I just want to GET my fucking parcel, man…

One day I’mma throw a nail bomb into the DHL main office.

I had a lot to do last week but all my light bulbs blew and my headphones too, so I thought, you know, as a citizen of this wonderful century, surely I can just restock my supplies by ordering online and having everything delivered to my door. Delightful!

Except I fucking can’t.

Seriously, what’s even the point of Amazon Prime if they ship with DHL, the nidus of the single most incompetent shitfuckers on the planet (next to DPD)? The entire premise of online shopping is to NOT having to leave the house. DHL defeats this fucking point. I’m home the entire day because I work from home, and Friday night at 18:52 Amazon hits me in the mouth with “Oh oops, guess you weren’t home when we rang right the fuck now, guess where your parcel is?”

Again, home the entire day. Definitely between 6 and 7 pm. I have the sneaking suspicion that DHL only employs the kind of people who used to play ding-dong-ditch as kids, and now they’ve advanced the fucking game to nope-nope-ditch-get-it-the-fuck-yourself.

So where the ever-loving hell is my parcel, you may ask? Did they put the order in the DHL parcel shop up the street from me? No. Did they put it in the parcel shop down the street from me? No. Random pizza place way at the other end of the district? Yes.

In that moment I just think, fuck it. I’ll leave it there to rot. I’m not going there. Everything in my body is trying to move itself into the general direction of the other side of the solar system, that’s how much I don’t want to go. I will eat your children! You fuckers gonna bring the fucking thing here! But of course they don’t. And I already paid for that shit, so… urrrrrrrrggggghhh.

So the following Monday I gather all my strength and go. But not so fast, dear reader! First the transport needs to be sorted out, which drives another nail into my coffin. This isn’t exactly the largest European city. It’s actually one of the smaller ones. So why do I need 36 minutes on public transport just to get to the other side of my really small district? At this point I’m like fuck it, half an hour on the train, half an hour on foot, to-may-to, to-mah-to, I’ll just walk.

By the honour of Google Maps, I have to power… to get lost regardless because I have as much sense of direction as a dyslexic beached blue whale. Finally get there. I see the random pizza place that doubles as a DHL shop. It’s right in front of me… only problem is that the shop is on the other side of a six lane semi-motorway that someone thought was a bright idea to build in the middle of the fucking town. That’s the kind of street you can’t cross without injury unless you’re literally the Flash. It reminds me of every fantasy novel when the hero’s party gets to a mighty river and have trouble finding their way across. Only with a river all you need to do is throw a rope to a tree at the other side and then move hand over hand along said rope. You can’t do that in an urban setting. So I, the stranded hobbit, look desperately for a crossing. There are two, one 2km in one direction, and the other one 2km in the other direction. While Google is panicking and telling me to “proceed to Arghlblrargl street 15” like a wizard who overdid it with the pipeweed.

After what feels like two hours I’m finally on the other side of the street and proceed. The pizza place seems to be doing more business hoarding parcels than with pizza. Probably because it looks like really doughy pizza and they make burgers with tomato sauce. Who in the hell does that? Old lady at the counter checks my ID and goes on the hunt for my package. There are a lot of packages in the shop. Like, a lot. So it takes a while. Maybe she’s taking so long hoping I’ll get hungry and get a pizza, too. I’m not hungry, I’m angry at the world. The only thing I’m feeling peckish for is a lightly fried DHL delivery man, preferably with teriyaki sauce. Anyway.

Get package. Get out. Get to decide which pedestrian crossing I want and decide on the one on the other side, because I naively assumed it would be a wee bit shorter because the mess of wiring above the street looked like it might lead to a traffic light. It doesn’t. It’s not shorter. It’s right down at the train station, in fact. Google is panicking again and I yell “Shut up!” Get weird looks from people around me. “No, that wasn’t to you, I was talking to… Google.” Time to shut the fucking app, I guess. And since I’m at the station, I decide, fuck it, which at this point should be my life’s motto. Might as well take the underground for two stations and walk the rest.

