Slight Diversion

There's something that I've been meaning to write since 15th Feb. Basically, as some of you may know, I received nothing for V Day. What most of you don't know, however, is that I DID receive something the following day!

That's right - the 25 year drought and hatred of Valentine's Day may be subsiding - I received a card. Yes; a pink, valentines themed, card.

Problem is, I have absolutely no friggin idea who it's from. AND it's been sat on my bookcase for almost two weeks now, and every time I see it the mystery perplexes me. The clues that I have are as follows:

1. It was posted on the north side of Brisbane.
2. It was posted in the late arvo/early evening of the 13th.
3. The person's pen was starting to run out, as the three 'X's' that appeared inside looked slightly worn and eventful.
4. The handwriting on the front of the card looks very feminine.

So, either someone got a girl to write the envelope, or someone has very feminine handwriting. Either way, they're a fucking pussy, and it's really starting to piss me off. If anybody has any idea about anything in this world, please enlighten me.

Road Rage

As my close friends will be aware, I suffer quite badly from road rage - especially if someone is tailgating me, or if someone cuts me up. They are the worst culprits. However, this morning I experienced the other side of said affliction.

I was a victim of road rage - but not in the reactive sense of the word. I caused someone else to have road rage.

I was driving along minding my own business, when the sign said that the left lane would end - I had a suspicion it might do so, but I still chose to start in the left lane. My first error. Man in clapped out red Ford let the guy in front of me in, so I assumed that as he was positioned behind me, I should be let in as well. But no - as I merged, he sped up, and my bum narrowly missed his left headlight. Beeping ensued - from him - as well as some rather vicious pointing, tailgating and swearing, all of which I observed in my rear view mirror.

But did I retaliate? No. Did I even get upset? Only a little, and it was only in the 'he's picking on me and I'm a big girl' kind of way. I calmly carried on driving, and ignored him. **I applaud myself**

But my restraint didn't stop there - oh no... He later caught me up, and overtook me on a very dangerous part of the road, and pointed and yelled some more. And I ignored him again! Yay me!!

I'm thinking all of this was possible because I hadn't yet had my morning coffee. So, in future, I shall make a concerted effort to only drive into work when I'm slightly tired and lacking caffeine.

Baby Poo

Yesterday I was going to make the trip to the dreaded library and sit with the amazingly numerous infidels who are also attempting to look like they have important computer things to do, but I was too busy with baby poo.

My little semi-niece/cousin Ellie, age 3, has a slight problem. She can wee in the toilet, but for some reason, she can't poo. This problem is probably due to a retentive disorder, i.e. a need to retain all things solid and not see them fall to the wayside like urine does, and has a side effect of still having to wear a nappy.

I was watching her run around the garden chasing my mums dog with a large pair of scissors, when she suddenly starting talking about poo. This roused me from my daze, and I asked her why she chose that topic of conversation, and what was wrong with yelling "CUT DOGGIE" over and over again as before? She came up to me and said "You wipe my bum".

Ummm... No. The stern look I held with this refusal didn't seem to do the trick, so she dragged me to the toilet, sat down on it, and instructed me again. This time however, she showed me the poo. Yes, she had in fact done a rather large, very adult like, poo in her nappy.

Now, I've not had much contact with people who come to below my hip, so I handed her some toilet paper and said 'wipe'. So she wiped. Here lies my mistake... She wiped, with the toilet paper in her hand, but managed to get the majority of said fecal substance onto her hand. She looked at me with a panic in her eye, and said "It got on me! It's on me!". Christ. I realised that I actually had to deal with this problem. It wasn't going away, and the smell most definitely was here to stay.

So, in short, I wiped, I got a small amount of poo on my own hand in the process, I wiped again, I found a clean nappy, I wiped some more, I put the nappy on, and then I wiped my hand with utter disgust and sent her running outside while I frantically washed myself.

