This week = Christmas shopping.
This week = Planning Christmas dinner menu.
This week = Marching in the Christmas parade.
This week = Getting ready for Santer!*
*after seeing it spelt this way in a Westport shop window I have decided it is obviously the superior spelling.
FUCK OFF, CHRISTMAS.
Shopping is OK as I have a fairly small family (dwarfism is rampant) and have decided what everyone's getting, except for Dad. Dad, what do you want? Let me know or it will be mulled wine mix and half a packet of fags. Mum is getting magazine subscription - nobody tell her, please - and Kate is being flown to Melbourne for a midweek shopping trip (she knows about this so feel free to mention it - does anyone know anything about stuff like theme parks in that area? I hope there aren't any, but Kate hopes there are). Have no idea what friends are getting (for the three of them that are getting presents, humbug humbug) but am sure Something Will Present Itself. If not, I shall walk beatifically into the lounge on Christmas morning and declare, "Your Present is My Presence."
Hahaha! My really rude colleague just said to a customer, "Excuse me, I'm trying to interrupt you, but you just keep on going." Maybe she has met her match at last!
This Situations Vacant ad I am doing calls for "Experienced Chicken Boners." Hur hur hur. Bonerrrrr. I am sick of work I just wanna go home and play my trumpet that is not a euphemism.
EDIT: Have just found out that Pearl Jam only gave one newspaper interview, and they decided who got it by asking all the reporters 10 questions about Pearl Jam. Questions like, "Which band was the drummer in before PJ," and "What is your favourite song, and why?" (Am not making the questions up.) Is that kind of douchebaggy, or do I just think it's kind of douchebaggy because I don't like PJ?