Why so hard?

We all have electronic items that require batteries. Some are completely innocent, others not so. Last night I had to replace the batteries in my heater/aircon unit remote and having purchased some during the day I went to work. As usual through, this seemingly simple task, turns into mission impossible as you try to free the little metal cylinders from their plastic and cardboard prison.

I know the manufacturers and shop keepers don’t want these items being stolen, but is it really necessary to make it harder to open this packet than a bottle of childproofed painkillers?

It seems that no matter how many perforations they put in the cardboard, they only go half way through which means you end up with a tiny pile of hairy cardboard before you break a nail, and then, finally, the batteries fly across the room, because you are pushing and pulling so hard you loss all control.

How the hell...

...did these pieces get between the two panes of glass?

When did manners and courtesy disappear?

Was it with woman’s lib? Meaning men no longer give up their seat for a woman wearing heels?

Why don’t people say ‘excuse me’ anymore and instead stare at the back of your head expecting you to know they want to move instinctively?

Why is it that an train aisle full of standing people doesn’t inspire someone to move their handbag and feet off the seat next to them?

When did a queue become just a way of standing before turning into an all out bun fight to get through a door?

Why did I have to ask to sit down, when I was on crutches?

Why, when paying for an item, does the next person feel compelled to stand so close to you, you can feel their breath?

In a world where personal space is becoming more and more precious, I say we need, more than ever to regain some of the basic manners and courtesy with which we are furnished as children. Of course, in saying this I am assuming that manners are actually taught to everyone. Based on the evidence from public transport, public events and your average shopping centre, I reckon it’s a subject that needs to be put on the school curriculum.

Reliably Unreliable

We all have one. Be they a friend, a mate, a buddie or acquaintance, we know if they are invited out they will say, ‘yes, I’ll be there’ with such convincing gusto, that you actually believe, for once, they may actually turn up.

When they call you, email you or text you at the eleventh hour (usually after they have been prompted) they let you down. It will always be an imaginative and creative excuse that rings true, and despite you having doubts, you say, ‘that’s OK, maybe next time’. When they do turn up to something, you are surprised and so happy you forgive the previous let-downs.

I have two such mates. I still invite the first one, but I know she won’t turn up. I know it’s a waste of paper, bandwidth and effort, but in the name of friendship I still make the effort. I’m dangerously close to plonking the second in the same basket.

At what point do you say, enough is enough and give up altogether?

Join the Cult

Yesterday I joined a cult. Nothing that promises to beam me up at the end of the world, just one that suggests for $20.95 per week I can have health, fitness and happiness. They even gave a branded backpack, water bottle and cap to share my new found faith with the world.

A couple of weeks ago I attended a yoga class put on by work, in work hours. I walked into the class with pain in my hip after a rather adventurous weekend and I wasn’t sure the mellow looking chick at the front of the room would be able to convert me. An hour later, I was pretty much pain free and feeling just a tad floaty. I decided on the way home, that I liked yoga and was already looking forward to the next lesson. This week, however, they changed the session time, taking it out of work hours. It wasn’t a big time, but I did the calculations and realised I could be home by the time I was half way through the class. And seeing as Home is truly where my heart is, I decided to give it a miss.

Yesterday I walking back to the office after having my annual flu vaccination when a cult minion stopped me by waving a ‘5 for $10’ leaflet at me. He tried to convince me that the best way to start the day was to attend the church of exercise between 7 and 9am, I told him, that no, the best way to start the day was sleeping ‘til as late as possible. I told him that unless he could find a way to fix my duff hip, my hypertension and sort out the ceoliac disease (currently being investigated by doctors), I was only interested in casual yoga. He told me I should commit to coming three time a week. I told him, that wasn’t gonna happen.

Peter in his navy blue branded robes asked to me to come and have a look at the facilities, have a chat. He told me I didn’t have to commit to anything and that I should look at the website for timetables. I’d forgotten about Peter by the time I got back to my desk, but my interest in Yoga was firmly at the forefront of my mind.

During a mini brain break later in the day I looked at the website, it revealed that there were two churches within a five minute walk of my office. So I looked up the yoga classes in both. The one Peter represented only had two weekday classes and they were both outside of office hours. The other one had six classes, five of which are over lunch time. Bingo!

I dug out the leaflet that had been pressed into my hand like a one sided drug deal and rang the number on the back. Peter answered on the second ring. Moments later I found myself walking away from my desk carrying only the leaflet and my mobile (in case hostage negotiation was required).

A brief chat where he tried to convince me that treadmill, stationary bikes and spin classes were good had me sat back, arm folded. Then he changed tact.

‘Yoga’, he said, ‘good for the mind, body, soul, it is. Relax it will help, strength it will build, muscles it will tone, weight it will reduce.’

I already knew that, that’s why I want to do it. And why was he talking like Yoga?

‘You don’t have to book classes, just turn up 5-10 minutes in advance and you can attend any of our nearly 90 branches across Australia.’

I signed up.

I’m pretty sure Fitness First (or Finance First, as most Aussies call it) is a safe cult to be a member of. I just have to be sure I don’t turn into a built up gym bunny who can’t put her arm down by her sides.

Never gonna happen!


PS. Attended a BodyBalance class today. Couldn’t do half the moves (hip restrictions) but I enjoyed it, and will go again.

Test your IQ

I did three IQ tests today at the urging of Facebook. It told me that I had been challenged by my friends. I was curious to say the least. I did a psychometric test and IQ test a few years back (for a job), that involved three hours of testing and over 150 questions covering maths, comprehension and shape recognition. I got a very good score on that one and felt like ringing my teacher (from when I was 8) and telling her to shove her ‘lazy and stupid’ comments up her arse.

The tests today involved five questions (105), ten questions (134) and another ten questions (110). My actual IQ, which I chose not to share, is a bit higher than the middle attempt today.

How can these tests tell you that you are ordinary based on ten questions?
Even worse, how can it text you and say ‘Not too shabby, but your still not a genius’. Did anyone else git their teeth at the missing apostrophe?

Of course, I know this all has nothing to do with telling me I’m smarter than the average, or where I fit into the ranking of my friends intelligence, it’s all about getting $6.60 per text message until I text, ‘STOP’.

Great Lyrics

'I spent ages givin' head'.

and to think they made a fuss about 'relax, when you wanna come'

Gotta love Lily Allen

Carrion

A couple of weeks ago I got a leaflet through the door warning me of the upcoming date for the neighbourhood ‘leave your rubbish for us to pick up’ day.

This is a scheme that local councils have put in place to try and curb dumping; in turn you leave your stuff on the curb. It happens once every three months and mostly, I think it works. A lot of the stuff gets collected by charity organisations who, at other times of the year tell you to get stuffed if you ask them to collect. The recyclables get recycled and the rubbish, well, that goes to landfill. However, much of the stuff left out never get to its intended destination, as there is an element of society that thrives of picking through others refuse and taking it, and no doubt, selling it for their own profit.

I had a few things in mind that really needed to go out. Not rubbish perse, just things I don’t need or want anymore and I was getting fed up with having in the garage. A queen divan bed and mattress (yes, I could have sold it, but it had ten years of marks on it, yuck), an arm chair, a few old Singer sewing machines that used to be used for display when I had the shop (tried museums and second hand store, no one wanted them) and a pile of flat packed cardboard boxes.

I spent yesterday morning making a neat pile on the verge outside my house, then popped out to get a few groceries. The sewing machines were gone when I got back.

Later in the day, I went to the movies. When I got back the mattress was missing.

The amazing disappearing items meant I could put something else out. You’re only supposed to put out 1cubic metre. So I moved a few things around in the lounge and put the sofa out there, don’t panic I have another, better one in storage (remnants of married life).

At 3.30 this morning I was awoken by male voices outside my bedroom window. At least three men were chatting loudly, I couldn’t understand a words, but judging by the laughing and high spirits, no doubt fuelled by a few, they were having fun. Then I heard the clatter of casters as they hit the road. I fingered a gap into the blinds and peered out the window to see the three men pushing the bed base down the road like a toboggan before jumping on it. Despite being unimpressed about being woken up at such an hour, I couldn’t help but smile.

Note to self: if I ever leave a divan bed out again, take the casters OFF!

This morning as I walked to the station, I couldn’t help but notice the previously neat piles outside other house, where no longer in order. Clearly each pile had been the pilfered and ended as a feeding ground for the Council Clean Up Crows.



- Not my pile of leavings, but an example of what it looks like after the good, big stuff has been taken.

Written in the Stars

I read my stars.