I was still slightly traumatised when my Mum came home and started laughing at me, saying 'awww she changed her first nappy how sweet look at her face ha ha isn't she funny' NO I AM NOT FUNNY OR SWEET - I AM FUCKING DISGUSTED!

I ask you, HOW do mothers get any satisfaction at all from a person who gladly wipes poo on them, and who doesn't know how to clean up after themselves? If I was against the idea of babies before, I'm now thinking of starting a species-cleansing and eradicating babies as a whole unless said parents can sort them out in the first few months and make them self sufficient.

Hellooooo!!!!

I can't believe it - people are actually commenting on my blog!! This means that people are reading it!! I have an audience, a fan base if you will, i am ... POPULAR!!!

I should really calm the fuck down though, because this doesn't raise my cool stake just yet. I'm still sat in a public library with a group of 'special' students making an awful lot of noise behind me, and a rather large person sat next to me with an overwhelming body odour problem. So technically, I'm half way to being cool. That's good enough for me! Yay!

Slight update then:

• Half way through painting the bookcase - forgot about the bottom half of it. Whoops.
• Realised I'm incredibly broke due to old boss paying me early just to be rid of me. Bastard.
• Haven't written about Jayden (as promised) for a whole week and am feeling slightly bad about it.
• Have a fridge full of vegetables of lean meat and I'm not craving chips yet. This is a miracle.
• PT is killing me at the gym but it's all worth it cos my mum told me today that I look 'svelte'. Sweet.

And that's really it at the moment. I'm still very shocked that people might actually be reading this - even though I'm constantly forcing the url onto all of my friends, I never believed they actually bothered to look at it! So, in an attempt to appeal to the mass audience I will throw in some 'popular culture'...

So oh my god what about Britney's hair! Shocker. I totally think she needs to get back with K-Fed. And did anyone notice that J-Lo has recruited a new Louis Vuitton Model/Alternative Movie Genre star to be part of her Alien Clan? That's right; S-Jo is officially from the planet of Way-Ho; more commonly known as Jennifer Lopez's birth place, and less commonly known as the destination of a new breed of humanXalien which is forming in the Hollywood Hills.

Whatever - I'm safe here in my bloggy bubble - I'll reserve my 'IToldYouSo' for a later date when people are asking me why?? why didn't you tell us earlier??

Mwahahhahahaaaa

Speckled Hen

Today's post relates to two things which are overtaking my thoughts at the moment. Firstly, I am speckled due to painting a bookcase that I rescued from a skip. It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it.

Secondly, I am behaving like a Hen because of my rather ferocious PMT, which kicked in yesterday. It's worse than I've previously known - I watched 'Meet the Parents' last night in attempt to find something that wasn't romantic or annoying, but I still ended up crying. I think it was the car he was driving - too many memories of cars. See what I mean?? I'm fucking useless. A big fat girl with far too many hormones.

I wonder if I'll ever ever find a man who can put up with my raging hormones? It's something that I'm not confident about...

Hold on - slight diversion here. The person on the computer next to me if having difficulties opening a file. There are two library staff helping now, and they're all as useless as each other. I know what the problem is - but because I'm feeling particularly bitter and mean today, I will not help. Ha. The person who supposedly knows what she's talking about is going to find someone else. Ha ha ha ha I'm so evil...

Ok, so back to me. The twelve week challenge has started, and I went to the gym this morning. I did a one hour workout, and am aching nicely, and then got a phone call from Personal Trainer (PT). She has told me to go again this afternoon - and that she's gonna be there so she'll know if I haven't been. Damn her and her military style rule over me.

Oh god - back to my little diversion... The IT man has arrived. And he still can't work out that it's a program problem. It's not the fucking file you dimwits!! It's the fact that you don't have the full version of Microsoft Office installed on these fucking useless machines!! Oh ... wait... I think he's got it. I think that after 3 other people coming to fix the problem and failing, he might have got it. The suspense is killing me - he's so close, yet so far...

