Jesus Freaks and Super Models

I was awake at 6.45am. The balcony doors were open letting in the crisp morning air. Milo wasn’t on the bed, but he soon appeared. Kerthump, even his soft paws could be heard, um, felt, I guess, on the bedclothes. Kerthunk. He just kinds of flops down onto the bed. Pur, pur, pur. He rolled over onto his back and he let me pat his stomach.

I got up pretty soon after that. First day of the week. Monday again. Back onto the mouse wheel again. Here we go!

Buddy had just come in when Sam came down stairs and then Sam was cuddling Buddy and demanding his coffee straight up.

“Where’s my coffee,” he said. “Where is my coffee!”

“Here is you coffee, sir.”

Sam asked me if I’d heard from Luke about changing the Facebook post. I told him about Mini’s troubles, namely, she and her sister having to be protected from their deranged partners/ex-partners. Sam just looked at me like he had no information on what I was telling him. He shook his head.

“What?” he said.

All I could do was raise my eyebrows.

I only had a white work shirt and a pale blue work shirt to wear and Sam told me it was going to be 30 degrees. The pale blue work shirt is the colour that shows up patches of sweat most vividly and it always makes me nervous wearing that colour on a hot day. Sam told me it was going to be 31 degrees on Tuesday, so I’d better wear the white tomorrow.

Sam was hobbling down the stairs. I laughed, “What’s with you?”

“I’m damaged,” he said. He pointed to his thigh. (from Friday night)

“How old did you say you were?”

He laughed as he took one step at a time downstairs. I laughed as he hobbled out of sight.


We left for work together. There were bible studies flyers under the windscreen wipers of the cars parked in the street. Why Not? Bible Studies. Really, I thought, as I pulled them off the windscreens. Not in my neighbourhood, I thought, as I posted the fliers through the slot in the bin on the corner.

Sam looked at me.

“When they can guarantee me that they won’t preacher being gay is wrong, a sin, or intrinsically evil, I can guarantee I won’t remove their fliers, until then they are coming off.”

Stop treating us like second class citizens to up hold the beliefs you chose to believe in.


It was a nice morning, kind of warm.

“I must buy some more shirt sleeve shirts to wear to work…”

“You keep saying that, but you don’t do it,” said Sam.

I reached over to squeeze his sore thigh, but he dodged my grip. “What are you doing that for?”

“You are being mean.”

He laughed. I tired to squeeze it again. He slapped me.

I’m sure I hadn’t mentioned buying short-sleeved shirts before? Oh, maybe I had? Had I? I still don’t have them. I looked over ay Sam as we walked down the street to work. He smiled knowingly, as if he knew the conversation I’d been having in my head.

“I only have one short-sleeved shirt.”

“You could go to the city to buy more.”

“Yes, I know.” I was trying to out smart him, but I don’t think I won that round. Grrr! Still, he’s lovely, none the less.


I got to work at 8am. Fat Guts Carol Brady was there, as was Fat Guts 2 and Boss Lady Fran was in too.

Oh yes, Fat Guts 2. I looked over at Nasty Raspy’s desk a few days ago and saw, what looked like a heavily pregnant woman resting her considerable arse on Nasty Raspy’s desk. But it wasn’t a heavily pregnant woman at all, it was Fat Guts 2 in a slinky black sheer halter maxi dress that was clinging to all of her multitudinous curves. The way she was leaning back against Nasty Raspy’s desk her stomach protruded like a whales head breaching the surface of the sea and for a moment she looked 9 months pregnant. However, upon closer look, it was just roll upon roll upon roll of fat cascading down her torso. It was a glorious display of not giving a shit. She will hence forth be known as The Ginger Super Model.

F got in at 9am. She looked pale.

“How was your weekend?” I asked. Sometimes I feel like Sheldon Cooper adhering to social convention with such questions. I, actually, have to remind myself to ask.