I know that they are a bit woolly , but it's a bit of fun for the train ride into and home from work.

Today, the stars in MX (the free communter paper) made me smile. It was pretty accurate.

'Relationship takes its own form. The best you can do right now is not to interfere with what is a natural process. The minute you step in with your ideas about what should be happening, chaos ensures. Relax and harmony comes.'

Smile!

This made me smile this morning. I think the story speaks for itself :-)

Realisation

Just over a year ago I moved house. I moved from a little two bedroom cottage in the inner city to a three bedroom colonial double brick place and reduced my rent in the process. I didn’t really want to move, but after I had the affront to ask the landlord to fix a leaking roof I was asked to leave.

The blessing in disguise has worked out quite nicely really. Puss has a garden to roam around in. I rattle around a night and weekends deciding whether I should sit in the office, the lounge, the bedroom or out in the deckchair on the patio. It’s quiet (except when the mad Polish woman over the back fence is telling her tenant to f*ck off) and I only have a three or four minute walk to the railway station, better still, a six minute walk to the best kebab in the world. I like my house, it feels like home and I’ve just signed another two year lease on the place.

Last night however, there was a drive by shooting.

This latest act of violence is just one of the many law breaking events from the past twelve months that have rocked Merrylands, a multi cultural community just south of Parramatta, west of Sydney.

There has been drive-bys, robberies, a machete attack in a school and even a lady so drunk she drove her car into a Starbucks.

The thing that concerns me most about all this, is that I’ve come to realise, I’m on the road to becoming a Westie!

Listing Update

I got rid of a couple of local blogs in my list today. Not because I don't like the people they belong to, but because they haven't updated their blogs for more than three months ;-)

Ignorance or Disinterest?

On Wednesday I brought a punnet of fresh figs. I love them; they are soft and tender, and ever so sensual to eat. Plus they keep you regular.

My first encounter with a fig was at Christmas many moons ago, when they appeared as in a plastic tub, dried and gritty. Muv encouraged me to try the fresh variety one day when in Sainsbury’s (UK supermarket) whilst doing the weekly shop. I think I was about eight years old.

After that tasting, I was hooked.

It didn’t stop at figs though, this random testing and tasting of fruits or veg that we hadn’t seen before continued. We tried kumquats, dragon fruit, lycees, passion fruit, celeriac, fennel and pomegranate. I’m sure there are more; I just can’t remember them all, right now.

Anyway, back to this weeks punnet of figs. Four different people in my office, people I consider to be well educated, have visited my desk, pointed at the succulent purple fruit and asked, ‘What’s that?’

Now, I would think that in a country that has tree, vine or bush ripened fruit year round, they would know what a fig is, tasted it and decided they either like it or not. But complete ignorance of the humble fig, I find that confusing and it distresses me somewhat.



picture from - Herbal Extracts Plus

Home from Home

I’ve just eaten my lunch of salad, potato salad, prawns and salmon. I brought it into work, from home, left overs from last night. It sounds simple, but it’s a minor production every time I have lunch in the office. Plate, knives, fork, teatowel, tupperware tubs...

I have a draw in my desk dedicated to the provision of sustenance. Of course a few things don’t fit in, such as the box of cornflakes, bottle of milk, block of cheese (milk and cheese in fridge) and various types of tea. Today, I also have a box of fresh figs, a peach and an apple.

I spend quite a bit of time at my desk, so why shouldn’t I have a few items of personal interest?


- Ariel picture of 'the drawer'

Personal Effects

My Muv’s stuff arrived from Spain the other day. It was delivered late in the afternoon but a man that was none to gentle with the boxes. After I’d signed and closed the door, I stood next to the two boxes for about twenty minutes, just looking at them. I knew I was supposed to open them, but I just couldn’t bring myself to.

Eventually I did open them.

There was a jacket. Not the jacket I had asked for. I had never seen this jacket before, so now I have a strange funky smelling blue and red jacket hanging in the spare room door. The blue and black tartan jacket I requested has either been given to someone or thrown out. Don’t even get me started!

There was a pair of yellow quilts that I made in 2001. They smelled of stale smoke. The two matching cushion covers were nowhere to be seen.

There was a lamp base that was always around when I was a child. It currently has no wire, so it can’t be used and it’s missing a lampshade. A classic crème silk shade will restore it to the lamp I remember from day of old.

A 1923 copy of Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management. It had been packed in such a way that the back cover had been pushed up. This meant that as soon as I took it from the box, the back cover detached itself from the rest of the book. I took a deep breath and placed it to the side with a mental note to try and find someone who could fix it later. I couldn’t resist having a little trip down memory lane when I flicked it open the butchering of a mutton and thinking about Dad bring home a dead deer, and Muv using her Mrs. Beeton’s as a guide before placing the pieces in the freezer.

One of the boxes was filled with small ornamental shoes.

And finally her jewellery box. Filled with various pieces. Some I recall from my childhood, like the silver locket containing a lock of her hair and on the opposite side a picture and twist of my dad’s hair. Thinking about that item, I remember wearing it on a long silver chain to my first job interview. Also hidden in there was the small plastic hospital band that I would have worn in my first days on this earth.

TAB

In the news yesterday it was announced that the TAB (Ladbrooks, to my English readers) will be allowed to open for the first time, ever, on Good Friday. TAB representatives said they wanted to open after customers had requested the additional entertainment on the public holiday.

The religious groups instantly started banging on about making profit and the destruction of the Christian way of life.

I know I’m not alone in thinking of Easter as an excuse to eat chocolate and have a four day weekend. Clearly I’m not, after all TAB customers want to gamble on overseas gee gee races on the Friday. So, when will the Christian groups get it into their heads that not everyone believes in the reason for this holiday?

After all, approximately 25% of the Australian population is of other or no religion and that means the TAB could have just over 5 million customers on Good Friday, and that would make for a very good Friday indeed.

Pimped Up

Last night I popped to my local Nandos for chicken and chips with a mate. While he was ordering, four dark skinned fellas came in. Their pumped up torsos clad in GStar Raw T-shirts, tight arses in shorts trainers and socks that were pulled up. They also had at least a days worth of beard growth, short cropped black hair with that funky little pubic bit on the back of the head tufting out on the neck.

I pulled a couple of faces at my companion and when he sat down, he asked what I was pulling faces at.

‘They think they are so great, but it’s just nasty. I don’t find it at all attractive.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘they’re probably drug dealers anyway.’

A few moments later their take away was ready and they left the store. Then they climbed into a brand new silver Range Rover.

We had an extra giggle when we heard the broken neon signage of this shop crackling in the rain about an hour later.

Observation and Writing

On Thursday I had to stand for part of my train trip. I picked an interesting spot to stand, purely by accident and the people I saw inspired me to get out my notebook and write. It’s been a while since I wrote anything apart from blog entries and change management plans.

I had my iPod plugged with Rufus Wainwright mumbling his lyrics to his beautiful music when I noticed the man sitting the middle of the three person seat directly in front of me.

He had grey hair and black wire rimmed glasses resting on his nose. In his late 50s he was wearing a white shirt with the long sleeves, rolled/folded up his arms. His nylon tie blared its pattern to the whole train with it yellow background and William Morris dove pattern. The breast pocket held a black pen, a red pen and a frayed edge blue and white hankie. Across his knees he rested his brown briefcase with the scuffed edges hard against the seat back in front of him. Resting on top of the briefcase was a large book, white pages and small text in two columns. The writing on the pages was highlighted in yellow, pink and green. It was notated in the margins inn black, blue and green and he was making more notes with a second red pen he held in his right liver spotted hand. I looked at the header on the top of the page closest to me.

Jeremiah 9.11

How many times had he read this bible? Did he find something new in each reading? Did he have to read it? Was he studying theology? Was he a priest in plain clothes?

Then I noticed the brown marbled rubber band on his wrist. In green it was embossed with 1 Rifle Afghanistan.

It was out of context for me. It raised more questions.

I got out my notebook.

Friday 13th

My Friday 13th started out bit sh*t.

First the 0804 train I was getting arrived and left early. I can see the train station from the front gate and I KNOW I was on time. So I did a little run to try and catch it, ended up on the 0818 which was running four minutes late.

Now I work in North Sydney, I have to change train to get over the water, so I get off at Granville and change onto a North Shore train. Because of the early running of my usual train I wasn’t guaranteed a seat, on the 0826 out of Granville and in fact, because all the trains were running late, the train was packed to the gunnels.

