>Last month I suggested that if I had the appropriate signage taped to my back, I would find me a job. Just the mere mention of a sign woke the universe up and I’m gainfully employed at a kick-ass company.
Well, universe… pay attention to this: Perhaps I would have more luck finding a boyfriend if I had a sign like this taped to my back.
Today I had to go to Waitrose to buy headache tablets (no sleep + beer = headache). I asked my boss if she wanted anything and she asked me if I could get her a banana – “the largest one I could find”.
Post cheeky grin but before I could say anything, the HR Manager (who was in the office at the time) said, “Don’t even start”. She’s cool: she knows me pretty well. We all had a laugh about it and off I went to buy myself some painkillers and “the largest banana” I could find.
I found a good sized banana (if the bananas in Waitrose are any indication of the overall *ahem* available “banana” sizes in England… I’m in the wrong freaking country) and put it on the scale to get a scanny-sticker for the checkout girl. Well, these scanny-scales are rad. You put your food on the scale, find the category that your food is in, then push the picture of your food. Bananas are an easy one as there are only two things in the category that the bananas are in.
Bananas and nuts.
I don’t think I have a particularly dirty mind… but I really can only think of one way that bananas and nuts belong together in the same category, and it is more abstract symbolism than anything else. Am I missing something here or do I really have the dirtiest mind on the planet??
>I’m lazy. I admit it. I know it. It isn’t that I don’t like to cook, I just don’t want to. So, tonight I’m having an eclectic* dinner of beer, baby carrots, and later… popcorn. I’m only blogging about this less-than-spectacular dinner fare because of the carrots. I’ll explain in a minute.
I’m very happy with the beer. It is a Fuller’s Organic Honey Dew (“Refreshing Golden Beer”) and although it is definitely NOT a Sleeman’s Honey Brown, it is a tasty beer.
The popcorn that I am going to go make in a moment was actually a present from a flatmate. I had asked where I could get the sort of popcorn one makes a mess of the stove with in this country, and she found some for me. I plan to make it soggy with the goodness of hot sauce.
The carrots. I don’t really like raw carrots. I like cooked carrots (I bet my moms is shaking her head as she reads this… when I was younger I hated cooked carrots. Now: yummy) but I’m not as big on the raw ones usually. I think it is because the big ones are a pain to cut up, and embarrassing to eat whole (as Brendan says about bananas… I never know where to look when I’m eating a big ole carrot either). I hate those genetically mutated little wee carrots too. They frighten me and they are just plain wrong. And I know they are wrong because I always think that I’m choking on them when I’m eating them. It is as though they don’t want to go all the way into my stomach. Carrots should not possess the mental prowess to rebel against being fully digested. And I can eat 5000 of them and somehow feel flipping hungrier when I’m finished.
But these are special baby carrots. They are real carrots picked small – not the like those other freaky carrots that are given anti-growth serums to retard** their growth. They remind me of raiding my friend Trish’s garden when we were seven (except those carrots were better because we were “stealing” them and they got washed off with a garden hose). These carrots were grown especially for me by “Clive Evans” in Spain. I don’t know who Spanish Clive is… but grazie for the carrots, dude. The packaging further tells me that they are “for a variety of cooking uses or raw in salads”. I’m not that dedicated: I just ate ’em. Right. From. The. Package. With beer.
The best part of the packaging though is this: “trimmed. young & tender”. And oh, the jokes I would like to make about that! I’m not saying anything though and you can just imagine where my mind went with that one…
*I was so sure that I spelled that incorrectly that I looked it up. Twice.
** Heh heh.
>At what age do normal people grow up? Because I’ve spent a good deal of this week manipulating an image of the world to show which countries we currently work in for a presentation. And I can’t help but notice how many countries look like wangs. Like Norway and Sweden, hanging out up at the top of Europe. Have a look at a map. Another good one is the southern-most… uh… tip (heh heh) of Brazil if you include Uraguay. I can’t believe how immature I can be sometimes.
Ann Elin wrote (on 23/02/08):
Hey! Who`s country are you calling a wang? What is a wang anyway??
Jodi-Wan wrote (on 23/02/08):
Apparently it is a word that only I use meaning “penis”. 😛
Ann Elin wrote (on 24/02/08):
Oh good I thought it might be something offensive..
Brendan wrote (on 05/03/08):
Do you know that person or do they search the net randomly, looking to uphold the honour of their wangesque countries?!
What about Italy? A pretty deformed wang, I’ll grant you, but a wang all the same. Don’t give me this “boot” shit.
Jodi-Wan wrote (on 14/03/08):
I know that person! I met her and her family in Langkawi at Zach’s, Christmas (I didn’t say “Xmas” just for you, B) 2006. She’s a lovely person. She just happens to live in a wangish country.