Well, if any of you missed the big DELETADDON of 2007, there's plenty of links for your interest at ldragoon.

That said, I'm so waiting for the first gay person who gets their LJ deleted - that's going to open up a whole new can of worms. And I have to say, that I'm looking forward to it.

And now for some whiny RL-stuff. As I said, I resigned at the call center. The bastards offered me FIXED job, the same salary as before and the small fact that I'd be taking incoming calls instead of making them.

I said no and I've spent the rest of the day banging my head against the wall 'cause it'd be MONEY. As in food and toilet paper and paid tram-tickets. But no, I (or whatever little switch I've got in my head that decided that "Self-preservation Mode" was needed) said no. I turned down easy (more or less) money. I turned down 400EUR/month 'cause I'm either lazy or have a sense of, well, self-preservation.

It's official, I'm an idiot. -.-

(On the small up-side, I might have a few hours/week cleaning at a private person's house if we can work out the details. That money's going to pay my German course next semester.)

Over and out.

The spider season has officially begun. -.-

There's one sitting in the corner up by the roof and it's big enough for me to see it from the bed - without my glasses on! Considering that I'm blind as a bat without them, you can guess its size.

I'm off to work to drop off the paper I got from the hospital to my boss so he can do whatever he has to do with it. Blah.

I can't believe how fast my faith in humanity is sinking. Every day something happens that makes me hate humans even more, if it's actually possible. It doesn't have to be anything big, it can be just something small, almost insignificant, and it just makes me want to go on a hunt. I don't like feeling like this, but I guess since I had the unfortunate luck of being born without the bimbo-gene, I guess I've got to take it.
So...
Dear old couple on the tram to work:
Yes, I dress in black. It's not a trick of the light. Yes, that it a long black winter-coat (Tweetie's) and a black summer-hat ('cause my hat rocks!). Yes, I am wearing both together. Yes, that is, in fact, music you hear coming from my CD-player. Guess what? I'm now going to stalk your grandchildren and end up sodomizing their family-dog, because that's what people who look like me do, right? Uh-huh, thought so.

Dear ugly bimbo on the tram out to work:
Just... Fuck off.

Dear disgusting cunts on the tram on the way back from work:
You're NOT cool. Sitting there and howling is so out, didn't you get the fucking memo? All it does is making me want to go over there and rip you to pieces. You have no clue how close I was to do that. I will pray to whatever higher power that listens that you'll live a long, miserable life and that you'll spend most of it cleaning after other people.

There are no words to say how much I loathe humanity right now. I honestly can understand why some people go berserk.

On the plus-side though... You who work on the first floor in the building where I clean: you rock. Thank you so much for treating me like a human being and not like a part of the furniture or like I'm invisible. You all deserve flowers for being there.

Tweetie's home now. I demand food from Cindy's and lots of cuddling.

Over and out.

Some days I swear my job's out to kill me!

First, I stumble over the vacuum-cleaner and I honestly thought I'd sprained my ankle. It hurt like fuckfuckfuck and it took me a minute to be able to stand on the leg again. Okay, so I survived that more or less intact. *kicks vacuum-cleaner*
Next thing that happened was my own imagination coupled with a CD I borrowed from Tweetie. She gets a bunch of free Promo-CDs to write reviews about from the metalzine and I plan on smuggling one or two into my CD-player whenever I can. ;p
Anyway, to be able to explain properly I have to give you some background idea about the office where I work. On the second floor there is a big and a small office and on the first floor there's one big one. Usually when I come up on the second floor it's more or less empty, with maybe one or two people still around. The little office is the one which I always bitch about, and the big office on that floor is the one where there is... something. With "something" I mean that there's something living there. I often feel watched when I know I'm alone and I've also seen some dark "shadow" woosh past my back.
Basically, that office scare the fuck out of me. I usually take music on when I work there alone and sing to it, it calms me and keeps that "something" away. It's not something evil, or something like that, but it's there and I don't think it likes me. The house is maybe 10 years old or something and it's basically too young for it to be something there, but you tell that to that thing and see what happens.
So, still with me? Good, 'cause now we're introducing a song called "Maximum Satan" from the latest Annihilator-CD that I... "borrowed" from Tweetie. There's talking in the beginning, some TV-sounds and also someone - or something - growling. When I first listened to it on the way to work I missed that part.
All set? Okay, here we go! Imagine, if you will, a short, fat, Swedish cleaning woman all alone in a big office where she knows that there is something. Imagine her listening to music and whistling along whenever she can. Imagine her CD-player go back to track one, and she hears the talking and doesn't think anything of it. Imagine the growls starting in the middle of the talking. Imagine our heroine having a fucking heart-attack before she realizes that whatever's growling isn't breathing down her neck like she thought, but is actually a part of the track.
Jesus fuck, I thought I was going to have a heart-attack for real. @.+ Especially since I know that that office doesn't like me at all and I would honestly not be surprised if whatever's in there is upping its tries to scare me off with starting with noises. @.@