Nope. It's over. I'm bored now and my abs are killing me - just crying out at the thought that I'm gonna go to the gym and kill them some more. Better go tank myself up with some protein.

P.S. Sorry for the boring and slightly haphazard post today. The PMT is to blame - of course.

Connectile Dysfunction

I am currently sitting in a public library due to connectile dysfunction. This dysfunction has come about due to being walked out of my job yesterday - told to collect my personal effects and leave the building. Bastards.

But hey, I have some holiday now before I start new job. But I will not frequent public libraries just for the use of their internet connection, because the amazing amounts of feral and elderly people is shocking, and I think I'm getting a cold.

Now, Incredibly Jealous Colleague, who is an IDC as well, dobbed me in to the boss for a conversation about him, in which I cast him in an apparently unfair and nasty light. Truthful, is more the word I'd have used. So, now she is public enemy number 1 - in the world of me. Due to this, I will disobey the Blogging Rule of Anonymity and tell you her name:

Her name is Nicole, and she's a fuckwit.

So, I'll now go and hang out with my mum for a bit, like a proper unemployed person, and I'll talk to you all soon.

Pish

Ho hum la la la what a boring pile of crap. Seriously, sometimes life just seems like an endless monotonous tirade of emotional abuse. I had a dream last night about a guy I know. His name, for the purposes of this blog, is 'N/A Guy.' So, in the dream, N/A Guy and I were apparently 'together' and I was walking by a hotel one night and spotted him shagging some blonde chick. Of course I screamed endless abuse and grabbed the girl by the hair and chucked her down the street. But then when my anger really should have mattered, I was lost. I was unable to scream at N/A Guy, and just cried like a big fat girl.

I ask you, what was the point of this dream? Was it a coincidence that I had the dream last night, in order that I wake up on V Day with a definitive anti-glow? No - it was not a coincidence, it was the cosmos mocking me.

(And the severe lack of valium and temazepam in my house has also contributed to the power of the cosmos and its intended mockery.)

What makes it all the more dumb is that N/A Guy doesn't fill any kind of sexual or otherwise capacity in my real-time life, so it was just my brain picking a random bloke to taunt me with. I suppose I should be thankful that it wasn't someone wholly ugly or repulsive, but I'm too busy fighting off the feelings of hatred I now have for him, for something he hasn't really done.

In short, I've started the day with a frown, and the flowers have already started arriving downstairs - the girls are squealing, there's mention of love hearts, and I'm about to vomit.

Pre V Day Rant

As my regular customers will know, I am not a big fan of aforementioned annual event. Last year's Pre V Day Rant consisted of definitions of the word 'single' in an attempt to prove that being single isn't a bad thing. I've moved on since those days, and will now construct my yearly rant around the following topic:

Flowers

Having recently bought a friend some flowers for her birthday, I discovered that a bunch of flowers in the 'economy' range was $65. After seeing this price, I decided to check out the cost of a V Day inspired bunch - $65 was indeed the cheapest available, and consisted of ONE red rose. that's right, ONE SINGLE RED ROSE. I asked myself, why? Why do they make flowers so expensive, and why are people seemingly ok with spending this amount of money on what is essentially a non-permanent token of affection?

To answer my questions, I decided to ask around. I asked my Incredibly Ugly Colleague the following question, "Would you spend $65 on a single red rose for your loved one?" He answered, "No I would not. Not in a million years." Initially I was pleased with this answer, but then realised that his answer was most likely tainted with a lifelong infection of bitter and twisted hatred for anything V Day related, and I probably shouldn't add his thoughts to my catalogue of data.

Then, I asked my Incredibly Jealous Colleague if she would be pleased with the gift of a single red rose, and she answered, "Yes I would - my ex boyfriend once got me a single red rose and it was lovely." I felt slightly down-trodden by her rebuttal, thinking that my argument had just gone out the window; but then I realised that her answer was most likely affected by her innate jealousy of my recent arrival, and should therefore largely be attributed to an attempt on her part to strike a similar feeling within myself.

