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Wednesday, 23 June 2004


Topic: Hurtling to Obscurity

I didn't mean to blog again today, but I have to fucking externalise, or I'll end up knocking on neighbour's doors to tell them to fuck off, like I did all my colleagues' offices today. Yeah, right, calming down and going back and apologising, that was fucking fun.

Day started with cat puke all over the kitchen. Feh. I'm wise to that by now. You just wipe up the stuff on non absorbent surfaces, and step over the stuff that's soaked in. Damn cat was disgusted, and spent the day fastidiously ripping things up and tugging them into the kitchen to cover the old puke with. Me, I'm not bothered. Houseproud? I can't even be bothered to look at the place I live in right now. It's just a shell, a cover from the rain. Soon as it's brighter, I'm moving on. Long as I don't step in it, it's not my concern. And I wonder why those subsequent dates are so hard to come by.

Next, I ripped a chunk out of my cheekbone. I've got one of those cuts that's dark, still opens a bit, like a stab wound, and is dark - too dark. More blueish purple than blood coloured, just so you know there's muscle under there, and it's half way to hanging out. I woozily took my concussion off to the nearest nurse and gained twenty minutes of numbing ice pack, which I then felt guilty for bleeding all over, then get back to work, love, we've decided you're covering all the extras today. Clients all pointed at the weeping gash, and red blush spreading across one side of my head and asked what I'd done to myself. Yup, they got the entire story. I asked them to let me know if blood ran down the side of my face, and they helpfully agreed.
The cut's right on the edge of my cheekbone, so apparently, I won't get noirish panda eye in the morning, but the right side of my face is already lifting off from the skull and sponging itself outwards in a pink swollen mass. The extra plumpness and blush went through a moment or two of actually looking quite attractive, although the contrasting deathly pallor and unfocussed gaze of the left hand side doesn't really help. And I suppose the open wound on the bone line is less Princess Fiona, more Shrekish.

Staggering about with my head injury, I was more than delighted to give up all my tea and lunch breaks to deal with the client overspill from Uber-Boss's pisspoor planning. And it was just yummy that my own appointments were supplemented by Hippy Boss sending me a coachload of Russians who'd come to see how 'differently' we do things over here.
A coachload of Russians.

I mean, we all have bad days, right, we all have the odd accident that gets triplicated and magnified till we feel like shit. But a coachload of Russians is no fair.
A coachload of sodding Russians is rubbing salt into the wound then pissing on it.
Take the worst day you've had this month, go over it in your head, then try to imagine a scenario in which adding a coachload of bloody fucking Russians would ease the strain. You get me?

No matter how many panicky memos I sent scrawling 'I don't think this is the right place for them to be, hint hint', 'do you really want visitors to see this shambles?', or 'I had no warning for this!', 'take them away early, at least', they were all greeted with a strangely Dystopian scribble 'they have no agenda; please accept them.'
It can't have been in anyway instructive for the Russian hordes, either - unless they have #7K worth of technology available in every office back home, there's no way they could reproduce what I was doing. Although judging from the cherry red elastic jumpsuits, heavy gold chains and inexplicable gold vaseline-shimmer smears across the bridge of each Russian's nose, they may possibly do it with more style.

So now I have to blog it all out like a bloody saddo, 'cos I find out now that one of the things of being single is there's nobody there to say 'oh you fuckwit', or 'oh shit, you didn't?', or even perhaps 'yeah, you're right, that looks like it needs stitches'.

I didn't tell you how I cracked open my cheekbone, did I? Oh the usual fuckwit simpleton style stupidity. I slammed a car door on my face.

I'm my own bloody court, judge and jury, I am. And a hanging judge at that.

Best Blo'te of the Day So Far: Fuck Everything
"Google search: how to perform an autopsy pics
This... Is really disturbing. I don't think anyone should be taking a DIY approach to autopsies. And I had better not be seeing Autopsies for Dummies on the book shelves anytime soon.
"Autopsy? Autopsy?! I can't WHACK off to Autopsy! Orrrr can I?!?"

This page graced by sarsparilla at 5:15 PM BST
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Wednesday, 23 June 2004 - 6:13 PM BST

Name: Tess
Home Page:

Hey now, if you're ever looking for someone to call you a fuckwit, I'll volunteer - just as a favour to you of course.

I shut the car door on my face once, and it was horrendously painful. I caught my cheekbone and the tears streamed out of my eyes and bucketfuls (or should that be bucketsful?) of snot poured out of my nose even though I was not crying. I had a black eye for almost a week - everyone thought my husband had hit me.

Wednesday, 23 June 2004 - 7:22 PM BST

Name: Kat
Home Page:

You shut the car door on your own face? I had no idea we possessed the same level of style and grace. I'll ignore your cat puke if you can ignore the dog hair/dryer lint/substance that prefers to be called 'Steve' (I know - it told me). One thing I will say for myself, though, is that I'm completely Russian-free, so that's something.

Wednesday, 23 June 2004 - 8:22 PM BST

Name: Saltation
Home Page:

hate those days where everything tips against you
maybe this was karmic rebalancing, the universe getting back on track after your "closure" day

(boring but useful: once the cut's sealed and healing, keep massaging Hirudoid into it to stop it scarring. ~#2 any chemist, also great for reducing bruises quickly)

Thursday, 24 June 2004 - 4:37 AM BST

Name: April
Home Page:

You could have fallen in a pool of waste water on your laundry room floor on your hip because your @#%$! landlord won't fix things like I did this weekend. Eww! We all have pissy days, unfortunately I can only make others feel better while still feeling down for myself. Just tell the neighbors off, you'll feel better.

Thursday, 24 June 2004 - 2:33 PM BST

Name: Rev
Home Page:

What with work and all, I haven't had nearly the time I would like to keep up with blogs, emails, and the like. Working 4-day weeks, now, should give me back some time to waste flipping through blogs and getting my daily dose of cynicism from abroad. ;)
So, hey, how 'bout them Russians?
We had a gaggle of them staying in my dorm one year at school - 35-50 yo Russian exchange students that were in the US to study economics, Madonna, Budweiser, and Michael Jackson. The nights of vodka and pickles should have left me dead.

Thursday, 24 June 2004 - 4:03 PM BST

Name: dark_angel
Home Page:

And I was looking forward to growing up and owning my own car.. Heh Heh
Hope your wound heals soon. May the healing be with you!

Thursday, 24 June 2004 - 4:20 PM BST

Name: MF

This morning I wanted to leave home and stepped in the car, started out in reverse, drove 2 meters and hit my gf's car which was right behind mine. Parked. On the driveway. Baaam. I didn't see it. So the advantage of being single, well...

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