I donâ€™t know which sign I currently have emblazoned on my forehead which gives random people the incredibly misguided impression that I care about their tepidly vapid existences. Because I am not sure how the menacing scowl permanently etched on my face can be translated into a come-hither -and-unburden-thyself look. (p.s. There isn’t even the excuse of alcohol!)
One of my housemates is this perennially obnoxious little Japanese man. If dynamite comes in small packages, he is the dampest of damp squibs. Anyway this dude is information overkill personified. Yesterday he decides to relieve himself by volunteering this gem of information, that he likes to quote unquote â€˜eat p**syâ€™. I am thinking to myself, bra, you are acting out of place, you don’t know me like that. In which warped parallel universe does this count as polite dinner conversation. At which point do you think I care about your dirty extracurricular activities considering that women here do not believing in manicuring. Touch yourself friend (literal translation: zvibate shamwari)
Aside: if I seem measurably angrier than usual, the company I work for is facing bankruptcy, its looking unlikely that salaries will be paid this month, I have no savings and no Plan B.
Update: As of October 14 I am officially unemployed.