In short, my research has led me to believe that V Day, and the price and symbolism of flowers on this day, has been put in place by a higher power to ensure that ugly people feel uglier, and jealous people feel more inadequate and overcompensate by spouting about their V Day gifts and acquisitions, whether fictional or not.

So, this V Day I will rest happily in the knowledge that I have uncovered the secret to the evil day, and when I once again don't receive any flowers or gifts in general, I shall feel powerful, lucky and wholly superior in my apparently never-ending loneliness. *nod*

In Conclusion...

I know it may seem like a premature conclusion to something that may or may not be worthy of such a formal summary, but really, I'm just concluding last week's events.

If you care to remember, I promised to not mention a word about work. And guess what?! I almost did it! Technically, I mentioned a certain ugly colleague, which like it or not was work related. Due to my honest and neurotic countenance, I felt it should still be counted. This week, I promise to not mention anything about the following topic:

Jayden

As much as I love my little Jayden, and as much as he's provided me with a weekend full of tremendous fun and frivolity (stop it...) I must stop going on. Incredibly Jealous Colleague is getting sick of my car related banter, so for her sake I shall stop.

So, this blog technically doesn't count, as it's a summary of last week's blogging, so I'll begin this week with a non Jayden related topic. (see above post)

My New Arrival

Yesterday I became the proud new owner of Jayden. He's a lovely black Holden Barina 2007, only 80km on the clock, and all the mod cons etc. He runs like a dream. He's lovely.

BUT I am crap. That's right, I can't drive for shit. In an automatic I'm fine, but a manual? Rubbish. Absolutely rubbish.

Don't get me wrong, I know how to drive a manual, but it's been 7 years since I drove one, so there was a fair amount of awkward take-offs, as well as two stalling episodes. It'd be ok if I wasn't completely and utterly nervous about getting in a crash or ruining Jayden's paintwork, cos every time I stall it, or do something wrong, I start shaking and get all girly and start squealing "Jayyyyydennnnn stop iiiiit!!!!" I know it's not his fault, but you'd think they'd make cars a little easier to cope with.

So, I'm going to spend the weekend driving him around car parks, practicing finding the 'biting point' and feeding said point with a shit load of acceleration. That should do it.

A photo of Jayden will follow as a matter of urgency.

The Benefits of a Scarf

As you're all aware, I'm not a fan of the heat in this city. I've previously blogged my anger at thin people wearing jumpers when it's 35 degrees outside, as well as my body's ability to sweat from previously unknown orifices. Something that the heat also evokes in my angry mind, is how much I miss having a scarf nearby.

I'll elaborate. A scarf has many uses, most of which I had nearly forgotten, until today. Today my abnormally ugly colleague came in with the following afflictions, all of which could easily have been pacified by the application of a scarf to the affected area:

1. A huge pulsating pimple: With the careful application of a scarf around the neck and chin area, he would still be able to eat, drink and talk, and I would feel less like being sick every time i look at him.
2. A bad hair cut: By tying a scarf around his head, much in the style of the late Yasser Arafat, the shockingly awful hair cut, which incorporates an undercut, would be largely disguised, and I might just be able to get on with my day without asking him 'Why?'.
3. Bad tie and shirt combo: Although this might require more of a pashmina, it still counts as a scarf, and if carefully draped over the shoulders and around the body, the hideous tie and unnecessarily bright shirt would be hidden from view.

I suggest that everyone invests in a scarf. That way, if any of the above happen to you, or indeed, to one of your colleagues, you could easily rectify the situation and make your place of work a much more pleasant place to be.

So you thought she COULDN’T dance…

After a long career of mediocrity on the dance floor, Shannon “Toes” Meldon stormed through Friday night’s elimination rounds of the prestigious Australian series of popular TV show ‘So You Think You Can Dance’ to take out first prize. Judges were amazed at her versatility and willingness to “give any genre a go”.

A contemporary dancer from the tender age of 3, Toes was apprehensive before her first round dance off against popular contender Chris “Big C” Bohan.