One thing of interest at my stop is that there is exactly one elevator and approximately 376 people who want to get on it. So, again, fuck it. Might as well take the stairs instead of waiting for the third elevator. I still got some serviceable legs. You know that one underground station in London with the like 1000 steps? This one is similar. Nothing tells your asthmatic ass to start working out like going up those flights of stairs.

Now fast forward. I finally get home. Struggle with my keys. Tear into my parcel like a hungry tiger and hug my lightbulbs to my chest. My pretties! My pretty pretties! Now if only one you doesn’t work I’ll destroy the fucking Earth.

And this is why next time I’ll just go to the fucking store myself. And why I declare open season on DHL delivery men.


Ice Cream at the End of the Universe

You know that feeling when you’re working two jobs and you start seeing the numbers on your bank account climb? That’s a great feeling, yeah? Right before you realise you gotta pay rent. Again. Why do you have to pay rent every month? Who came up with that system?

In other news, I’ve had my period anniversary and I celebrated… by having my period. But I mean, how often do you get your period on the same day you got your first period? I think it’s significant. I also can’t believe I’ve been bleeding every month for years. Years as in decades. Okay… one decade and a bit. Still. That’s a lot of blood. I think someone on tumblr once worked out that over your lifetime you spend seven years bleeding. Seven years of blood! That’s a lot of blood. I wonder if you could forge a sword from the iron of seven years’ worth of blood.

Also, it was long museum night again here in our lovely little town and what better way to blow my hard earned cash than by gaining even more useless knowledge with some trusty smarty-pants friends.

Everyone flaked out on me. Okay, so they didn’t flake… Boyfriend’s sick (got the sniffles), friend one is sick (got a worse case of the sniffles), friend two is not sick but otherwise engaged (presents at a motherfucking conference, go friend, that’s my friend!), friend three does not live here… So what’s an ‘ardworking independent modern woman to do but go on her fucking own. Which I did.

It’s glorious and I don’t understand why I don’t do things alone more often.

I mean… for one I could pick the museums I wanted to visit without any regard whatsoever for someone else. Then I could go at my own pace. Get absolutely lost and be in no hurry. Talk to literally no one except the customary “Hello, one ticket please.” Hang out longer in one section and breeze past another one that didn’t interest me. Wonderful, elating selfishness!

This year’s museums were Technological, Film, and observatory. Bit disappointed about the observatory because the waiting time for the telescope was over an hour and I was already too tired to sit it out, but oh well. Just have to come here some other time when there’s not the entire supply of the city’s school-age children on the loose. Also, the guy doing the usual astrophysics presentation was getting on my nerves. I mean… you’re watching the ocean from the point of view of a grain of sand. You have no more but a snapshot of the universe and you try to stuff it into a corset of numbers. Don’t tell me the universe will just end in 22 billion years, according to everything you know right now, and then that’s it because entropy. We’ve had thermodynamics for less than two hundred years, you don’t know jack! I’d be surprised if you guys even got the age of the universe right. And you didn’t even go over multiverse theory!

“According to the laws of…” Well, have you ever considered changing the definitions of these laws, because the universe doesn’t seem to give two shits. Look, science is good, science is great, but when it comes to the cosmos I’ll always pick the theory that makes the best story. So neener-neener-neener to your eternal end. Just wait what your successors will discover in the next only thousand years, and I’ll come back from the grave and laugh. If I’m still sitting here in 22 billion years and listen to how people believed it was the end of the world, I will absolutely point and laugh.

