth just said the following: "Yeah, I won't go back to Cancun. It's very American."

News flash: booking a package holiday to a Club Med-style resort does not equal an authentic experience of the country.

You fucking dolt.

The Burden Of Leadership...

You know, EVERYONE else in this band has been allowed to skip, cancel or otherwise turn down gigs for all MANNER of reasons, from "it's my birthday" to "I'm going to a festival" to "I'm off on holiday" to "I'm going to a wedding" to "it's deadline week and I procrasturbated the rest of the month away" and oh yeah, "I've got to work."

The ONCE that I have to say that I cannot do a gig because I HAVE TO WORK (Sorry, I work in an accounting department with a Month End that is as rigid as any deadline) I get all kinds of hassle about "oh, can't you move it?" and "oh no but we can't cancel now..."

Like I haven't ALREADY talked to my boss to try to find another arrangement? I'm the Reliable One. I'm not the one who misses soundchecks and rehearsals because "I have PMT."

Aside from anything else, I think it would be GOOD for the band to do a gig without me. Then they might actually realise how much WORK it involves and how much of that work that *I* do. And then maybe, just maybe they might stop taking me for granted.

Get One Motherf*cking Fact Checker

You know, if you don't like the music I make, that's your taste. If you think it's "twee" or whatever, because it has girls and harmonies and - OHNOES!!! - a pretty melody, that's just your preconceptions.

However, if you say there's a motherf*cking CASIO involved, you're just FACTUALLY WRONG. Can you not tell the difference between a Casio and a GUITAR even when there are pictures of said instruments on the cover? Are you BLIND as well as DEAF?

Now just you wait until I come round and shove my "casio" up your ass.

POXY FULE

Turn back oh poxy fule, MY ARSE!!!

Gimme my goddam ILX today. Dammit.

Crabbypants

People in general, mostly.

Mommie Dearest

Why does everyone think I'm their fucking mother?

my favorite song, right now, this minute, is

"Don't Go Away Mad, Just Go Away" by Motley Crue.
Followed by "Leave (Get Out)" by JoJo, but only for the title.

special fucking needs

if you are a high strung, overly sensitive person with a persecution complex then YOU SHOULD NOT BE IN CUSTOMER SERVICE because i guaran-fucking-tee you SOMEONE during the day is going to be unhappy about SOMETHING and will let you know.
jesus fucking christ!

Ms. Pharmacist

You know, I can see you back there, yack yack yacking with your colleague and having a good old gossip behind the stacks of pills, totally disregarding the queue that is piling up in front of the counter.

You know, because we just go to Boots because it's such a FUN and HAPPY and EXCITING PLACE, not, you know, because some of us might be ill, or in pain, or maybe even dying, or perhaps just waiting to get their anti-anxiety anti-depressants that make them not BLOW UP AND EXPLODE WITH FREAKING RAGE AND KICK YOUR ARSE INSTEAD OF JUST A DISPLAY COUNTER WITH ANGER if we don't take them regularly.

Just saying, like.

so i think the finished books look bad, and you tell me to go ahead and ship them anyway.
and then you tell me to call the customer to see how he likes them, so i can hear from the tone in his voice how he really feels, because you are very nervous about them.
so then why the fuck did you tell me to send them out the way they were instead of fucking re-doing them like i said we should???

screw you

The little snot who speaks seven languages just made a snotty comment about why should I get the super-nice monitor, I'm just a sub, and I snapped "Because I work harder," and he gave me a perplexed glare and I felt kind of bad but then it was like, dude, fuck off. Don't make snotty comments about my placement versus yours on the food chain and then take offense when I snap back.

know what I love?

Coming in on Monday morning to find a stack of papers on my desk, as though I haven't been here a year and know where to find the work. The fucker is ON VACATION and STILL trying to micromanage me. Fucking HELL!

i do not fucking need sound effects for every fucking thing you do all day. i do not need you to smack your lips and lick your fingers loudly when you eat, i do not need to hear you whine and murmur to yourself when you are confused or dismayed, i do not need to hear a loud play by play of your conversation with the bicycle shop when i am at lunch and have my noise-reducing headphones on.
and thanks for stealing the microwave from me, you fucking heifer.

dear random caller patched through by switchboard using eenie meenie miney moe technique:

DO NOT FUCKING TALK OVER ME WHEN I AM TRYING TO HELP YOUR ASS!

