Archive for October, 2009

Let Them Eat Cake

October 29, 2009

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.

failcake

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.

meaty

Roll on, weekend, I need you!

My New Boss is Kind of Cool

October 22, 2009

With the restructure at work I think I might have landed a boss who gets me. Or at least, one who doesn’t report me for my dreadful behaviour.

The scene: My desk. Earlier today an email went out company wide announcing my new boss’ job, except they spelled the Manager at the end of his job title as Manger.

12 to New Boss:

Very much looking forward to having you as my Manger. I have purchased a nativity scene for you to display at your desk to remind you of the importance of your new role.

New Boss to 12:

If they can go from Manager to Manger, imagine what you get from Analyst…

12 to New Boss:

Um. Like I told my other half. I don’t do that. Or swallow. So you can just rethink that one.

New Boss to 12:

I hadn’t actually thought that far through and might not have ended up in the same place. But I am now. Brrrrr!

I Never Said I Was a Morning Person!

October 22, 2009

I’m not good in the mornings. I never have been. I’ve always loved to stay up late – I remember sneaking into the TV room, which was on the other side of the house to my parents’ room, to watch movies – or one year (1983), to watch Australia win the America’s Cup yacht race (which must have been late here if it was raced in American daytime – in fact there was much made of the quote by our then Prime Minister who said the following day ‘Any boss who sacks a worker for not turning up today is a bum’.)

I’ve also noticed that I am finding it even harder of late because the house is still in absolute state of chaos, which makes mornings that much harder to deal with. I am just too tired on getting home at 7 or 8pm, then making and eating dinner, to do any little extra jobs that need to be done. That’s why there are boxes spread throughout the dining room and the floor is now an interesting shade of grey even though the tiles are not in fact grey at all.

The Boyfriend really does get the bulk of the angst thrown his way of a morning of late. Really, though, when I am rushing around like a chook with my head cut off, do I want to have a conversation about installing Office on the new computer, or do I need anything from the shops today, or what do you think about the latest boring political news? No, sir, I do not.

Perhaps that is why when They Boyfriend was pushing me to take some fruit to work with my lunch today in the interests of my health, he said “Come on, how about a nice little mandarin? Here’s one just like you, small and cute. We didn’t have any grumpy ones so this one will have to do – just eat it a bit later in the day, not first thing.” Hmph. I resemble that remark.

Updated to Add: The mandarin may not have been grumpy. But it was sort of wrinkly and a bit sour inside. Just like me. Heh.

You Should See the Other Guy

October 20, 2009

Since Friday many people have asked me what I have done to my hand. My instant response is “You should see the other guy!”, followed by a sorry shake of the head and perhaps a little faux boxing action. Of course, reality is far different, but the true story as to why I am sporting a bandaged wrist is far more boring – I was on my way to work on Friday when a charming man in a business suit shoved me in his panic to get off the train, and I went flying. No, he did not stop to see if I was ok. Pig.

On my arrival at work, my simple request for an ice pack sent the first aid officer absolutely mental. I had some trouble understanding why I would need to be carried on a stretcher for a sore arm. Turns out they haven’t had a first aid incident since the new first aid room opened and they all got trained so it was an exciting day. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they sneaked in a few photos to put in the weekend papers. And so off to the doctor I was sent, with requests for x rays and reports, for this was a workers comp claim, having happened on the way to work.

If you ever hurt yourself, please let it be at work! I have never had such fuss made of me. The cynical amongst you would say that’s because it’s like free money for the medical practice, the insurance company probably pays more than medicare. I found it hard to believe that I had to beg the doctor to be allowed to come back to work today, Tuesday, several days after the incident, and now several work days behind! So I am back on light duties only. I didn’t bother explaining to the doctor that light duties would cover any day.

Didn’t Know I Had Muscles There

October 12, 2009

Well the bank finally got the paperwork sorted and signed on Friday. No money has been forthcoming yet, but that really does not surprise me. The Ex decided to man up and move out as agreed on Friday anyway – I was worried he wouldn’t without receipt of the rather large cheque. The Boyfriend and I spent the weekend carting my stuff (and a few of his things) from his place to mine.