Technological was great, though little did I know that they had renovated the entire thing and I got a bit lost somewhere between an 1851 summer train carriage and the last surviving WW1 fighter jet. Big topic this year: urban studies. Yes, that’s a thing. Everything about the city, and let’s be real, city life is fascinating. I’m a big fan of the everyday section because… this is how people lived! Actual people! Who are now dead! Who used incredibly big and unwieldy vacuum cleaners and giant toothbrushes! And flat irons with coals in them! What I like the most about museums is the sense of epiphany they give me, the feeling of connectedness to entire generations of humans I never knew and who never knew me, and we’re all just trying to make a living and make life comfortable, and we’ll never know if someday the things we used every day without a second thought will be displayed so someone else can take their child to see it like “Look, little human, this is your history.” Hell, in fifty years I’ll probably see the make and model of the laptop I’m typing on right now in one of those glass cases, and all the future wide-eyed whippersnappers laughing at our way of life back then. Wait until you see our ergonomic chairs.

Exit through the gift shop.

I’m a grown adult, I tell myself slowly and mercilessly as I make my way to the exit. I’m an adult, I tell myself through clenched teeth as I force myself to put down the grow-your-own-crystal set and the archaeological kit for kids. I’m a motherfucking adult, I tell myself as I put the mini planetarium back on the shelf and return the plasma globe to its place, and I don’t need to overcompensate now for my lack of scientific toys in childhood. I realise I’ll be one of those parents one day who buys unholy amounts of stuff ‘for the kids’ and uses it all herself. Because I’m an adult. And I want to dig out my own dinosaur bone and look at it through the microscope!

So to console myself I bought an ice cream cone somewhere in the inner city. Yes, it is October. Yes, it’s a tad chilly. Yes, it was roughly 10 pm. And I still wanted nougat and coconut flavoured ice cream. Have I mentioned I’m an adult? Well, fucking adults can buy fucking ice cream in fucking autumn if they fucking want to! There must be some upside to this whole paying bills and cooking your own meals thing.

Anyway, this whole night had me thinking… why don’t I do things alone anymore? I did all the time when I was a teenager, I went to the movies alone because no one had told me it was weird, and I took walks alone and bike rides alone… granted I had no friends and now I do. Somewhere and somehow everything I did became a couple’s thing. Why is that? Why this push towards sociality? Why is being alone seen as something to be pitied? I think it does a body good to be away from people for a bit. Like, fuckers, how can I miss you if you’re never away from me? Seems like a healthy thing to do.

At least this way no one stops you from buying ice cream in October in the middle of the night. Apparently that’s frowned upon by most people. As if there was a bad time for ice cream. Hell, I’d eat ice cream while the universe was ending. According to thermodynamics, it’s going to be cold anyway.

I’m not doing anything in particular, you wanna hear about it?

Updates from my life.

I’ve been at my new job for a month now and I think I’m doing pretty okay. At least no one’s complained about me so far, so that’s good, right? Still a bit confused about some of the administration-esque stuff but that’s just a matter of time. I suppose I might be confusing my boss a little, she keeps asking if I like it there. I’m like yeah, I like it, please keep me. Is it so weird for someone to like working? My colleagues probably think it is. I mean, we have these phases during the day when there is literally nothing to do, like nothing’s coming in, and they just go on facebook and stuff while I’m bored. And they keep telling me to be happy that there’s not much to do. I think I’m still suffering from newbie motivation.

It’s just like with the weather, I’m overjoyed that it’s raining again while everyone around me is tolling the death bell for summer already. I can’t wait for summer to be over. If summer was equipped with an agreeable temperature I wouldn’t mind so much. But the 30C and over nonsense? Keep that. Who actually likes sweating?

I suppose if this job thing takes off and I can find something full-time later on it’s gonna be time to move, I’m apparently not made for extreme climates. Is there a place on this planet that’s constantly within the 20-25C zone? No? Damn.

It’s like I came to Earth with a “Keep at room temperature” sticker attached. I’m like a fucking potted plant with feelings.

In other news I handed in the theory chapter of my thesis and as luck would have it, exactly two minutes before submitting my work I stumbled across more literature. That could be useful. Which somehow didn’t show its sorry face before that exact moment.

Speaking of thesis, how often can you use ‘disregard’ and ‘thus’ in 20 pages without sounding like you don’t give a fuck anymore? There really aren’t that many synonyms, though.