“I’ve never popped before,” Toes said breathlessly after her first round performance, “but I just got out there and had fun and gave it the best shot I could!”

The final round of the evening pitted old rivals Sally “Worm” Barrett against Toes in a genre of their choice. While Worm’s Hip Hop moves showed flashes of brilliance, they were no match for the extraordinary lines and fluid movements of Toes’ contemporary routine.

“This girl has got a long career ahead of her on the dance floor,” Judge Nanna Bohan said after the performance. “We’ve seen her choke in past competitions, but it seems she just needed her own floor to shine.”

Other star performances on the night belonged to Jemima Sheldon who was narrowly beaten in her first round performance of a well-choreographed contemporary routine; Big C whose one-man waltz has been compared to Fred Astaire’s early days; Nanna Bohan whose Irish training was evident in her super-fast Krumping; and crowd-pleaser
D-man, whose Broadway happy hands and fabulous costuming proved a winner with young and old alike.

Catch all the highlights this Friday night, when Channel 10 reruns the programme due to popular demand.

So You Think You Can Dance, Friday 11pm, Channel 10.

Artice written by Shan E of Brisbane's West Side.

Attempting to be light hearted...

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Ha ha isn't this comic funny.

This week I am going to attempt to only discuss light hearted and comical issues. I will not mention anything about my job, or about my tendency to consume prescription drugs, or about the stupidity of some of my colleagues.

P.S. I came second in a 'dance-off' on Friday night, and stunned the room with my very own breakdancing moves. The judges were astounded at my ability to 'thrust' in every direction while retaining a rhythmic movement to the music, but, alas, my inability to do 'The Worm' cost me dearly, and I was beaten by a Contemporary dancer named Shan E.

One Month's Notice

The worst thing about finally handing in one's notice, is that one then has to endure a month of pretending to give a shit. I've done a day of my notice period, and I'm over it - SO over it.

What's going to get me through the next 18 working days? Alcohol? Valium? Both? The cold and flu tablets appear to be making things slightly more interesting - or is that the Valium I took on top of them? I guess I'll never know.

Anyway, my plan of action is this:

Week 1 of Notice Period: Email everyone I know informing them of my decision, while slagging off my current employer, and going on about how great my new job will be.

Week 2 of Notice Period: Resort to alcohol - organise as many 'farewell' lunches as possible, and spend the majority of the time either drunk, or anticipating my next bout of drunkenness.

Week 3 of Notice Period: Resort to prescription drugs and alcohol. Lots of them. Start planning 'leaving drinks' and 'leaving lunch' and 'leaving dinner'. Execute a reconnaissance mission of potential venues for above events.

Final week of Notice Period: Sober up long enough to write a handover document, and burn all personal files and downloaded music to disk. Then follow up with previously planned leaving events.

That should keep me busy and intoxicated enough to ignore the fact that I'm still in this shit hole. I hope.

New Month, New Job

Pretty self explanatory really, but in my usual style, I'll elaborate.

Came in this morning and informed Current Boss (CB) that I had been offered more money, and I planned to take the new job. He took me into a meeting room and said, effectively:

• If you take the new job, the relationship between our company and theirs will be affected, (which involves a substantial amount of lost revenue on both sides).
• I shouldn't be thinking about money, I should think about what my current company stands for and what it can offer me.
• That they'd just sacked off a potentially good applicant because I said I'd take their offer of a new role, so if I left they'd be screwed.
• I should go and think about it.

So, I went and thought about it - about what he'd just said to me. He'd put me in a position that wasn't very pleasant, and ultimately, I don't want to work for someone who was happy to lay that kind of shit on me, and pay me crap money for the pleasure.

Therefore, notice was given, and PNB - who is now NB - was informed.

I feel like a weight has been lifted, and I have finally made a decision about my career which has nothing to do with my current company.

So, here's to February - my last month with CB and current job! Woo hoo!!