tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73114032721418154062024-03-13T13:21:18.393+10:00Right After ThisRAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.comBlogger112125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-26751239023663668922010-06-01T21:48:00.002+10:002010-06-01T22:00:44.456+10:00So, the blogging itch is starting to niggle away at me, yet again. I know that I'm starting to head down the same path when I find myself with random urges to write things down, and the fact that I've just bought a notebook to carry around with me is a perfect example. However, I'm yet to write anything in fear of somebody finding it, pointing and laughing at my emo poetry, or whatever I've decided to commit to paper. Plus, I can type approximately 3000 times faster than I can write, so I find myself here, yet again.<br /><br />I have been dealing with all sorts of philosophical bullshit of late, the "what am I doing with my life", "why am I on this planet", "am I better off becoming a hobo than sitting in this job for the next 20 years" thoughts that generally plague the 20-something. i.e. The Usual. I am reading deep, dark and scary books and considering spending my free time in a cafe, wearing a black turtleneck and a beret and loudly declaring my thoughts on Nietzsche to a bunch of people who click instead of clap. That's what they do in the movies, right?<br /><br />I am wondering if I will ever feel like it's ok to Settle, and be content with my mediocre life, and Have Kids, and all of the stuff that I'm supposed to do now that I'm an adult but really don't feel like I am, and may never be, ready for it.<br /><br />And you thought I was kidding about the emo poetry, didn't you?<br /><br />So I might start up another blog some place to spew and belch vitriol all over the internet, as it's been a while. Or maybe I won't, if I continue to be a lazy git.<br /><br />In bright and sunny news:<br /><ul><li>Things with the new chap are going swimmingly! Sunshine and rainbows and all of that.</li><li>I am going to Melbourne for my birthday later this month, and it will be tip-top.</li><li>It's only two months until I go overseas on the very long world-wide holiday, and right now I'm about 5% excited and 95% freaking out that I won't have enough cash. However, I have mad cash-saving skillz, so I am hoping that all will be ok. If not, those hobo dreams may be fulfilled involuntarily.</li><li>I am completing a ridiculously nerdy training course for work at the moment, and it hurts my brain.<br /></li></ul>And, well. That's about it.RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-77179669454437403202010-04-29T12:29:00.003+10:002010-04-29T12:40:39.707+10:00In this super introspective phase of my life, I realise how much of a creature of habit I am. As Relationship #4 begins to find its feet, like a clumsy, ridiculously long-limbed, newborn fawn, I find myself following a familiar pattern. With 27 rapidly approaching, maybe I'm beginning to figure myself out?<br /><br /><strong>Stage One - Excited! <em>(Status: COMPLETE)</em>:</strong> Oh gosh, someone new! Someone new who is lovely and into me and gives me the giddies! I thought we were just shagging, but now I think that, gasp!, you might be my, gasp!, boy, gasp!, friend! Gasp!<br /><br /><strong>Stage Two - Alone Time <em>(Status: COMPLETE):</em></strong><em> </em>We are hanging out so much, but I don't want this to move too quickly - I think some alone time is in order. Excuse me while I get a bit moody and distant, leaving you confused and dejected, while I make no effort at all to explain my behaviour. Poor new boyfriend!<br /><br /><strong>Stage Three - Jealousy! <em>(Status: COMPLETE):</em></strong> Everyone you have previously shagged, and everything you have previously done, fills me completely irrational and petty jealousy! The thought of you doing those things makes me super annoyed! Did you like her more than you like me now? I bet you did. Grrr!<br /><br /><strong>Stage Four - I obviously care for you more than you care for me <em>(Status: POSSIBLY STARTED YESTERDAY?)</em>:</strong> the fact that you didn't send me quite as many e-mails yesterday, and chose to stay at home to catch up on things rather than play XBox with me, obviously means that you are not as crazy about me as I am about you. Of course you say that you were super busy with work yesterday, and that you had to stay home to at least wash some clothes so that you weren't walking around in dirty jocks, but I know the truth! You hate me! Gah, what a mistake I've made jumping into this so quickly, now my heart will be broken into a million pieces!