Ink 'n' Shit 'n' Short Posts

I know it always seems rather shallow and close minded of me to have the majority of my posts discussing the male species... But in reality, the rest of my life is so cocking boring. Like, all the time. Sometimes you just need a bit of male drama to spice things up a bit. It's times like these when I start considering new tattoos.

I got both of my tattoos this year. One very spontaneously and the second actually planned. And after the first one, I felt incredible. It was like I was a new woman with my recently dyed bright red hair - I soon contracted tonsillitis and the redness only emphasised how deathly pale I looked so I phased into ginger and now auburn (so Winter 2014 dahling) - and I went everywhere with my top hanging off my shoulder trying to ever so nonchalantly show it off.

It was then, utterly coincidently, that I met LB. Then TGI happened. Then Troy happened. Then TGI once more. Then the beginning of LB. Then I got the second one on my 19th birthday.

And this one felt different. It felt as if it had always been there - I wasn't constantly rolling up my sleeves to show it off or waving my wrist in people's faces. It felt natural and like it was meant to be. Augustine (volunteer at work, remember) once said that he thought my tattoos were really cool. Cool has never been an adjective used to describe me so I take to repeating it at every possible moment.

But now I'm thinking; so much happened after the first tattoo. And nothing appears to have occurred after the second - apart from the obvious getting my heart slightly bashed about by an arsehole future lawyer. Then again, this may just be another 'stars and shit' moment. It is, of course, rather idiotic to place such trust in astrological situations or fresh ink stabbed into your skin.

Ughhhhhh. I need to DO something. Not just sit around slowly gaining weight and losing money due to a ridiculous amount of Domino's ordering that has taken place the past few weeks. I feel this should be the time that I get super fit and hot and flaunt my new found fitness and hotness in front of LB. But that feels like it'll take a lot of effort. And I've got to get through half the works of Shakespeare for my exam next week.

Maybe I'll just try and jump Tall Australian at work on Sunday? Don't knock it till you try...

You never know, he might turn round and be all...

(You know I can't help it.)

'I'm Up Early On Sundays...'

Ah, Tall Australian. Now the only man left in my life. How much it doth pain me that we can only see each other a mere 10 minutes a week. You brighten my Sundays and it's as if you just don't care that I am all kinds of crazy busy haggling two Indonesian puppets whilst there's a queue of epic proportions waiting at the till for me. No, you just wait for the crowds to part so you can set eyes on my stressed out face.

I swear to God, those bloody Indonesian puppets were nearly the end of me.

So, I have control of the shop on Sundays. I have the keys and do the banking and all that shit. But it also means I am in charge. It means that customers ask me things and I am the highest member of staff in the store and am therefore required to know things. I do not know many things. I make a hell of a lot of things up. Especially when I am too lazy/busy/stressed/tired/hungover to think otherwise.

Like with the Indonesian puppets. This is an Indonesian puppet. (Say Indonesian puppet one more time, Nancy...):

Basically, we had two of these puppets sitting on the top shelf by the till. They hadn't been there last week and since I'd called in sick yesterday with a 'stomach bug' (read: sad and hungover having cried over LB in the rain at the beach like a pathetic troll) I had no idea about prices. They had a card in front of them saying they were £60. But of course, the grand question here is: £60 for both or £60 each?? 

This is literally what my life is coming to. Pricing Indonesian puppets.

Anyway, a man asked me to get one down for him. Like the obedient shop assistant that I am, I went up the stepladder and lifted it down. Apparently the base was not attached. So as I was up a stepladder in a very crowded shop, holding this bloody puppet by its waist, the base came sailing down and crashed into the CD player.

Ever the professional, I did not swear. So fucking proud of that, you have no idea. I told the customer that if it was damaged, I'd give him money off. It was not damaged. Nor was the other one I took down. Yet lo and behold, as I went behind the counter, he asked me if it was £60 for both or £60 apiece. As this was happening, more and more people were coming into the shop, minding their own business and swanning about as if the most stressful thing in the entire world wasn't about to happen before their very eyes.

I told Mr Man that I had no idea but would have thought they would be £60 each. But, ever the dutiful and awesome sales assistant, I said I could phone my manager and asked. So I did. I had to run downstairs to the phone and call my assistant manager on her mobile - thus leaving the shop floor devoid of shop assistants and only two volunteers there. These volunteers, although being utterly fabulous in every single way, do not work the till. So I knew there would be a huge till queue forming. And having confirmed with the assistant manager that even though it was supposed to be £60 each, we probably wouldn't sell them for that so should sell them for £60 each.