After being thrown around a bit I asked if I could swap places with a young girl who was just standing with no assistance from any handholds, and sat on the downward step.

At Central, a shuffle of people resulted in several people leaving, but more people wedging themselves in. Then an announcement said, ‘This train will be a City Circle train due to problems on the Bridge. This will NOT be going over the bridge.’

Arghh!

I got off.

I found a RailCorp guy and asked, ‘Are any trains going over the bridge?’

‘Not at the moment love.’

So I set off to find a bus. The next bus didn’t leave until 0928. I was already late for work, so jumped in a cab.

The one system in Sydney can result in some rather interesting rides, but this morning I was grinding my teeth as the taxi drive about four kilometres in the wrong direction before finally getting on track. As we were driving across the Harbour Bridge, a train appeared to my left and over took us.

A few minutes later I climbed out of the passenger seat having paid $28.00 including the $4.00 bridge toll (it’s $3.00 after 0930) and walked into work at 0929.

Feeling much better now…looking forward to playing sideshow freak at a girlfriends dinner party tonight.

Mardi Gras

On Saturday I walked in the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras. I’ve only ever watched from the sidelines before so it was an experience to be on the other side of things.

I arrived in the float marshalling area just after 5pm wearing a red latex dress, a grey overcoat, trainers and the rest of my outfit in a Coles recycled bag. After I found the Hardcore Heaven float I caught with the people who invited me to walk with them. A~ and GC have been around for a while and they are great. GC has her Adams Apple removed on the 17th and A~ worships the ground GC walks on, following her in seven inch heels. I make a great handbag holder when we’re out and about.

A~ painted my eyes with gold and black while wearing black brief and bra and pink feathered headband and just before being wrapped in a purple and black rope corset. My corset went on much easier than hers. Then I went for a walk amongst the other floats.

Photo 75 is where I lost count. I was walking with a new acquaintance, also dressed in red and black latex and every time we stopped to take a picture, we where hauled into several. The crowd screaming at the railing also wanted to take snap shot. It was weird but strangely exhilarating. I hung around the float for what seemed like an age. I chatted with other float folk, but from the float I was on and other floats.

The float that confused me though was Animal Liberation. The people were wearing shorts and had their bodies painted up to look like Friesian cows. The float had signs that said ‘Leather is Cruel’ and Cows are Cool’, and yet they had a sign that said…’We support Gay Pride’. Why did I find this confusing? Well, while I understand not all gay men or women wear leather, quite a few do. For instance, the Dykes on Bikes where predominantly dressed in leather, the Leather Pride group were certainly dressed in leather, as was Mr Leather and so were many other random people throughout the parade participants including quite a few on the Hardcore Heaven float. It just didn’t make any sense. But I didn’t dwell on at the time.

I just got on with looking fabulous and playing up to my adoring crowd.

I changed out of my trainers about ten minutes before our float started to move. I had chosen patent leather booties with a decent heel for the 1.8km walk, knowing I wouldn’t be walking in a straight line, and actually walking twice that. I was now fully dressed, armed with a sjambok (incidentally, I’d love a leather one, one day instead of the plastic one I have) and ready to put on a little show with my new prancing partner.

Shortly after we started moving I realised how completely insane the crowd was. They were screaming at the top of their lungs. If you went anywhere near them you were grabbed, hugged, kissed and deafened by being screamed in the ear as the hugged you. However, this didn’t stop my high-fiving, running the sjambok along the fence line to produce a lovely ringing sound and pretending to hit my latex friend on the arse. At one point to stop on a bottle top and it stuck in the bottom of my shoe. I was very unladylike as I scrapped my foot on the road trying to get rid of it. It hurt a lot.
I think I heard Joan River, or it may have been Pam Ann, say ‘Ohh, look at the girl wield a stick, she can do that to me anytime.’

The end came quickly. Suddenly I found myself in a park with people collapsed on the grass, hyped up and nowhere to go. But first I had to take my gloves off. I had had nothing to eat of drink since 5pm, it was now nearly 11 and yet I still poured a few millilitres of fluid from the each glove and from the neck line of my dress. It’s one of the benefits of latex, you never need to have a seaweed wrap to lose excess water, ever again.

I went straight home afterwards. I was bushed. On the way to my lift I nearly lose the sjambok, but got it back again after a panic, so that was all good. Just after midnight I peeled myself out of the latex and had a shower.

It felt so good to slip between the sheets that night, even if I was floating just ever so slightly above the mattress.

Not Romance

For a while now I have had a Not-Boyfriend. A mate I go to the movies with and occasionally eat out and he keeps me company when I’m doing stoopid things, like moving the alpacas. We do not have a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship with all the perks that come with it. I’m not in a position to get into that and neither, he claims, is he.

He does do things sometime, that really make me think his actions speak louder than words, such as last night at the movies.

I have been waiting for Watchman to come out, for months. Finally it arrived on a Megaplex screen near you, last night. We were seeing each other on a weeknight, because I wanted to be one of the first to see it. While on the train home night I rang him, to confirm plans. I’d pick him and then we’d grab some noodles and see the movie at 8.30. I asked him to book the tickets over the internet when he got home, because I didn’t want to risk losing out to a massive queue. He agreed.

I got home, changed into jeans, fed and hugged Puss and Max, put the wet towels on the line, then jumped in the car and drove over to his place. We drove to the MacQuarie Centre talking about bad driving and bad days before being forced to park in the boondocks because it was late night shopping.

We found our way into the centre, he went to pick up the tickets while I went and ordered dinner. His noodle with chicken had already arrived by the time he appeared.

After dinner we had half an hour to kill so we hung out in Borders, fondling and fingering the books, but not actually buying any. Although I did find one I wanted to get, but as I don’t get paid for a few days, it’ll have to wait.

At about 8.25 I suggested we move to the cinema. On the walk I noticed he was holding his stomach. I asked if his tummy was sore.

‘It is a bit’

‘Did it starting hurting before or after dinner?’

‘A little bit before.’

‘Sounds like you need some nice soothing ice cream,’ I said with a broad grin.

‘Nah, don’t feel like any.’ Now I was a bit worried, he is the movie without ice cream, isn't a movie man.

‘What about a drink?’

‘Not tonight.’

‘You know, if you’re not feeling right I can take you home.’

At this point he stopped walking and produced a Gold Class envelope from under his jacket.

‘I knew you REALLY wanted to see this movie and I thought the no screaming kids option would be good.’

After I had stopped squealing and jumping up and down like an idiot, we walked through the Gold Class doors, I said with a smile and slap on him arm, ‘You know, people looking from the outside, might think that was really romantic.’

His reply, ‘You know me better than that.’

The movie was worth the $80. It was awesome. I stuck so closely to the graphic novel even costumes had been matched. It was amazing and when Silk Spectre got her jiggy-on still wearing her thigh high latex boots I was stunned, but awestruck.

This Womans Work

Had my iPod set to Shuffle today and after about 300 od songs Kate Bush's This Womans Work came on. It's the first time I've listened to it since this. I made it to 'Give me these moments back' before the eyes started to sting and moisture sprung forth.

As luck would have it, Neville appeared to ask me about booking a meeting room in Outlook.

Don't Think, Just Do!

I’ve been thinking.

I know thinking can be dangerous in the wrong hands, but thinking needed to be done. I’ve been putting it off for too long. I’ve been keeping myself busy to avoid the thinking that was required.

On Monday, I was forced to face something while sitting on the train on my way home from Uni. I sat there looking out of the window, watching the Inner West pass me by in a blur when a thought popped into my head.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

To what am I referring to I hear you ask. I know I did. My internal monologue kicked in and found myself going over all the things that I have experienced since this time last year.

It’s been less than idyllic year, I have to say. I know in the grand scheme of things like floods, bush fires and thousands out of work, my issues don’t even register a blip on the global radar, but to me they have been pretty monumental and life changing.

I reasoned with myself that I needed to get my life back on track with my goals in life.
- I need to sort out my revolting financial situation after over six months of unemployment.
- I need to start having some sort of social life, now that I may actually be able to afford to get out of the house on occasion.
- I would like to read some of the books I haven’t read after a couple of years of reading things that Uni has told me I have to read.
- I would like a relationship that involves a little passion and romance.
- I want to be able to spend time developing my skills as a photographer
- I want to get my motorbike licence

The list goes on…

Then I think about how working full time and studying for yet another Masters degree fits in with these desires. They don’t.

So today, I filed for a leave of Absence for my Uni course.

