Finally got me money on Friday. Not all of it though. Your one with the face wouldn't give me the previous weeks money as it had been called back into the system. I asked what that meant and she said "Because you hadn't of collected it last Friday your money is sent back and you'll have teh go into the Social in towiin and tell them yeh missed your week" I asked "I missed a week of what?". She said "Next!"
As each week passes and I remain unemployed the missus grows more and more pissed at me. We barely see each other and when we do it ends in an bleedin' row. She's having to work more and more hours and more and more days to cover our mortgage re-payments, loans and bills. I can't really bring it up in conversation as she's doing so much while I can't earn a penny. The dole money I got is already gone. I only got one night out of the money before the missus took the rest to feed the wolves. She can have her hobbies but I can't. What's that shite all about? She goes to the gym or yoga every night of the week and now she's started to go on these retreats at the weekend. It doesn't add up to me. I've always been cool with the missus doing her own thing and what not but this doesn't ring true. She's behaving in a way I've never seen before. She's changing. She looks different. She smells different. Somethings not quite right. I'm getting suspicious. I think she might be starting to get fit.
Last time we spoke, about a week or so ago, she said "I'm Adam Ant that we need to take on a lodger to help pay the bills". I asked "What's a washed-up 80's pop star got to do with our financial woes?" She screamed "Adam Ant!" or more like "AdamAnt!" I asked "Is that cockney rhyming slang for something?" She replied with tears and screams and by smashing a fruit bowl with a giant spatula.
Tuesday, 26 February 2013
Friday, 22 February 2013
FIASCO FRIDAY
Fiasco last Friday. I went back to the post office, wandered around again trying to find a queue. No luck. Even though the office was full of people standing around, sitting around and leaning on walls around. No queue. There must a been 50 people in there. I think most of them were getting benefits as well as they all had drivers licences or passports. It frightened the bollocks out off me (not literally). I thought: Is this what happens to you when you get unemployed?- Too lazy to queue. I decided I didn't want to live in a country that didn't have what it takes to form an ordained queue. I was making a stand. One man against the.......(just realised I mispelled organise-couldn't be arsed changing it).
My revolution was crushed by Colin Errol, the post office manager. He gave me my wallet and took me to one side (the entrance/exit) and explained the ticketing system they used there now. So, when I need to pick up my benefits or post a letter or .... (I can't think of anything else to do in a post office, either could he, bizarrely) I hit the electronic screen with the tip of my finger (not fist) and take the ticket with a number on it and wait for my number to be called. The manager demonstrated this for me and gave me his ticket. I laughed uncontrollably at my stupid and the fact that I thought the numbered announcements was a form of electro-dance. I assumed it was Kraftwerk's latest release. It wasn't. I cancelled my purchase on amazon. He didn't laugh. I think I may be the only person who has ever laughed in a post office. I must check the Guinness book of records. The manager said that the new system was better, quicker and more efficient (One of my favourite words that, efficient. I used to describe my business as efficient to our customers. They liked it. It's what they call a U.S.P.: Universal Selling Point). I looked at the ticketed number Colin gave me '269'. I looked at the last number called '82'. I leaned against the wall. Then I walked off. Hopefully I can get my first benefits next week as the wolves are scratching at the door and they've already devoured Little Red.
My revolution was crushed by Colin Errol, the post office manager. He gave me my wallet and took me to one side (the entrance/exit) and explained the ticketing system they used there now. So, when I need to pick up my benefits or post a letter or .... (I can't think of anything else to do in a post office, either could he, bizarrely) I hit the electronic screen with the tip of my finger (not fist) and take the ticket with a number on it and wait for my number to be called. The manager demonstrated this for me and gave me his ticket. I laughed uncontrollably at my stupid and the fact that I thought the numbered announcements was a form of electro-dance. I assumed it was Kraftwerk's latest release. It wasn't. I cancelled my purchase on amazon. He didn't laugh. I think I may be the only person who has ever laughed in a post office. I must check the Guinness book of records. The manager said that the new system was better, quicker and more efficient (One of my favourite words that, efficient. I used to describe my business as efficient to our customers. They liked it. It's what they call a U.S.P.: Universal Selling Point). I looked at the ticketed number Colin gave me '269'. I looked at the last number called '82'. I leaned against the wall. Then I walked off. Hopefully I can get my first benefits next week as the wolves are scratching at the door and they've already devoured Little Red.
Friday, 15 February 2013
Mother-a-Jaysis!!!
