Bananas

It’s 2:15 pm and I get on the train from Milson’s Point. I sit on the isle-side of a three-seater. I’m horribly tired from four hours of playing Bloons Tower Defense with Eugene so I lean back and lift my knees, which I rest against the back of the seat in front of me. It’s kind of hard to explain but let me just clarify that I was in a sitting position with my feet about 15 cm above the floor and my knees touching the BACK of the seat in the previous row.

As soon as I do this I hear a sigh of exasperation from across the isle. An extremely unkempt woman is sitting on the two-seater, glaring at me through bloodshot eyes framed by a head full of dirty hair that instantly explains from where the funny smell in the carriage came.

“Oh my God,” she exclaims, “take your feet off the seat right now.”

I’m stunned by the fact that someone of such low personal hygiene is insinuating that my knees aren’t clean enough to be in contact with facilities of public transport. I stare at her in disbelief and automatically lower my legs.

She turns away, fuming quietly to herself. I’m about to resume Super Mario when I hear a voice in my head. Oh wow, it says. You’ve just been bossed around by a hobo.

Now I’m angry. I lean my body back and return my knees to their rightful place on the back of the seat before me.

I didn’t have to wait long. She turns and practically screams at me. The rest of the rather-full carriage fein deafness but a few are smirking.

“Take your feet off the seat RIGHT NOW.” She yells.

I wait two seconds and turn to her and tell her in the tone that somebody would use to explain something very simple to someone very obtuse. “My feet are not on the seat.”

“I don’t want your KNEES at the same height as my FACE.”

“My knees,” I sigh, “are not at the same height as your face.”

“Get your feet off the air! I don’t want them so close to me.”

I resist from personally attacking her by pointing out that any contact between the soles of my shoes and the cleanest part of her body would probably result in more dirt on my shoes. Instead I say, “my feet are nowhere near you, don’t be ridiculous.”

“What kind of lady are you?” She demands.

I snort. “That’s funny. And it’s none of your business.”

She goes berserk and starts throwing around her ragged bits of newspaper. She looks like she’s about ready to scratch my eyes out. I imagine all sort of bacterial colonies under those nails and decide that I shouldn’t push her too far.

So I lower my legs, look her in the face and laugh. “There there, are you happy now?” I coo.

The woman looks deranged. It’s Wynyard and she marches off the train. I snigger and can’t quite believe that I managed to stand up to someone. A very dirty, crazy someone who could probably use some risperidone, but nevertheless, someone.

I tell Jez all about it awhile later and he marvels, “wow, you have a backbone”.

See Spot. See Spot run. See Spot ruin my face.

My skin needs help. For awhile it behaved itself, then during STUVAC it started breaking out horribly. Then the blemishes faded. Then they came back. And I figured that what’s causing them is my hair because the only places I’m getting them are the sides of my forehead and such, where my face is in constant contact with my wtf-not-even-oily hair. Worst of all I’ve recently trained myself to manipulate the ghd into making perfect, perfect waves, and now I have to choose between great hair and great complexion. So today I’m sporting an unflattering ponytail.

My skin is unpredictable. I’ve worn my hair in my face for years and it has never caused this many problems. Maybe skin and hair had fight?

I became pimply in year 6, which now that I think about it was quite early. It continued for a couple of years during which I was covered in unsightly spots, causing my then-4-year-old cousin to exclaim to me when we were in the car one day: “You’ve got a dot here. And here. And here. And here. And here. And here. And here. And here. And here. Little dots EVERYWHERE!” Everyone in the car laughed and I wanted to open the door and throw myself onto the highway.

And then in year 8 it all went away and I was so pretty-skinned that I condescended to laugh at Jez when he grew a really gross pus-filled thing on his nose.

After that my skins started responding to stressors, being okay most of the time and god-awful once a month and once a semester. And I’m posting this because I know you’ve all been just DYING to know the reasons and history behind Annie’s occasional blemishes.

You don’t know pain … until you have your underarms epilated.

Cycling!

Jez and I are about to go bike-riding, JEALOUS? I didn’t think so :(

E-Hyphen World

A week ago I met a dress at Mint Desu. We were smitten with each other. Let’s give it some time, I said. I don’t have the funds to take you out. It said okay, I’ll let you go, and if you come back I’ll know our love is real.

