Gibberish

Weird things are afoot in the highlands....

Not really.  No more than usual I'm thinking.  Bunch of northern weirdos.  Ha!

What the hell am I talking about?

Well it's been a quiet, part rainy, sweatfest this weekend.  I can't understand it.  One moment it's monsooning (new word alert!) from the heavens and the next, even your ears are sweating like tiny moist cauliflowers.  It's most unpleasant. Make up your mind, weather. Jesus. I appreciate the desert even more now.  It might be five hundred degrees and out to kill you in a hundred different, nasty ways, but at least your cleavage remains dry as a Death Valley canyon.

Only you know...less sandy.  Or deep. Or less full of psychopathic hippies. Usually. Moving on...

I have a Miley Cyrus song stuck in my head.  And this can't be normal for any human being who isn't actually demented.  It won't leave.  It just dug in its hooks and there it is on a loop.  How do I even know this song? I am alarmed at my psyche and its devious grasp of social media. Git out damn song! I recant my invitation.

That works for vampires, apparently.

Another Monday morning looms.  Won't someone make them illegal already? Huh?  Here's to you all having great weeks.

Thursday Rhymes with "Worse Day"

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Today work was out to kill me.  It often is on Thursdays.  It's some cosmic law made by some colossal knobhead.

I don't know why Thursdays particularly, but they are always busy, stressful, tiring and leave you muttering to yourself on the bus afterwards and rolling your eyes like someone who's got a weekend pass from an asylum. Obviously by "you" I'm being loose here.  I mean ME.  By lunchtime on Thursdays I'm usually cursing inside my head and wondering if I have a wine strong enough to cancel it all when I finally make it home.

To make matters worse, THIS Thursday - today - it was raining heavily enough to sail to work.  That might be a touch dramatic but you get the picture. RAIN. And warm too.  Too warm to wear a coat.  I had no normal formal work type of umbrella but managed to find an old transparent plastic thing - the kind that comes right down over your face like a giant plastic tent-bubble.  It was emblazoned with the words I "HEART" LONDON on front. It might have well have announced "I am a tremendous douchebowl". I have no idea where this monstrosity came from. I have no feelings about London either way. Mostly I want it to shut the hell up and send me its weather.

I had two choices - lose my dryness or lose my dignity. Thankfully dryness won out because, plastic tackbrella in hand, I got outside to find that some plebian fuckwad had moved the entire bus shelter, leaving only a pathetic pole in its place with a bus stop sign nailed on.  What the actual feck? WHO MOVES THE BUS SHELTER ON THE RAINIEST DAY OF THE YEAR?

Who moves a bus shelter at all?

So I stood there in the pouring rain, in my damp work pants and little cardigan and big fuck-off, "I AM NOT ON TOP OF MATTERS", umbrella straight from 1979, and said a bad, bad word.  Then I planned to immediately eat some cake upon arrival at work and felt better.

The end.

Not really.  What I'm saying here is Thursday is a huge asshole and I am not friends with it.  Hope your Thursdays were/are better?  I'm off now to maybe open that wine...

Hot and Royal

Wednesday, July 24th, 2013 - Alive And Kicking

There are times when you are actually blindsided by things you didn't expect. Like getting all enthused and excited about recommencing blogging with gusto; with boring everyone senseless with stupid swear words and thoughts no one cared about to begin with; with your latest works of art or embarrassing stories - only to find out that your fingers have no idea what to do to make the words come out, the second you sit down at the keyboard. And you ask yourself, "Jesus eff Christ, Veg, has it really been that long, you cretin?"  And the answer is always "Yes.  Yes it has."

But here I am typing nonsense anyway, and I have no idea what, because I have no plan I'm just seeing what happens when I make my fingers dance. So you know, be prepared for some yawning.

Did you know we've had a heatwave for the past three weeks? Because we have! Seriously, don't pass out cold.  No rain till yesterday and even then I was chill about it. "You go ahead and rain, dude." Today the nice weather is back.  It's like a beautiful dream.

Of course a heatwave here really means "Meh, it's a lot nicer than usual". The hottest day we had was about 29 degrees (about 85 degrees F) so you can see, this is just a normal warm day anywhere else on Earth.  For us, however, it's a goddamn, world-melting, lavafest where everyone sweats and complains a lot about the sweating, the lack of air conditioning, the store being out of ice pops, how your butt cheeks feel slippery (really) and all the news can talk about is HOW HOT IT IS.  Because even though we've cursed the rain every single day for a year, we don't really know what to complain about without it.

Except, then the royals had the audacity to interrupt this good cheer by birthing a future king to steal attention away from our heatwave. Me, me, me, thanks a lot royals.  I'm not sure I care about royal stuff but hell, good luck to them and their new royal child, who I don't mean to be mean but, I hope looks like his mom.  It's just that in the boy side of that family they seem to give birth to adorably blonde, tousled, cute little imps, who age into frightening gargoyles with no hair.

In further proof of just how darn awesome I am, in a work poll this week I correctly forecast two of his names and my colleague nailed the third. We rule!

I was still hoping for "Joffrey" though...