I figure I can start it in one year if I still want to do it. I think I applied to do a Master of Education because I didn’t have anything else to do at the time. Now I do. A leave of Absence means I don’t need to reapply (which is frankly, a pain). Hopefully they say I can, if the Uni denies my request, I’ll just withdraw completely.

Making this decision lifted a weight from my shoulders, and I feel like things are moving ahead for the first time in a very long time.

Poker Face

Trains seem to give me the best material. I can’t say if it funny or terrible material, but it’s fodder that just keeps giving gas.

This morning I rode to work listening to my iPod (The All–American Rejects) and trying to avoid looking at this view (I’d forgotten reading matter).



In the end I just gave up trying and took a picture of the sleeping man for you lot. I knew you’d find it amusing. I was just glad he didn't smell.

Well, Excuse Me! Part two

While waiting for the 1910 to Glenfield at Central I saw this guy, drinking this drink before he dropped the cup at his feet. A gentle,'I think you dropped something' a few minutes later resulted in him saying he would pick it up, but he left it laying were it fell. Nice guy, don't you think? Jodie, Merrylands



I sent this to MX commuter freesheet tonight. Maybe this litterbug gets his 15 minutes of fame for being a complete git.

Well, Excuse Me!

I’m pretty sure I’ve asked this before, but I’m going to ask it again, anyway. Why are people so rude of the train?

For starters, it’s the people just stand and glare at the back of your head when they want to get off the train and you are between them and the exit. Rather than say something, such as, ‘Excuse me’ or even ‘Excuse me, please.’ They just push past you and huff, as if your psychic abilities should have let you know they wanted to get off the train.

Today however, I lost it. I had a very long day yesterday and am exhausted today even after a reason eight hours of sleep. I drove over 400kms to move four alpacas. Left home at 10am, drove to Ourimbah on the central coast, chased the animals into a van, had my bones rattled while I drove to Windsor pulling into a Maccas drive through for lunch. Dropped the small herd off at their new home, then got back into the van and drove back to the Central Coast to pick up the car. I had a friend with me, but it’s still a hard trip. On the way back into to town we stopped for dinner at Taxim in Hornsby. It was at this point that I realised it would have been my 12th wedding anniversary and Hubby and I had our last anniversary dinner at the very same place. I got home at 8pm, had a bath, checked my email then went to bed. Puss curled up with me.

Anyway…back to train rudeness. I was running a tad late this morning, but got to the station with a few minutes to spare, so I was feeling alright. I hadn’t had to run. Got on and stood until the next station where I have to change trains. When the next train pulled into the station I was stood in just the right place for the doors. The train came to a stop and I stood to the side so passengers could get off. Then I went to move forward, a small man pushed between me and the side of the train. He pushed so hard I bumped into the person standing to my right, starting a domino effect. He rushed onto the train, bumping into people getting off and down the stairs. He jumped into the last seat. I wasn’t too far behind him and found myself, really pis8ed off, much more so than normal, because he had been so supremely rude and his actions had affected more than just me. I looked at him as I took up position leaning on the back of a seat, with hand hold digging into my spine, and the following went through my head;

‘You rude fu8ker!’

Apparently, I also said it, quite loudly. A couple of the people who had followed me on, and seen his display smiled and nodded. One said, ‘I couldn’t agree more.’ and glowered at him. He must have had a dozen or so, sets of upset eyes looking at him. But he steadfastly refused to move and got his book out.

I got a seat at Strathfield.


- The herd says goodbye to Wispa, Arabella, Bertie and Eric.

Eww...

Being out of work again I’m spending a lot of time on the internet looking for a new job. My mind often wanders and I find myself reading email, random website and what parades itself as news. After the last week of bushfire news and exploitative journalism I saw the headline ‘8.6m fingernails broken in crash’. I couldn’t resist, I clicked on the link.

The story was of a woman who had had a car accident and broken her record breaking fingernails. There was no picture, so I typed her name into Google Images and many pictures appeared.

Personally I like it when my nails are long and painted scarlet, they look sexy, but this is just excessive.

I don't want too...

read
eat
shower
get out of bed

well, most things really

Pinch Punch

I went to see 'The Curious case of Benjamin Button' yesterday. I cried all the way through without a tissue to control the flow of water from my eyes or the pale watery snot from my nose. I was not because the film was sad,although, to be honest I've seen happier joy joy movies. It was because of the opening sequence and small plot exploration sequences that kept cropping up throughout. The girlfriend I was with understood the problem and handed me a tissue.

Today I saw 'Slumdog Millionaire'. It didn't make me cry, but it made me think about how life is passing me by and how I'm missing a few things at the moment. When I got to the home of my companion for the afternoon, I sliced a few vegetables for the BBQ then went outside and laid on his recently mowed back lawn. He stayed inside to watch the cricket. The grass was spiky were it touched my bear shoulders causing a not unpleasant inching sensation. I lay there looking up at the sky, watching the clouds
roll across the blue sky. Clouds of brilliant white and pale grey bringing with them the first cool change in days.

I lay there looking up, feeling the breeze lick across my skin. I listened to the sounds around me. The lorikeet singing in the jacaranda tree behind me. The native miner bird walking across the roof of the veranda a couple of yards from my feet. I saw the silloette of a magpie flying above me. I noticed that from the angle I was looking at the white concrete ballistraid of the neighbor really didn't look as pristine as when looking from a standing position.

I felt a tickle on my right forearm. I lifted it to see a single black ant carrying a crumb. The ant worked its way toward the inside of my elbow before I gave it a gentle flick back onto the grass. The grass had made its temporary mark on my skin, leaving tiny red, uneven indents all over my arms.

I looked back up at the sky. The blue now almost completely gone, covered with the rapidly shifting clouds. As I watched they cleared a little, allowing the blue to once more peek through. A pair of shadowed passed over me, their cry revealing two more lorikeets.

I'm not quite sure how long I lay there, but I realised something while I did.

I miss doing nothing with someone special.

What's in A Name?

When I first saw the headline on Yahoo! this morning I thought I had read it wrong.

'Adolf Hitler taken by US Child Services'

Then the thought that maybe the US really did believe there were God and had managed to travel back in time and removed the youngster from Mr. and Mrs. Hitler befour he caused so much trouble and angst for everyone.

I was, of course, being completely ridiculous and read the story anyway. Only to find out that a couple in New York State have named their three children Adolf Hitler, Aryan Nation and Hienrich Himmler. Child services became involved when the parents asked a local cake maker to put young Adolf's name on top of his birthday cake. The shop refused saying it was an unreasonable request.

The part that makes me smile, is that the parent think it perfectly reasonable to name their after the WWII dictator, his ideals and his right hand man and say they aren't subjecting the children to cruelty. They believe the names to be unique and the swastiker to be a work of art. Dumbarses.

The part that makes me sad, those children have to live with those names for the rest of their lives or at least until they are old enough (and hopefully smart enough) to change them.

Poor Planning

As you may have gathered from numerous posts on the topic, but I am less that satisfied with my current employment. I find myself in the position of being up to my eyeballs in work due to poor planning by the Project Manager and not giving a rats arse.

I spent an extra three hours last night writing a document at home. I've spent several hours in meeting that have absolutely no relevance to me because it's deemed (by the PM) that I be there. I could be writing the 45 odd page document that I have a week to write. Now, it's not just me that feels this is a bit wrong. Two other people on the project don't remember hearing about this document before Friday last week. Also, it's important to know, there are only four people on the team.

Today I was thinking about how I'm going to write my parts of the document, while in a two hour meeting for another document that didn't require my input, and did a couple of doodles I'm quite happy with.



Anyone know what doodles tell us about what the artist is thinking at the time of drawing?

Stars

On a work daily basis I read my stars while on the train platform. Then I go into Facebook and catch up. It's become a bit of a morning ritual that I quiet like although I have turned into one of those commuters that is wired for sound and more interested in my mobile than those around me. What I'm not too happy about is that for the last week my stars have been forecasting doom and gloom;

Romance: Thunder
Finance: Rain
Work: Snow
Mental: Snow
Physical: Sun
Emotional: Snow
Spiitual: Thunder

Today, as with everyday, it goes on to detail each of these aspects of my life and it doesn't look good. Power struggles, toxic envirnments, not rushing into friendships and today it even told me I should call my Mum. On the plus side, I do have some sun in my physical today.

I console myself with the fact that Year of the Rat is nearly over and next year it should get better.

What a lot of old bollocks horoscopes are ;-)

Err...No!

Expectation and Annoyance

On Christmas Eve I surprised and delighted a customer at work by agreeing to have a coffee with him in the New Year. I even gave him my number to prove I was in earnest and explained I was away until the 7th Jan.

