Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Yeah! Happy 15th Birthday Heathen!
What’s the bet that I see my heathen of a son straight after school today? I’ll be very bloody surprised if I don’t, as it’s his birthday today and he knows something was sent from The States. Bastid custom people stole my fucking BBQ porkskins again. Soon as I read the sticker saying they’d checked it out, I knew my porkskins would be gone. Nice to see they didn’t make a liar out of me.
Rat PorkSkin stealing bastids...A Pox on yer private bits!
Received a call from the Brisbane Doctors office yesterday. I passed my medical with flying bloody colours. My words not hers. Should have it all back to me by Friday. Phew. Now, just gotta wait on my Police Certificate. That’s right! I get a sir-tif-fee-cat. Lookout! I might be certified.
What? What do you mean it doesn’t allow me the right to strip-search people.
I was exceptionally busy today. I liked it. Liked it more when I got it all done. I even remembered to bring home some empty boxes, bubble-wrap AND the bloody shredder, waayhey me; a true...FIGJAM moment.
Now I just have to get it all out of my car before tomorrow.
I delivered two meals to a pair of new shut-ins today. Upon entering their home I had the disturbing thought of burying them out in their backyard and start living in their house with all their “stuff”. Beautiful old house with fabulous furniture. All heavy wood with black iron. I reckon I could take the old girl. Would just need to shut her up first...yack, squeal, bloody yack yack. Her husband, Creeping Jesus would be easier done. Why, I'd just point to the sky and wait, and wait, oh and wait a tad more, for him to look where my finger was pointing, then help him gently down into the freshly dug hole.
I am currently living in a shitfight. My flats a total mess. The pile of stuff for my sister is growing every couple of hours. I’m being super harsh with myself. Super. Although I do know I will be digging through two of those “packed” boxes, reclaiming some of the stuff in them.
Just until I really-really go.
The thought is still there in the back of my mind, that I could still get knocked back at the immigration interview. I hate interviews. I believe I have only ever had like three job interviews in my whole twenty plus years in my working life. Egads. Nothing like what they can be like today. And really this interview is most important. It’s the difference between marriage and divorce.
But really, how could they knock me back.
I’ll just have to remember to blind them with my innermost charm, poise and wit. Arhaa!
"Oookay, don't mess with me now, I'm Packing".
Wonder if they'd laugh or just grunt like the Doctor did when I told him "He had the hang of it now!". He'd been trying to work one of them roll-on white-out tape duvee's on the misspelling of my middle name. Luckily I have good reading comprehension skills, unlike his bloody snooty receptionist. I love those things, been using them fer like *pause* eons *eyeroll*. I stopped myself from taking it out of his hand and showing him just how it's bloody done. He became almost human like when my Mum entered his office to try and answer some of my medical history. She has that effect on most people. No, she wasn't much help in the questions. Heh.
Speaking of packing. Better pull the finger out and go do a few boxes.Labels: Family and Assorted Fucktards, Toejam
Posted by apositivepessimist ::
11:34 pm ::
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