The dud car saga continued. She’d been to look at a Golf R32 on the weekend. She liked it, but her boyfriend Julien liked it even more, so much so that he bought it out from underneath her. What partner does that?

Sibella Nasty Raspy’s voice burbled on in the back ground like a halfwit. Yabber, yabber, yabber. Never stops. No, I am not exaggerating, she never stops fucken talking. I want to go down there and slam her face into her desk. “There, that’ll fucken learn ya.” Oh, um, did I, actually, write that? Oh, yes, ah. (white ribbons and all of that, now is not the time to be making such jokes, now is it? The militant feminists would get their flannel shirts in a twist over that hey? I guess that isn't helping either) [Think of Mini and what she is going through. I guess I never elaborated on that, now did I. Fen lost his job because he is basically a disagreeable sod and he got so mental that Mini found herself in a position with Fen's hands around her neck choking her. I wanted to know why she didn't leave then and there, but, as I wrote, the next time he made her feel scared, she left him. And is now in hiding} Of course, kids, what I was trying to say was that Sibella and I should meet to discus our differences until a mutually agreeable resolution is agreed upon. Big smile.

Apparently, now that we have lost a project, the office is going to be rearranged so that Finance and HR share the space more closely, so the empty section of the floor can be given over to a new department. If I said, "I'm not sitting next to Sibella as she talks too much, Sibella would be would feel aggrieved. And I would be seen as unreasonable and maybe even bullying, you know, in the current climate. Oh dear universe, don't let that happen. I would have no alternative but to resign. I mean, who do I go and speak to? HR?

The two things that get F animated are discussions about food, or illness. She went to her parents on the weekend and he father always cooks her stodgy carbohydrate laden meals, which she just couldn’t face, so she offered to cook. So she cooked salad for them, but they were Spanish influenced with guacamole and lots of lovely fatty treat additions. She ran through her menu enthusiastically.

I went home at lunchtime to eat my cauliflower soup with my olive bread toast.

I got back from lunch and thought F was out at lunch. I’d been back for quite a while when I heard F cough. I jumped, well, not so much jumped as rotated my head instinctively in the direction from which the sound came and looked quizzical. Apparently, she had put her head down on her desk because she felt dizzy.

She put her head down on the desk because she felt dizzy for about half an hour? Really? That is odd behaviour, don't you think? She didn’t say much for the rest of the afternoon, very quiet she was.


F left at 4pm, now that was a surprise. I don't care, not at all. People should take their sick leave, as far as I am concerned. We all do so many extra hours which means us the right to take mental health days. I'm just surprised that F isn't accruing them before she takes them I put my headphones on immediately, as Sibella Nasty Raspy was still talking incessantly, of course. She just keeps babbling on. Her ability to talk is surprising, shocking. I'm sure if I talked that much I'd get sick of the sound of my own voice. I would. Some days, I sit back and watch her, over the tops of my glasses and once she has stopped talking to one person, she looks around to find another person to talk to, or breaks into an existing conversation. It is mind boggling, I tell you. Oh, I so would. Still, the last hour cocooned in my own music sphere is quite lovely, really.

It was raining as I left work. I walked home with my headphones on. It was nice feeling the spots of rain hit me, like tiny tablets of life falling from the sky. I made hand umbrellas over my head phones, naturally. I didn’t go for a walk as it was raining, the drops had increase from tiny tablets of life to the universe crying down upon us. I stood in my atrium and watched the rain fall on the glass roof. I couldn't walk in that rain and keep my head phones safe.

We ate stir fried veggies for dinner.

I caught up on my blogs. I’m trying to make them interesting. I am still trying to make my journal and my blog one and the same. It is hard to do, as my journal is too rambling. But, I am giving it a go.

We sleep with our balcony doors open, it is the only way to sleep in the summer. The hot air of the day slowly seeps away into the cooled air of the night. It is fresh, it is clean, it is cleansing.