Increasingly these days I have become aware how much I hate people. I can't even put my finger on exactly why, thats just how I roll. They annoy me so much I often find it hard to articulate. Their rudeness, the way the walk slowly in front of me, or stop suddenly in the doorways of shops, to their very voices and the way they breathe. How sick is that? I can't even stand people performing the very basic functions of life. Obviously I'm a massive hypocrite. Its not like this hate comes from any real sense of superiority (although I have built up a pretty big faux sense of it). I know I'm isanely annoying, and I suspect I may actually be 3% retard, but does that stop me? Hell no!
Yesterday a friend and I were shopping in the city when one of the girls standing behind us on the escalator dropped her mobile phone. She panicked and went to great lengths to try and pick it up in an effort to "save" it from falling through the gaps. My friend and I just stood there and stared at this girl with looks of utter disgust on our faces. As if her phone was small enough to fall through the cracks! It was just going to end up sitting at the bottom while the machine rolled past. What a freaking moron. And in her pathetic attempt to rescue her phone she very nearly got her hair caught in the freaking thing and we would have had ourselves a nice scalping.
Immediately after this we both realised that we most likely would have done exactly the same thing in the situation. We are bad people. Just for the record I also loathe people with customized number plates, and people with stickers on their car saying "hilarious" things such as I do what the little voices in my head tell me to, even more so. My definition of an idiot would have to be anyone who spends money on that sort of rubbish.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Don't Call Me Voula
First of all, let me say that I have nothing against Greek people. I loathe people in general, but I do not discriminate on the basis of ethnicity (Gingers are a different issue altogether). I do however, strongly resent being 'accused' of being Greek by what often seems like everyone and anyone.
I have been assumed to be Greek by both acquaintances and strangers too many times to mention. The most disturbing time was when I was ever-so-slightly drunk and wandering around Borders after work (a story for another time, perhaps). The flamboyant man working at the information desk kept looking in my direction. I'm a paranoid person at the best of times but this afternoon I was seriously freaking out. Obviously he could tell I wasn't sober enough to be book browsing. He was keeping an eye on me, so as to ensure I didn't fall into a display and/or damage the stock. Truth be told, there was a very high likelihood of that happening, but I resented the attention, justified or not. He came up to me, looked at me in a strange way and asked me very sweetly "Are you alright dear?"
I mustered all my strength to sound sober and well-to-do when I replied that "I was perfectly fine, thanks", while all the time thinking "HE KNOWS! He knows I'm a drunk-in-the-day-type-slag!".
He gave me another odd look and walked away. Convinced that he was on to me, I forced myself to calmly flick through the cookery section as I imagined a regular sober person might do. But before I could even get through Nigella Lawson's Feast he was back in my face. This time I was certain he was going to say something. And say something he did, although it wasn't at all what I expected.
"You know, you look just like my friend Voula Popa...(insert undecipherable Greek name here)."
I must have looked alarmed because almost immediately he tried to placate me with assurances that this Voula he spoke of was the "most stylish lady", as well as being "utterly fabulous". I laughed my lame faux-laugh. He lingered for a while, obviously wanting to discuss the fabulous Voula in more detail, but I was having none of it. Besides, it was very taxing trying to stand still and focus on his chubby little camp face. Eventually he went on his merry way. I was now angry as well as tipsy. All I wanted to do was run out of the store, and away from the bad man who said I looked like a Voula... but for some inexplicable reason I didn't want him to know that I hated him. So I spent another 10 minutes browsing with all my strength, trying to look super-interested in everything I picked up in an effort to look completely un-phased by the whole thing. Yet all I really wanted to do was yell at the top of my lungs, "I. AM. NOT. FUCKING. GREEK!"
People are so retarded. I don't even look that Greek. Olive is not a word one would use to describe my complexion. Indeed, some might say I am "pasty as all fuck". Granted, my hair is dark, but its dyed, and in my opinion obviously so. My name is of Greek origin, but no one knows that unless I tell them. And no, my name is not Voula. Or Effy for that matter.