<br /><br /><strong>Stage Five - Settled <em>(Status: NOT YET STARTED)</em>:</strong> I no longer get the tummy butterflies when I see you, and I'm over my pathetic fight for (perceived) independence, jealousy and self-esteem issues - now we're lovely and comfortable and I'm pretty much certain that this is Forever. Yep, this is Us, for the rest of our lives, and it's grand. I am going to sigh contentedly, a lot. Ok?<br /><br /><strong>Stage Six - SELF-DESTRUCTION!!!! <em>(Status: NOWHERE NEAR IT, YET)</em>:</strong> We've grown apart! I've been feeling this way for months but haven't told you! I'm going to let us continue on while I feel miserable and will fail to express it by bottling my emotions, as you're very aware by now that I'm a First Class Bottler. All up until it comes to a head, and we Call It Quits, which will be followed by several days of "I know this is for the best, but I feel so sad" non-stop crying.<br /><br />And there we have it, my complete relationship life-cycle. History has shown that Stage Five will kick in at some point after six months, and Stage Six doesn't occur until the 2-3 year mark. Grim outlook, yes? I guess the aim this time round should be to break the pattern, so that Six never happens. And if I'm honest with myself I know that in the past I haven't put in the effort to stop Six from happening, for various reasons. And despite the idealistic outlook I portray in Five, I don't really presume that anything is Forever anymore.<br /><br />Poor new boyfriend, ending up stuck with cynical old me. He doesn't know what he's getting himself into.RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-17553108293248917262010-02-23T21:01:00.002+10:002010-02-23T21:09:21.983+10:00Despite the thrill of spam comments making me look far more blogpopular than I actually am, I've turned on word verification. Annoying, but I know that everyone secretly loves the chance of getting a random scattering of letters that just so happen to spell something obscene, so you can thank me later.<br /><br />This isn't a proper update. I just thought I'd say hello, and mention that there is a billion things going on at the moment, some of which are possibly major occurrences in my otherwise incredibly boring life. And that pretty much all of them are not blog safe, so I'm kind of just sitting on them all, desperately writhing around in my seat wanting to blab everything out, looking not unlike a kid needing to pee quite badly.<br /><br />So, uh, basically a post to say that there's nothing really that I can post right now.<br /><br />Um. Hope you're well!RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-77091043395550476302010-01-18T21:40:00.002+10:002010-01-18T21:49:45.561+10:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">The Tale of my First* Drunken Pash since being a Single Person (and yet further proof that everything I do in life is an EPIC FAIL)</span><br /><br />A friend and I had decided on a night on the town. We headed out on Saturday and I immediately felt underdressed (why do all girls wear pretty party dresses now? I like shirts and jeans, goshdarnit), but consoled myself with cheap and nasty beer. It was super, super fun and we were having a very delightful time.<br /><br />Got talking and drunkenly wobbling around near the bar with a very good looking chap. In fact, this guy was incredibly good looking (i.e. too good looking for me, but obviously his judgment was majorly impaired by beer), and he spoke like <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHLslJRrp2U&feature=related">this guy**</a> to boot. And after the Ugly Lights were turned on and we were booted out of the pub, he then leaned in and kissed me.<br /><br />And it was absolutely horrific.<br /><br />There was a flurried whirlwind of tongue in the "washing machine" style so popular amongst high schoolers. After a moment, he pulled away and I became aware that the bottom half of my face was COMPLETELY COVERED in his saliva. In my very drunken state, I wasn't sure what to do. I was pretty sure that it would be bad manners to hunt down the nearest towel and mop my face. So I just kind of stood there, feeling completely drenched and gasping the sweet, sweet oxygen.<br /><br />You would think that after that terrifying experience, during which I almost drowned, that I would have learnt my lesson. Alas, no, he kissed me again, and it was equally disgusting. Afterwards I kind of dabbed at my mouth, and then fortunately our lift home arrived and I was able to run away.<br /><br />And if this isn't bad enough, as I was running away the subject of age came up, and I learnt that this chap was 20 years old. TWENTY YEARS OLD. Which means that he was born in 1989, or there is even a slight possibility that he could've been born in 1990. Hold on, let me just point out how distressed I am by this:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >1990!!!!!1!!