Down

While my small creamy coloured dog has been missing I have found the big black one barking at the back door and paws on the window sill on many occasions. My attempts to scare him away have only succeeded in getting him out of the garden and my near vicinity.

This morning he got in and landed on the bed with a thud. Pinning me down.

I’m not sure how he got in, but I think the cracks have expanded over the last few weeks while I have been wrestling with a couple of issues. These cracks have clearly been ignored by me as I’ve focused on trying to think my way through my problems.

While in the grander scheme of things that effect the wider world, my problems are meaningless and insignificant, but one thing I’ve learned, when you’re dealing with things alone, they can often become all consuming to the exclusion of all others.

I find myself trying to claw my way through financial worries, still. My attempts to bring it all to a speedier conclusion seem to be ticking along, but a little support would be nice.

My work situation is interesting to say the least and the least said the better.

Which bring me to the overarching issue: companionship. As much as I love my fur family I find it really hard to ask them to help out about the place. When I have to change a light bulb, if I was to fall off the step ladder and broke my neck, they would be pretty useless at calling the emergency services. They are crap at helping move logs in and even worse at doing any kind of housework.

I discovered this when I had a kidney stone and spent several days in hospital alone until someone came to visit. The chicken shed I’ve had for nearly a year that has been partially erected (yes, kiddies I said erected), the fact that I still haven’t seen Batman 3 because I have no one to go with. Actually I haven’t been to the movies in months and I love the movies. What’s the point of going if you come out with that urge to discuss but turn to empty air?

People laugh at me when I say I’m learning the recorder…I do that so I’m not sitting at home alone, it gives me a focus.

When people criticise my choice to be a Tupperware Lady, I do that because a, I love the product and genuinely believe it’s great but b, so I can get out of the house, meet people and as an added bonus make a little cash. I’ve been told ‘You’re better than that’ but has it every occurred to people that I do actually enjoy it and would rather not wait tables or pull pints in shift work.

When people ask why I drive to Canberra to perform 10 minutes of stand-up comedy, it’s because no one comes to see me in Sydney and people actually do when I go to Canberra. The weird thing is, people have actually been to see me multiple times in Canberra…they even get to see my new material.

When people say I should only photograph things that pay…that’s nice if I never actually wanted to photograph anything and I didn’t do it to get out of the house.

When people say to me I should stop looking for my missing dog. When the dreams of vivisection, abuse and overfeeding stop and I know what happened to her, I’ll stop looking. A need to know her fate drives me to do the things I do, with little or no physical or emotional support. Would you give up looking for your loved one if they went missing, and NO, it’s no different because she isn’t ‘ just a dog’.

I do things that get me out of the house and interacting with human beings. As much as I hate the general public it sometimes feels better to be alone in company than alone, alone.

I shall have three days of companionship this weekend then it will be over for another undisclosed period of time. Time to move on I think, the hope that it will lead to more has hit a point in reality that I don’t like, but I need to start living my life with a view to the future. Cold turkey. Rip the band-aid off and visit the doctor for more brain numbing drugs. While I should be looking forward to this brief time of fun, laughter and adventure, I find myself half dreading it because I know it will be over before it’s even begun.

A long term future with some genuine human companionship would be a rather pleasant thing I feel. I do still feel.

fingerfriend hugs by FCImages

A Purpose

I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to be doing something meaningful with my life.

Writing plans and communicating with people who are essentially not interested in my message has taken its toll. I’m completely disillusioned with what I do. Change management is still relatively new to the corporate world and it’s still the first thing to when a project runs into financial difficulty. As a contractor, this instability is doing my head in. Plus, the role I’m doing at the moment is leaving me cold.

Yesterday, I went to Renbury Farm to take pictures of the pussy cats and other creatures that have been taken there either but their owners who don’t want them anymore or have been found and impounded until reclaimed or rehomed.