While I was on my abortive road trip (I really should write about that) he rang me twice. I was actually driving at the time, ignored the call once and picked up and explained I was on the road with no hands free. I asked him to call me upon or just after my return to Sydney on the 6th. He agreed.

He texted me on a couple of occasions and I chose to ignore these.

Yesterday, just as I was leaving for lunch he rang me. I asked when I would be available for that coffee today. I explained that I already had lunch plans and that I wasn't available until next week. I start swimming again tomorrow; I don't want to put it off anymore.

'Well, dinner then?'

'I'm sorry, but I have plans.' He didn't need to know I was rushing home for the first episode of Dexter Season 3.

He then ranted a bit about how he might be going to America next week for business.

At this point I was getting closer to my lunch rendezvous with a friend and wanted my caller gone.

'I only agreed to have coffee with you in the first instance. I very busy and have offered you a chance to meet next week if you are able. That is the best I can do at the moment.' I was calm.

'Well,' he said, 'in that case why don't you call me when you're free.'

'I sure will.' was my reply.

As the escalators took me to my lovely lunch company, I found Bonne Annee in my phone and pressed delete.

Morning Giggle

I seem to spend a lot of time on trains. Last night, on my way home a derailment caused my 45 minutes trip to be 70mins of unair-conditioned boredom (I forgot my book and my iPod) in 40 degree heat. I was glad to be home at twenty past seven so I could remove my sweat soaked trousers and jump a cool shower.

This morning, random stops outside Lidcombe and Newtown meant I had an extra ten minutes on the train, but a dramatic over night drop in temperature meant I got to work with a dry seat.

I had my iPod this morning (not making that mistake again) and I was happily listening to Cat Stevens and looking outside the window, watching the world whoosh by at 30kph. Our trains don’t move very fast.

I had noticed earlier in the ride that the Christmas reprieve was coming to an end and few people were having to stand. The people that did have seats had their noses buried in books, school work and newspapers, or just like me, had music soothing them towards another day at the office.

The three men sitting in the seat in front of me were a combination of newspaper, school-work and book. None of them had music. The guy next to me though, he pulled out an old Sony Discman that I remember having when I was 16, but I digress…

Back to the guys in front. The school-work guy was sat in the middle. Wedged in between the two larger guys like a party popper about to be pulled, he was looking at accountancy sheets. The print was large and bold, and very easy to read from my position. He was flipping the pages, reading about credit and debits and P&L before moving onto end of year. It was all so riveting just outside Stanmore he started to get the head bob.

You know the one, the I’m falling asleep and I have no control, one. I want to stay awake, but, I. Just. Can’t.

His black haired head was slowly swinging to the left, then jerking upward. Then back down again until his chin hit his chest, then back up again with a start. This went on for a few minutes and then his head came to a stop. Nestled against the shoulder of the man to his left.

I watched as Cat sang ‘The Boy with the Moons and Stars’ as the man slowly put his newspaper on his lap and with his index finger pushed the sleeping mans head into the upright position. The continued support meant he didn’t wake up. The finger was bent rapidly, taking it away from the man head, then the whole hand was slowly moved across its owners chest so as not to wake the sleeping neighbour. The sleeping man stayed like that for a moment, then despite his head already being upright, his head snapped back with such force his whole body spasmed, he stood up then sat back down again.

After resuming his set he looked around to make sure no one had seem him, then continued to read his school-work.

mobile

this is my first post written on my mobile (cell) phone. Uppercase is hard to get and functionality is limited, but otherwise it's all good. I can't figure out how to do paragraphs either. Maybe this should be an emergency only posting option:-)

Noise

Whilst enjoying my Nam Pho yesterday I witnessed an injustice. It didn't spoil my day (nothing could have done that yesterday, I was far too chilled out) but once again it made me wonder about the way society lets parents and children get away with almost anything.

I have often given thought to the way parents let their young ones wander and get underfoot of other shoppers. Or how a pram is a licence to run toes over with no apology. How a pregnant woman, no matter how big her 'bump' is, gets the seat over the injured or aging. I may or may not have voiced my concerns here in the past, but I feel I had to tell this tale. It left me in a mild guppy like state until I stepped onto the bus.

As I said, I was enjoying my Nam Pho (with thinly sliced beef brisket) when a group of six twenty something’s came in and sat at the table next to me. They were laughing and joking, and having fun as a group of people do when lunching together socially. Behind them was a couple with a pram, occupied by a baby. I have no idea how old it was or what sex, it looked like a wrinkled prune, and I was thankful when they took a seat as far away as possible from me.

The twenty something’s took a little while to order as they where having fun, chatting and laughing and continuing the fun they were having when they came in. Eventually they ordered. As they where ordering the baby started to cry. Actually cry was being kind, it was screaming. Mum tried bouncing it up and down on her knee before putting her boob in its mouth. That didn't work, so dad tried the knee bobbing up and down thing. That didn’t work either. Neither did the dummy or the rattling keys.

Meanwhile the twenty something’s had resumed having fun after the momentary quite of ordering.

After about five minutes of screaming baby and the boisterous group, I was feeling glad that I could see the bottom of my bowl. The screaming was starting to pierce my ear drums.

What happened next, astounded me. The waitress walked up to the group and said, loudly, so she could be heard over the baby.

'Could you keep it down please, you are disrupting our other diners.'

At no point in the proceeding or follow five minutes did anyone approach the family with the screaming baby.

Something to Do

The day of my freedom from work dawned a few hours before I actually got up, but I made an effort, because I needed to sleep well, ready for my return to bondage.

I had a few errands to run and popped into Parramatta on the bus. I went to the Post Office, Rebel Sport and couple of other places. Just Dorising really. I had lunch at my favourite Vietnamese eatery. Even though it was 35degrees I really fancied a pho. Chicken/beef broth with rice noodles, bean sprouts, beef brisket and mint, vey yummy and considered to be the national dish of Vietnam.

After lunch I wanted to do something. So I step on the next bus that pulled up. I asked the driver, ‘Do you end up in Merrylands?’

‘Oh, yes, but I take a while to get there. Why don’t you get the 802, it takes 5 minutes.’

‘Yeah, see I want to kill some time and see some stuff I haven’t seen before.’

A woman in the first seat laughed and said, ‘this bus goes to Greystanes.’

The old lady next to her, joined her with a hearty giggle.

‘I haven’t been to Greystanes,’ I said.

I paid a $1.90 and took a seat at the back.

My only mistake. I’d picked an unconditioned bus.

If I hadn’t have taken my random bus trip I would never have seen a streets named after me and a mate with the correct spellings (e for me, no h for him). I wouldn’t have seen the Sri Lankan temple with all its bells and whistles and icons. I wouldn’t have spotted the pet feed store and I wouldn’t have realised just how many lovely houses are in Greystanes.

I actually quite enjoyed my little trip. I think I might get on a random bus again.

Eggs Benedict

Rivers Restaurant, Mylestom NSW
Eggs Benedict $16.00
Juice $6.00

A slight detour off the Pacific Highway and it was time for breakfast. I’d already been to the Mylestom beach and seen a diamond back python disappearing into the brush. On my way out of town I saw a sign, ‘Big Brekkie $18.50’, that made me stop at Rivers Restaurant.

I walked up the stairs and was shown to a seat on the balcony. I was then presented with a menu, a glass and a bottle of water. As I am a creature of habit I had my heart set on the advertised Big Brekkie, but ended up ordering the Eggs Benedict. I always end up ordering the Eggs Benedict. The menu promised leg ham on focaccia with poached locally grain fed eggs, and it was too much to resist.

Shortly after ordering my eggs in the form of Benedict, the waitress informed me that they were out of hollandaise sauce. Did I wan t anything else? She asked. I said, I’d still have the EB, sans the sauce. Next, my juice arrived. Carrot, orange, apple and ginger combined in perfect proportions to make a refreshing morning beverage, sweet, but not acidic.

The waitress came back and informed that the chef was making the sauce and it would be a few more minutes.

I was content to wait. I had an uninterrupted view of the Bellengen River, the fishermen, the water-skiers, and inappropriately dressed holiday makers, considering the foul weather. Ben Johnson was serenading me from the stereo and I felt relaxed, for the first time in a while.

When my breakfast was finally placed before me I was supremely chilled out.


I cut into the egg and the saffon yellow yolk poured out, covering the ham and toast, mingling with the pale yellow hollandaise. A half grilled tomato avoided being touched, but that could wait til later.