And then there’s the whole business of signing up to half a dozen scientific networks just so you can get access to ONE paper that looks promising and then you don’t get it because the author can’t be arsed to give you access and meanwhile you get notifications that your profile has been viewed, like no, don’t, stop looking at me! I’m just here to quote your shit, get off!

This might be the last academic thing I’ll ever write and I’m not sure if that thought should scare me.

And other than that… I’m doing nothing. I’ve never felt so lazy in my life. Sports? Nah. Computer? Still a month until Legion. Friends? Eh, every couple of weeks is fine. Family? They went to Greece and I haven’t seen anyone in over a month. Boyfriend? Lost that one to Pokemon Go.

I still have the sneaking suspicion that Pokemon Go is a cunning plan to get our overweight generation of children moving again. It’s damn more effective than any school programs, that’s for sure. Remember how old people used to complain that kids these days don’t play outside any more? Fixed that for ya! Everyone is playing this stupid game! If this was a Doctor Who episode it would be a plot by disgruntled aliens to take over the world. It’d work, too.

So I’m meeting a friend for coffee and we have coffee and then she says, hey, wanna take a walk in the park, weather’s so nice, so I’m like, sure. One minute in she pulls out her phone to just “quickly check” if there are any of those pesky little things about. Another minute and she joins the walking braindead. Half the city’s in the park. Almost no one’s moving. Everyone is staring intently at their phone. And I know I’ve lost.

I’m meeting some other friends a week later at my place. Everybody on their phone catching things I didn’t even know were in my flat. Also, apparently I live near a Pokestop. Hot?

Meanwhile I’m over here like… you fuckers laughed at my WoW pet collection and now you’re wasting precious cell phone space on this? You suck!

I mean, it’s not even like there’s a feature that projects a hologram of those things so it looks like they’re running along with you. You know? That would be nice, just having a little computer generated animal following you all day. It’d be cute! But no. Just run around like an idiot and get hit by a car trying to catch some fucking flappy ass bat thing.

And now suddenly, my reclusive shut-in semi-hermit of a boyfriend has the urge to take walks. Hey, let’s take a walk in the park! Flashback to when I said things like that last year and it was like… nah, gotta finish this Hearthstone game. Nah, I wanna play Hero League. Nah, Diablo season. Nah, people I don’t know are livestreaming their Heroes of the Storm games, don’t wanna miss it. Nah, don’t feel like going out, sick of people, I have to see people all day, I wanna stay home!

But give him some virtual Japanese clone failures and he’s all systems go! Need to walk 10 km to hatch this egg!

What’s happening to the world? Is this some sort of anti-terror strategy? Get everyone hooked on Pokemon so the suicide bombers and religious nuts are too distracted to blow something up because they found a Pikachu? I mean, whatever it takes, I guess.

Or is it exactly the other way round because I swear I could transport a dead body through the city on public transport and absolutely no one would notice. Hell, I’d probably make it to the cemetery (wha? where do you hide your dead bodies?), start digging, hide the body, cover grave, get rid of evidence, and saunter out of the cemetery. If there’s any witnesses all I’d have to do is get out my phone and scream “Oh my god, is that a Mewtew?!” or “Pokestop by the entrance, way at the other end of the graveyard!”

And I had this great idea for a zombie movie. Picture this: the sun is setting as a lone Pokemon trainer wanders into the graveyard without even noticing his surroundings. He sees a rare Pokemon. He aims his phone! Doesn’t notice the scuffling of feet behind him! Shoots pokeball after pokeball and misses as a grey hand reaches for him…

A blood curdling scream.

And then a cut, and we see a blood spattered phone falling to the ground. The Pokemon is still uncaught. Screen fade to black, next scene.

Or just, the zombie apocalypse has happened, but it’s less an apocalypse and more a bit of an inconvenience as a band of brave Pokemon trainers arms themselves with shotguns because a bunch of lurching corpses is no excuse to not Catch Them All.

Look, I think it’s funny, okay?