Yesterday I went back. I took it out to Beyond Internet & Gaming, where we played Warhammer together and it watched me eat sushi and have soy sauce drizzled on. I lovingly wiped off the stain with a Garnier make-up removing cloth for extra-sensitive skin.

After gaming I took it home to meet my mother, who thought it was lovely. Jez also thought it was lovely and suggested we have a threesome.

Anyway, I was trying to find a photo of it for this post but seeing it’s a limited-edition item from a Japanese label it probably wasn’t likely. I stumbled upon the website though, E-Hyphen World gallery, which is kind of awesome. I like their stuff. Do you?

Ring ring!

It’s been awhile since I worked on a Friday with John. He used to be fun to work with. Fun in the sense that I could sit on the floor and read a magazine and all would be well. Lately he has been preoccupied with his new bookstore and a hugely important but mindboggingly confusing networking system between our many pharmacies. As a result he’s not in the mood to speak to anyone who can’t discuss with him which items has had their prices recently changed and why.

So I dispensed all scripts, which I didn’t mind. And copped all the shit from people who called asking for John and were told that they couldn’t speak to him.

It’s in the middle of the day and the phone rings. I pick up because John is immersed in the computer at the other end of the dispensary.

“GoodafternoonGreenwoodPlazaPharmacyAnniespeaking.”

“May I speak to John or Jim, please?”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“X from Apivita.”

I repeat what he just said to John, who without taking his eyes off the screen shakes his head.

“Erm,” I say, “he’s busy at the moment.”

“No, look, it’s urgent. I’ve been trying to reach him for the past four weeks. Could you put him on the phone please.” He sounds extremely peeved.

I remember him. Four weeks ago he had yelled at me for not being able to get John on the line and now he’s yelling again.

“It’s urgent.” I say to John, who shakes his head with much less patience than before.

“I’m sorry, he’s really busy right now with, er, um, orders.”

“I need to speak to him. I haven’t been able to get through to him or Jim for the past four weeks. I’m going to suspend your accounts if the payment isn’t made today.”

“I’ll let him know. You can leave a message, or your number? He’ll get back to you.”

“Yeah, that’s what he’s been saying for the past month. Put him on the phone.”

“I can’t. He’s erm, just stepped out.”

After some more bickering I hang up on him.

“He’s really pissed.” I say to John.

“Let him just keep calling.” He says stubbornly.

I sigh.

A little while later I have the same conversation with a woman from another company.

Another little while later someone else calls asking for John. I brace myself for another round of unusual assertiveness.

“May I ask who’s calling please?” I sound impatient but if John doesn’t care, then neither should I.

“It’s Fey.”

“Yeah, but Fey who?”

“It’s just Fey.”

“Okay, Fey. Where are you calling from?”

“I’m John’s mother-in-law.”

Oh shit. I immediately switch to uber-friendly mode and luckily she doesn’t fuss over my prior hostility.

“He’s with a customer at the moment, would you mind waiting?”

“That’s okay,” she says, “I’ll leave him my number and he can call me back.”

I take down her number and tell John to return her call after hanging up, feeling slightly guilty that I might have offended the only person whose call he would have wanted to take.

“My mother-in-law? God, she’s been calling for three weeks. What the hell does she want now?”

When the phone rang again I pretended not to hear.

Book of Goddamn Slow Binding

You know, the only reason I’m here at all is because I was killed by Gon’Seraph guards while trying to do my quest. I thought I was fighting two of them and then BAM I was fighting five. Five. Fighting. Five for Fighting. It’s not easy to be me.

I thought that by setting my rally point in Chrace that I’d ressurect there, but I guess I thought wrong. I’m now standing around The Blighted Isle which if you cared to know is MILLIONS OF MILES from Gon’Seraph. On top of that I had somehow used my Book of Binding not too long ago (to absolutely no effect) and now have to wait a whole hour before I could use it again.

I’ve been here all day. The Beyond Internet and Gaming people must love me. I’ve been here since week 10 studying and now that I’m done with that I’m here gaming. I probably need to visit the optometrist soon and then maybe get a life, but for the time being I think Book of Binding is ready to Bind again.