The flavours blended together perfectly. The sauce, which can lean towards lemony, was delicate and smooth. The eggs, the ham, the sauce and toast combined together into a month watering dish. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because I was starvin’ marvin, but purely the skill of a chef in a sleepy holiday town six kilometres of the Pacific Highway (between Nambucca Heads and Coff Harbour).

Are You Joking?

Christmas Eve arrived, I got up, dressed in all black and went to work. The reason for all black? I had to do a three hour stint on the shop floor, from 2 – 5pm.

The store that I work has a credo. Surprise and Delight the customer

I think I may of actually have achieved that today during my shift.

I surprised the complete stranger who asked me for a coffee date by saying yes. I further delighted him by giving him my phone number.

Well, it's Christmas and I felt like giving.

Button Meltdown

This is getting out of hand now. Today I went to see a choir sing a few Christmas dittys on the ground floor of the building I work in. I was standing there while they sang 'The Holly and The Ivy' thinking I really love this song and feeling quite uplifted and happy. Then they sang I didn't know or recognise. Then they started to sing 'Hark the Herald Angels'.

My mind went straight back to when I was about 7, I was in the school choir and we were performing at a summer concert at Guildford Civic Hall (UK). I was sat in the back of the car singing 'Scarborough Fair' to myself and playing with my little ice creamed shaped metal and enamel buttons on my blue and white gingham school dress when Muv leaned back and said, 'You're supposed to be wearing your winter uniform.' I ended up, standing at the back of the choir singing my little heart out, still playing with my ice cream buttons.

Muv had a button jar. When she was sewing I would tip it out on the floor and sort through the buttons. The ice-cream buttons had been in the jar and I was always asking her to put them on something for me. She never did until that summer when she made me a couple of new summer school dresses. I didn't know she had put them on until one morning when I put my uniform on.

I had to stop watching this morning and leave. I have no idea why 'Hark the Herald Angels' should set me off by triggering that memory, but it did and now my eyes won't stop leaking.

Mannequin Smut

I was getting myself a cup of tea this afternoon when I noticed some off duty mannequins getting more action than me.

Weekend

I had a very relaxing but productive weekend. Washing was done, the groceries were purchased, the ironing was done. I had dinner guests on both Saturday and Sunday. I had several telephone conversations with mates that lastest up to and beyond twenty minutes. I even did some cleaning.

It was the busiest weekend I've had in quite sometime.

Last night I went to bed straight after the 8.30 movie (The Heartbreak Kid), read about four pages of my book then passed out. I slept so heavily I managed to completely ignor my alarm until ten past seven. I was late for work and I don't care because I felt healthy for the first time in weeks, nope scratch that, months!

Taxi!

It took me two hours to get a taxi on Friday night. I left the club on Oxford Street at twenty past one in the morning. I was tierd after a great night and jusy really wanted to go home. Actually, thinking about I didn't really want to go home I wanted to stay, but I had pre-christmas appointments starting at 10.30 on Saturday. So my need for sleep compelled me to leave. I was escorted by a friend out of Hellfire. He very kindly offered to wait with me.

Picture if you will to two people in fetish wear, surrounded by pissed bogans on the Friday before Christmas. He was dressed in head to toe black latex. I was dressed as a naughty schoolgirl right down to the really short skirt and ribbons on the back of my socks. Couple that with wanting to go 20kilometres from the city centre. It wasn't looking good.

I eventually walked to a hotel and asked them to book me one. May attempts to get a taxi to come to me, standing on the street had ended in spectaular failure. I finally climbed into the back of taxi at 0320, I was cold, cranky and very tired. I crawled into bed and wrapped myself around Puss for warmth at 0355.

I am never not driving again.

Another Moment

I had to do my Give Time yesterday. Three hours of standing on a shop floor being an information point for customers who don't know where they are going. I was dressed in the obligatory all black, comfortable shoes, armed with my name badge and big 'i' and a booklet full of hints and tips about which product lives where.

The first demand.

'Where's the Sorbolene?'

The second question, this time with a polite end.

'Where are the toilets, please?'

For three hours this went on. I was asked for brand name after brand name, where Santa was, the toilets and mens sunglasses. I was even asked where the competition (as in main rival) was. The time passed quite quickly, but I had a few minutes where I had to control my emotions and suck the tears back.

A woman walked past me as I was talking to someone about an hour into my shift. She had her red striped back to me and was walking with another woman. But the smell was unmistakable. Chanel No. 5 and cigarettes. The prick of tears stung the back of my eyeballs.

Then as I stood there, I saw her again. She was standing next to the Chanel counter. The other woman was younger and they were laughing about something. I looked at what she was wearing. A red and white striped t-shirt with jeans and dockside slip on shoes. I looked at her hair, it was just above her shoulders, blond and highlighted. She was slim and not that tall. The other woman was wearing a shirt and jeans and sandals. A thought came to me.

I will never go shopping with my Muv, ever again. Ever.

The tear sprung forward and I tried to fight them back. But I couldn't prevent them from spilling over just a little. I was saved by a lady taking a tumble as she stepped off the escalator.

A little later, I saw this pair again. They were standing and talking on the desending escalator. Once again my eyes burned, water welled but I managed to breath through it. I was really thankful they seemed to know where there were going and didn't feel the need to talk to me.

2008 - A year in review

I've had one of those years that everyone has at some point in their life. My parent would say to me, 'if it doesn't kill you, it'll make you stronger.' when I had bad moments as a kid. You know the moments I'm talking about. Falling off your bike and flaying the right side of your face, your knee and knuckles. Falling out of a tree. Having the stick you're pretending is a cigerette jam into the back of your throut and giving you a nose bleed. Cutting your head open on the sight of an air rifle. At the time all of these things where the worst thing that could ever happen to me. And then this year happened. Every month has offered up a dossey and only a couple of months have given me something to counteract it (I highlighted those).

In early January a good friend took me along to her family's fortune teller. He was Vietnamese and didn't speak any other english apart from 'Hello' and 'Goodbye', but he managed to tell me (throught the translations of my friend) that as 2008 was 'Year of the Rat' and I was born in the year of the rat, I was either going to have a really great year, or a really bad year. He also told me I would travel, meet my soul mate, have bad health and if I had children I would have two.

I suppose I got a clue that it was it was going to be on the bad side of the coin when my Muv was finally diagnosed (after months of faffing) with lung cancer at the end of Jan. It pretty much went down hill for there.

Late Feb - evicted from my house when I asked for the leaking roof to be fixed.
Mid March - told my Muv was getting bad and moving back to the UK so she could be in a UK hospital
Late March - Moved house and depleted spare funds
Late March - Muv worse, get your arse back to the UK
Early April - First international travel, and a week in the UK, Muv sick, but seemed OK to return to Aus
Early May - Muv worse, get your arse back here ASAP
Mid May - Flat broke, trying to figure out how I was going to get back to the UK. Handed in notice for end of contract
Early June - House sold, booked flights
Mid June - Second International travel, flew to UK via a two day stop over in Seoul, Korea
Mid June - Spent 9 days with Muv, really bad, no hair and in hospice. Told her I wasn't going to the States, she told me and everyone who would listen I had to get on with my life and she wanted to see photos of New York and Washington DC.
Late June - Third international travel, went to America for two weeks
4th July - Muv Died, missed seeing photos by two days.
August - Failed to get job in UK due to economic downturn, despite 16 agent interviews
Early September - Flew back to Aus, missing Goyte in his London concert by four days
Mid September - Signed on at Centrelink
29th September - Graduated from Uni with a Masters Degree in Writing
September and October - Applied for over 150 jobs and attended more than 40 agent interviews, 6 job interviews
3rd November - Started new job that pays 30% less than previous job (only job on offer)
12th November - Fell on train and hurt hip, had to start using one crutch for support
28th November - Signed off work sick with Whooping cough (the plus side of bed rest meant that I could put the crutch away)
15th December - Laptop (Bigglesworth) died

I haven't got to the end of the year yet, but with an ophans Christmas dinner and a solo roadtrip (sleeping in the car on a futon matrtess, reading on the beaches of teh East coast:-) to the Gold Coast planned from 26th Dec - 7th Jan, It should end on a up note. After all, I really don't think it can get much worse.

I may or may not write another entry this year, depends on time and computer access (currently only have it during office hours due to Dead Biggles) so I'll say adieu until next year.

May you all Have a very Merry Christmas and a happy, healthy and joyous New Year.