@!OMGWTFFFF!!!!1!!!!</span><br /><br />When I got home, I vigorously scrubbed my face.<br /><br />I fail. I seriously, seriously fail.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">*Actually, the second, but the first must stay pushed to the back of my mind forever more.<br />**The accent, that is. That was a random video I picked, I have no idea what it's about, so apologies if you spend six minutes watching it and it's rubbish.</span>RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-60970469978977073232010-01-14T22:29:00.003+10:002010-01-14T22:35:05.498+10:00Skimming over some old archives, it's amazing to think that there's almost six years worth of my drivel online. A couple of breaks along the way, but there's blog posts dating from 2004 to now. Three break-ups, three overseas trips, three different jobs... hmm, pattern much? I had a read through some of my stuff from the blog before this one and man, I really had my blog shit together back then. I was churning out crap like there was no tomorrow.<br /><br />It really does make me wonder though, when I compare it to what I've written here, did I stop having fun at some point? Or stop seeing the funny side of everything? Or did I just get really slack? Did I hit an age where I just couldn't be arsed anymore? And then I think about maybe giving it another go, a proper go, but then balk at the thought of having to commit to multiple posts per week, and that it makes it seem a bit like a job, which makes it less fun.<br /><br />I miss writing though. I think I'd even consider doing NaNoWriMo again, because five years have passed since I tried it last time and almost commit suicide from the complete and utter misery it caused me.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[insert hilarious and relevant segue here]</span><br /><br />I had lunch with a co-worker today, who I don't know particularly well, but who told me that he possibly has feelings for a female friend of his, despite her being in a long-term relationship and him being married-with-child. And I tried to be a good listener and offer some thoughts but on the inside just sat there thinking "Gosh, I just came here to try this bizarre sushi with mango in it and now what! Is going! On!"<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[second equally excellent segue]</span><br /><br />Was offered a job today by my old Director, no interview required, no questions asked. It is a project manager role, which I am completely unqualified for, and which is now vacant due to the previous employee leaving in a stress-induced fit of rage. Extra cash, but alas, I feel like I'm finally finding my feet where I work now, and have been extended out until June (hoorah!). I acted very non-committal, but said I would at least look at the position description.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[insert heartwarming yet hysterical story, possibly featuring a pair of amusing pants]</span><br /><br />Oh, HAHAHAHAHA, I agree wholeheartedly!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[spectacular closing paragraph goes here]</span>RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-9112411906103508982010-01-13T21:14:00.002+10:002010-01-13T21:23:03.116+10:00I am completely content with my spinsterhood, but can't help but notice:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Men who display interest in me:</span><br /><ul><li>Men who are much, much older than I am</li><li>Men who are married (worthy of its own blog post)</li><li>Men with extreme emotional issues</li><li>Men whose sexuality is questionable</li><li>Men who I do not find attractive</li><li>Men who look identical to one of my exes (no no no no no no)</li><li>Men who I work with</li><li>Men who I consider a buddy/brother-type, who then turn "weird"<br /></li></ul>Mainly a combination of several of the above.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Men who do not display interest in me:</span><br /><ul><li>Colin Firth (in <i>Pride & Prejudice</i> (or any other) form)</li><li>Ryan Reynolds (in bearded (or any other) form)</li><li>Very tall geeks with beards (except for the ones who fall into the categories above)</li></ul>Eh. As B*witched once said, c'est la vie. I'm going to go hang out with my cat now.RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-17271617844372803092009-12-30T11:37:00.001+10:002009-12-30T11:40:33.356+10:00I'm not normally one for New Year's Resolutions, but I think that in 2010 I need to meet some new people. Seriously. I feel like I'm pretty much married to my group of work friends, and following on from the "propositions" from <a href="http://rightafterthis.blogspot.com/2009/12/because-theres-some-stuff-i-cant-tweet.html">the previous post</a>, and some other stuff (ooh, yes, very vague) it's all getting a wee bit awkward. The group is rife with gossip, deservedly so with all of the shagging going on, and the whole thing is feeling very incestuous.