retail...

I've always said I'd never do retail. And I probably won't. This is why:

stuck...

Since Lou was doing his own series of dinner pics, I thought I'd do mine too.


Looks good, no? Well, I'll say this: it tasted like crap. I'm so NOT gonna do steaks with discount beef anymore. Or buy discount beef for that matter. Ergh...

d'oh...

I don't know whether to laugh, or to slam my head against the wall.

After 3 months, I finally discovered that the TV in my room has a remote.

blatant stupidity...

So I'm basically done for today. Nothing left to do but lazing around and random shit. Only problem, I think, is that I'm locked out. Like, of my room. And now, it looks like, out of the house.

First time this has happened to me in like 19 years. I NEVER leave without my keys, unless someone stole them. And today, just as I was closing the locked door, with my brain screaming YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR FUCKING KEYS WITH YOU, I slammed it shut. Particularly hard at that. Ergh. Talk about daft.

So basically, I'm a-stranded here doing nothing, in the Hargrave-Andrew (the library with the freaky artwork), tapping pointlessly on this less than competent computer, while I could be on my way home to doing other pointless things (READ: slacking). Sigh.

Okay. Pointless post. But that's what you get when you lead a rather pointless life.

Meh.

youth...

You know how the General Theory of Relativity states that the faster you go, the slower time moves? Anyway, I really gotta stop taking the train, cuz it's causing all sorts of mental time warps. Like, take this time for instance.

It's like Anzac Day or something, where they make all sorts of peculiar cookies and what-have-yous to celebrate some ageing and senile group of ex-combatants who I don't think really did a whole very much besides invade some country named after some large poultry or some other but I digress.

While in the train, a bunch of old people came in this time, with a better dress sense than the previous group, but still somewhat colourblind. I give them that age dims vision or some other. Anyway, this young-ish looking woman came onto the train and whatnot, and soon, this woman and an old man from the group were bantering, which in itself was an amusing spectacle. Now this old codger was wearing all sorts of medals and stuff and about 5 feet tall, and was obviously being watched over by this tall-ish (in comparison) and pudgy looking dude.

Since I don't basically recall the order of the conversation I'll just go over the gist of it.

Old Codger: So, whereabout's ya from?

Youngish Lady: I from Thailand.

OC: Darlin', I don't care where you from, Thailand, Vietnam, you is be-e-utiful. You married?

YL: Yes, I is married.

OC: Ah. What-a waste. Do ya have any kids?

YL: Yes. I has a few kids.

At this point, this other pudgy white woman adds into the conversation, although it must be said that she was more or less participant, repeating the softly spoken Thai lady's words for the deaf old codger.

Pudgy Woman: Hey, darlin', how old are you?

YL: Me? I am 43 year old.

Oh my. This lady didn't look a day over 25.

PW: Wow. You have gotta be kiddin' me! Next time, when a man asks how old you are, ya can just say that ya 21, cuz you definitely look like it. Like, look at me, I'm 46 and I'm dyeing my hair. I bet sure as hell you don't dye YOUR hair.

At this, the pudgy lady sits next to the Thai lady and they start examining each others' hair, kinda like monkeys grooming.

OC: Hey, I'm 90 years old and I tell ya, I've tried so many things and still I look like some broken down truck. Howd'ja do it?

YL: *blush* Oh, that's because I excercise.

OC: Oh, I sure show you some other excercise.

Gah. Now I feel really, well, infantile. Here's this 90 year old coot flirting with this married 43 year old lady who looks 25, all the while bouncing up and down in the train like some trained bonobo (he was REALLY short, I tell you). I couldn't help smiling at the ceiling when what appeared to be the pudgy woman's husband/boymanfriend began smooching her.

Sigh. Now I feel so, young. Like I haven't experienced much of anything like this. Sure, some people accuse me of being a flirt, but it's not as if I go out of my way to talk that way. It's how I speak! And the LAST time I was kissed by anyone, if I recall (that part of me still kinda remains old), was about a year ago. Sigh.

I don't know. I'm dizzy, and all pumped from that very brisk walk up the hill. Haha. I can still walk briskly.

Ergh. In other news, read this.

tough luck...

Just goes to show, no matter how hard you try, there are some things you just can't change.

maturity...

So I was on the train home, when this group of very LOUD Year 12s (judging from their lack of social decorum and colour coordination), walked in. My first thought was, "oh my, how unrefined." My second thought went more along the lines of, "God, I'm getting fucking old!" Or am now less stupid. But let's stick with old.

The colourblind kids were going on and on about how no sign says they can't screech like nails on a chalkboard or how they couldn't be jumping around like headless chickens. And I was thinking, if I had the level of intelligence of a rock, and a stupid one at that, given my current social views, I'd be saying and doing the exact same thing. And then I noticed that I'd done the exact same thing a year or two back. Gasp! I'm old!

Another sign of aged-ness is how I'm actually able to give out sound and socially acceptable relationship advice both to straight and gay people. Previously, all my opinions were based entirely on logical deductions of the situation and rarely on any sort of prior experience. Let it be said now, though, that any sort of experience I've had is still pretty limited, although from that pool, a whole mine full of random crap has allowed me to give people life-changing opinions and stuff.

I suppose the ultimate sign of old age is when you actually start scrimping like you're ona fixed income. Like, I ACTUALLY stop and look at prices these days. And caloric content and ingredients and stuff. And fabric types and washing instructions. And, God forbid, expected product lifespans.

Sigh. This clinches it. I'm old. And I haven't even done much. Like, none of that fantastic binge boozing I've heard so much about, or all that head banging at those pointlessly loud and noisy clubs, or random sex with random people (or any sex for that matter), or much in the way of normal two-person relationships. Sigh. Old old old old old.

Coupled with my worsening attention span and memory, this only leads to further proofs. And I actually enjoy furniture shopping and arranging, recipe books, and colour coordinated outfits. Old, or maybe just gay. Hmm.