Stupid Windoze!

So you can read, and PLAY an AIF file, but you can't burn it for me?

Bah.

Dear John

So you find "negative to and fro very draining" do you?

Well, you know what? There's a VERY easy way to avoid it.

Either you can flop over like a little emo boy, and whinge about "bad vibes" - or else you can handle conflict like a man, accept responsibility when you've done something wrong, and take steps to ensure that you don't affect other people negatively in the first place.

you FUCKING cow

Why don't you just quit already instead of dragging us all into your juvenile shit?

But it's not even 10:30!

Friday, Waterloo pulls a sickie.
Over the weekend get call at 5pm on Saturday, asked to come into work.
Politely say no, too inebriated.
Get text message of instructions for Monday on Sunday night. Irritated, but whatever.
Monday, Waterloo comes in and hasn't even turned her computer on before she's stomped off to HR to bitch.
Then she comes back and storms out.
And then HR calls and says she hasn't been down there at all.
Fuck. Ing. Hell.

"it's been a less than brilliant day!"

8:45 - Free-standing bus ticket machine eats all change for bus pass.
9:07 - Bus passes stop by three blocks
9:26 - Deputy the Man rolls in with bloodied page and accuses me of Waterlooesque professionalism despite page being created on day after 14-hour day
11:00 - desk meeting with instructions to document our day, every day
12:06 - Realise like Paris Hilton single
13:24 - Waterloo discovers chocolate brownie biscuits on my desk, demands one. Or two. Or 15.
15:00 - Receive email stating Blowjob Mouth will now be Team Liaison
16:39 - Finish last chocolate brownie biscuit

This day will undoubtedly get worse.

Argh, I'm An Idiot

I'm just suffering from verbal diorrhea today, and shooting my mouth off all over the place, speaking before I've considering what I'm saying and getting in all kinds of trouble and confusing everyone around me.

Just shut me up, OK? Take away the submit button before I push it.

we're got new templates!

QWIJTGOEMV3';smv'p;kw34=-9o!*&*£&^@*&^@!(*%^£(*&!

Who do you think you are?

You know, it's bad enough I already knew you had a cat before you told me, because you smell LIKE CAT PISS, it's bad enough I have to listen to your hacking, phlegmy coughs EVERY FREAKING DAY, it's bad enough you look like Jack Klugman in a blonde wig and a skirt, but now I have to put up with your complete lack of respect?

I like how you folded like a deck chair when I walked over and confronted you in front of everyone. You know, the same way you belittled me in front of everyone.

Here's a fucking newsflash for you, you aren't my boss. We're both equals. Well, ok, I'm better than you are. But we're still technically the same level. I have two bosses, and you aren't one of them.

Pull that shit again on me, and you can believe I will have your head, and your job, and I'll have a peer who ISN'T a chain smoking gargoyle.

oh, NOW you care?

Now? NOW you fucking care?

Oh, and don't think I haven't heard why exactly what it is that you think is holding us back.

Whingiest Blog In The World

This is a blog. It is DESIGNED for whinging. If you do not like the whinging then DO NOT READ BLOGS!!!

Moran.

Guest List Hogs

So we've got a limited number of guest list spots for our next show. Five places - you know, ONE EACH for the members of the band and the manager.

SO DON'T GO GIVING YOUR SPOT AWAY AND THEN AUCTIONING ALL THE OTHER SPOTS WHICH ARE NOT YOURS TO SODDING RANDOMS OFF MYSPACE!!!!!!

humph

when you hold the door open for someone, they should walk through it, instead of opening the other door and wasting your time.
that's what i think. bastards.

Down

ILX is down. Has been for hours.

What on earth did I come in to work for, if not for the free interwebs?

Bah!

license

If celebrities can control how their image is used and license it, I think that means I can decide whether unflattering photos of me fall under my control. Especially photos taken without my permission.

MOTHER PUSS BUCKET

So I ask the tax office, when doing all of my tax stuff, do I need to fill out a form for 2006?
They say no.
So I go down to the office -- taking a half day off to do it, no less -- last Wednesday. They fill out my forms and send them in.
I come home from work and guess what is waiting for me:
the tax return for 2006.
FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING FUCKS!

humph

I'm bored of dealing with your irritation over someone else. You want to be irritated with me, that's fine. But if you're going to be pissy to/at me because someone else is bothering you then go downstairs and kick some bins. I'm left in this constant state of feeling like everything I do is going to set one of you off and I KNOW that's not because *I* am so incredibly irritating that every little thing I do is magic annoying.
And the least you could do is be gracious about an apology for a misunderstanding.

