Compliment or backhanded bitch slap?
Today while I was slapping on the warpaint applying my mascara I was reminded of a compliment I received as a teen.
I was doing work experience at a salon - I had dreams of becoming a world famous makeup artist, flitting around the world part-ay-ing on down with the rich and famous and them loving me cause I could transform them into Goddesses and they couldn’t live without me, dah-ling, here is a couple of thousand dollars to buy yourself a little somethin’ somethin’ cause you are THAT freaking awesome - so I got to stock the shelves, sweep the floor and watch while the beautician ripped hair off old womens faces and, ahem, private parts.
*shudder*
So one day I was washing all the towels - I KNOW! Fucking slave drivers - when one of the hair artistes asked if I would be in their fashion show thingy cause someone dropped out. I was all W00T! cause not only was I going to be a world famous makeup artist but now a freaking model! SCORE!
I sat in the makeup chair, feeling pretty freaking chuffed while one of the girls started playing with my hair. Trying different up and down do’s and making me feel all special and shit.
‘You know Kelley..’ she mused ‘You have beautiful eyes. And a perfect nose. Your cheekbones are lovely and you have great lips..’
I could feel my teenaged head swelling. Imagining I was the next Cindy Crawford but without that freaky mole thing on her face.
MOLEY MOLEY MOLEY
The girl sighed.
‘But all together, it is just, just, WRONG’
My head deflated so fast I think it caved in a little.
So, my lovelies, anyone given you a backhanded bitch slap that has knocked you out of the field?
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*insert hysterical laughing here*
Bwaaaaa haaaaaa haaaaaaaaaa!
*rocking in the corner*
Bwaaaaaaa haaaaaa haaaaaaaaaaa!
*rock rock rock*
Some days you get a sign. A sign that you should never have got the fuck outta bed.
My sign this morning was waking at 6am freaking out that we were late. When we weren’t.
That Boo seemed a little stuffed up.
That I couldn’t find the skirt that I SWORE I laid out the night before.
That my coffee was cold when I finally got to it.
The universe was trying to tell me to climb back into bed.
It is now 2pm. I am home from work with a vomiting child. At the moment I found out about said vomiting child I had a group of people surrounding my desk arguing about who is the biggest fuck wit. I was rocking slightly in my chair thinking about running over to the coffee shop and asking them to put a little something in my double shot skinny latte in a milkshake cup. People standing on the fringes wondering who was going to be the first to feel my wrath. I think someone was taking bets.
Me smiling sweetly about to knock some heads.
Then my phone rang. Boo is unwell. Boo is vomiting. Boo wants to come home.
My smile widened and I started laughing. Scaring the living fuck out of the fringe dwellers and stopping the arguers in their tracks. I hung up the phone and put my head in my hands. I office was silent. Looks were exchanged.
I couldn’t stop giggling.
I packed up my bag, turned off my computer and left the carnage behind me. Fuckers can deal with it themselves.
I need to have my own private breakdown.
Won’t you join me? Fuck it’s funny.
Popularity: 14% [?]
The air tonight is full of disappointment.
The dude aka Boo, wants to be a drummer.
He is constantly drumming on walls and tables and peoples heads and my back as I scrub his shit off the walls.
The dude wants to be a drummer baaaaaaaaad.
He wants a drum kit for his birthday (fat chance) or from Santa (fat suited chance with a jolly laugh).
Today I humoured him and took him to the music store. I had a little chat with the guy while Boo’s eyes bugged outta his head and he made a very LOUD Christmas list, including his sisters.
Cause apparently we are gunna be The Partridge Family. Or the Osbournes…
So while Boo was losing his freaking mind, squealing and flapping and flapping and squealing and almost taking off in his rapture - ‘the red set Mummy! The RED SET!!! With HI HATS MUMMY! HI HATS!’ - the shop guy who is obviously on commission wandered over with a set of drumsticks.
‘Hey, would you like a go?’
Is the Pope a Catholic?
And he sat him down in front of the electronic drums. The electronic drums that are on !!SALE!! Marked down from $1600 to !!ONLY!! $1400. The electronic drums that make all sorts of awesome freaking sounds and ‘See Mum (arsehat called me MUM! Fucker) you can turn it down so it is not too loud.’
Fucker.
And Boo fell in love.
And he is planning the wedding.
Crap.
Popularity: 19% [?]
Biz Cas Fri
Courtesy of Homestar Runner. Awesome.
Friday.
The traditional ‘Casual Friday’. Usually reserved for the upper management wankers wandering around in their designer jeans trying to act ‘hip’ and ‘cool’ and a source of merriment for the rest of us watching them try to look nonchalant in their pressed denim.
