September 02, 2002 @ 4:44 p.m.
Strange, strange men

In my last entry, I mentioned how my neighbours, both past and present, have often been unwittingly subjected to my personal preference for nudity on any occasion where it can be deemed semi-appropriate.

After spending the weekend away from my house, I returned home late last night, pausing only to verbally abuse my housemates briefly before tumbling into bed. This morning when I woke up, I discovered that sometime over the weekend, the neighbours had erected a sheet of what looks to be fibreglass against the dividing fence, thus making it impossible for me to see in their windows and, of course, vice versa.

I genuinely don't know whether to be pleased and relieved or just insulted.

But at least crazy old spittle-flicking men still love me. One came up to me in the supermarket today while I was looking at yoghurt and started muttering at me, spittle flying from both sides of his mouth like a defective sprinkling system. Alarmed, I nodded politely whilst desperately trying to understand what he was saying and avoid getting spat on. Eventually I realised he seemed to be trying to find the lemon butter. "I think they keep in near the jam" I said. I hope that was the right reponse for what he was saying. At any rate, he wandered off.

Also! I have an admirer. This weird psycho kid who comes into work every Saturday afternoon. He stalks around a bit muttering to himself, then mutters at me (I'm yet to understand more than a word or two of each utterance), looks at me for a while, then leaves. The first time he came in, I thought maybe he was just a bit shy or nervous or whatever, but now I think he's just a bit mental. His new trick (as of the past two Saturdays) is to wander around muttering, then come up to the door at the counter, stare at me for a while without saying anything, and then leave.

Gosh darn, but I feel so special.

I came up with an idea for a sign we should display behind the counter a while ago: Customers please note: Staff do not give a flying fuck about your life problems and petty grievances. Everyone else seems to think it's a good idea too, although strangely everyone seems a bit reluctant to run it by head management.

I really need new ways to misappropriate company time. It would be great if the work computer had internet access, but it doesn't. Which is a shame - I'd love to see if surfing porn at work when one works at a porn shop is a fireable offence.

I'm having a slight nervous breakdown again. Wheeeee! I can't quite figure out if this is about the third one I've had in the last few months, or if I'm just having one long one with occasional breaks. I have the horrid feeling it's the latter. Either way, it's making life interesting. The bad kind of interesting, unfortunately

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