There are many deserving furbabies there, as there always is, but when I came to take a few pictures of doggies, I broke down in tears when one surrendered boy, medium sized, white and champagne coloured, looked up at me, but would not get eye contact. I looked at his sheet. Good with children, no barking, no fence jumping, toilet trained and good on a lead. The reason he was there. ‘We have no time to spend with him’. He was wedged in the corner of his pen, shaking and confused why he was there.

I cried all the way home. I tear up as I write just thinking about him. I want to call them and say I’ll pick him up next week, but it’s in no practical. I just want to help.
I find myself thinking about roles I can do in Not for Profit organisations that will help. Help anyone or anything.

Maybe this is why I’m leaning towards the celebrant work so much, after all it a form of help. Helping happy couple make their dream wedding happen. Helping grieving family lay their loved one to rest.

I need to win the lottery so I can quit work and volunteer part-time. Anyone know the numbers?

How much money?

Last night Oz Lotto had a $74 million jackpot after rolling over from fifty million last week. I felt I had to donate to the prize pool, after all, you have to be in it, to win it.


Today there was an article in the paper with the headline, ‘Would $70million make you happy?’

My immediate response was ‘hell ya!’

One of the comments said ‘It’s not the money that makes you happy, it’s how you spend it.’ I agree with this and I have to say, I would have much fun spending it.

One of the first things I’d do is buy the house in Spain that Muv built. Then I’d repair it and get rid of any beige feature walls. I would also purchase myself a modest terrace within walking distance of Sydney. I’d also pay off all my debts (with interest to those that aren’t charging it).

Then I’d travel, see the world and help out communities that needed it. I’d teach in African villages (but not maths), I’d help out in wildlife conservation areas and more than likely become known as that lottery winner that loves cats and dog more than people.

So yeah, I think I could be very happy with $70 million burning a hole in my bank account.

No more public transport with sniffy, snot sounds in my ears.
No more having to get up and go to a job I hate.
No more renting for a landlord that will do anything to save a few dollars but end up spending more in the long run.
And most of all, no more worrying about money.

I’d like not to have to worry about money.

Goodbye Vodafone. Forever

My telephone contract with 3 ran out yesterday and after nearly 13 years with them as my mobile provider, I told them to get lost. Really I wasn’t telling 3, I was telling Vodafone to get out of my life.

Vodafone took 3 over earlier in the year and ever since I have been having issues with coverage, billing and everything that can go wrong with a mobile phone. I had many arguments with the ‘customer service’ department about incorrect bills, tariff increases without approval and no service in the Sydney CBD.

Of course I use the term ‘customer service’ loosely because when you call the Care Line you are diverted to a call centre in India manned by men and women calling themselves Betty and Bruce so they can ‘relate’ to you as they call you by your name at the end of every sentence.

Yesterday I was able to tell one of these Bettys I no longer wanted to be a customer. When asked why, I explained the many and varied.

[Please read the Betty with a thick Indian accent in mind]
Betty: ‘As you’ve been with Three for a while and we’d like you too switch to Vodafone, would that be acceptable to you?’
Me: ‘There is no way on this earth that you could entice me to stay.’
Betty: We would like to offer you a discount.’
Me: ‘NO, unless you could offer me a free mobile service for life and 100% coverage.’
Betty: ‘I’m sorry Jodie, we are not able to offer that level of discount.’

That level of discount!?

They are idiots. I am please to say that I am no longer a Vodafone customer, whether by self-infliction or takeover. I have left them behind and anyone that asks of my experiences as one of their customers I shall shout from the rooftops to avoid them at all costs (and it would cost you $$).

Let’s see how Optus do over the next few months shall we?

In the Words of ABBA...

...Money Money Money

Maybe I'll quote Sally Bowles from Cabaret instead, 'Money makes the world go around, the world go around'.

I’ve been through my fair share of impoverished times. I’m still coming out of one actually. So it’s something I don’t like being reminded of, day in, day out.

While I am by no means rolling in it, or even dipping a toe into wealth, I am no longer struggling each week, fortnight or month to rustle up the pennies to pay the bills, and I have started to see the worth in paying a little extra for something that won’t break the second time you to try and use it. I no longer HAVE to shop in $2 shops. The spatula lasted three cook offs before the handle snapped.