On the 18th November I purchased a train pass to cover me for the full month until my next pay day. It cost me one hundred and forty five dollars. I thought I was being most efficent, then I got sick. I took my sick notes to the railway station and filled in a form. I'd worked out that I should get about $60 back by the time they had deducted the $11 handling fee. How wrong I was. Despite having proof that I had not travelled on the trains for 14 of the 30 days on my ticket, I was eligible for nothing.

So, to today. The train police, also known as Transit Officers (TO) were checking tickets on the way into work this morning. A girl went to her bag and couldn't find her ticket. She was in a panic, the TO stood over her and watched. He huffed and puffed before saying to her, 'Give me your ID!'

She looked up at him ashen, Ireally think she had lost her ticket. Her lack of compossure and colour would be very hard to fake.

She looked down at her bag, then back at him before saying, 'If I had my ID, I'd have my train pass. My wallet isn't in my bag, I think it's been stolen.' there was a distinst glisten in her eyes. I have that feeling before, my heart went out to her. ' I don't have any money.'

The TO then took his notepad from his utility belt and flipped it open.

'Name?'

I didn't hear her response, but I could feel the heat from her blush three rows back.

'Address?'

Again, a quiet response.

'You will be recieving a $60 fine in the mail, you will have two weeks to pay it. Have a good day.' he walked away.

So in short, they are quite happy to slug you for more cash, but make it impossible to get any sort of refund. To top this off, train fares are going up. Let's hope a raise in fares mean I don't have to stand on every trip.

Internet Censorship

Did you know the Government is proposing an internet censorship scheme that goes further than any other democracy in the world?
I've just signed a petition to prevent the scheme that will make the internet up to 87% slower, more expensive, accidentally block up to one in 12 legitimate sites, will miss the vast majority of inappropriate content and is very easily sidestepped. The government of the day may add any ‘unwanted’ site to a secret blacklist under the scheme.
Our Government should be doing all in its power to take Australia into the 21st century economy, and to protect our children. This proposed internet censorship does neither. Can you join me and take action on the net today to save the net?

http://www.getup.org.au/campaign/SaveTheNet/442
Thanks!

Old Git

I’m not quite sure how I manage to do it, but I have a habit of picking hobbies that are the domain of old people.

First it was the alpacas. An industry almost entirely made up of 50+ people. That was OK, I coped and even got passed comments about being too young to have alpacas.

So, about a year ago I got a phonecall. It was a wrong number, but it turned out that the male voice on the other end was looking for a version of me of the male gender. Turned out he was for the Book Collectors Society of Australia. I joined and for the next year I received the journal.

On Sunday I went to a meeting. I swear to god the average age there was 70. A lot of raised voices where required and yet somehow I ended up on the committee. I think they just wanted to bring the average age group down to 60.

That’s Entertainment

Went to the doctor again today. He signed me off until next Thursday because he still isn’t happy with sounds coming from my chest. Quite frankly I don’t like them either and every time I cough I feel like I’m drowning in my own fluids.

After getting my breath from the 10 minute outing to the doctors and back, plus another $40 on prescriptions. I took my new medication and turned on the telly. I’ve watched just about everything I’ve recorded, called me silly, but I’m not in the mood for Alien right now. I don’t need to see anything with mucus.

So I flicked on TCM (Turner Classic Movies). Two Weeks in Another Town was showing. Filmed a couple of years after Spartacus, Kirk Douglas was in fine dimple chinned form as a washed up actor in Italy discovering the way out of his troubles. I rather enjoyed the innocence of the plot. So I carried on watching when the next movie started. Meet Me in Las Vegas.

This is when I notice a theme. Turns out TSM is having a Cyd Charisse month. So this evening’s tele-visual entertainment is being provided by Cyd Cherisse and friends. Her friends being Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly, Donald O’Connor and Debbie Reynolds.

Currently watching The Band Wagon which gave us the song That’s Entertainment, later I get to watch the classic Singin’ in the Rain.

I’d forgotten how much I love a musical!

Let's all singa song and dance! :-)

Triple Zero

I got into bed last night and I heard a pop, experienced eye watering pain and rapidly curled into a ball clutching my right knee. After a few seconds I managed to straighten out and found myself lying on the bed, starkers with my knee fixed and bent. Trying to move my knee resulted in searing pain down to my ankle and up to my hip. When I tried to move myself up the bed, any pressure on my right side caused pain in my knee.

I was well and truly stuck.

For over an hour I tried various things to straighten out. It was not to bad when I folded it up ore, but attempts to straighten resulted in pain like I haven’t experienced since first had my hip rebuilt 18 years ago. It hurt…A LOT

After an hour, I decided I only had one choice left. I’d texted a couple of mates to see if they were still awake (did I mention this started at about half past midnight) and received no response. So I called the Police Assistance line. After explaining the situation to the lady she asked to me,

‘Ma’am, if you are alone, and can’t move, it is an emergency. Hang up and call triple zero.’

I hung up.

Less than eleven minutes later an ambo officer was climbing through my kitchen window to my rescue.

A little massage later and another crunching pop sound and I was able to move my knee freely with a little residual pain.

I explained about having whooping cough and being mostly immobile for a week and before that having been on one crutch to support my right hip. The ambo guy hypostasised that this little incident may have been caused by my muscles and ligaments twisting suddenly due to the excess work of over compensating for my hip followed by mega rest.

If it happens again, I have to seek medical assistance.

They left by the front door having given me pain killers, propped my knee up and giggled at my embarrassment about having no clothes on.

ANTM 11-5

The French chick is bringing everyone down in the house, very negative.
A photoshoot of natural disasters saw a couple of the girls fall flat.

Clark went home

Isis and Hannah went home in 11-4

Ohh and I have whooping cough, been off work since Friday thanks to my friend who sits near me at the office.

National Week

It’s National Asbestos Awareness Week.

Check out these links. One is a newspaper story, the other an amazing series of portraits

Caught in the Act

So, I'm sat on the sofa watching Casino Royale tonight. Puss is curled up next to me. I hear a thud in the kitchen and turn round. This is what I see...

This little bastard is getting bolder and bolder.

Pass the Port

A couple of weeks ago I mislaid my passport. OK, I dropped it on the way to have it photocopied by my new employer. Anyway… after reporting it and asking the lost property people to keep an eye out for a couple of days I reported it to the police. I set myself a cut off, if it hadn’t been found by Wednesday at noon, I was going to call the Passport office and tell them I was a idiot.

Wednesday (last week) dawned and I hadn’t heard anything. I called the police, gave them my reference number and was told, nothing had been handed in. I looked up the number of the passport office on the web.

At 11.55 my mobile rang.

It was the Canberra Passport office. Some nice citizen of Sydney had found my passport and mailed it to them. I was informed that it would be sent to the Sydney office and I would have to pick it up from there.

I went down there today and ended up waiting for nearly an hour and a half while they found it. Yes, they had temporarily misplaced it.

But, it’s OK. They found it and now I have it back :-)

Saucy Pasta

I like to catch up on the news in the morning. Obamas kids seeing their new bedrooms in the White House and petrol prices dropping aside, this story caught my eye and this line in particular:

‘A search of his car found pornography, women's stockings, a home-made sex aid and a Jack Russell terrier.’

Why do stories like this keep making the news? I know they are amusing, but is it really news?

Feeling Unwell?

The place where I work relies on Lotus Notes databases for everything. And I mean, EVERYTHING! This has its painful side, in so much as you can’t find anything and most of the stuff is hopelessly out of date.

On the plus side, you can get lost for hours looking for stuff if you want to hide. It’s like a lovely big, dimly lit warehouse full of dusty boxes. You can walk in the door with the intention of looking for, say, stocktake documentation but end up silently giggling at Incident reports.

I did such a thing the other day. It was like one of those chain email joke thingies about insurance claims. It’s not just the incident, most are boring, it’s way they’ve been written up that makes you laugh. You get this picture in your head of someone falling over or whatever, not in itself funny, but when it’s written like this*…

- Customer felt dizzy while standing at the checkout
- Employees feet were sore from blisters on her feet while walking
- Xxx was at the register talking to her colleague when she noticed her nose was bleeding
- Long term issue with walking on right
- Staff member had panic attack (mental illness)
- Xxx was walking on the shop floor when he felt a twinge in his groin
- Staff member sprained his ankle at home whilst walking too fast on an uneven surface
- Member was playing football outside of work hours away from place of employment when member sustained a hard tackle

There are countless incidents of both staff and customers having sore and blistered feet from both new and old shoes, which tell me that if you are shopping or standing all day, there are no ‘comfortable’ shoes.