So I went back upstairs to be greeted by the heaving masses and that bloody till queue and told Mr Man the deal. He then decided to haggle with me. Yes, we are a charity shop (not telling you which one cos it said in my contract I'm not allowed to write anything bad about them and I probably already have somewhere and I presume they have eyes everywhere and am not willing to risk that. Kidding, I actually work for MI5) but even charity shops have pricing guidelines and rules and shit. 

I was getting so pissed off. I'd already had to strip down to a vest top as I was getting way too hot - therefore exposing my other tattoo which is tiny and not obvious at all but people, especially older ones, get very judgeypants so I try to avoid it when I'm at work. Anyway so I was obviously looking very stressed and worried and not impressed with any of the goings on. Eventually I agreed that, yes he could have them for £50 just so he would get out. As much as I do not like admitting defeat, I knew it would go on for ages. 

So he bought his bloody puppets and fannyed about with wrapping them and shit then left all jolly-like as if nothing had happened and he'd just gone into a shop and bought something and not left the poor assistant DISTRAUGHT.

Anyway, Tall Australian had evidently come in during this debacle so once I'd cleared my queue and re-shirted, he came up to the counter and was all like, gday.

I'm so tired after writing that rant about the Indonesian cocking puppets that I can't even remember what I was going to say about Tall Australian. Except I'm pretty sure he's going to propose to me in the next few weeks. I'll keep you posted.

Even Augustine (one of the volunteers) noticed that Tall Australian was being all flirtypants. He found it highly amusing so I yelled at him and threw a soft toy elephant at his head. Always the professional.

Oh! I also nearly killed a child today and felt so bad I gave his Dad £1 off the jeans he was buying. I'm just a decent human being, I really am.

Those fucking puppets. I swear to God.

Fairly Odd Bumblefuckery

I have some very sad news.

The tall, handsome Australian who comes into the shop on a Sunday has a wife.

I think.

Have I mentioned Tall Australian before? I don't think I have. He's about 35 (age is but a number), always comes to look at the books (men who unashamedly read are my favourite) and we were going to be together forever and ever (planning a June wedding). But obviously now we're not.

In other news, I have none.

Nothing.

I had not heard from LB in 3 days until I texted him last night. And I was being so good at being cool and aloof for those 3 days. I don't get it though. Aren't people supposed to text each other every day? This was news to me. I'd asked one of the girls in my Lain class (aren't a pretentious intellectual twat) what I should do because he hadn't texted me in 3 days and she was like, Nancy that's nothing, that's fine.

And she should know. She's married. She is the first of my friends to be married. She's 21. It very much scares me. Not that I have a problem with people getting married young, that doesn't phase me at all. No it just scares me that they are mature enough to do so. I mean, you have to be pretty mature to make such a commitment to one person for the rest of your life?

I asked her if it scared her that she'd only ever be with this one person as the thought terrifies me. Instead, she said she was excited. Excited to spend all this time with him. They've been married for about a year and a half and had dated since she was 17.  I have immense respect for her. I can really see she just unashamedly loves him - and is in love with him. She also has a Harry Potter tattoo which is why I spoke to her in the first place.

I think that's what I'm a bit worried about - being in love with someone. When I dated Troy, I loved him. I knew I loved him as soon as I broke up with him. But it was the love that was just like deeply caring for someone. I don't want to say I loved him like a brother or anything, mainly because I have no siblings and anyone I know with brothers detest them, but I loved him.

I was round at his the other night because he had pizza and we were going to watch Lord of the Rings because to his utter dismay I have never seen it. And honestly, I could definitely be in a relationship with him again. I haven't told any of my friends this because they'd immediately be all, NOOOOOOOOO YOU DON'T NOOOOOOO etc. But I'm not saying I want to be with him again - not at all. Just that we work well together. He once said we're a bit like Cosmo and Wanda which insulted me for a bit because I always thought Wanda was a bit of a dick to Cosmo who was fucking awesome. But to be fair, it was a pretty damn good comparison.

If you idea who I am talking about, please take this time to educate yourself you uncultured swine:

Anyway, as I've said before somewhere probably, the reason I broke up with Troy was because I wasn't attracted to him. I couldn't sleep with him. I feel slightly weird writing that straight after Fairly Odd Parents videos.

Which brings us back to LB - I am attracted to him. But doubt I could be in a relationship with him - not that it's going in that direction in the slightest - because he's an arse. But an arse I appear to have fallen for slightly. Does that mean there's a possibility that I could in the future, be in love with him? Hm. Let's hope not.

Not even going to ask what I should do here as I am well aware I am just sitting in limbo with him. Ho hum. 

Please tell me some of you remember Fairly Odd Parents? It's not just me right? I'm not old yet?