Ugh, Dawei's house (like, my real house) is currently getting painted. No, no, don't worry, it isn't getting painted a flaming "dusty-pink" as what happened with the renovations to my other house. Anyway, we have a painter here for the next three weeks! My God. How hard is it to paint a fucking house? I think he's dragging it out so he can bump up his fee. I never see him do any work. Just now, after I got out of my shower, he was sitting on the front step talking on the phone. What a lazy git! Not on my watch, pal, back to work for you. I gave him the stink-eye, and now I see he is back to being his usual productive self (wandering around our front yard gathering dropcloths and smoking).

And speaking of the stink-eye, the other day I saw him wandering around inside our house, and I was all "uhm, excuse me Sir, but we are employing you to paint the exterior of the house. So what the fuck are you doing inside? GET BACK TO WORK!" Actually, I didn't say that. I mean, I was going to, and my brain was negotiating with my mouth and tongue the exact amount of condescending snot to use when I noticed he had come out of the bathroom. MY bathroom to be more exact. So I rush down, and yep, he had befouled my bathroom. Like, have you not heard of a match? Opening a window? The fucking EXHAUST fan, maybe? I have like, six highly expensive but awesome smelling "scents" lined up on the bench there, so why not spray one around a bit? Moron. He's probably used to Port-a-Loos which, by the way, he should have got for this job.

I didn't check the porcelain to see if there were remnants; I'm still scarred by last week when I used a pristine toilet in the uni bar, only to return ten minutes later (damn jugs) to find half of it was encrusted with unflushable sludge. I came outside, looked around hands-on-hips and went eye-slitty at the crowd, because I knew one of them had done it. So. DISGUSTING. Fiber, people. Please ignore my last post when you read that tip for healthy bowel movements.

So anyway, I just slammed the lid down, and opened a window, gagging like that twelve inch motherfuckin' Maltese cock I had in Europe was being thrust down my throat. And then I remembered if there was stains I would have to clean it, as mother dismissed our maid! What is WITH the help these days? Isn't anyone reliable? We thought this last girlie was, but apparently not. She was soooo stupid. She, like, wrote a fake reference in my mother's name... and then put the correct details on the reference! So this guy rang up and was all "uhm, did you actually write this reference, as it's kind of crappy," and Mum was all "absolutely not! I don't even know how to use clipart" (true story. Our maid put CLIPART in her fake reference!) Basic Note Forgery 101 says that you put down a fake number, or the number of a friend who can play along with the story. If she had done that, we wouldn't have ever known and she would still have that precious ten dollars a week income coming in.

Ah well, she is a maid after all. I suppose we can't expect her to have much in the way of intelligence or sass. Plenty more where that came from.

Remember, if you have any comments or questions for Dawei, just Ask him!

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posted by Dawei at 11:25 am

I have quite possibly the worst diarrhoea in the history of human kind. Like, those wusses who get dysentery in rural Asia and live with swollen bellies and constant pain and stuff would crumble and beg for mercy if they were to experience but one tenth of my acidic runs. Like, I honestly think my gushing faeces has burnt a good inch or two from the overall diameter of my sphincter and anus. I wonder if this means if I can finally get (properly) fucked now? Have fun rimming that one out, boys!

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posted by Dawei at 11:23 pm

I'm so impressed with myself! I worked last night! Like, at a job!

Okay, so it wasn't a real job, it was more like a favour. A friend of my mother's asked if I could work at a function she was having at her art gallery, so I was all "sure" and the next thing you know I'm employed. I had to carry around this big fuckoff platter of champagne flutes, and fuck me if being a waiter (or as I prefer to call it, being a mobile beverage distributor) is a lot harder than it looks. My left arm was totally dead after twenty minutes (Fun Dawei Fact! Dawei is left handed!), and some of the people there were so rude to me. Like, they were looking at me like I was the help or something. Bitch, if you ignore the ugly gallery-standard shirt, I'm wearing Gucci, so cram it. I'm just asking if you want a refreshing bubbly beverage. Sheesh. It made me realise that wait-staff are just there to be helpful, so the next time I'm at a restaurant or café, I'll be sure to be all "thank-you" and "please" to them.

Hmm, I think I'm "growing as a person" from being employed. I'm not sure I like it. Thankfully it was only a one time deal. Most life changing two hours of my life, EVAH!