I'm not your girlfriend; I'm not your mum. I don't get paid to love you unconditionally.

Interviewers who ask you if you're still interested in the position, tell you the lack of a degree is not a deal-breaker, tell you they'll have an answer in a few days, and then completely blow you off.

WHAT THE FUCK?

If I wanted to feel like a jilted prom date, I'd go apply at a fast food joint!

yeah, hi

Could you BACK THE FUCK UP OUT OF MY PERSONAL LIFE?
Right. Thanks very much for that.

If I'm So Creepy...

Why are *you* reading my blog, eh, stalker?

DVLA, you suck

I took another half day off from work to go down to bloody Wimbledon to show them my passport in person so I didn't have to put it in Royal Mail since my passport has my residency sticker in it and is my only form of identification.
And not only did he go, "Sorry, we don't exchange American driver's licenses," as though America was some kind of whacked-out place that doesn't have traffic or cars or roads and lord knows after driving the Dan Ryan every day for FIVE YEARS I certainly can't handle the B roads of Britain, thus I have to get a learner's permit and sit the exams yadda yadda, he then TOOK MY BLOODY PASSPORT *and* charged me the extra in-person premium service fee!
Why?
"We have to send it to Swansea to be checked. You'll get in back in two to three weeks."
But I came HERE to avoid doing that!
"Sorry."


* Not fucking sorry at all, actually.

bah

Okay, if you're going to be so evil as to give me an exam on the masterclass I just sat through and tried so hard to understand my brain just snapped and started thinking about Dancing Homer in the Land of Chocolate, then ask questions that are on the accompanying slides. Do NOT ask me to calculate the self-assessment tax of some fictional character when I can't even handle my own damn tax. I am tax roadkill, people.

i think some people wait anxiously all year for it to be daylight savings time so they have a lame excuse for being an hour late to work.

you know what?

We employ competent editorial staff for a reason.
That reason is, so you don't send amendments to your story ten minutes before the finished page is to be sent to the printer just because you've decided to remove a few pointless adjectives.

Organisation Fatigue

I don't want to have to organise another bloody thing. I don't want to send emails, invites, do headcounts, compare costs, remind people, shooper people, harrass people, make decisions in the absence of other people's decisions...

I just want to be told WHEN and WHERE and for once, just get to JUST TURN UP, like EVERYBODY ELSE does.

WHO THE FUCK ATE MY HOT POCKET?!?

I can't BELIEVE I have to wear the silly glasses.

i hate you, inland revenue

I hate you for thinking my request for information meant I was self-employed.
I hate you for sending self-assessment forms to my former address in Whitechapel.
I hate you for sending information requests to my current address and being told I have a job, thanks, I am not self-employed.
I hate you for giving me two reference numbers, which I think is the root of all of this evil.
I hate you for telling me I need all these forms when they're not actually the forms I need.
I hate you for your snotty call centres who get upset when I say "fucking hell" after being told different answers to the same questions. How dare YOU get offended!!
I hate you for sending me a £1600+ tax bill.
I hate you for making me fill out all these forms with information YOU have but I do NOT have that YOU will not give me.
I hate you for taking more money than you were supposed to before I had a national insurance number.

In general, you suck my ass, you fucking fucks.

i want my BIKE!

I tried to participate in the bike4work plan last fall, but apparently in order to participate you have about ten minutes to decide whether you want to meet all the conditions and there's this whole red tape rigamarole to go through etc etc so I didn't get a bike.
When the plan was offered again, I got on board. I chose how much I wanted to spend and calculated the amounts and figured it was cheaper than a gym membership so I cancelled my gym membership and waited for the letter to arrive that would allow me to go down to Halfords and pick up my bike.
It hasn't arrived.
Today I called to find out where the hell my letter is because I have to pay starting this month and I wanted to actually get the damn bike before the month is over because who wants to pay for something they don't have?
Well, they never received some stupid form I'm sure I sent back if I received, assuming I received it, so no bike for me.
Sod this for a bag of fish. I'm going down to Brick Lane market and buying a hot one.

good lord

Waterloo is so dumb she can't turn her computer on without calling IT.
FACT.
This is happening RIGHT NOW.
And she once again had to ask whether or not she was using a Mac or a PC.
How does one not know? Seriously. Does she think someone sneaks in here every night and changes the CPUs around?