And yes, I will always and forever make fun of all the new and cool things the world can throw at me. I’m a contrary bastard and proud of it.

WoW Wednesday: Skeletons Doing Stuff

If you run around Azeroth, or Outlands, or anywhere at all you’ll notice one thing: no matter where you go, there’s lotsa dead mofos. And sometimes, they make you wonder just how the hell they died, because… huh? So just in time for Halloween, let’s look how skeletons in WoW spend their free time.


Skeleton number one, this guy who met with an accident in the middle of a drum solo:

“Draenor must hear my sick beats!” *shooty shoot* “Everyone’s a critic!”


And I’m sure we all have that one friend that you hate to play board games with because they take for-fucking-ever to make a move because they’re ‘thinking’:

“Don’t rush me, Timothy.”


The most fun for some people is going for a swim. Unless you’re in Draenor. Then you should probably stay as far away from any body of water as possible:





What’s more fun than being a corpse under water? Playing Romeo and Juliet in the fortress of Stromgarde:

Two tinkers, both alike in dignity, In fair Gnomeregan, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where gnomish blood makes gnomish hands unclean

Okay, so maybe I’m reading too much into that bottle. And maybe I’m slightly ignoring the overall gore of that table.


If you’re in Stormwind, avoid the barber. Why? ‘Cause:


I wouldn’t trust any barber who can’t even properly hide the corpses of his victims.


It was a normal day until Sudden Inexplicable Death. These guys are chillin’ atop a mountain in Blasted Lands. The crystal in the middle looks suspiciously like some Twilight’s Hammer accessory. Maybe this is what happens to Twilight’s Hammer’s interns?

“Join Twilight’s Hammer clan, they said. You’ll have fun, they said.”


Such a nice day for fishing, you think. No one’s gonna gank you right out in the sticks in Tirisfal, you think.


Until someone stabs you right in the… left butt cheek, apparently?


Probably while trying to fish out this gnome who had a terrible plane accident:



And then there are these skeletons in Vale of Eternal Blossoms who can’t even.


…decide what the hell they are, that is. They look like some sort of weird Saurok at a first look. Rest assured, they are not:


If this is a reference to something I have absolutely no idea to what and I’m not sure I want to know.


So your grandma was making her famous Nagrand apple pie and sends you to pick some apples, but then you took an axe to the face:


On top of a flying piece of rock, in old Nagrand. That’s as good an explanation as any.


This is one of those things that are not just weird, but take an express train to Uncanny Valley. First you think, oh how cute, a little raft.


Then you get closer and it’s like, whuh?


But the thing that throws me is not the pink doll, or the judgy looking birds, or the three empty bottles. It’s the fact that this fella has been dead long enough to completely decompose, yet somehow the fruit still looks fresh.

And that concludes this week’s skeletons. Next week we’ll look at… I dunno. I’m pretty busy this week. Let’s keep it a surprise!


Risky Business, Also Known as Daily Life

As a slowly recovering sociophobe (ignore your spell check, it’s a word), I take chances every damn day.

I mean, I guess the biggest chance ever to take was to get actual psychological help, which did not work out at all. But that’s a sad story and I’m not feeling it today.

So instead let me regale you with the fact that sometimes I get up, get ready, get my stuff, open the door…

… go “Nope” and head back inside.

Some days leaving the house is just not happening. I mean… people. Construction workers. Children. Parents with children. Dogs. Birds. Social interaction with cashiers and ticket inspectors and random weirdos and those elusive beings called acquaintances. Hundreds of thousands of people being carried through the public transport system like so much cholesterol in an American’s bloodstream. The noise of a million grunting voices, crying, yapping, tapping on their phones, the irregular tick-tock of two million shoes going in every direction and at every pace, all while you are trapped in the enormous body heat of a stuffed subway car like you were travelling through the bowels of some huge alien creature. Smells like it, too. And you want me to partake in all this? Nah.

So some days, I step outside, decide that ‘literally, I can’t even’, and go hide in my bedroom.

