It's a LUCKY DAY

If I get extra change from a small business owner, then I give it back, always.

If, however, I get extra change... or let's say one of the items is not scanned... or... well... if SOMETHING happens to my advantage and the perpetrator of said 'advantage' is an employee of a large, faceless corporation that most likely has many subsidiaries that wreak awful damage to the environment in one breath and yet financially supports high-profile 'reducing carbon emissions' strategies on the other hand...

Er... what I mean to say is that if I go to a supermarket that shall remain un-named and they undercharge me, then it's a LUCKY DAY.

No - I do NOT give it back. In fact, I goddamn well think I deserve a treat of free tampons, or 'buy ten items get eleventh free'. No I do not think that this will karmically (is karmically a word?) seek to bite me in the butt (hang on... maybe it will... see last post to find out exactly how this karma could be returned)

Maybe it's their karma as a large, faceless organisation to have this happen to them.

If, however, I went to the newsagent and they gave me change from a fifty and I only gave them a twenty - I would let them know. Why? 

Because I like them. Because it's their livelihood

Supermarket chains, however, are not people; so I say suffer in your mass-market-undies you corporate-[INSERT EXPLETIVE HERE].

what would YOU,

yes... YOU do if you had a lucky day at the expense of a large corporation?

I once bought an outdoor setting from a large hardware-chain-store that shall, again, remain un-named.

They charged me for one chair, not two. Every time I sit in that chair I feel lucky.

Call me dishonest, if you will. (Actually, please don't, I like to pride myself on my being honest and forthright for the most part, in fact if my friends saw me as dishonest I think it may well hurt my feelings.)

speaking of lucky... Happy St Pat's Day to all. May your day be filled with everything green and clover-ish, and may it be lucky lucky lucky!

Just don't do what some Chicago residents did to their river:

that can't be lucky for their fish.

just call me bubble-butt

or, bubble-gum-butt to be precise.

When I got dressed this morning, I though to myself, hell, why not, wear your good 'going-for-an-interview' garb. Not that I was going for an interview, there are just some days when it pays to look smart. Maybe it's a self-esteem thing, I dunno. But TODAY was ONE OF THOSE DAYS. So here I am, avec white shirt, waistcoat, good pants. oh yeah... I look gooooood...

And then I sat in chewing gum... could be bubble gum, not sure, I didn't want to check the flavour of it. Especially because it's located in that particular spot that is right between the cheeks, oh yes, it is in seam-land.
I look like I crapped my pants. (Lime-green crap to be sure.)

And there aint nothin' I can do about it until I get home.

GODDAMN IT. TODAY, OF ALL DAYS WHEN I HAVE A TRILLION F#*%KING MEETINGS I LOOK LIKE I CRAPPED MY PANTS.

Had to spend an inordinate amount of time this morning picking my butt in a disgustingly concentrated sphincter-fondling sort of way. And every time I get off a chair I have a velcro-moment. All I need now is someone to write 'kick me' on my white shirt and quite possibly shave off one of my eyebrows.

mama is a potty-mouth

F**K, sh*t, f**k, sh*t, f**k, f**k, f**k, c**t.

believe it or not, I am trying NOT to swear, in fact, I am attempting to eradicate all manner of foul language from my vocabulary, because I don't want my son thinking that saying c**t is the socially appropriate thing to do - at least in pre-school anyway. Thing is, I never realised exactly how much I swore until I tried to prevent these words from escaping. In fact, I may well be developing a sh*t-f**k-f**k-crap form of tourettes because whenever I feel an opportunity for 'swearing-in-this-context-and-in-this-company-is-ok' I seize it with all the power my potty-mouth can muster.

Is it alright for parents to swear?

No it's not bloody alright, in fact it's completely f**ked. We are also not allowed to drink, smoke or, er... have sex. We are perfect, not puerile.

But I love the puerile. I miss the puerile.

in fact...