Mother-a-Jaysis!!! The queues at the post office this morning. I was there 10 minutes before opening and the queue to get in was huge. You'd swear they were giving out free money inside. It's only a post office for God's sake. I haven't been to a post office in 9 years. I had to renew my passport and, feck, how much the post office has changed. (Just noticed I've typed 'post office' a lot already so must refer to it by other names from here on in.)
After joining the end of the queue outside (at the time it was the end but not for long-just thought I'd point that out as may cause some confusion later) and, eventually, getting inside, I was like a hair caught in the floodlights. It was so futuristic. I wondered around inside for a bit, trying to figure out where to go for my dole money. I couldn't figure out what happened to the queue. It was working grand outside. Then as soon as the doors opened it crumbled like a bungalow of cards. I was in France once (don't ask) and that's what it was like in the post shop-chaos and garlic (without the garlic).
I saw this man who was behind me in the queue (he had joined the queue after me so I was, therefore, no longer at the end) go to the counter and do his business (not that you filth!! he just dropped off some parcels). It made me angry. I thought (I've been doing more and more of this thinking this past few weeks, internally) I thought I'm gonna confront him about jumping the queue (which no longer exists but I remember a time when it did-2 minutes ago YOU SHIT!!) But I decided against it as I'm a polite person who lives in a civilian society. Then when he walked away, I saw the counter clear so I stepped forward. Then this bitch steamed in front who had just strolled into the ...into the send things away department. SHE WASN'T PART OF THE QUEUE!! SHE WASN'T PART OF ANY QUEUE!!! I roared, internally. No one heard me.
The queue atheist finished up and I could see an aul wan inch toward the free counter, another feckin' queue deviant. Enough was enough and I had had enough of it. I jumped to the free counter (literally-it was a good 7 foot jump. In one:) Gave yer man the yellow slip they gave me at the welfare office. He asked me for my I.D. I said "Whaaaat?!" He said "We can't give you your benefits without photo I.D." I said "What like a driver's license?" He said.....well he didn't say anything just half closed his eyes, nodded and grunted something that sounded like "Tum-tum". I usually carry my driver's license with me when I'm driving. I searched my pockets, slapped me wallet on the counter as it was obstructing me root, and it wasn't bleedin' anywhere I needed it to be at that moment 1) In my hand 2) In yer man's hand, or 3) Somewhere in between. Because I hadn't driven to the letter depart port, I thought I'd save money on the petrol, about a quid. But, instead, IN-FUCKING-STEAD I'm €188 down!! How has that happened?!! How the feck did I manage that?!! I asked myself, externally. No time to think it through internally or externally as yer man with the head behind the counter was telling me "You'll have to come back later with photo I.D." That and the aul biddy beside me was prodding me with her umbrella going "You stole my number" or something like she's got my number or something about her pension. I can't remember clearly as I was too angry too communicate so I stormed out (not literally-the shop was relatively dry and lacked any wind-swept quality when I left).
I arrived home. First thing I did when I got home (here) was start this blog as I found it helps me relax and feel good. And it's worked again!! :).....Just realised I left me feckin' wallet on the bastardin counter in the ....in the.... in the queue-less and lawless postal wasteland.
After joining the end of the queue outside (at the time it was the end but not for long-just thought I'd point that out as may cause some confusion later) and, eventually, getting inside, I was like a hair caught in the floodlights. It was so futuristic. I wondered around inside for a bit, trying to figure out where to go for my dole money. I couldn't figure out what happened to the queue. It was working grand outside. Then as soon as the doors opened it crumbled like a bungalow of cards. I was in France once (don't ask) and that's what it was like in the post shop-chaos and garlic (without the garlic).
I saw this man who was behind me in the queue (he had joined the queue after me so I was, therefore, no longer at the end) go to the counter and do his business (not that you filth!! he just dropped off some parcels). It made me angry. I thought (I've been doing more and more of this thinking this past few weeks, internally) I thought I'm gonna confront him about jumping the queue (which no longer exists but I remember a time when it did-2 minutes ago YOU SHIT!!) But I decided against it as I'm a polite person who lives in a civilian society. Then when he walked away, I saw the counter clear so I stepped forward. Then this bitch steamed in front who had just strolled into the ...into the send things away department. SHE WASN'T PART OF THE QUEUE!! SHE WASN'T PART OF ANY QUEUE!!! I roared, internally. No one heard me.