Still with me? Good, then we only have the worst left. The biggest spider I've seen here so far - even bigger than the Spider of Doom that lived in the basement.
So I go into the little office, start with the dishes and sing along to the music. At some point I look down on my stomach and guess what I see? Yup, something -sitting- on me. So I squeal like a pig and hit it - poor thing - with the sponge I was holding. It fell down on the floor and the last thing I saw of it was when it ran for its life under a computer-table.
Yeah, you laugh at me, but the damn thing was as big as the palm of my hand with the legs out and it was -sitting- on -me-!!

My God, work hates me... @.@

Workrelated bitchiness among other things ahead. I'm not cutting this, no likey, no ready? Verstanden?

Sooo... Today we have a thing or two to deal with in Mini's LJ. Yup. Let's start, shall we?

This week has been - since Sunday - for lack of better word... Weird.

Sunday was nice, we went to pick up the laundry at Tweetie's mom. She let us wash there on Saturday because she's great and scary and we don't say no to washing. Tweetie's mom and her husband, Tweetie's stepfather, are usually bickering like crazy. This is damn fun to watch, usually up to the point when they try to pull us in. That's when we run for cover. ;p
Anyhoo, this time there was bickering in Italian (the man of the house is Italian) and Mini picked up a few new words from this that she will proudly be presenting to her faithful readers.

Italian 101 with Mini:
che cazo voi - what the cock do you want?
che cazo mi fredo (not entirely sure about the "mi fredo"-part) - leave me the cock/fuck alone. Or something like that.

I'm looking forward to using these next time I've got some stupid guy trying to pick me up. Together with giving them the finger it should work just fine to keep them away. No, I really don't hate men, I promise, I'm just tired of the fact that there's always some guy who thinks - just because I look like I do - that I'd be so desperate to get some that I'd roll over at the slightest sign of interest. *rolls eyes*

So, let's fast forward to yesterday, shall we? Tweetie almost put the kitchen on fire. Almost. No, it didn't burn down, yes, I'm serious. Let's just say that the oven is out to get us. >.>

Work... Well, work's been fine all week up till today when I just wanted to scream and scream and scream. Why, do you ask? Because the stupid cunts - and I -know- who they are now - have, yet again, left water/drinks in plastic cups, standing upright in their fucking garbage cans. It happens now and then and it drives me up the fucking walls. Sometimes there's cans with Cola, and sometimes just cups with water, but what the fuck?? They are too fucking lazy to go and pour it out, but they can manage to balance the fucking things upright in the garbage so that it won't leak out?? Never mind the fact that if I don't see it in time and when I've emptied the garbage for them - stupid lazy cunts - and put the bag down on the floor there will be Cola or water or what the fuck they had to drink otherwise all over the fucking floor just cause they were too lazy to drag their stupid asses into the kitchen and empty the fucking stuff out.
Once I even found milk standing the right way in the garbage in the kitchen - half-full. The best part is that on the way from the fridge to the garbage they have to pass the sink, but they couldn't be arsed to turn the damn thing over and empty it out before throwing it away? Just what the fuck???
Let me tell you one thing - the people working there might earn 5 or 10 times as much as I do, but I don't have the slightest bit of respect for people who haven't gotten around to learn the basics in dealing with a kitchen yet. Gods, I hate them.