<br /><br />At the moment, I'm given a slight respite by the fact that I'm on secondment to a different area, but if the rumours are true and I am going back to my old position in March, well, I don't really see myself successfully leading a team of people who have seen me drunkenly dancing like a hussy (many times) and on one particular occasion, vomiting in a very unattractive fashion.<br /><br />My own fault, yes, I know.<br /><br />So, ok, back to meeting new people. Or maybe reconnecting with old people. But preferably new people. Where are the new people located? Is there a vault full of new people somewhere? Or do I just need to "get out there" as they like to say. I don't know who "they" are. People who have successfully met new people, I imagine. And where is "there"? And is it possible to meet new people without them thinking that you are a desperate single person looking for a boyfriend? Because it's apparently almost impossible to maintain a platonic friendship with a guy without it getting "weird". Overuse of the "inverted commas" today, my "apologies".<br /><br />Sigh.<br /><br />Merry Chrimbo, Happy New Year, etc. Hope you are all well and jolly and have overdosed on gluttony and family mayhem.RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-54184628435063022972009-12-02T18:34:00.001+10:002009-12-02T18:36:16.482+10:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">Because there's some stuff I can't tweet:</span><br /><br />Since being single for the past couple of months (oh, I'm single now, by the way), I have had not one, but THREE of my male co-workers "have a crack", so to speak. This is not flattering. This makes me suspect that somebody is spreading rumours that I'm a super easy slutbag. And what bugs me the most is that these are guys who I considered to be good buddies, and who were apparently biding their time to try and eventually get into my frilly pants.<br /><br />Ok, maybe more sensible than frilly.<br /><br />Also, I experienced the wonder of being out with an Incredibly Beautiful Person the other night. I had come from work and was dressed in typical fashion, i.e. like a bum, and observed the activities with much interest from my spot against the wall, where I became completely invisible in her presence. It reminded me of that episode of <i>30 Rock</i> where Liz Lemon goes out with a supremely beautiful man, who has no idea when he is terrible at things because he is constantly shown favour and given praise because he is beautiful. Kind of. It seems to work like this:<br /><ul><li>Continual comments about her (very beautiful) appearance</li><li>Men continually joking that she is their girlfriend</li><li>Never having to pay for her own drinks</li><li>Men making constant excuses to be near her and touch her<br /></li></ul>And so on. I thought about doing my hair nice, and putting on make-up, and dressing all pretty to see if it made a difference. For all of 5 seconds before I remembered that I really can't be arsed.<br /><br />In other news, a friend and I are planning on a round-the-world trip for next August/September. I am 26, and should probably be saving for a house deposit. But travel is way more fun. Whoo!RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-70124946592562372102009-09-13T21:51:00.000+10:002009-09-13T21:55:53.375+10:00Thinking about packing the blog in. I could come up with a few different reasons, whether it's wanting to free myself of the worry that somebody from work will find me on here having a bitch-fest, and get me in a world of shit, or that I just find it difficult to come up with my usual gibberish these days. Or maybe it's the fact that my ex (mentioned in <a href="http://rightafterthis.blogspot.com/2009/07/as-you-probably-know-reason-i-started.html">this</a> post) e-mailed me and implied that somebody reads my blog and reports information to him (or some such shit). This last part doesn't worry me, but it just makes me feel weary and exhausted. I am used to this from when we were together and since we have been apart.<br /><br />So maybe it's mostly that I don't really want my life on display here anymore, for whatever reason.<br /><br />I do have a lot going on right now, hinted at previously with comments about spending time in my head, and most of it really can't be written about here. Which kind of sucks, because writing is great therapy, but when you can't use your diary as a diary then it doesn't really have much purpose anymore. I would love to just vomit it all out, I'm sure I would feel much better. Alas.