Everything.

Right now, every single bloody thing in the world.

IF you are going to stink up the bathroom that you share with your co-workers, could you PLEASE, for the love of all that is pure and fresh-smelling, hit the switch for the FAN on your way out the door?
Maybe you like the smell of your shit, but I don't.

Shut up, biznatch.

My sister, who is alternately known as Princess, Shmoopsie, and Magpie has just returned from a lovely island vacation in St. Maarten. One might ask how a 25 year old who makes no money might afford such a thing, and the answer is simple: my parents. While I was stuck in Chicago teaching children well and showing them all the beauty they have inside, Princess was sunning herself and throwing back umbrella drinks with Mums and Dads.

Princess returns last night, at 11:45 PM mind you, making all sorts of bullshit noise while I'm in my third cycle of REM sleep. I walk out of my room, and in the darkness of our apartment I can already see her sunkissed glow. Her only remark was, "Wow, it's dry in here. This is going to kill my tan." Really? Seriously? You're going to complain that you just had a vacation that someone else paid for. Hi, welcome back. How are you? Me? I'm fine, thanks. I'll tell you what's killing me: it's mid-March and we have storm watch until midnight and my skin is the color of a bottle of fucking Elmer's Glue. To that I say, "Shut up, biznatch."

I'm already stressed, don't make me impatient, too

I asked when I came in if I could leave on time today. They said yeah.
It's Time and I'm not going anywhere, so I call the salon to reschedule.
I sit in a call queue for half an hour and get disconnected when it's my turn.
I call back and discover yes I can have an appointment for Wednesday, but it's with a senior director and will be £61. Which would be great if I wasn't just getting a fucking maintenance trim.

Moon Meets Stick, So What?

What do they want?

The Moon on a stick!

When do they want it?

Yesterday!

I don't care if they own this company, my ass included. They're still idiots.

godDAMN i work with a bunch of fucking whiny bitches.

yes, i understand you would prefer to get paid just to sit on your ass and talk shit all day and drink free coffee and go out for smoke breaks. wouldn't we all? but guess what? not gonna happen. which you should've all realized now since most of you are in your fucking 30s. so that's right, i AM going to hand you some more fucking work to do on the request of the customer whose business here means you still have a fucking job that you are overpaid for.

blah

GARDEN VEGETABLE CREAM CHEESE.






UGH.


gross, dude.

thanks for returning the favor

so let's say a few months ago you went to see sigur ros. and one of your coworkers and her boyfriend also went to see sigur ros. and the next day you and your coworker talked about how amazing the show was.
and then let's say about a week ago you found out that sigur ros are coming back (unexpectedly since they don't have a new record out yet and they rarely tour) to play a really nice venue but the presale date hasn't been finalized yet. so you share this information with your coworker and she gets excited and tells her boyfriend who also gets excited.
and then you go online this afternoon and see that the presale was this morning and is all sold out, really sweet seats, center section rows B-Z. and you ask your coworker if she knew the presale was this morning? and she says oh yeah, her boyfriend called her this morning after he got tickets because he had been checking every day since you had told her that they were coming back to town. and you say oh, i had no idea the presale was this morning, because now it's all sold out. thanks for letting me know, bitch.

!

QUIT FUCKING SNAPPING AT ME!

How Hard Is It?

How hard is it to answer your email?

Step one: read email
Step two: check diary
Step three: reply, answering "I can do that date" or "I can't do that date"

Is this REALLY rocket science?

Annoying Girl On Train

So I'm on a crowded morning Thameslink, as usual, trying to read my book about crowd dynamics, when this stroppy Fashion Girl gets on, immediately pulls out her mobile and starts GABBING away at such great volume that EVERYONE in the carriage can hear her conversation about her stupid fashiony job, how she called the police because she couldn't get the blinds of her office down, her friend's wedding, these stupid coral things that her mate at the flower market was going to get her so she could make some stupid fashiony accessories... and on and on and on at TOP VOLUME for her entire half hour train ride, disrupting everyone else on the train who was trying to read, sleep, figure out which stop to get off at, and the other usual things people on trains do.