The queue atheist finished up and I could see an aul wan inch toward the free counter, another feckin' queue deviant. Enough was enough and I had had enough of it. I jumped to the free counter (literally-it was a good 7 foot jump. In one:) Gave yer man the yellow slip they gave me at the welfare office. He asked me for my I.D. I said "Whaaaat?!" He said "We can't give you your benefits without photo I.D." I said "What like a driver's license?" He said.....well he didn't say anything just half closed his eyes, nodded and grunted something that sounded like "Tum-tum". I usually carry my driver's license with me when I'm driving. I searched my pockets, slapped me wallet on the counter as it was obstructing me root, and it wasn't bleedin' anywhere I needed it to be at that moment 1) In my hand 2) In yer man's hand, or 3) Somewhere in between. Because I hadn't driven to the letter depart port, I thought I'd save money on the petrol, about a quid. But, instead, IN-FUCKING-STEAD I'm €188 down!! How has that happened?!! How the feck did I manage that?!! I asked myself, externally. No time to think it through internally or externally as yer man with the head behind the counter was telling me "You'll have to come back later with photo I.D." That and the aul biddy beside me was prodding me with her umbrella going "You stole my number" or something like she's got my number or something about her pension. I can't remember clearly as I was too angry too communicate so I stormed out (not literally-the shop was relatively dry and lacked any wind-swept quality when I left).
I arrived home. First thing I did when I got home (here) was start this blog as I found it helps me relax and feel good. And it's worked again!! :).....Just realised I left me feckin' wallet on the bastardin counter in the ....in the.... in the queue-less and lawless postal wasteland.
Sunday, 27 January 2013
A weekday weekend
Things not good with the missus. I got me dates wrong, first lump of dole isn't due till next friday. So, no partying this weekend. She wasn't happy. First benefits can't come soon enough (financial ones)......or maybe they can? I'm a bit confused by that saying. The benefits can come soon. Why throw the "enough" part in? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!
Anyway the missus has been doing the sums, the maths, the calculations, the spreadsheets and it's not looking good for us keeping on top of the bills. We may have to rent out a room in the house. I said I'd feel uncomfortable letting a stranger stay in the house. What if he's an axe murderer? Or an accountant? Death by bludgeoning or death by boredom? She said we may have no choice as we need another revenue stream to keep the wolves away from the door. I'm pretty sure wolves are extinct in Ireland, I said. She shook her head and said nothing.
Anyway the missus has been doing the sums, the maths, the calculations, the spreadsheets and it's not looking good for us keeping on top of the bills. We may have to rent out a room in the house. I said I'd feel uncomfortable letting a stranger stay in the house. What if he's an axe murderer? Or an accountant? Death by bludgeoning or death by boredom? She said we may have no choice as we need another revenue stream to keep the wolves away from the door. I'm pretty sure wolves are extinct in Ireland, I said. She shook her head and said nothing.
Wednesday, 23 January 2013
Weekday Regret
Just read what I wrote other night. So, so sorry to everyONE who read it. I was hammered and was feeling really bad. Me and the missus barely spoke yesterday (Monday) and not at all the previous day (Sunday). She's back in work and I'm back on me own with nothing to do.
I got a letter telling me I have a meeting in the Job Center. Something to look forward to. It's in 3 weeks though. No idea what to do untill then. Have to pick up unemployment benefit on Friday. Feel wierd about it. I've done no work these last 2 weeks so I feel like I don't deserve the money. Actually, that's the same feeling I had on Saturday in the pub and then when I was inside me missus that evening and then chowing down on that kebab. That's wierd. So, I suppose, maybe then, that I, perhaps, felt like I, probably, didn't deserve to be in the pub. I didn't feel like I deserved to be inside me missus. I didn't deserve that kebab. I think that's it :) I didn't deserve those pints! I didn't deserve to watch my team win! I didn't deserve my ejaculation! Jaysis! This is new territory to me. I've never thought about this kind of thing before. Actually, I don't think I've ever thought before. It feels good to think. There's a relly nice, warm sensation in my brain now..... Ah shit!! The bath's overflowing and dripping through the ceiling......
Sunday, 20 January 2013
Not to plan
Bad day. Never felt so sad. My team won. Mates laughed at me jokes. Lovely food. Then this wave of sadness washed all over me face, head and shoulders. I couldn't enjoy anything. The 5.30 game. The more pints. The quickie quickie with the missus. At best I felt indifferent about it. She said she had never seen a grumpier face orgasm.