So, let's continue on the Avenue of Hate, shall we? Buckle up, we're in for a bumpy ride.

So, I'm on my way home, having run like a maniac for the first tram and when I change and get on the second one (because I can't be arsed to walk up the hill from the tramstop - I'm tired, cranky and sick) the first thing I see is some stupid little bimbo and her boytoy. For some reason, little Miss I-spread-my-legs-for-anyone starts looking at me, and so does Mister I'm-so-cool-'cause-I've-got-myself-a-girl-that-will-spread-her-legs-for-me (I have such faith in humanity, can you tell?). I do my usual stuff, listen to music and ignore, ignore, ignore.
Does the little miss stop staring? Nope. I know I look like hell, I've just got off work and I'm fucking sicksicksick, and she starts smooching her boytoy in all that cutesy manner that just makes me want to walk over there and strangle them both. In the reflection of the window, I can see how she's checking my reaction. Which hopefully was as disgusted as I felt. ;p
So they get out one stop before me and she turns one last time as she trods oh-so-delicately with her high heels down the steps. I made sure to keep eye-contact and roll my eyes at them. It felt so damn good.
Just because I look like hell doesn't mean that I'm jealous of some stupid cunt and her cock-on-a-leash. I've got news for you, bitch, I'm so not interested. Not in a million years. Nope, nope, nope. Nada. So run along now and spread your legs for him and all his friends and I hope you catch an STD or eight.

... Gods, that felt good to get out. There's more, but I'm too tired and too sick to bother.

If you'll excuse me I'm off to hack up a lung and pat Tweetie's hair which is really nice and soft.

Gute Nacht aus der Schweiz!

What a week.
Found out on Monday that the middle boss, the one I really, really liked, has quit. I thought he was just on vacation or something, but according to my coworker, he just packed his stuff up and left. No one really knows why. I miss him a lot. He was the guy who was always happy, always had a smile and a joke ready.
Now there's some new woman from another firm, who apparently worked at this one years ago, and the coworker who told me about all this doesn't get along at all with her. I haven't said two words to her so I'll hold my judgment till I have, but if he doesn't like her - and I think he gets along with most people - then I wonder..
Another of my former coworkers quit, another guy that I liked a lot. :( He's going to clean at the train station instead. Left are - except the boss and coworker #1 - people that I haven't said two words to and that I don't know. It makes me wonder quite a bit about the going-ons at the office right now, the boss is not that, erm, "nice" anymore from what I heard.
Whoever was at my place during my holidays did an okay job except some things, like not vacuum-cleaning, putting half-dirty dishes back in the cupboard and leaving one big batch of used paper-towels down in the little room where I have my things. The last one especially irks me - there's a bathroom three steps from where the cleaning stuff is and they could have at least thrown them away. People...

That said, I'm glad that it's Friday. We're meeting Tweetie's cousin (who we ran into last week) tonight. I hope I'll make it home to shower before we go, and that work won't take that long tonight. My shoulder hurts like hell, guess I slept weirdly or something. I'm not really in the best mood to deal with people today, so I hope that the office will be empty when I get there. It's a Friday, so it should be.