What spawned this rant was a call I received at work today. The man on the other end was pleasant, we went through the usual things, then at the end of the call he asked for my name. We got into a conversation that anyone with an unusual name knows well. "Oh, that a pretty/unusual name.. you don't hear that often... where does that come from?" etc. I realised it was a mistake to tell him it was ancient Greek as soon as the words fell out of my mouth. "Oh, are you a nice Greek girl then?"
I started trying to tell him that it was just my name that was Greek but he'd already drawn his own conclusions... "Oh, you're a naughty Greek girl then!?!"
I could almost hear the wink.
At least he didn't tell me I sounded like his cousin Voula Dimitriadis.
I have been assumed to be Greek by both acquaintances and strangers too many times to mention. The most disturbing time was when I was ever-so-slightly drunk and wandering around Borders after work (a story for another time, perhaps). The flamboyant man working at the information desk kept looking in my direction. I'm a paranoid person at the best of times but this afternoon I was seriously freaking out. Obviously he could tell I wasn't sober enough to be book browsing. He was keeping an eye on me, so as to ensure I didn't fall into a display and/or damage the stock. Truth be told, there was a very high likelihood of that happening, but I resented the attention, justified or not. He came up to me, looked at me in a strange way and asked me very sweetly "Are you alright dear?"
I mustered all my strength to sound sober and well-to-do when I replied that "I was perfectly fine, thanks", while all the time thinking "HE KNOWS! He knows I'm a drunk-in-the-day-type-slag!".
He gave me another odd look and walked away. Convinced that he was on to me, I forced myself to calmly flick through the cookery section as I imagined a regular sober person might do. But before I could even get through Nigella Lawson's Feast he was back in my face. This time I was certain he was going to say something. And say something he did, although it wasn't at all what I expected.
"You know, you look just like my friend Voula Popa...(insert undecipherable Greek name here)."
I must have looked alarmed because almost immediately he tried to placate me with assurances that this Voula he spoke of was the "most stylish lady", as well as being "utterly fabulous". I laughed my lame faux-laugh. He lingered for a while, obviously wanting to discuss the fabulous Voula in more detail, but I was having none of it. Besides, it was very taxing trying to stand still and focus on his chubby little camp face. Eventually he went on his merry way. I was now angry as well as tipsy. All I wanted to do was run out of the store, and away from the bad man who said I looked like a Voula... but for some inexplicable reason I didn't want him to know that I hated him. So I spent another 10 minutes browsing with all my strength, trying to look super-interested in everything I picked up in an effort to look completely un-phased by the whole thing. Yet all I really wanted to do was yell at the top of my lungs, "I. AM. NOT. FUCKING. GREEK!"
People are so retarded. I don't even look that Greek. Olive is not a word one would use to describe my complexion. Indeed, some might say I am "pasty as all fuck". Granted, my hair is dark, but its dyed, and in my opinion obviously so. My name is of Greek origin, but no one knows that unless I tell them. And no, my name is not Voula. Or Effy for that matter.
What spawned this rant was a call I received at work today. The man on the other end was pleasant, we went through the usual things, then at the end of the call he asked for my name. We got into a conversation that anyone with an unusual name knows well. "Oh, that a pretty/unusual name.. you don't hear that often... where does that come from?" etc. I realised it was a mistake to tell him it was ancient Greek as soon as the words fell out of my mouth. "Oh, are you a nice Greek girl then?"
I started trying to tell him that it was just my name that was Greek but he'd already drawn his own conclusions... "Oh, you're a naughty Greek girl then!?!"
I could almost hear the wink.
At least he didn't tell me I sounded like his cousin Voula Dimitriadis.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Swearing Is Caring
I love it when people swear. Actually, I love it when usually polite and well-mannered people swear. The more inappropriate or out-of-context the better. Today a girl I work with and I were bitching about someone who had pissed us off, for a very boring work related issue, that would mean nothing to you even if I were to explain it in great detail. Then somewhere, out of the blue, she called this person a cunt. I am certain I have never heard her swear, not in the almost-two-years I have worked with her, and there was no swearing pre-empting this "c-bomb". I loved it. I absolutely loved it. Nothing is better than the surprise swear. Nothing.