She was so loud I could not concentrate on my book, even after I had stuck my finger in the ear nearest her.

So, she finally ends the bloody call, but as she gets off (at my stop, typical) I notice her keep her phone out and start sending a text message. Rather than waiting to climb a crowded staircase at speed behind someone who was clearly more interested in her phone than crowd movement, I cut in front of her in the crush.

She IMMEDIATELY starts going on at TOP VOLUME about how RUDE people in London are, and how it's HARD ENOUGH having to go into London (oh poor dear, getting caught in a crush at rush hour) without people being "RUDE".

I very nearly turned around, and started screaming at her "YOU KNOW WHAT I CALL RUDE?!?!? CARRYING ON A MOBILE PHONE CONVERSATION AT SUCH VOLUME THAT NO ONE ELSE IN THE CARRIAGE CAN READ, SLEEP OR EVEN HEAR THEMSELVES THINK!!!!" but I figured it would be more rude to stop the traffic up the stairs.

Freaking cow's stupid fishtail skirt was falling down, too, revealing fatass plumber's crack, as well. I should have put icecubes down in.

This fact...

Orange Juice now, officially, gives me heartburn.

Don't You Have A Brain Of Your Own, Bee-yatch?

So you start a thread on an internet group, a soul-searching, interesting, sensitive thread about "What Gives Your Life Meaning" which turns out to be quite popular and inspiring. And your freaking stalker* rather than contribute to it, tries to nick your idea and starts a thread on the EXACT same topic, What Gives Your Life Meaning Photo Thread (With Added Extra Twee Sodding Kittens).

Get one clue of your own, cnut.

*yeah, you know, *that* one, the drink-driving, psycho, "I'm a lesbian now", lubed and ready to rumble one that made up imaginary blogs by imaginary people claiming to hate her, in order to get attention.

Bars

Okay, for real. Last night I ventured out on a Tuesday to help celebrate my darling Niece's 21st Birthday. Now, trust me, I would do and go anywhere for my girl. And now that she's 21, I"m thrilled at being able to. Of course, I feel old as shit, but fuck it, Im cute.

I don't drink, but everytime I go out, I spend most of my money on TIPPING THE GODDAMN bartenders. Is it a dollar a drink for these people? Don't they get paid anyway? Why am I giving them a dollar to open a bottle? And I'm supposed to be all impressed that you're wearing a Guns and Roses half shirt and you have ink on your lower back? That band is woefully overrated and I'm not impresses by your thong. Thanks for not telling me that what I was drinking was 5 dollars when you had $1.50 well drinks all night. I hate you. And I have to give you ANOTHER dollar? Bite me. Many times. That's why I don't drink. I prefer the smokable cocktail, yo.

Fuck blonde girls who work in bars

You FUCKING cow

My Mini was accidentally delivered to the office this morning instead of my home.
While I went downstairs to sort the kerfuffle, Waterloo said, out loud to the whole desk,
"How is she going to fit into a Mini?"
Why don't you just ask the Afro-Carribbean editor to shine your shoes for you, as well?
This will be reported to HR.

So that's who likes Hard-Fi

There is an ad sales rep who sits near me and she irritates the living shit out of me. She's got this lazy, broad accent that sounds like she's sucking some guy's cock when she flirts with clients over the phone. She thinks she speaks French as well but can't get past comment-allez vous before spiralling back into her usual chavtastic banter in English (cheerio darling, right, we're going to Egypt for the weekend, oh it's going to be faaaabulous).
Right now she's talking about buying tickets for Hard-Fi, and should they buy them on the door or just suck up the £4 mailing service charge, etc. I guess she doesn't do this much.
So now it all makes sense. People who buy Hard-Fi records don't buy many records at all.

This One's For Catty

From ILX (describing the press's over-fellating of the Artic Monkeys):

"This is good old honest rock 'n'roll, which we have been lacking lately,"

And this is the recurring meme that's driving the extra-musical critic love. "At last! A band that falls into (walks into?) the categories we want to lionise: young, male, provincial, hetero, 4/4, guitars, eeh it's just like back in the 6th form again".

SO ON THE MONEY THAT THE MONEY IS GETTING A RASH AND GOING DOWN THE LOCAL GP!