We fought all night. It wasn't her. It was me. I feel like a dickhead. Not that I feel like I have a dick for a head 'cause that makes no sense.... I feel like an asshole. That's bleedin stupid!!! How would I or anyone else know what it feels like to be an arsehole? Or a dickhead? Or a tit,a vagina or a ballbag? It's all nonsense the way we speak!!....Well, I suppose a mouth would know what it feels like to be an arsehole when you get sick. Sick would definitely taste better than shite though. I've tasted sick and depending on what I've been eating, sometimes it can taste alright. The best sick I had was after eating hamburgers in town, then motion sickness on the bus back home. But I was too embarrassed to get sick (it was rush hour) so I held it in my mouth. My cheeks ballooned to the size of a pair of small boobs (about the size of a ducks), then I swallowed the hamburger puke. It tasted okay. It tasted like hamburgers and gherkins.....Shit! Where was I? Shit!... Oh yeah, I've never tasted shit but I've smelled it and it smells like shit. I can only imagine what it tastes like but I'd rather not imagine it because I'll just get sick (out of mouth)....So, to wrap up, I'd prefer to be a mouth. What the fuck am I shitting about?! I'm way to platsered to be in control of a geeboat. I'm pissed and tired and sleepy and knackered. Goin' bed. After a dump or a puke. Me belly hasn't decided yet.
We fought all night. It wasn't her. It was me. I feel like a dickhead. Not that I feel like I have a dick for a head 'cause that makes no sense.... I feel like an asshole. That's bleedin stupid!!! How would I or anyone else know what it feels like to be an arsehole? Or a dickhead? Or a tit,a vagina or a ballbag? It's all nonsense the way we speak!!....Well, I suppose a mouth would know what it feels like to be an arsehole when you get sick. Sick would definitely taste better than shite though. I've tasted sick and depending on what I've been eating, sometimes it can taste alright. The best sick I had was after eating hamburgers in town, then motion sickness on the bus back home. But I was too embarrassed to get sick (it was rush hour) so I held it in my mouth. My cheeks ballooned to the size of a pair of small boobs (about the size of a ducks), then I swallowed the hamburger puke. It tasted okay. It tasted like hamburgers and gherkins.....Shit! Where was I? Shit!... Oh yeah, I've never tasted shit but I've smelled it and it smells like shit. I can only imagine what it tastes like but I'd rather not imagine it because I'll just get sick (out of mouth)....So, to wrap up, I'd prefer to be a mouth. What the fuck am I shitting about?! I'm way to platsered to be in control of a geeboat. I'm pissed and tired and sleepy and knackered. Goin' bed. After a dump or a puke. Me belly hasn't decided yet.
Thursday, 17 January 2013
UH!!
Done NOTHING this week. It feels so wrong. I could barely stand, sit or lay still. The house is spotless. I cleaned the kitchen, bathroom and living room every day this week. Even the front porch got a good seeing to. I've scrubbed my front door knob so many times this week I can see my disapproving face everytime I look at it.
Missus has been working crazy hours (at her work). Then she goes to her yoda class or pillities class, then, when she gets home she eats and goes straight to bed and straight to sleep. We barely see each other. Actually it's probably about the same as when I was working. So, we fully embrace our time together at the weekend when she's off and so are my mates. Well looking forward to the weekend: football at noon down in The Horse's Exit. Chow down on thier lovely pub carvery. Nip to the bookies for a few cheeky bets. Few more pints. Watch the 5.30 game. Few more pints. Back home. Catch up with the missus. Down a few cheap tinnies of our favourite Eastern European lager: Kurwaski. We have a quickie quickie. Shit, shave, shower. Then it's my turn to scrub up. Then out we go for our romantic night: pints with the lads and their birds in The Duck's Arse. Cheap shots in Twazzles. It's 10 sambuca's for the price of 6 and a half in there on Saturdays. And ladies get a free jug of Slippery Nipple if they flash their panties and boobies. It's great!! My missus always says no at the start but that's why we have a skinfull before heading there so she, and my mates birds, are less reluctant. Then we're all nicely oiled heading into The Cumingoes Bar to boogie the night away.
Missus has been working crazy hours (at her work). Then she goes to her yoda class or pillities class, then, when she gets home she eats and goes straight to bed and straight to sleep. We barely see each other. Actually it's probably about the same as when I was working. So, we fully embrace our time together at the weekend when she's off and so are my mates. Well looking forward to the weekend: football at noon down in The Horse's Exit. Chow down on thier lovely pub carvery. Nip to the bookies for a few cheeky bets. Few more pints. Watch the 5.30 game. Few more pints. Back home. Catch up with the missus. Down a few cheap tinnies of our favourite Eastern European lager: Kurwaski. We have a quickie quickie. Shit, shave, shower. Then it's my turn to scrub up. Then out we go for our romantic night: pints with the lads and their birds in The Duck's Arse. Cheap shots in Twazzles. It's 10 sambuca's for the price of 6 and a half in there on Saturdays. And ladies get a free jug of Slippery Nipple if they flash their panties and boobies. It's great!! My missus always says no at the start but that's why we have a skinfull before heading there so she, and my mates birds, are less reluctant. Then we're all nicely oiled heading into The Cumingoes Bar to boogie the night away.
