Let Them Eat Cake

Yesterday The Boyfriend’s mum gave us a chocolate cake. I shit you not, the thing is the flattest cake I have ever seen. I am not sure how I managed to thank her and then wait to laugh until I was safely home. The funnier still part is that her next door neighbour cooked it and gave it to her.

I’m wondering if The Boyfriend’s mum’s neighbour was trying to say something by giving a complete fail-cake to her. I’m wondering why The Boyfriend’s mum would say in actions, if not words, “Thanks for taking our son off our hands, here, have a shit fail-cake because we don’t want it”. She gave me half a banana cake too, and then said in response to my thanks, “No worries, it’s dry and burnt on the bottom, by the way”. heh.

Check out the chocolate cake – it barely reaches the first joint on my index finger – and I have short stubby little fat sausage fingers. I’m thinking I might whip up a heap of cream and make it into some kind of swiss roll.

Almost the end of the week, which can come around any time now, and hurry. The end of the week means meat. We need to get through some more meat at our place. This was our haul from last Friday’s meat raffle at The Local – 4 meat trays full.

Roll on, weekend, I need you!

Short Week, Long Face

It might have been a short week this week after the public holiday on Monday, but it seems to have been the longest short week in the whole world.

My bank are a bunch of arses. The paperwork for my new mortgage has so far been lost twice and once drawn up with the wrong surname on it. I still haven’t signed it and I am supposed to, by court order, give my ex a rather large cheque by COB tomorrow. I somehow doubt that is going to happen on time. I finally got an apologetic email from my mortgage broker after I emailed him this morning and suggested that when the paperwork was ready perhaps he could deliver it to me IN JAIL, where I will be languishing, having been thrown in the clink. I still do not have a contract to sign, however.

The Boyfriend got the shits and quit his job yesterday. Idiot. Personally I think a better plan may have been to get a new job first, then tell them how they are a bunch of *insert appropriate word here*s.

Yesterday I got confirmation that while I will still have a job and the same salary in the restructure, my job title changes to something about 5 levels down. Oh, and I’ll be responsible for more than before. The new job title in no way reflects what I will really be doing and that shits me immensely.

A friend’s girlfriend who had a bad asthma attack and failed to get CPR in time during the recent dust storms has just had her life support turned off. Her 13 year old child thinks that because she has not died yet she will recover. The doctors tell us she is brain dead.

I made The Boyfriend’s parents very teary last night when they realised that me getting my house back might mean we spend less time with them. I feel like a thief who is taking away their baby (their grown up fully adult baby but whatever).

I feel torn about having made The Ex leave my house – I have been financially supporting him for about 3 years while he plays a stupid online game that rhymes with Schmorld of Schmarcraft for about 15 hours a day. It is finally time to pull the plug, move him out of my house, stop paying his bills, and give him a big cheque in exchange for the deed to the house. It’s well overdue but it feels sad anyway.

One of the girls in the office who I was commiserating with earlier about how much this week sucks just came into my office and said “As if that’s not enough I now have the Wiggles song Wake Up Jeff in my head!” I have cheered myself up by telling her I have the cure. She is very silly for agreeing. I got her to sing the chorus of Rah Rah Rasputin. Well, at least she doesn’t have The Wiggles on the brain any more. She is stalking around the office telling all that she is going to kill me, but at least I’m smiling now.

Is it 5 o’clock Yet?

I’m sitting at my desk, giggling to myself. I realise this is a clear sign of madness. I’ve been sitting here for a good 15 minutes giggling on and off. They say laughter is good for the soul, so at least my soul’s getting a good workout. (Though I must admit I am a goof, my soul gets regular workouts this way.)

I hate those stupid messages that get sent around – and am annoyed, having just got one with a subject of “THIS IS NOT A JOKE!!!!!! MAKE SURE YOU READ THIS!” along with a detailed story about notes on the back window of a car and axe wielding maniacs jumping from the shadows and chopping your arms off before taking your car and wallet and keys and address. And now they are on their way to your house in your car to kill your entire family. OK, so maybe it didn’t say the bits about axes or chopping off arms, but you get the drift.

I’m now hearing other giggles start to filter across the office, as people receive the warning I sent in response to all recipients of the axe wielding car thief story. It’s only fair I share it with you too, after all the same thing could happen to you.

Generally, I hate these warnings that get sent around but even I have to admit that this one is important.

Please protect everyone you know and care about by sending this to your entire email list.

If someone comes to your front door, says they are conducting a survey, and asks you to show them your bottom, DO NOT SHOW THEM YOUR BOTTOM!

This is a scam. They only want to see your bottom!

I wish I’d got this yesterday, I feel so stupid and cheap.