My Pet Hates

Well, dear readers, two posts in one week! I know that i am spoiling you, but I feel that, as my loyal fans and devotees, you all deserve it.

I've had a hell of a day. The kind of day that makes you want throw random objects at innocent people. The kind of day that leaves you wishing you had the guts to tell rude old people to get fucked (harsh, arent I?).

Today it seemed as though people were going out of their way to piss me off. Whether they knew it or not, it seemed that every person knew exactly what my pet hates were and all were intent on turning my day into my own personal hell......

So here we go. My pet hates. In a list, on a blog, for all the world to see. Hopefully those of you who apparently love to go out of your WAY to annoy me (and I know you are out there, im just hoping that you are reading this blog) will take some notes....

1) One word replies to text messages. Really people, why waste your 30c? Why waste money on stupid text messages that say things like "ok" or "cool" or even worse "yup" (worse because its not even a real word, even the online dictionary describes it as slang). A certain man in my life sent me an annoying one worder today (and yes it was the evil "yup") which irritated me so much that I almost threw my phone in front of an oncoming truck. My figuring is: if you cant do me the decency of writing me a complete sentence, or at the very least the text version of a complete sentence, the DON'T BOTHER WRITING AT ALL. Easy.

2) People who call me "girly" over the phone and then assume that Im either a receptionist or a secretary. These people are generally older males, and they generally think that they can talk down to me and treat me like an idiot who wont understand the "big words" that they are saying. Just because I am female and I have a nice phone manner does not mean that I work in a role that involves me picking up some overpaid assholes drycleaning or filing his paperwork. No offence to all those secretaries and receptionists out there but that is NOT ME and if it ever is me, I will take my own life. Wait though, secretaries arent called that anymore are they? Personal Assistants now, thats right... bet thats their pet hate- being called a secretary! However I think that even if I WAS a receptionist or a personal assistant, these horrid old men would still be one of my pet hates.

3)People who mispronounce words. For instance "aks" instead of ask, "liberry" instead of library, "excape" instead of escape. I mean really, its cute when you are four years old, but when you are thirty-three and you need to aks me directions so you can excape to the liberry, it really doesnt sit so well. If you can't pronounce simple words, take a class, practice your pronunciation, or if all else fails, say something else. Request directions so that you can hide in the big place with lots of books for christs sake, I dont care.
Dont get me wrong- this isnt an issue with slang, or shortening words or anything like that. I also dont have problems with people who cant pronounce big words- deoxyribonucleic acid for example - even funny names like Dzminski - they arent a problem, because WHO CAN pronounce those words unless they have a triple degree in science, english and russian history?

4) (and finally) Big women in tiny clothes. You know the ones. Size 20 and trying to fit into a size 12? The ones whose guts are so huge that they not only fall over the waistband of their pants but actually hang out from under their shirts? You see them all the time- big fat girls wearing little tiny outfits that make them look like really bad comedy skits, fat bulging out tight sleeves, pouring from under tiny skirts and pooling around ankles adorned with impossible heels. For some reason, I find these people sad and kind of frightening. Sad, because it seems that they have bowed to social convention and think that they must squeeze themselves into ridiculous outfits in the name of fashion, and frightening because they have the guts to wear these outfits and seem to think that they actually look hot in these outfits. I also worry about where their friends are- I mean if I close friend of mine was about to walk the streets with more muffin top than clothing, I would stop them and tell them. And I would like to think that if I were to do the same, my friends would tell me. The only thing worse than a cheap slut is a cheap slut with cankles and a gunt. Really.

Ok well thats it. Now you know that I am a horrible person with really stupid pet hates. Oh I did forget one, the one about people who try to force their religion on me, but in these times of vilification tension and hate, I thought I would leave that one for another time.....

Have fun

Traumatised

Thats right dear readers, as above. I am traumatised.

I have spent the last 15 minutes doing something I would have to say is the most disgusting and unnecessary thing that I have every had to do. So disgusting that I am this close to declaring myself vegetarian and joining a hippie commune in far north Queensland.

I guess I should start from the beginning.

My beloved other half, in all his divine wisdom and incredible intelligence, bought himself a frozen chicken to stuff and roast. Now the man of my life is a relatively good cook (when he feels like it that is), and for him the joy and challenge of making stuffing and shoving it up a chickens arse is quite satisfying. Not so much for me...

Now love of my life took this chicken out of the freezer to defrost on Sunday, as he had grand ambitions to create his take on the traditional culinary masterpiece that is the Sunday Roast. This chicken has now sat in the fridge until today, which is wednesday, awaiting the attention and genius of my love. This, unfortunately, was not to be.

It started with an email. Honey, do you want to cook the roast? Well yes, I thought, I am a capable woman, I can breach corporations to court for large amounts of money, I can do 8 pushups on my toes, I can make several different variations of stir fry and a great red curry, OF COURSE I CAN ROAST A CHICKEN!!!!

Love of my life then emailed me a complicated recipe that involved apricots, breadcrumbs, onions, lemon rind..... oh and about 6000 other items that I have blocked from my mind through trauma.

I took one look and thought, hang on. I stick what where? He wants the apricots up.... there? APRICOTS UP WHERE??!!??

So, I begin. Cook the onion, heat the apricots, mix the stuffing. Easy. Sort of like a cake. So, full of confidence and smug pride in the fact that I can ROAST A CHICKEN, I take take the next step. I took the frozen chicken out of the plastic freezer bag.

Um can i say EW and YUCK. First of all, there was DEAD CHOOK BLOOD. pouring out of that disgusting carcass! And cold loose chicken skin. And then the worst bit, the chickens arse.

Now I tried really hard to spoon the stuff up it, keeping my hands as far from the dead chooks rear as I possibly could. However this is very time consuming, considering you have to hold it open and carefully press it into place. So, out of frustration and distress, I grabbed the gobfuls of apricot muck, and stuck my hands right up there too. It was the single most horrifying moment of my life ( i have an irrational fear of raw chicken). I was raping a dead chickens arse. If I was a chicken I would feel violated.

Dont get me wrong, I have roasted before. But to me a roast is a pre-prepared chicken roll that i bung in the oven with a couple of potatoes and some pumpkin. Not a whole chicken with horrible skin and a rear end that requires my attention.


Now I feel dirty. i feel like I need to cleanse my entire body, to scrub the feeling of raw chicken arse off my body. I am horrified. I think I am going to need counselling to recover from this horrifying ordeal. In fact, I am going to have a shower right now and take in the big scrubbing brush to scrup this off my skin.......

Toodles