I’m absolutely convinced this is where this dreaded phrase comes from. You’re so paralysed with fear you can’t even finish the sentence. Your brain just shuts down from sensory overload.

But sometimes, you do have to go out. Yes, even me with my thorough calculations of how long I can put off buying toilet paper. There’s university, and grocery shopping, and going to the drug store for tampons, and visiting relatives, and a billion other things you just can’t avoid. And then you just have to brace yourself, give yourself a good mirror pep talk about how you are a kind and loveable and entirely normal not-at-all-weird-or-awkward person, and go.

And then your brain puts on the next horror show. Did I lock the door? better go check again. Did I close the windows? There’s scaffolding all over the place, anyone could climb in, better go check again. Did I lock the door again after I checked on the windows? Better go check. Wait, did I check the kitchen window? Wait, did I turn off the stove? Should I really leave the dryer running, I heard that can cause a fire. What if someone starts a fire in the basement again? What if I lose my keys? What if I lose my phone? Wait, where’s my pepper spray even? Wait, where’s my list? What if it rains, should I take an umbrella? What if it gets cold, should I take a jacket? Wait, what if someone breaks the windows and steals all my stuff?! Maybe I should hide everything I own real quick…

And all this just to take a ten minute walk to the post office.

I took a huge chance today by going to a job interview. Do you want my inner monologue?

Oh my god, they answered so quickly! Wait, does that mean they’re desperate? Does that mean their last assistant quit suddenly? Did someone die? That’s why you can’t ask why the position’s free, no matter what they tell you in those get-ready-for-your-job-interview articles, because it’d be super awkward. Wait, how many other candidates are there? Oh my god, I really don’t have much experience, what if they hire me and then I can’t do it? Oh my god, what do I say when they ask why I want this job, I can’t say “Because I’d be getting paid”! But literally, that’s the reason. What if they ask me what my dream job is, I can’t say ‘billionaire heiress’! But literally, that’s the truth. Oh my god, what if they don’t like me? What if they’re mean? What if they make a joke they think is funny but is actually really hurtful and/or offensive? It’s going to be 90 degrees out, what am I going to wear? What if they don’t have AC? Ahhhh… blouse. Okay. Should I do pants? I can’t do my suit pants, too hot. Should I do a skirt? Great, now I look like I’m going to boarding school. What are they wearing on their website? Is this more business casual or business professional? What if that’s just for the photos and they’re really like super relaxed? What if I look odd? What if they don’t like my nose? Or my voice? Or my accent? Oh my god, I can’t do this. You need a job, though. I can’t do this! You need a job, though! I’m not half as good as I don’t even think I am! You need a job, though. Okay, so I’m here, and they are super relaxed about clothes. And it’s a group interview. Aww, all the other girls are so much prettier than I am! And they’re younger, too! Argh, Jesus, there’s no way they’re going to take me, not with that girl over there, she’s probably perfect. Argh, why can’t I pretend I’m a smiley, happy person, why is my strict organiser showing?! They want an organiser, though. Who cares, no one ever cares how efficient I am because I’m not a pretty smiling-at-all-hours sort of person! I’ve resting bitch face! It’s my natural condition! My masticatory muscle is cramping from all the smiling, this is the worst thing ever! Actually, this interview wasn’t so bad. Yes, it was. Wasn’t. Was. They seemed to like you. Didn’t! I said a stupid thing. I said a lot of stupid things, actually. Argh, why did I even go? Because you need a job. What I need is being a normal person!

So, yes, I’m definitely taking chances. Chances of going absolutely insane. Thank you and goodnight, I’ll see myself in.

Things to do When You’re Bored: Kitten Attack

So Boyfriend finally discovered, after over a week, the job of fabulousness I did on his mini Marvel figures, and their dresses were promptly removed (yes, even Black Panther’s fierce mini dress).

So naturally it was time to up the ante. I call it Project Pussy because I have the sense of humour of a twelve year old.



And now we play the waiting game….