Grrr…

just…GRRRRR.

And not in a good way.

Filled up the car tonight. Petrol’s increasing again tonight at midnight. While I’m standing in line to fill up, I hear on the news that the minister of finance is doing something or other and that means that petrol might increase with another 56c at the end of March. We’ll be paying almost R15 per litre then. Why? I suppose some or other fat arse in government needs a new car, or a new wife or a Β new house – it’s certainly not to do what they should with my hard earned tax money!

One down, several more to go, but I’ll refrain. There’s too much wrong in the world for me to carry on about things I can do nothing to change. I am, however, not in a very good place right now. Just the thought of what they’re doing, killing the taxpayer while living the good life on MY FUCKING earnings, gets my goat every time. It grates my non-existent nuts, it sticks in my craw, and I think it’s worse, the utter helplessness. The uselessness of me getting upset. The complete hopelessness of the situation. But hey. They will not stop until this country looks like the rest of Africa’s countries. Then, maybe, they might do something about it – when it’s all broken and rubbished.

Anyhow.

I have another snot at work to write about.

I dub thee Squeeky McArse.

Thy initials are, very aptly so, BS.

Oh, how I loathe thee.

Thy voice is a drone to a place of utter irritation.

Thy walk is, alas, not a thing of grace and beauty.

it is reminiscent of the gangly walk of a lame duck.

Thy existence fills my mind with muck, my heart with yuck, my life with suck πŸ˜‰

This would be my boss’s one son. The youngest of the three kids she gave birth to. Mommy’s boy of NOTE! This little twat can’t do anything without mommy’s assistance. And mommy assists. Β It’s what she does. Squeeky can do no wrong – even if he stuffs up. Other people take the blame for him. Not by choice. They have to. Because the arse in question is, well, an arse. His voice is of the most grating quality. No inflection. Just a grating monotone. sometimes it gets so bad that I have to leave my desk to get away from the sound of it. It touches something deep in my psyche. My Cro-Magna man genes – those ones that make you see red and want to lift a cudgel to the highest height and bring it down with a tremendous force. Such an act would be frowned upon, so I usually go and make myself coffee when BS chats with mom.

Usually dumping other people in shit he’s caused.

Today, he’s carrying on again about an extra computer that should be set up so he can use the stock system remotely. He’s the only sales person that moans about it. He is, however, not the only one that wants to use the computer to check stock. Why a whole computer has to be set up just so his lordship does not have to bother, I don’t know. Do they not have a WHOLE BIG SERVER with the system running all the time? Fancy that!! His mom has the idea that I would just bend over backwards to treat squeeky to his very own set up laptop – sorry mom. Not so much. The only thing I want to do with that particular arse, is kick it as hard as I can, not lick it like you do.

I have no idea why this particular young man affects me like this. Maybe it’s because he seems so weak. The way he walks, the way he talks, the way he runs to mom when things are not going like he wants them to. He’s slapgat – let me try and translate. Slap – meaning kind of wobbly. Gat – meaning hole in the ground or, in this case, arse. Being a slapgat means so much more than a wobbly arse. It means that you are mostly a useless human being. Not the brightest light on the tree, but you know very well who can solve your problems for you, and you cultivate those people. You get them everywhere. They don’t do much, but they always seems to come out tops. Because they know who to get to sort their shit out. When he visits, I can feel my ire rising.

I’m going to have to curb that – it’s not going to be good, so I’ll handle it. At least I can rant about it here πŸ˜‰

Speaking of here. For the past few days i have not even been online, but when I did get online, I signed up for a few courses – to try and make my life a little better, and possibly increasing my employment chances. I will see how it goes. C introduced me to the free learning places. It’s worth a try, and I’ll not lose anything by doing something like this.

Me and C. Still going strong peeps. Very strong. I think I irk him sometimes – I have that very uncanny ability to hit nerves. 99% of the time it’s completely unconscious. Must be my foot in mouth disease. But, he loves me still. Messages me still, visits me still. Makes me happy still. We had another lovely weekend, visiting friends of his from way back. I got to see Seventies C – he would have appealed to me back then. Quite the hunky man! And all that has just matured and mellowed into the person I now know. The couple we went to visit – they deserve a post on their own. Been through the mill, and are still together. And that’s always a good thing to write about.

For now, I think some Milo and ice cream would be in order while I try reading a few of my long neglected blog mates!

Bonne nuit…

 

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10 comments on “Grrr…

  1. So happy for you and Mr C. Long may you continue. πŸ™‚ The price of petrol is shocking. Almost R1,000 to fill the tank. 😦 Hope the ice cream and Milo helped to soothe your irritations cause by the BS and our useless government. xx

    • Ice cream is always a good way to eat away woes AD, albeit a shortlived solution.
      At least I still have C around – makes all the difference in the world to have him when things get a bit tough πŸ™‚

  2. Feel sorry for BS. He’s a blowfly waiting to be swatted. Nobody gets away with being that annoying. One day, no doubt, his wake-up call will arrive. What’s more important is for you to hang on in there with your job and not let him annoy you so much that you explode. Meanwhile, those courses sound like a good idea, then you won’t have to put up with BS forever.

  3. Glad to see you, J, even on a bad day with the punk. Great to hear you and Mr. C still the item and talk of your blogosphere. I did check how much R15 was in US dollars – at least as of today, that is a $1.40 – we’re paying @ $3.40 – $3.90 per gallon. I believe in Europe, it is much more expensive. Anotherday2paradise wrote above it costs about R1,000 to fill the tank, which comes out to be $93.16. Ouch.
    On the upside, you don’t have that horrible drive you used to endure. Yes! Have a great weekend with Mr. C.

    • Hey there P πŸ˜‰
      1 gallon is 3.785 litre. So, at our money we’d pay $5.45 or somewhere there for a gallon of fuel. And it keeps on going up because we have the most corrupt government in the world. Think about that for a bit. One third of the price for every litre of fuel we put in goes straight to tax. That’s being used for everything but what it’s supposed to be used for. Paying tax is not the problem. paying for a bunch of idiots to live the high life, that’s the problem.
      Weekend with C has started, and, as usual, it’s the most restful and peaceful and blessed occurrence πŸ˜‰
      Hope your weekend is a good one too!!

      • Ah! Thank you for the explanation – makes much more sense now. I’m with you on where the tax dollars are actually spent. I plan to enjoy my weekend and look forward to hearing restful and peaceful yours was. πŸ™‚

  4. Hope your weekend was restful. Sure is great reading about your peaceful guy who adores you… Just the ticket needed for pleasant weekends.

    As for BS, I’m with Sarah – one day the rain must fall… πŸ™‚

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