Touched by an Angel

July 25, 2011

Today I had a massage and while it was meant to be a treat for myself before I begin my new job and attempt to climb the public service ladder I realised I don’t feel comfortable with people touching me. So what a treat, I get to feel like a bit of a whale beached on a hard plastic table where I imagine the woman who is doing the massaging looking at my white trash/care bear inspired heart tattoo and wondering who exactly hurt me.

And damaged I am you see I keep doing strange things, letting my crazy out through objects and food. Case in point I went through a phase where whenever I opened a tub of yoghurt I would blow on it to cool it down as if it was a bowl of hot soup, it happened so many times I’ve stopped eating yoghurt. Or a common one, leaving my car keys in odd places like the ignition of my unlocked car for three hours while I lunch. Or throwing them in my recycling bin on two separate occasions which left me no choice but to tip it over on my lawn and go fishing for it usually in front of my disapproving elderly neighbours.

I went out socializing with some of Andy’s work colleagues at Burswood on saturday night and during the celebration I had what Oprah might call a light bulb moment. Thank fuck I am married because my friend there are slim pickings out there. Small Vietnamese women, a couple of extras from the movie romper stomper or an extremely overweight female Bogan stuffed into a boob tube and a kmart options plus leopard mini skirt. I know because I have the same skirt but I do the world a solid and wear long black leggings underneath so to hide my chunky legged shame. I danced to a cover band in the middle of the casino with these freaks, all to please a 48 year old Canadian woman I barely know, I guess my humiliation means nothing if I can put a smile on a foreigners face. That being said the highlight of the evening had to be when the band played “their” final song…a cover of my most hated song, Kings of Leon sex on fire- ha! just listening to an ugly cover band singer belting out his rendition of that horrid song should have been enough punishment but instead I danced to it and watched while the elderly asian and very loving couple behind me sang along grinding at each other as tenderly-elderly as possible.

The really sad thing is if I was single I probably still wouldn’t have been picked up by one of those losers.

Love
A happily married Enid (thank the lord)
p.s Upon re-reading this post I am aware that I come across as arrogant and a bit racist/ageist! It was not the plan, I only embrace my arrogant tendencies 🙂

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Thoughts for a lazy Saturday

August 14, 2010

Ever since I can remember I’ve had this little paranoid suspicion that my life is a television show, it always seems like my wacky adventures and strange coincidences are somehow scripted. I know this is ludicrous and probably some throw back to “I am a teenager/child and I am the centre of the universe syndrome” but it kind of freaks me out. It also provides an easy explanation for the slowly rotating cast of people who inhabit my life. One minute they are ever present and the next they are gone without much fan fair.

In another edition of “ever since I can remember” I’ve never done well in the arena of closing a transaction at a supermarket or shop. I try to do it quickly because as a past check out chick I know how frustrating it is when people loiter forever before leaving the counter, slowing the whole line up. It’s kind of super embarrassing and mostly my fault since I always carry over sized handbags, possess chubby little fingers that fumble with wallet zips and coins and none of my clothes have pockets for easy access. For example today I went to the local Kardinya shopping centre thinking if I go around 9am most people will still be in bed or enjoying breakfast on a Saturday morning and I won’t have to suffer through crowds of annoying, dazed and confused weekend shoppers but alas my plan was foiled by an early rising suburb. I was at the newsagency attempting to purchase the newspaper and some tubes of birthday wrapping paper. The newsagency man came up to me and put some elastic bands around my purchases because he said “I could see you were struggling” I was simultaneously grateful and insulted by his gesture.

My final thought is why can’t I find a pair of fancy clip on earrings that don’t have the word “drag” in their description? I’m trying my darnedest to get all “gussied” up for this ball but my allergy to gold and metals is once again standing in my way…