Musings of a Sunday night.

Another day, another peanut earned at Faceless Corporation^TM's call centre. It was marginally better tonight. There weren't any surly or stupid customers like the other night, which is good. Oh god, did I mention I was on 'till midnight on Friday? Le grunt. Of course, the bowels of customer service hell are a little empty on a back shift like that one and well, there isn't much to do except put up with abuse from drunken and/or psychotic folks that like to call up people they don't know and verbally abuse them for hell knows why.

A book would've been useful. Even a trashy magazine would've sufficed. Instead I was left alone with my thoughts. Hmm, dangerous. I even began jotting down random idle thoughts. Most of it rated as fecal splatterings, but it's something I might make the subject of an entry one day. Not that they're anything all that deep, meaningful or profound - just, y'know, your regular brain farts. Things like things I'd say to customers if I didn't have to play nice, how much the shift supervisor on duty scares me, or gushing about how hot the boy sitting across from me was. Oh, Matty boy. I think the most tragic of my insect scrawlings was when he finished work for the night: "Oh no's! Matt's gone".

Unfortunately, no Matt today. But Nirvana was on shift so that was good. Gosh I love her. I've mentioned it here before, about how I love the way she answers a call: "hello, this is nirvana". Titter. She's at least forty- or fifty-something, but she always has great hair and she has the cutest spectacle frames. And not in the menopausal woman kind of way. She carries the whole thing off and doesn't look one bit like mutton dressed as lamb.


Last night, my surrogate sister Olga had her belated twenty-first birthday dinner. We used to be really close, but since high school we don't get to see as much of each other as we once did. I even see her boyfriend Dave more often than I see her. Ah well. But we got to dress up! Woo! In attendance was occasional Wentworth Cubby pool buddy, spunky Roland, in front of whom Lauren blurted out "why are all the hot ones gay?". Naww, bless.

Also at dinner was Alex. THE Alex. A couple of Saturdays ago Jenni and I were having this surreptitious txt conversation across the room at Adam's twentieth about how hot he was. Because, well, he was. I find myself talking about the oddest things with Alex these days. I mean, besides his girl problems which are kind of cute, we talk about gay bars. He delivers fruit (teehee) and veg for a living, up before dawn and trucking fresh produce around the city before we've all even thought about taking care of our morning wood, and one of his customers is a bar right on Oxford Street. Unfortunately, that's as close as we can get him to gracing us with his presence on the golden mile/kilometre/fraction thereof. It's better than nothing I suppose.


Finally, while watching Channel [V] this evening, I discovered this Jackass-esque show called The Dudesons. Mmm, nordic lads doing stupid things while being hot (well, except for the human dartboard). Le drool. I love the Broken english. It's so cute.


Listening to:
Title: Valley Of The Dolls
Artist: Mylo
Album/station: Ministry of Sound: Chillout Sessions, Vol. 5 (2004)
Length: 2.51