I feel I need to tone down my swearing. Not because it is inappropriate and tends to offend people in the office and the world at large, but because I'm swearing so much these days that its lost its meaning. Not even a Joho Witness that I work with bats an eye-lid when I call him a cunt these days. And really, once the c-word moves into common usage, what will we have? Nothing! The c-word is the last bastian of swearing. Once its said, there is no where to go. It is officially the most offensive word in the English language. Sure, one can try and conjure up hybrid words such as "fucktard" and "whore-bagel", but the c-word is the ultimate. I do however, find that calling someone a "semen glugging road whore" leaves people stumped more often than not.
I feel I need to tone down my swearing. Not because it is inappropriate and tends to offend people in the office and the world at large, but because I'm swearing so much these days that its lost its meaning. Not even a Joho Witness that I work with bats an eye-lid when I call him a cunt these days. And really, once the c-word moves into common usage, what will we have? Nothing! The c-word is the last bastian of swearing. Once its said, there is no where to go. It is officially the most offensive word in the English language. Sure, one can try and conjure up hybrid words such as "fucktard" and "whore-bagel", but the c-word is the ultimate. I do however, find that calling someone a "semen glugging road whore" leaves people stumped more often than not.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Dear Sofia...
I want Sofia Coppola to direct my life. Not a movie about my life, there certainly ain't enough material for a film, but my actual life. Imagine! It'd be all pastel, sun-drenched loveliness, with cakes, fashion and boys. And a freaking killer soundtrack. Man, the more I dwell on it the better it gets.
Sofia would make even the the dullest of days seem beautiful and glorious... although even she would have trouble applying her artistry to the horrible horrible presentations we had to do today at work. I will admit that the group I was a part of performed the best, but the experience as a whole was little more than an embarrassment. The presentations made up the final piece of the business administration training that we have been coerced into. As she bid her farewell the trainer-woman wished us good luck and, looking directly at me, told "us" to go forth and prosper because we had "a lot of potential". I know she was trying to be encouraging, but it just made me feel sick. I would "go forth and prosper" as she said if I knew, even vaguely, in which direction to go forth in. I need a map. That's what I need, a freaking MAP! Why doesn't Lonely Planet make guidebooks for LIFE? This is bollocks. I'm going to go back to watching the new commercial that Sofia directed and pretend it's my reality.
Rub those bunions bitch!
Sofia would make even the the dullest of days seem beautiful and glorious... although even she would have trouble applying her artistry to the horrible horrible presentations we had to do today at work. I will admit that the group I was a part of performed the best, but the experience as a whole was little more than an embarrassment. The presentations made up the final piece of the business administration training that we have been coerced into. As she bid her farewell the trainer-woman wished us good luck and, looking directly at me, told "us" to go forth and prosper because we had "a lot of potential". I know she was trying to be encouraging, but it just made me feel sick. I would "go forth and prosper" as she said if I knew, even vaguely, in which direction to go forth in. I need a map. That's what I need, a freaking MAP! Why doesn't Lonely Planet make guidebooks for LIFE? This is bollocks. I'm going to go back to watching the new commercial that Sofia directed and pretend it's my reality.
Rub those bunions bitch!Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Wot You Call It?
According to Wikipedia - my source for well, everything - some of the symptoms of a Quarter Life Crisis include, but are not limited to, the following:
- Feeling "not good enough" because one can't find a job that is at one's academic/intellectual level
- Insecurity regarding long term plans, life goals
- Re-evaluation of close interpersonal relationships
- Nostalgia for University, High School life etc.
- Boredom with social interactions
- Financially-rooted stress (overwhelming college loans, unanticipated high cost of living, etc.)
- A sense that everyone is, somehow, doing better than you
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