<br /><br />Then again, maybe I'm just having an off day and tomorrow will be sunshine and lollipops. Maybe?RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-87831669922150304752009-08-31T17:32:00.004+10:002009-08-31T17:46:39.202+10:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjljtfRFjQnbT1asGvXPZlnbzjgICzZO_ksKhLfPpNKlJm50NP5HKZeR8PBVPohziPZBsbbcKOuKIFAa0tBG7jfIL-OTy01w2bO9dvz-nrpygU1nPdLBVfCXaIhqSyv2DKC5zbxRHnSIXc/s1600-h/music.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 159px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjljtfRFjQnbT1asGvXPZlnbzjgICzZO_ksKhLfPpNKlJm50NP5HKZeR8PBVPohziPZBsbbcKOuKIFAa0tBG7jfIL-OTy01w2bO9dvz-nrpygU1nPdLBVfCXaIhqSyv2DKC5zbxRHnSIXc/s200/music.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376027553607244178" border="0" /></a>I like music. I am not one of these hip and trendy people who listen to new, innovative bands, but I like music. I like to listen to it, and I dabble at playing it, though I largely suck at the latter. I even sing along with my whiny cat-strangle voice from time to time.<br /><br />So when people tell me that they are in a band or involved with music in some way, my interest is piqued. Mainly because my total suckage at playing/singing means I am immediately envious of them.<br /><br />So! Imagine my interest when one of the guys I now work with tells me that he wrote a song. "I play rhythm guitar in a band, but this one time I wrote and recorded a song. The stuff I play is normally pretty heavy but this is more of a ballad. Really out of character for me."<br /><br />Ooooooh! goes my brain.<br /><br />"Can you sing?" I ask.<br /><br />"Well I didn't think I could, but my friends say that I can," he replies.<br /><br />I immediately started hassling him. "Send me the song! E-mail it to me! Go on! Here's my e-mail address! Go on! Please! I strongly advise you to send me the song, or I will annoy you about it forever more! Song! Send! To me! Yes!"<br /><br />So he does.<br /><br />Dilemma: the song is, well, really not that good. And by that, I mean that it's actually pretty awful. When somebody says "well I don't think that I can sing that well..." they are either being honest, or being modest, and I didn't think for a second that it was going to be the former. And now I am faced with this situation. Should I:<br /><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pretend I didn't receive it.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Pro</span>: don't have to give any feedback, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Con</span>: he will most likely send it to me again, and I'm not sure I could use the same technique twice.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Be honest. Pro</span>: won't go to hell, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Con</span>: will offend him and cement my reputation as Bitch Extraordinaire.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lie through my teeth. Pro</span>: he will be happy, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Con</span>: is dishonest, and secures me a place in hell for being a dirty, filthy liar.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Be vague and non-committal.</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Pro</span>: avoids discomfort and lies, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Con</span>: would need a back-up plan in case he prompts me for genuine feedback.<br /></li></ul>Sigh. I replied to his e-mail and told him that the lyrics were poetic. I need to have my back-up plan ready ASAP.<span style="font-size:78%;"><br /></span>RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-12418352978310825022009-08-26T21:15:00.004+10:002009-08-26T21:24:21.704+10:00Ok, so where am I at. This is rhetorical.<br /><br />I'm a week and a half into my new job and I'm still in panic mode, to be honest. I haven't been given too much to do yet and I keep trying to think of ways to fill my time. I have been very, very tempted to blog but it has been far too long since I used to fill my quiet work hours with blog posts and I feel way too guilty at the thought. Even more guilty knowing that this job is such a great opportunity, which I'm not supposed to be wasting, etc.<br /><br />So I have been studying. And taking practice exams. A lot of. My exam is on the 18th of September and I plan on kicking much arse. I have also been given free reign over a test lab (with permission to break it) and I went up there today and had a play, though I feel very nervous doing so. I am just trying to feel comfortable with using my brain again and being in a completely different type of environment, I guess. An environment which is, by the way, a total sausage-fest. Not that this makes a difference, but it's an interesting sidenote.