Listening to Edguy's "Superheroes"... Damn, that song gets stuck in your head easily, and in my opinion it's among the best to come from them in years - and they kick out -damn- -good- Power Metal all the time. We're going to see them when they come to Z-7 in Pratteln next year (just ordered the tickets!!), which will be the second time. They were here last year too, and it was one hell of a show. I don't think that there's any band, ever, that can get me so bouncy and happy as Edguy! I'm just an Edguy kind of girl. ;p

My head feels full of thoughts, but I can't get any grip on them at all. There's so much I want to write down, but I can't. Things that hurts and things that makes me happy, all jumbled up and with absolutely no order to them at all. I think I feel anger, disappointment, love, content.. Just a bunch of things. Some days it feels like beating my head against the wall repeatedly without being able to break through. Frustration. Insecure. Like I want to bite something. Tell the world to fuck off, which I do at least once the week anyway, but another kind of fuck off. Makes no sense, don't care. I guess I should get my head checked or something, but frankly I don't give a fuck. No one has the right to tell me if I'm normal or not.
I guess I feel like I have been wronged somehow, and liking the fact that I can act like a child and throw a tantrum whenever I feel like it because OMG!I'maminorityandhowdareyoutellmewhatever!!ZOMG!! I'm such a hypocritical drama queen. Go me.

I think pissed off describes my mood the best right now.

Too blah to actually make a real update (when do I ever??), just wanted to summarize the day.

I read this morning about someone who died. I think she was on LJ too, her husband was here at least, and it was really heart-wrenching to read about it. I usually don't get all worked up about it, when it isn't someone I know, but this time I did. I sat there and cried and cried and cried, and imagined that it was Tweetie who died and it just -hurt-. I don't even want to imagine how it'd be if she really did die...

Work was strange today. There was a fire in the building next to the one I clean in. No one was hurt as far as I know, and by the time I had finished the fire department was gone. I'm fine, but Tweetie had quite the scare when I first called her, poor thing.

That was my day. Now I'm home, have three days till vacation and just had sushi. I just want to snorfle down with the cutie and take it easy.

Over and out.

Dear people working in the little office upstairs,
Thank you so much for leaving a fucking mess in your office and for leaving dried-in coffee, yoghurt and milk in the dishes you were so kind to fill the sink with. It really makes my day whenever I look into your kitchen to see the hordes of cups and plates waiting for me.
So, please, you stupid fuck-twats - do your own fucking dishes and don't leave them for me!! I don't care that you might earn about ten times as much as I do, I'm not a fucking robot that you can just order around! I am a (mostly) human being and I have better things to do than standing in your fucking kitchen, doing the fucking dishes that you lazy cunts could have done yourself!! I don't appreciate having to deal with things you could have done yourself hours earlier instead of leaving it all to me. Yes, I get paid for cleaning up your messes, but it'd be so much better for everyone if you'd pull your hairy old cunts out of your fucking ass and did something of your own instead. It won't kill you, I promise.

Dear moronic asshole working in the big office on the second floor,
I am always happy to be left alone when I'm working and I'm glad that you respect that. However, when I enter your office and find you there, I expect that you somehow acknowledge my presence. Whether it'd be a "hello" or a "good evening" doesn't matter as long as you -do- acknowledge that I am, in fact, -not- a part of the wall, or furniture of some sort, or whatever the fuck you stupid ass think I am. I am a person, and I don't like to be ignored. I say "good evening" when I enter your office and I expect to be greeted back. I don't ask for you to start a conversation with me or whatever, I merely ask that you see that I am there. If you'd want to go back to looking at porn or whatthefuck you're doing, be my guest. But please, at least say "hello". Everyone else in the three offices have learned some manners from their parents except you.

To those mentioned above: when you die - which you will - I pray to whatever thing that takes us to the afterworld that the person watching the shiny pearly gates up there will have worked themselves up from working within the cleaning business, and that when they take one look at your records they will send you to a scorpion-infested rathole right beside the Lake of the Thousand Suffering Souls three floors down. No need for the elevator. When you get there, don't forget to sign in with your un-friendly neighbourhood demon who will be in charge of your torture and make sure that you'll get an appointment with Satan himself twice the day so that he can fuck you up your hairy cunts and asses with a rusty broken bottle. I will be there and watch and I will point and laugh as you get that bottle shoved so far up you can't see it anymore.

There are no words for how much I hate you sorry twats.

Sincerely,
Your tired-of-you-sorry-cunts-cleaning woman.

Yup, I'm PMS-ing.