Over the course of the weekend, I could not believe that considering I never ‘moved in’ with The Boyfriend, I had managed to accumulate so many clothes over there, all brought over one outfit at a time. Given that the last time until this weekend that I had slept at my house was for a few nights last Christmas, and it was around September last year when I last slept there with any regularity, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised – I must have been wearing something all this time, but still. It filled a whole car – boot and back seat. (I think it might be time to clear out the things I no longer wear.)

The house was filthy. I mean, it will takes us months to get through all the cleaning and tidying there is to be done. It took 3 hours to clean the fridge. I think that probably explains how the rest of the house went. The Boyfriend was rather unimpressed at the “You find it, you clean it” rule after he trod in a cat hairball. Especially when I told him the cat who used to throw up stinky hairballs like that has been dead a couple of months. So yeah, there’s a bit of work to get through.

Today my muscles are killing me – they ache in places I did not know muscles exist. Luckily I have a really awesomely comfortable bed to fall into tonight.

Things I love about being in my own house again:

  • My toilet paper is better. This is one thing I will not go budget on.
  • The toilet seat is closed after use. (This one might take The Boyfriend some time to sink in.)
  • My bed is so comfortable and big. And my sheets are nicer.
  • Gas oven and cooktop – so much better than electric. Not that I have cooked anything more exotic than vegemite and grilled cheese crumpets yet.
  • My back yard although in need of some TLC inspires me to make it look fantastic again

There’s more. However, there’s also more work to do which awaits…

Short Week, Long Face

October 8, 2009

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.

Good and Bad Sports

October 6, 2009

The weekend just gone was a long weekend. For what I have no idea (hmm, just googled it and apparently it was Labour Day. Huh). I added to the collective joy and had last Friday off as well.

Two 4 day weeks in a row was of course for good reason. This past weekend I went to my 20 year High School Reunion – the second for the year, which is what happens when you switch schools half way through high school I guess. So the reunion was for the school I left after Year 9.

I was having a rather jolly old time, possibly carrying on like a pork chop and enjoying one too many lemonades (read: beer), when I spotted a familiar face. The CEO’s exec assistant from my current work. Eh, who would have guessed she was married to a boy I went through primary and most of high school with. My reaction was not particularly professional – in fact I yelled, rather startled, “SHIT!” while looking right at her. I sure hope she is a good sport and holds true on her promise that what goes on at the school reunion stays at the school reunion! I did reconnect with a couple of people I will stay in touch with, so all in all it was a good time. A very fine time was had on both Friday and Saturday.

We rushed home on Sunday morning bright eyed and bushy tailed. In reality The Boyfriend was a champ and drove the whole way home, and I moaned and grumbled from the passenger seat. On our arrival home we hopped it down to a nearby pub to with minutes to spare to meet up with some mates for the NRL Grand Final – which my team were in. (Go Parra Eels!)

After my team lost? A girl wearing a jersey from a different team (one not playing in the grand final having been knocked out a week or two ago by my team, heh) walked in to the pub, spat at me in my Eels jersey, and said “Sucked in you stupid bitch, you f-ing c-face whore”. Only you can guess what the Fs and Cs stood for, she didn’t abbreviate them. Charming. I think we can all agree some of the fans of that team cough*bulldogs*cough are bloody bad sports. I only wish I’d had the presence of mind to fire back a retort – any retort – instead of opening and closing my mouth like a goldfish.  I would have been nice about it I’m sure (“Well at least I’m not ugly” is probably nice, yeah? Or even “I know you are, but what am I”?) This was also followed by groups of loud Bulldogs supporters driving around my suburb with their team flags hanging out their windows whooping and honking horns, not celebrating anything but the fact that WE LOST, even though they did too, several weeks ago.

This performance was more impactful for the fact that I had just witnessed a rather rowdy pub full of Eels supporters clap at the end result, and shake hands with the very few Storm supporters in the place who’d won – after all, it’s clear the better performing team won on the day, what else is there to do.  We were all just pleased we made it as far as we did after a few decades of lackluster performance!

After the busy few days before it, we lazed around on Monday, venturing out to deliver a case of beer and bag of ice to friends who moved over the long weekend. Nothing says “We’re so glad sorry we went away the weekend you moved and couldn’t help” like beer.