People who yell "get over it" when less than TWO DAYS AGO they were once again trashing me to someone and freaking out over something which they claimed, in their "olive branch" bullshit-ass e-mail was resolved and over.

Just when I think I'm being too harsh, you just convince me that I've gone too easy on you.

May you kindly drink drain-o.

Stupid twit.

when grown adults act like children and fight at work and can't tolerate each other's differences and get the fuck over it. and then come to me and bitch about the other person and expect me to take their sides. i'm taking no one's fucking side. you're both wrong.
grow the fuck up, or go out back and kick each other's asses and get it out of your systems.

Destiny's Child

For Fuck's sake. Does anyone ELSE other than me have a problem telling them apart vocally? For real, girls, would some one PLEASE step forward and claim this group? I mean for real! There's got to be at least ONE of you who may be a little more pretty or talented. Just have the guts to come FORTH, GOD!!! Do It! Imagine your career!!! I could see you getting into movies, too. Just shine a little brighter, will you , ONE OF YOU?!?!?

You know what I'm fucking sick of?

Twentysomething indie boys and their fucking opinions. I had a sleaze around this message board loaded with Industry Fuckers That Aren't Quite Industry But You Better Believe They Know More Than You and found whatever patience I had today completely destroyed.
Later I went to iTunes to find the acoustic version of "Eddie's Song" by Son of Dork, only to discover that iTunes now offers Customer Reviews, which means I have to YET AGAIN have some Outraged Indie Boy declare stuff I like to be Crap.

in media res:

Yes another pop band pretending there [sic] the next big thing since blink182. The only people who go the there [sic] concerts are 5 year old girls and love stricken teenage girls.The less heard of SOD the better

So naturally I wasn't going to just stand by and allow that bullshit to pass without comment:

I would like to strongly encourage iTunes to rethink the "customer review" section. I do not wish to log on to download things only to be sneered at by people who do not know me. Especially when considering this particular review, in which the author shamelessly dismisses an artist based entirely on sexist preconceptions. Why is something liked by teenage girls considered a bad thing when what is liked by teenage boys recieves critical acclaim? Customer Reviews can be helpful but they quickly spiral into vile, sexist propaganda by people who either do not realise how their opinions can perpetuate problems or do not care.

GoDAMit. Fucking Outraged Indie Boys. Take your Thurston Moore/Stephen Malkmus split 7"s and ram them in the anus!

Monkeys, I tell you - MONKEYS!!!

I have been told to stop referring to the admin staff as "monkeys" because this is a vast disservice to our primate cousins, as apparently trained chimps would have done a FAR BETTER JOB on the database changeover than our staff.

What the hell, man?

A stop sign exists for a reason. You know, to keep your car from ending up as a permanent part of my ASS when I'm crossing the street. I know you have to rush to your yoga class, but please try not to splatter me all over Michigan Avenue while you do.

Thanks ever so.

The Users, God, The Users!

What part of STOP. USING. THE. OLD. ORACLE. SYSTEM. do they not understand?

Possibly the word "stop". I hadn't run an extract in over a month. During a clean-up this morning, I ran an extract for the whole month of December, thinking there would be one or two. There were THIRTY TWO new records.

What can I do to get an idea into a Database User's brain? Short of writing it on a cannonball and firing it at their thick skull?

Go to Toshi Center, ya whiney fuck!

...Perennial victims. I am so fucking sick of people who make a random everyday event easily navigated by most of us into a major dramatic crisis of infinite fucking proportions. All that energy could go back to making your life less of a soul-sucking hell, but what do I know. I'm just someone who knows fear pretty well, and that if you give in to it, you have no one to blame but yourself.

Dumbass.

You know what I really don't want to hear?

How bored you are when you have nothing to do when you resolutely REFUSE to learn every aspect of your job and I have to pick up your slack.
Shut the fuck up and piss off back to Cumbria, you twat.

"I am sorry for the delay..."

No, you're not sorry. You're a sodding computer, and machines do not have emotions. So don't tell me you're sorry that I have to stand here in the freezing cold and rain for another fifteen minutes because the train is delayed again (what is it this time? wrong kind of leaves on the line?) you rusting hunk of silicon!

read your Daily Mail and shut up, willyou?

Do you know what I hate about workshy middle class trustafarians?
That endless sense of ENTITLEMENT they have.