<br /><br />Meanwhile, I have been keeping in touch with my old team pretty regularly, exchanging e-mails and messages all over the place, and the word on the street is that they don't like my replacement. It might be because I was slack and let them get away with a lot. In fact, this is very, very likely. It's good to be popular*.<br /><br />That "spending time in my own head" bit I mentioned last post? Yeah, still doing that.<br /><br />A lot.<br /><br />The next three or four weeks are busy and pretty much planned out for me. <a href="http://www.bridgetobrisbane.com.au/">Bridge to Brisbane</a>, <a href="http://www.liveguide.com.au/Tours/631601/Ben_Folds/Ben_Folds_Australian_Tour_2009">Ben Folds</a>, a friend's birthday party, High Tea with the laydeez, and a yum cha date. Between each of those, insert work, studying like crazy because I don't want to fail this exam, tennis and whatever other exercise I can be arsed doing, and practising piano so that I don't completely suck. For me, this is super crazy busy. I normally sit around watching <i>30 Rock</i> and wishing that Tina Fey was my girlfriend. Busy.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCwzEbVNHp4zQO3pIt2EvTxkuVmqw2aVnXhsWGuvgj4mzNhrZAkYPdC0nRfuk13OTl0U2KMEvoTjqPFMcf2wGGGF78MlLdJyyx_LeBedkODR2YN6pLp_PDno3662hdVEsads4Sz44034/s1600-h/tina_fey_photo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCwzEbVNHp4zQO3pIt2EvTxkuVmqw2aVnXhsWGuvgj4mzNhrZAkYPdC0nRfuk13OTl0U2KMEvoTjqPFMcf2wGGGF78MlLdJyyx_LeBedkODR2YN6pLp_PDno3662hdVEsads4Sz44034/s320/tina_fey_photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374229869384345474" border="0" /></a>*Swoon*<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">*As a sidenote, I was nominated by somebody and then voted Chairperson of the Social Club at work, right before I left. Yes, people actually voted for me. I have never been picked for anything, ever. Has something gone out of whack, somewhere in the universe?</span>RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-72977757786289735792009-08-16T10:52:00.004+10:002009-08-16T10:56:27.034+10:00What a week. What an unproductive week. I was really looking forward to having the last week off and to be honest, it's been great, but I feel completely out of it. And the thought of starting this job tomorrow is starting to kick in and I find that I am shitting myself, slightly.<br /><br />On Friday night I caught up with my team and other work folk for drinks etc. It was fun, but I find that I already feel incredibly detached from them. Their new Team Leader is a great girl, really personable (and not an enormous social misfit like me) and has settled in like she's been there all her life. Which is fantastic, good for her and good for everyone else, too. I'm glad the job is in capable hands. But letting go of the good people there is a little bit sad. Though I'm going to be seeing them at drinks and social thingies anyway, so all good, yes?<br /><br />Sigh. I have spent a lot of time inside my head of late. Not just work, but everything. My mind is very cluttered.<br /><br />I think I'm just wondering what kind of mistakes I'm making.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WGoTmNU_5A0">Also.</a><br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Woah</span>! What's with this post? Sunshine and rainbows!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Sidenotes</span>:</span><br /><ul><li>I have the worst potty mouth ever when drunk.</li><li>I have a lot of black spots from Friday night.</li><li>There's only one week until Bridge to Brisbane. I predict that I will die. I'll make sure I post one last time before I go.</li><li><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Beardie</span> bought me a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dwight_Schrute">Dwight <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Schrute</span></a> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">bobblehead</span>.<br /></li></ul><ul><li><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVIL0Hkoe-nxdxb_rt_2OfyWjdWSYXWj4KYZI0o3XViMw5d1nKb3ZoEhitJWrZYtD1k2iEvUM98gOlZv4vGRkIi1qazOkGSQXQIEA88_99rvYPEbaQe8AsRqJU32hECiMczl7U_4zFgU/s1600-h/dwightbobblehead.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 136px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVIL0Hkoe-nxdxb_rt_2OfyWjdWSYXWj4KYZI0o3XViMw5d1nKb3ZoEhitJWrZYtD1k2iEvUM98gOlZv4vGRkIi1qazOkGSQXQIEA88_99rvYPEbaQe8AsRqJU32hECiMczl7U_4zFgU/s320/dwightbobblehead.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370358157581647378" border="0" /></a>And <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skeksi">Chamberlain <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">skekSil</span></a>.