Good Lord!

They’re trying to bloodywell kill me. Or *squinty-eyes* perhaps just break my Aussie spirit. Seven days straight of having to arise at the ungodly hour of six thirty. I wonder how many shit filled bloomers and undies that actually equates to…hmmm.

Evil bloody church goers.

But woaah, I did partake of a party the other week. I happened to be working on HouseKeepers/Laundry Appreciation Day. Oh Joy! Bet yers didn’t know there was such a thing uh. And let me tell you it was some paartay. Yeah, if yer a ten year old. If ye’ve ever seen one ice-cream smeared face, I seen ten of them that day. I thought they were all gunna go into mass hysteria/orgasm when the red pop was drug out for the ice-cream floats. I tell yer, it was hard to contain meself when that happened.

But anyway, it’s the thought that counts. Or that’s what I was telling myself whilst I was sitting there looking at the assorted freaks and geeks. Arhaaha. That’s funny. Or maybe its just funny inside mah head.

On the maintenance side we have head honcho MartyTheMole…he’s kinda weird looking. At first I wasn’t sure if he was part chinese/part hillbillie but I think he just has really bad eyesight, hence the slanted/squinty eyes behind the big glasses look. He don’t talk to me much, although maybe we have broken the ice when he did bark out a laugh in agreeance when I replied ‘They’re about even, aren’t they?” When he was wondering aloud who was worse, HappyFlapsLynn or Pottie. [I’ll be introducing Pottie to you all later…no doubt. She has the ability to give me a case of the tomtits [shits], so you just know she’ll be further “explained”. HaHa]

Then there is…uhm, I don’t recall his name. So I shall christian him ChewBaccah. And it’s not because he’s hairy. He has that drooped bottom lip look . I don’t believe he is all there. Harmless and friendly enough. He calls me Maam. I don’t discourage the maam calling by telling him my name. Only because it sounds so cool to be called Maam…*grin*. He has asked me if I was Austrian and if I knew that crocodile dundee guy. Of course I said Yes to both questions. Arhaaha no I didn’t.

Then there’s DAVE. Dave don’t talk much. Just smiles and nods. I think the cat bottle has got Dave’s tongue. The whiskey soaked face kinda gives me that impression.

Got a real good look at HappyFlaps at this party. My first good close up of her. She’s really quite odd looking. She kept smiling at me. I would grin back, then try not to look at her again, because every time I did, she’d catch me looking and smile at me again. It was like I was caught in a game of smile and grin tennis for rejects. Too bloody funny.

Later on she came up to me and welcomed me on board. Which was very nice of her, even if the first time she said it, I didn’t really quite understand what she said. I think the combination of her small rat like teeth, talking really fast and with less vowels, got in the way of my comprehension there. The next sentence along with her next breath, started her on the topic of her daughter Miff and the BabyDaddy moving out. She hasn’t spoken to me since.

Pottie looks like a cartoon witch [or better still] an aged Alice from Wonderland with a previous acid addiction. She has that Mortica Adams hair going on…but where Morticia’s is all sleek and black, Pottie’s is white and more straw like in a loose ponytailed bun. Her face looks all bubbly, not bubbly as in her facial expression [that’s very dour] but her skin. Like molten wax. But not from a fireburn.

She has a very small, tight mouth, that never happens to just STF up. Some days her whine really grates.Thank Bubbha she doesn’t have lunch with me all the time. I’d have to bloody strangle her if she did. I do believe the others around the table would pay homage [I’d ask fer cash] to me tho.

Usually seen and heard shuffling along in her work day telling all and sundry [in whatever they happen to be doing] that “I can do that…or I’ve done that before”…“Yeah. How bout you go do yer fucking laundry” is what I [Live in] hope someone will say to her one day. She has a habit of asking me “how many loads have you done today…I did ten/eleven last night”…I bite down on my reply of “Yeah but you didn’t fold and put them fucking away did you, You old Hag” and just say “dunno I don’t count ‘em”. And I don’t, I keep bloody forgetting too.

But ooone daay Alice. Pow right in the kisser. With the laundry load data.

Ha!