Monday, 14 January 2013
Virgin-Time
First weekday unemployed ever. First day off, bar weekends, bank hols and holiday hols, ever. I can't remember the last weekday I had off. Probably pre-pre-school? And what did I do then? Wake up at 5 AM 'cause I shat myself. Get fed. Play with my toys for a while then go for a nap before din-dins. I can't do that now. Can I? Although, a siesta after playing Fifa, after my fiancee feeds me breakfast in bed, after I wake up 'cause I shat myself sounds pretty--well no, I won't finish that. Maybe do without the self indulgent excrement. Without that it actually sounds okay, like a good day. Tolerable. Loserish!!! Can't believe I'm unemployed. Can't believe it.
No idea what to do today. I've had so little 'free time '(although time is never free, we pay for time with bad backs, over-powering incontinence and underwhelming flatulance) as an adult. 21 years and counting...not sure if that's correct. Do you/we class an adult at 18? At driving age? At legal age of content?...SHIT!! That's not what it's called...legal age of context...converge??? SHIT!!! I dunno. Anyway, legal sex age...where was I? Oh yeah, I'm 36 and this is my first day of unemployment. Any suggestions what I can do?
The missus had to work this weekend so I spent it eating feta and cleaning the house, so that boring box has been ticked for a few days. Watched great darts final this evening. such clinical brutal dominance!!!-fair play. While watching the match I thought to myself that darts is the only sport i can watch and not feel guilty about gorging the weeks cheese.
No idea what to do today. I've had so little 'free time '(although time is never free, we pay for time with bad backs, over-powering incontinence and underwhelming flatulance) as an adult. 21 years and counting...not sure if that's correct. Do you/we class an adult at 18? At driving age? At legal age of content?...SHIT!! That's not what it's called...legal age of context...converge??? SHIT!!! I dunno. Anyway, legal sex age...where was I? Oh yeah, I'm 36 and this is my first day of unemployment. Any suggestions what I can do?
The missus had to work this weekend so I spent it eating feta and cleaning the house, so that boring box has been ticked for a few days. Watched great darts final this evening. such clinical brutal dominance!!!-fair play. While watching the match I thought to myself that darts is the only sport i can watch and not feel guilty about gorging the weeks cheese.
Friday, 11 January 2013
Let go, oh no!!
I got what's been on the cards for a few months today. What has been on most cards for the last few months has been christmas trees, Santa and Jesus (at various stages of hair length) but not on mine. The sack has been on my cards for months (and it wasn't Santa's bulging one).
First time in my life I don't have a job. First time in my life I don't have to get up early on Monday morning. First time in my life I'm scared. A load of pints have put an end to that nonsence! I co-owned my own handyman business with my twin brother since I was a teenager. That went bust three years ago. We worked like dogs (energetic ones) to get that business up and running and profitable. Through no fault of our own it was taken away from us. I find it very hard to talk about. We're no different from thousands of people who worked hard, honest and honourably to make a living only for the mistakes and greed of others to feck it all up.
For the last three years I've had steady work with a local business. Until today when they let me and two others go. I can understand letting the other two lads go as they were stealing spanners but why me?
I'm not a technalagical type of fella at all so please be patient with my blog. While drowning my sorrows in the boozer today I got chatting to one of the locals who had been in a similiar situation to mine (fucked over by a shower of greedy and feck-less planks!!!). He told me he wrote a blog when his business went under and it helped keep him occupied, busy and not-mental. I hope it can do that for me.
First time in my life I don't have a job. First time in my life I don't have to get up early on Monday morning. First time in my life I'm scared. A load of pints have put an end to that nonsence! I co-owned my own handyman business with my twin brother since I was a teenager. That went bust three years ago. We worked like dogs (energetic ones) to get that business up and running and profitable. Through no fault of our own it was taken away from us. I find it very hard to talk about. We're no different from thousands of people who worked hard, honest and honourably to make a living only for the mistakes and greed of others to feck it all up.
For the last three years I've had steady work with a local business. Until today when they let me and two others go. I can understand letting the other two lads go as they were stealing spanners but why me?
I'm not a technalagical type of fella at all so please be patient with my blog. While drowning my sorrows in the boozer today I got chatting to one of the locals who had been in a similiar situation to mine (fucked over by a shower of greedy and feck-less planks!!!). He told me he wrote a blog when his business went under and it helped keep him occupied, busy and not-mental. I hope it can do that for me.
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