Ninety eight point three in Stuff

Right. Wannbe drag-queen (not really) entries are done with! Until next time haha. I’ve kind of been thinking it would be nice to get done up in drag sometime, but nice-drag, you know, like a lovely dress and a wig that doesn’t look like a zombie Kathy Griffin. But I am no drag queen lol.
A friend actually asked me yesterday… he’s like, “Can I ask you a serious question?”
(I never know which direction a conversation is going to turn when someone asks a warning-question like that.)
He goes, “Are you a drag queen? As in KAPCHA?”

I have a kind of a joke-facebook-profile for my drag persona, named ‘Amanda Kapcha‘. I’ve had it for a few years, as it’s always been a bit of an ongoing joke that I’ll sometimes check in with her at places and stuff. I chose the name ‘Kapcha’ as in like a ripoff of the Moe’s Tavern joke from The Simpsons when bart prank-calls Moe and asks to talk to “Amanda Hugginkiss”. Naturally, Moe says to the bar-flies, “I’m looking for Amanda Hugginkiss. Does anyone know where I can find Amanda Hugginkiss?” and of course they all burst into laughter.
So I stole that and just changed the last-name. I added a few more details to the profile when I originally made her, you can have a look if you want. She’s married to Lana Beddenfuckme and they have a daughter named Bree Encrackers.
At least I think I’m funny :P

So I wouldn’t be surprised if my parents do actually think I am a drag queen LOL. I haven’t posted any of those photos on my own facebook profile, but I think my sister is on Instagram, so she may have seen the half-half one on there lol. But I have checked in with ‘Amanda’ and anyone with half a brain could figure it out lol. But no, I’m no drag queen. Real drag queens would get offended by ‘Amanda’, because she’s kind of a mockery to the ‘art’ of drag. And let’s face it, I wouldn’t know where to start.

As for life, it’s going okay. It’s been another boring-ass three days off and I have no life. Getting that STI really threw a spanner in the works for me, first physically, but now mentally. I went back to the doc last Friday for my follow-up appointment but that was basically a waste of $42. He did give me a script to get another test done if I want to, just to make sure it’s all cleared up, but my symptoms have gone. I’d rather go get tested for everything again rather than just the urine-based tests and kill two birds with one stone. Even though my last blood tests were only a month ago now. Who knows what else that fucker might have had.

Peter-Pantless has been texting me every so often wanting to hang out, which is nice of him. I’ve been texting him back but avoiding getting together with him. And the cute Vietnamese guy (the one who keeps wanting my housemates to catch us) wanted to hang out on Good Friday as well, but I’ve been avoiding both guys and avoiding guys altogether. The fucker who gave me the STI has ignored my texts ever since I told him to go get tested. I can’t stand guys like that. It’s like he knows he has it but has sex without getting treated anyway. That’s just the vibe I get. At least I know I definitely won’t ever be fucking him again. If you can’t be honest in any situation, then what’s the point continuing?

Work was hell last week. Absolute hell. I think it’s still a catch-up from the floods last week, but it’s also my manager being a lazy fuck. I mentioned that I was told he’ll be going on PIP (Performance Improvement Program) this week but I know him and he will have kicked up a stink about it and probably gotten out of it. So he basically left me with an impossible amount of work because he didn’t do anything he was suppose to and I was playing catch-up all week. I mean I only work 4 days a week, but I wouldn’t have even been able to catch up if I had 5.
I was a bit confused on Sunday however, because the invoice girl called me to the office and asked if I was doing different hours that day. I said, “No, I’ve been doing this shift for three years now.”
But in the system, my hours have been listed as 11:30am until 6pm on Sundays. I was like, “Umm, no. No-one’s said anything to me about this.” (As I always do 9:30am until 4pm).
I mentioned this to my manager and he told me that the grocery manager has “gone behind his back” and changed the roster anyway because they apparently don’t want both of us there earlier in the day. I already start later than him, but we still finish at the same time. They apparently want someone there until close.
So that was nice to find out. That I may soon have to work later on Sundays. In some ways it’s good, because it means I might actually be able to go out on a Saturday night for once, because I’d be able to have the extra two hours sleep-in, but I also know what I’m like. I’m not the 18-24yo party animal that I used to be sometimes. I’m old and boring and sensible (financially, by NOT going out) and will probably sit around the house doing fuck-all on my Saturday nights anyway.
And then I think, I really need to get a life. Some sort of a life. Starting two hours later on a Sunday may not be the most horrible thing. I already do a late-shift on Thursdays, and then two early ones on Fridays and Saturdays. But yeah, changing my roster without even a mention of it to me nor me signing any agreement hasn’t sat too well with me. Apparently my manager did know about it but had been trying to stall it, because, let’s face it, who doesn’t want to escape to their weekend earlier than they have to?
This week will be a good one though, pay-wise, with two public holidays. I am trying to get my savings account looking half-decent, and me being a boring-ass cow tends to help with that, go figure.

So I’m thankful to have just done nothing on these days off. I finished watching Season 7 of The Walking Dead and I also finished watching Season 3 of Grace And Frankie, so that should give an indication of how much of a lazy fuck I’ve been these last few days, laying on a couch like a slob.
And I really shouldn’t be doing that. I decided to check my weight on the scales yesterday.
98.3kg. NINETY FUCKING EIGHT POINT THREE KILOS. Holy fuck. That is the heaviest I have ever been. I couldn’t believe it when I saw the numbers ticking over. It’s electronic and flashes when I stand still enough and that’s what flashed up. 98.3kg. This means I am less than 2 kilos away from hitting three figures.
I always saw three figures as an embarrassing number for me, personally, but it’s probably all in my head.
I’m actually doing pretty well at the gym and going three times a week, which is a good amount for me. I feel good going. And I also think I look pretty good. I look in the mirror shirtless and sure, it could be better, but I definitely don’t have a beer-gut. I don’t even drink beer. I’m bringing healthy lunches to work each day, I’m trying not to buy stuff from the store, not only because a lot of it is unhealthy but also to save money. Sure the scales say 98.3kg, but I am also 191cm tall. I found myself thinking that if I was a short-ass, then I’d have something to really start getting concerned about. Could the weight just be from doing compound exercises at the gym? I am lifting pretty heavy weights. I do lesser-reps with heavier weights because I’m not going every day. And it works for me pretty well. I am annoyed that the leg-press machine has been broken for like a week now though. They take forever to fix broken machines at my gym. They’ll happily sign someone up for 500 smackers a year but they’ll leave a machine to sit there, unusable.
But because of the highest-weight-I’ve-ever-been-guilt-monster sitting on my shoulder, I kind of want to incorporate a 4th day a week into my gymming, purely for cardio. Which I hate lol. But I do like cycling because I can type an entry on here if people aren’t hogging it.
But fuck, 98.3. I keep thinking back to when I was 25 and struggled to get over 70kg. And I’d inhale the fridge and it wouldn’t make a difference.
Now it seems I can’t walk past a KFC without inhaling the fumes and putting on 2kg.
Fuck getting older.

Last updated April 12, 2017