</li></ul><ul><li><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhPyaqPHXeMarMH3vgDLt5vYONnCStQfmXVAdIG6TBOLox-shzYJJZc5GWvuSOS10pLdw3XEwXn8WzXLo0lkTEdLM6nUJIWvceb-RcWGCmTjnpdHwjJSw9oL1jx9Z5h0DFv_c2aioUwoE/s1600-h/skeksil.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 302px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhPyaqPHXeMarMH3vgDLt5vYONnCStQfmXVAdIG6TBOLox-shzYJJZc5GWvuSOS10pLdw3XEwXn8WzXLo0lkTEdLM6nUJIWvceb-RcWGCmTjnpdHwjJSw9oL1jx9Z5h0DFv_c2aioUwoE/s320/skeksil.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370358165385570562" border="0" /></a>I am going to put them on my new desk alongside Baird from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gears_of_war"><i>Gears of War</i></a>. And they can all have a tea party.</li><li>I might go out today and buy some sports bras.</li></ul>I hope your weekend has been fine and dandy.RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-19973835733464446352009-08-11T08:25:00.004+10:002009-08-11T08:30:49.974+10:00It's funny how my brain works. Yesterday I had a productive day, had my hair chopped and visited my mum, with the intent of keeping the rest of this week free to study my arse off. This morning, faced with the prospect of sitting down for some long, hard study, I am franctically considering what else I could possibly be doing. This includes:<br /><ul><li>Making random videos for Youtube</li><li>Locating & watching episodes of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Gilmore Girls</span></li><li>Locating & watching episodes of <span style="font-style: italic;">Sex in the City</span> (I think there is something hormonal going on here?)</li><li>Blogging</li><li>Driving to the shops to try and find those Jols lollies in the metal tins (I am in love with them)</li><li>Rummaging through my wardrobe, finding things I haven't worn in forever and then doing my own private fashion show full of dodgy outfits</li><li>Experimenting with colourful make-up, like I'm 12</li><li>Baking (I may or may not have purchased a book yesterday entitled "500 Cupcakes")<br /></li></ul>Book purchase may have been inspired by sitting next to this display yesterday:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ7ad5kS-qnpBJLD_Gu0eIhcHjw7g7FxOK3zNpb84KF6CWr5iMi5dyAKnhrsADW92FtmUGod2M49CRau2mA3kOJpjdjm1KvjUCDz-tljvonRql8Wo6X3Zx0ljrPhCP0hgy1c2oGbkF5rk/s1600-h/cupcakes.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ7ad5kS-qnpBJLD_Gu0eIhcHjw7g7FxOK3zNpb84KF6CWr5iMi5dyAKnhrsADW92FtmUGod2M49CRau2mA3kOJpjdjm1KvjUCDz-tljvonRql8Wo6X3Zx0ljrPhCP0hgy1c2oGbkF5rk/s400/cupcakes.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368464879552848322" border="0" /></a>I am doing at least one of these things right now, so the trend may continue.<br /><br />So I left the ridiculously long hair on the hairdressers floor and now it is just shoulder-length. Not as big a deal as I was expecting, though I haven't actually shown it to anyone yet. Except for my mum, whose comment was "oh. You've chopped all your hair off." I did try and take a picture yesterday, before sleeping on it and turning it into a birds nest, however the photos came out shitty, and I'm not going to blog a picture where it looks shittier than normal, gosh darn it. Maybe I could add 'Taking a Hair Photo' to my list of Procrastination Activities for today.<br /><br />Nothing exciting to report on the <span style="font-style: italic;">Mountain Dwellers(!!!)</span> front. Except every now and then I learn exactly where my various neuroses stem from, in particular my Punctuality Issues. I think I am a lot more laid back than my mum, in terms of accepting things that I can't change, and it is made more evident than ever on days like yesterday. I have this memory of being about 11, and my teacher asking me to stay back after school for a couple of minutes, and the ill feeling I had in my stomach knowing that I was keeping my mum waiting outside in the car. Yesterday I leave the hairdresser WAY later than expected, see the time and promptly crap myself. I call my mum (who has already left me a voicemail message saying she is there waiting for me) and let her know that I am on my way, but that it's about a half hour drive.<br /><br />So I speed the entire way there, do a big screechy driving into the carpark (screechy, teehee!) and while my mum doesn't say anything (other than the "hair chopped off" comment) she looks weary, and disappointed. And I feel terrible, and am so apologetic it is spew-worthy. So for all the times I am ridiculously early, and all the times I hassle Beardie about getting ready and going, this is my excuse. My deep-seeded Punctuality Issues.