It made me realise too that every first aider is an amateur doctor. Terms like myocardial infarction and viral infection litter the reports like a tickertape parade, but they have no way of knowing the cause of the problem.

My personal favourite though has to be one that isn’t all that funny, but does have an element of ‘what the…’ about it.

Xxx has a personal illness. Returned from lunch and felt dizzy and had partial loss of sight. (brain tumour)*.

What the hell? IT'S PERSONAL!



* names have been deleted and slight editing of content has taken place.

Sex and Politics

I’ve always been told that you shouldn’t discuss money, sex or politics in polite conversation. However, a new political party in the great brown land of Australian is preposing to talk about sex and politics in the classroom.

How awesome is this…I wonder if they’ll get any votes?

Jumping Hoops

I’ve been at my new job with the department store for just over two weeks. I don’t like it very much as you may have seen. My views haven’t really changed much.

This morning the woman who sits in the seat opposite me and with whom I have spent countless hours in meetings with announced that her doctor had told her what was wrong with her.

Now, on my first day (two weeks and one day ago) she told me that her boyfriend was off sick from work and they thought he had chicken pox. That first week she was coughing and spluttering all over the shop with a ‘bit of a cough’, last week she was off for three afternoons and one whole day. She’s ‘so busy’ that she couldn’t stay away. She’d come in for the morning, cough all over us, and then leave in the afternoon.

She has whooping cough.

Why do people do that. If you are sick...stay at home and keep your highly contagious bacterial infections to yourself.

A Christmas Meme

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Wrapping paper with ribbons
2. Real tree or Artificial? neither, just being me, I do with a massive santa who sits in the corner
3. When do you put up the tree? Any day in december
4. When do you take the tree down? just after new year
5. Do you like eggnog? you mean snotnog?
6. Favourite gift received as a child? Archie
7. Hardest person to buy for? any bloke
8. Easiest person to buy for? any woman
9. Do you have a nativity scene? Nope
10. Mail or email Christmas cards? Cards and a newsletter, which reminds me...
11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? pipe glue
12. Favourite Christmas Movie's? the Sound of Music
13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? when ithink about it or can afford too
14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? yeap...
15. Favourite thing to eat at Christmas? fruit jellies
16. Lights on the tree? what tree?
17. Favourite Christmas song? Two Little Boys by Rolf Harris (I know it's not technically a christmas song)
18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? Christmas Day, at home to veg out, then travel.
19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer's? Rudolf, Donna, Blitzen, harry, bob, cyril, albert and bob 2...ehh only a couple ;-)
20. Angel on the tree top or a star? Fairy, Ohh Todd, you'll be missed
21. Open the presents Christmas morning or afternoon? Am I getting presents this year?
22. Most annoying thing about this time of the year? Too weird having fake snow in teh window when it 35 degrees outside.
23. Favourite ornament theme or colour? Red and gold
24. Favourite for Christmas dinner/meal? champagne breakfast with scrabbled egg and salmon
25. What do you want for Christmas this year? to have no more money worries
26. Who is most likely to respond to this? Todd
27. Who is least likely to respond to this? Simone

ANTM 11-3

Racism and bigotry rose its head again this week. One of the girls claimed to be the 'ultimate white girl' after pushing Isis away from her in the hot tub. The coloured girls in the house decided to confront her about it. Tears were shed. Nothing more was said.

A touch of hooch and class had Jay admonishing and praising in equal measure.

Nikeysha was the second go home.

Slighty Bent

I read with interest today that there has been a rise in the amount of American parents naming their babies after the new President-elect. Thought you might be interested in the origin and meaning of his name.

The meaning of the name Barack : Blessed*
The origin of the name : African
Notes about the name : form of the Hebrew name Baruch

The meaning of the name Obama : Slighty bent*
The origin of the name : African
Notes about the name : From the rare Luo (Kenyan) name, meaning a baby born with a bent arm or leg or possibly a breech birth.

So, does this mean the leader of the free world will be led, from January 2009, by a blessed, slighty bent, African Jew? I know not, but given the generalised beliefs, feelings and thinking of the citizens there, I wouldn't have thought they'd be too happy about that, if they knew what you now know.

Personally, I think it's great, not having yet another old white guy in the slighty not round room. He can do it.

*Source: http://www.babynames.com/

Hunger

I find myself in a constant state of hunger. I can’t really explain why this would be so, because now that I’m working I had a massive fruit salad and big cup of tea for breakfast.

It’s 10.44am right now and I’m f*ckin’ starving!

My tummy is hollow, it’s gurgling and I really feel the need to eat a greasy bacon and egg sandwich.

Is it because I’m bored?

Train Trip

I was standing on the platform at Merrylands station this morning, waiting for the 7:31 to the City Circle listening to the melodic tones of Camille Saints-Saens, readying myself for the week ahead when the train rounded the corner.

I could see the driver that would take several hundred commuters including myself to destinations from West to East.

He was laughing merrily while talking on a hand-held mobile phone.

Suddenly I was feeling less calm.

New Job

My first three days back in employment have been entertaining. Actually maybe entertaining isn’t really the right word to describe my time so far working for one of the countries oldest department store.

Entertaining would imply I have experienced some of the following emotions or feelings; charm, cheer, delight, enjoyment, fun, pleasantness, relaxation, when in fact I’ve experienced more of these; disgust, awfulness, disagreement, horror, nausea, objection, outrage, repugnance and overall feelings of yuck!

It’s a culture thing I think, it’s just the old-fashioned 'Are You Being Served?' work environment/ethics that turns my stomach, and my hip into a pain centre.

So the first thing giving me a problem is the lack of flexibility of working hours. There is NO room for manoeuvre. You start at 8.30, have one hour for lunch and leave, not before 5.30. You can only leave early if you have prior permission from your manager. Anyone who actually knows me will know I’m not a morning person and the wake up time for this time schedule means my alarm is set for 0645. This is not good, I've already forgotton to put in earrings and clean my teeth. In previous roles I have had understanding managers that have realised I do not need to be treated like a child to get my work done. I do the hours, effectively but at a slighter later time. This has meant they haven’t seen me in before 9.30 unless I actually have a meeting to attend and if I am at an early meeting I'm not sat there like a zombie nursing a massive cup of caffine.

An unforseen problem with the start time is the travel issues. The trains at that time in the morning are chockers. I have had to stand on every trip so far, bar one. OK it sucks that the train system here is woefully under capacity, but for me having to stand on a moving train that lurches and stutters means footing can be lost and results is sudden and forceful pressure put on my hip. Today this showed itself in a shooting pain from my hip to my knee and through my groin, resulting in a limp that I haven’t had for over three years. Continuing to limp is the start of pain throughout my body and general extreme grumpiness. Lack of sleep will only compound this issue. By having flexible work hours I can get a seat and not have hip issues. Makes for an all round happier interaction for everyone involved.

Here's the other thing…a little scheme for head office staff so they can share the shop floor experience and see what the sales staff deal with on a day to day basis. It involves giving time as an information person standing at the top or bottom of escalators and assisting customer with enquiries. I’m sorry, but I know what shop staff goes through. I’ve done my time in retail and I left it because on a whole, customers are wankers and they are rarely right. I’ve been lucky so far and been ‘allocated’ weekday slots but weekends could be assigned. You’ll find me manning an escalator for the last three trading hours on Christmas Eve.

Don’t get me started on the no paper towels in the bathrooms or the not allowed on the shop floor during work hours or if your bag is bigger than a pea you have to leave it in an open area by the staff entrance or the no bins under desk policies…

All that said…the projects and people I’m going to be working with/on until I get the flock out of there, look like they could be interesting.

ANTM 11-2

It was the second episode this Tuesday, but I only got to see it tonight. I’m a little repulsed by the bigotry being shown towards the pre-op transsexual, Isis. She has earned her stripes in a photo shot depicting the lack of political privacy despite the nasty girls saying things like ‘the bright light may burn of those hairs’ and ‘you need to shave’.

The nastiest was kicked off in the first cut - Sharaun

Congratulations

Mr. and Mrs. Barack Obama made history yesterday by being elected the new President and First Lady of the free world. Well done to all those that didn’t throw their vote this year.

I was reading the Sydney Morning Herald’s letter pages earlier today and I liked what a couple of the contributors had to say, so i thought I'd share;

As a strong supporter of Barack Obama, there is just one thing I would like to say. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Sarah Palin. - Keith Perkins Dubbo

I would hate to be a moose in Alaska. - David Graham Wahroonga