I have never been one to partake in the Biz Cas Fri. I prefer my usual attire of shirt, skirt, wrap of some description and fucking kick arse heels. However this morning that was not to be. I have NO FREAKING IDEA where any of my normal work wear is. I dug into the recesses of my wardrobe, found a rather cute shirt that I forgot I had and replaced my skirt with jeans.
Jeans people. Fucking JEANS. I never wear jeans to work. I dressed it up some, but totally jeans to work.
Meh. Upper management do it.
You wouldn’t believe how many people commented on my jeans wearing arse today. And chicks pinching my jeans wearing arse… seriously. What is with that?
Five minutes after sitting my jeans wearing arse down and getting in to checking my emails, Coffee Bitch comes up to me and asks for a little ‘informal chat’
With him, the head of the whole Department and our lawyer. In the Departments heads office.
That was no ‘informal chat’ people. That was a fucking selection panel.
Informal chatting my jeans wearing arse. I was being interviewed with 30 seconds notice.
Fuck it.
*shakes fist at Murphy, the Universe and everything*
So I get in there, rock the shizz and wander out thinking the only thing that is gunna hold me back is those pesky kids. My spawn. Those blood sucking leeches that are keeping me from working 18 hour days with all their needs and shit. You know all that cooking and cleaning and cuddling and being there and love. Dammit.
Just before I left for the day I cornered the Coffee Bitch.
‘You know I have the next two weeks off right?’
‘WHAT!?’
‘So you need to let me know right now what is going on. Am I here on Monday or not? If I am I will re-negotiate my leave so I can finish this project. Otherwise, tell me who to dump it on’
He dragged me into an interview room.
I didn’t get the job.
*sob*
But.
BUT.
And it is a BIG BUT. Bigger than my jeans wearing butt.
They have created another new position. For me. In the 5 hours since my little ‘chat’. Yeah, baby. I am THAT fucking awesome.
With more autonomy. More responsibility. More moola spindoola.
But I have to work more hours. Which is gunna be, um, interesting.
I can do it. I am awesome. I can handle it all. I can do it all.
Can’t I?
Popularity: 23% [?]
Dirty little secret.
Today I spent the day bleaching the grout of the tiles in the kitchen. Not a secret, but a dirty job. And a very adult thing to do, something that reflects my age.
Like the loads of washing and bathroom cleaning, grocery shopping, being nice to people that I really don’t care for, sorting bills. Adult stuff.
However, there were other things I did today that I shouldn’t admit to. But seeing it is just you and me, let me tell you my dirty little secrets.
You promise you won’t tell anyone? Cause it is sooooooo embarrassing.
*blush*
Firstly, there is a mattress in the hallway. It needs to find a home cause it is one of those excess mattresses that you have to deal with when someone gets a new bed. At the moment it is living in the hall. And every single time I walk past it it just happens to accidentally on purpose, fall on the floor and I just happen to bounce on it. And try and touch the roof. Or see how far I can jump from it. Or just run up and launch myself off it.
It is totally fun.
And the other, Oh Em Gee I can’t believe I am admitting to this, you totally promise not to tell anyone? Like, pinky swear and shit? OK… I am addicted to The Hills. I KNOW, right? So lame. And totally embarrassing.
I just wanna punch Spencer in the throat and slap Heidi silly. And Oh My Gosh! the shoes…
Shut up.
I just finished watching the second season. I watched the first just before the school holidays and then had to wait till the kids went back to watch the second. And it KILLED me.
Please tell me there is more.
OMG! I just checked Wikipedia and there is a Season 3 and 4! WANT!
Ahem.
So I admitted to my mattress jumping, teen show watching, red frog nomming (oh yeah, red frogs for the win!) super secret addictions, tell me yours.
What do you do that is like, totally embarrassing, like?
I promise I won’t tell anyone. It is just between you and me.
Shhhhhh.
*blush*
~~~~~~~~~~~
Watch the green bar at the top of the blog for a new ‘page’ for my rockin’ biatches. You rock that much.
Popularity: 25% [?]
Bathing with a bloggers husband. Not likely.
No news on the applying-for-my-position-that-has-been-reclassified-and-every-other-bastard-wanting-a-piece-of-my-awesome-job front.
Fuckers.
Every day I go in dressed in fabulousness expecting an interview and they haven’t even shortlisted yet.
Fuckity Fuckers.
In other news:
Ewwwwww
Googler found this post. A post where I whine about my mother, post a pic of my girl Jenny and make my husband faint at my awesomeness. Interesting… and *vomit*. I guess that counts for the second search.
Now I am off to eat my body weight in chocolate get drunk tend to my broken child get drunk do some housework visit your blogs.
Popularity: 28% [?]