This brings me to me weekday surroundings. They depress me.

The pavements and waste bins are dirty, not just dirty, but putrid.
There are vagrants sitting in their own filth swearing at passers by.
The ratio of $2 shops to shops that don’t have big flouro hand written sales signs is 100-I don’t know, I can’t find one without any.

I feel like a snob. I’m not, but I just like things cleanish and items and food to of a certain quality.

A very good friend of mine would need to shower more than the 2-3 showers he already has in a day. I’m sure he’d roll out his ‘I see poor people’, t-shirt.

I was in a shop today buying cable ties, those $2 shops are handy for some things, as I was paying, a man, missing teeth and smelling like he had peed his pants three days ago barged to the front of the twelve person strong queue, pushed his way between me and the counter and demanded to know where the watches were.

They were in the cabinet in front of him. ‘I have to buy a gift for a friend and she wants a watch.’ He announced.

I have no idea whether he procured a watch, or how long he had to wait, but I’m guessing his prevailing odour would have seen him served almost as quickly as my twitching nostrils had me out of the shop. This isn’t an unusual occurrence in Ashfield.

Despite being able to drive to work, I think I’d rather be back on the trains to the city. In the city I can run errands as everything is available. If I need to buy a birthday card, I have a choice of something other than Frangipanis for a dollar. If a gift is required the choice of smellies stretches beyond cat pee masquerading as Vanilla and Cinnamon. Lego® instead of Leego and Post-it® not StickyNotes by Bob.

I don’t really want to get used to this. I don’t want to get used to thinking that I deserve to be screamed at by the checkout crone because I have a note instead of the exact change.

I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask people to pay back a bond loan borrowed from the government, but apparently it is. The government should just keep giving them money…They don’t give me any, in fact they keep taking it, even when I’m in hardship with barely enough to feed myself.

I don’t think I'm cut out to work in an environment where I’m surrounded by a ‘give a battler a fair go’ mentality, when on the odd occasion I’ve really, and I mean REALLY needed help, I’ve been back handed and told to go and get a job.

It’s taken me six weeks to figure this out. I don’t want it to become the norm, I like that the locals still surprise me with how cheap things are, ‘Ohh eight dollars for the Pho at lunch that was as big enough for a family of four, awesome, here have ten.’ I don’t ever want to get to the point where I’m surprised that things are expensive, because in the real world, i.e. away from Ashfield, everything is, but I want to be back in that world!

Liar liar...

...pants on fire.

Last week I went to see a tax agent to submit my income tax for 2010/11. I had spent a large proportion of the weekend going through receipts, calculating percentages and generally going around in circles. Numbers are not my forte.

I presented the agent with three pages of spreadsheets, salary summaries and contributions to health fund. All she had to do was plug the information into the tax offices systems and it should have all been done. An hour and a half later, several explanations of why I claimed this, and why I claimed that, I signed the return, paid my $125 and left, thankful that it was done for another year.

Today, I received a call for Roman (name has not been changed to protect the douchebag), he explained that he was overseeing my return and he was ‘not convinced’ that I was eligible to claim certain items.

‘Are you calling me a liar?’ I asked.

‘No, I am just trying to clarify if you are claiming a home office as a convenience?’ he said.

I won’t go into the following conversation, but I ended up walking into the office, stating in a loud voice that I did not appreciate being called a liar, and demanding that all my paperwork be returned to me.

It’s been a while since I have been so offended. I don’t offend easily, but to be called into question about deductions that have been a repeated item for some 10 years, really p*ssed me off. I don’t claim charity donations (I could) and I don’t claim car expenses (I could). I have never in all my life tried to avoid paying tax, despite the fact I seemingly get very little in return for the 43% I pay.

To have some jumped up git who has no idea who I am, what I do or understand my circumstances doubt my honesty, well, let’s just say I was remarkably kind.