Dear fellow users of Auckland public transport – fuck you. You are the reason I prefer to drive.
Specifically, fuck the two females who refused to let me walk past them this morning, despite polite excuse-me’s and then less polite pushing. Thanks, guys, it’s not like I really wanted to catch the two buses that you wouldn’t let me move to flag down, just so you didn’t have to move TWO MORE STEPS on the fucking platform. Just peachy, I appreciate it. Now I’m ten minutes later than I wanted, you’re on your precious bus, and also, telling me to fuck off? Yeah, that would be why I called you a bitch.
You might want to work on that.
I splashed out and bought myself a 900ml tub of Movenpick. Caramelita, because caramel is… let’s just say I’m a caramel girl not a chocolate girl. I can and have eaten myself sick on the stuff.
Tub of icecream: Labelled Caramelita. It’s on the top shelf of a cupboard-style freezer, I yoink it into my basket, and go.
Two days later, I decided to have some. And think “huh, that’s odd, a walnut. And this doesn’t actually taste much of caramel.” But it’s late at night and I kind of forget about it.
Two days later I decide to have some! And there is walnut again, and this time, I notice the LID has a Maple Walnut label.
The tub? Caramelita label, Caramelita ingredients list. The lid? Maple Walnut. The contents? Maple Walnut!
Actually, it’s pretty tasty, I am totally eating it anyway, and I’m mostly just glad I don’t have e.g. nut allergies. And as, somewhat to my surprise, I still have the receipt, I’m contacting Movenpick NZ just, you know. As a polite FYI…
Location: fish and chip shop.
Players: Me; group of mid to late teen boys.
The boys are gathered around a dust bin, using the top as a table for their fish’n'chips and Coke bottles. While waiting for my dinner, various lads have wandered in several times requesting more food, as trawls of pockets and wallets have revealed previously unlocated small change.
I get my dinner, and wander back to the car.
“…. facebook… page … you should … facebook …. nah bro, didn’t you hear they’re shutting Bebo down?”
“Awww, bro, no way, nah, you’re fulla shit mate.”
“For real, bro, shutting it down, you gotta get you a Facebook man.”
“Nah nah, you’re all fulla shit.”
Me: “He’s right. AOL are either selling or shutting down Bebo – check up on Google, AOL are making the announcement next month.”
“Shit, really? Fuck, man, that sucks.”
I get into the car. I hear laughter, as said young man has apparently been “owwwwned, bro”.
“Fuuuck, man, how does some old lady know about Bebo anyway?”
I stopped into a thrift shop that supports the local hospice today. Generally, I shouldn’t be allowed into this place – I find it impossible to leave empty handed, particularly because their range of second hand books is a) good b) cheap.
Today, I left with a purple cushion for the couch ($5), some fake fur fragments (also destined for a cushion cover, $1), and a suitcase. Which is in perfectly acceptable shape, only cost $35, and is coming to the UK with me.
I just got a very entertaining text message from my mother.
The crappy neighbour (long story) had music so loud that Mum’s whole house was vibrating with the *doofdoofdoof*.
Mum has inner ear problems. This made her nauseous. So, she rang noise control.
She’s wandering around the house with a bucket, because *doofdoof* = nausea, remember.
Noise control knocks on the door to advise her they’re about to remove the stereo of the relevant neighbour.
Instead of saying “Thank you very much”, she instead threw up into the bucket.
Apparently this was a very effective way to make her point.