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posted by Dawei at 11:36 am

You know it's Winter when you wake up and your face and Egyptian cotton white sheets are caked from blood that has gushed from your nose and you weren't on a cocaine fuelled cum-binge the night before. Have fun washing those tomorrow, Ellie! Watch out for those other stains in the top quarter of the sheets. Whoops.

There was some good news this week, however. My dumb sister who outed me to my parents while drunk finally got her lazy-ass self a job. I can hear you all mumbling now: "but, Dawei, how is this going to help you in your financial problems? How will this help you earn your parents' trust and therefore credit cards?" Well, it wont, really. But it means I can finally get back into my routine of tanning 'n' NW on the chaise lounge. It's embarrassing how pasty I've become. I was, like, totally a coloured person a few weeks ago. I mean, I could do it now, but I'm a bit embarrassed, and the article which I've chosen to create my tanline is a bit embarrassing. Don't worry, it's not in G-string territory, but embarrassingly homo enough. The tanline is the product of those stupid boy-leg dicktogs (or underwear, if I'm feeling more pornstar-ish, and it means that I can go straight from my bed to outside without having to get changed). Hideous, I know, and I would never wear them in public, but the 'mos do go wild for it. Stupid faggots, so predictable.

And I have to start looking good too, as my latest crush wont be turned on by pastiness. I mean, not that he's perfect, of course. He has vampire fangs, and in my opinion looks a bit... big to be a model (not that he's fat. He just has motorbike body and is about seven feet tall). Meh. We seem to get along well. We got drunk and he "taught" me to play pool the other night. I put "taught" in " thingies because, dude, I'm no retard, I can play pool. I wasn't captain of my house in school for nothing, I'm down with that sports shit, man! I mean, I'm not awesome or anything, but one of my best friends has a wicked pooltable so we played that all through highschool. Anyway, I faux-blonded a bit, and bounced the ball off the table a few times, and he was all giggly and corrected me, which included bodily contact so I was okay with it.

Now I just need to get him to break up with his boyfriend so I can pork him.

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posted by Dawei at 1:40 pm

Well, that was quite possibly the most boring week ever. Sorry about that. I can't think of one thing that I did. Well, other than the usual routine of uni, study, Passions, Twisties, study, blah. Throw in a few beers higgelty-piggelty and you have my week. Oh, and a bit of shopping and lunching. So tedious. Y'all who have to, like, work for money don't know how good you have it.

Can someone help me find a job? The first task is to brainstorm some ideas of what I could actually do. I have, well, no experience. And it's not as if they can give me minimum wage, as I'm almost 22 (eek!). I almost considered applying for a job as a salesmen in a "gourmet nut shop" on James St, but then I was all "Dawei? Working with food? Ha!" and promptly terminated that idea. Sigh. Why is job-hunting so difficult?

What I want is a high-ish paying job that allows me to wear cool clothes, and possibly a telephone headset, or an identification badge hung around my neck. But not a telemarketer as I'm not retarded. Speaking of, I notice that the 'tards are now getting jobs in retail which is frightening. I don't want to have the goods I'm purchasing being manhandled by drooly, misshappen hands. Okay, this is happening at Coles, but it's kind of retail! Seriously, at my Coles, there is a midgit who is like, four feet tall, bald, and looks twelve. He's sort of a cross between Timmy from Passions and Australia's Favourite 'Tard, Quentin. Only I guess this guy at Coles has legs and stuff, and isn't merely a floating head in a jar. There's also a deaf chick, but I quite like her, so I wont get all up her for her 'tardishness. I know a bit of sign language, so I'm all "Hello!" and "Thank-you!" when she gives me back my credit card. Plus, the fact that she looks kind of normal and doesn't have hands like mangled aborted foetuses doesn't hurt. Christ, I'm getting soft.

Arrgh, what kind of job am I going to get?! Stupid Brisbane! We have no good jobs, and all the semi-decent ones go to people with "experience". What a crock. Is it my fault I (quelle horreur!) actually completed my high-school diploma? It's so unfair rewarding people just because they had the luxury of being able to work since they were 14.

So, anyone have any ideas (or better yet, Brisbane entrepreneurs, any job offers) for me? For all your kind help, I've decided to activate Ask Dawei, my new quasi-advice column! I mean, I may as well try to help a few people while I have all this free time, right? So give me a bell, write in some letters, put your heads in my lap: Dawei is going to make it all better again.

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posted by Dawei at 9:46 pm