<br /><br />Anyway. So that's the blogging done. What's next on the list?RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-82271968390298073812009-08-05T21:14:00.004+10:002009-08-05T21:31:45.901+10:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9OkgbbNxRF7iZxCtMKCb34SDjYj1bczMYF29rePFnJqNFrUG59vAabcWbcWldAZFteuq623SuBkiDD544Kg7yeUv0HnwLUKh_C8Qlgnc95DeqyVHo9FBZMSlObVQ9HtLaeDfZccLnCvA/s1600-h/nerd.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 154px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9OkgbbNxRF7iZxCtMKCb34SDjYj1bczMYF29rePFnJqNFrUG59vAabcWbcWldAZFteuq623SuBkiDD544Kg7yeUv0HnwLUKh_C8Qlgnc95DeqyVHo9FBZMSlObVQ9HtLaeDfZccLnCvA/s200/nerd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366436514166496898" border="0" /></a>So I'm half way through my last week of Contact Centre Bollocks and the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">crazybusy</span> hit me today. Monday and Tuesday were so smooth, so easy, I thought I was going to cruise my way out of that place. Alas! Today was mental, and I don't have high hopes for the rest of the week, either.<br /><br />The news about the job came out yesterday. Before the official e-mail went to all staff I decided to tell a few people one-on-one, as I felt a bit weird about them learning I was leaving in four days from an e-mail. And it was freaking horrible. I guess this is possibly the first time I've switched jobs when I actually really liked some of the people I work with. I was all shaky hands and nervous twitches as I gave them the news, and most of my team predictably Freaked Out. I hate this leaving shit, can it be over please?<br /><br />One outcome I wasn't expecting from all of this was a bit of cattiness. I know there's quite a few people who would love a secondment to a different area, so I've had some funny responses from people, including "oh, I thought they weren't releasing staff anymore?" and "well now you've gone, they'll probably never let ME go." What is up with that? Be happy for me, you bitches!<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Anyhoo</span>. I've got the rest of this week to get through and then a lovely week off, during which time I am going to lop off all of my hair, catch up with my mum and have farewell drinks with work people. And then starts my super <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">nerdtastic</span> adventure! I am going to become the biggest geek the world has ever seen.<br /><br />(Yes, even <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">more so</span> than before!)RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-28215865888227370392009-07-31T19:05:00.003+10:002009-07-31T19:07:32.500+10:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOpxxMAJebH6lw1DKaRZb1Cdn3wijru2kym7OA5OKlZAWL7HAs0y0HLx5a4JpIVIyuqQ14ZouCQiK3jMH17UUiTtWgaLqvIQe1jNvBj3VYOyQZ_9qql_wfeet4H7JUCR7AkLnk_DHdOAc/s1600-h/the_it_crowd_3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOpxxMAJebH6lw1DKaRZb1Cdn3wijru2kym7OA5OKlZAWL7HAs0y0HLx5a4JpIVIyuqQ14ZouCQiK3jMH17UUiTtWgaLqvIQe1jNvBj3VYOyQZ_9qql_wfeet4H7JUCR7AkLnk_DHdOAc/s200/the_it_crowd_3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364548019733182306" border="0" /></a>Oh my. Oh my goodness my goodness golly gosh my. Today I received some very major news, which I am bullet pointing below. Or short-sentencing below. You know what I mean.<br /><ul><li>I got the techy job.</li><li>Turns out that they have wanted me on their team for yonks, and my boss and boss's boss knew about it, but neglected to tell me.</li><li>It means I get a nasty paycut but increased brain stimulation and happy feelings.</li><li>I start in two weeks.</li><li>This is one more week at work, and then a planned week off.</li><li>Nobody at work knows except for one close friend. This means that on Monday I'll be telling everyone that I'm leaving at the end of that week.</li><li>This is short notice.</li><li>I am sad to be leaving the lovely people, and glad to be leaving the stupidheads.</li><li>I am a bit scared that I am not clever enough for this job, and that I've talked myself up a bit too much.</li><li>They are putting me down for a six-month contract, so if it turns out that I do suck majorly, it's tough titties for them.</li><li>In this new job, I will have no direct reports. That's right. None.</li><li>I AM ECSTATIC.</li><li>Did I mention I would have no direct reports? And would just be responsible for my own work, rather than the work of gits?<br /></li></ul>Awesome. So, so awesomely awesome. Etc. Awesome.RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-53411719619124716122009-07-29T18:46:00.003+10:002009-07-29T19:02:13.208+10:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYyt-NxcFQk30klJBluKE8ufl3iJBLBrBWO0KJyJCai10zQI2etbyGTmAB9m0samqxBUjcdZUzMRbaZoOE3NoTeA6C-fGx31GQAG-zEfd1afS6gMXt5RVQ1szvPAuppD9_wOvAMhqCdNk/s1600-h/angrybrain.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 206px; height: 138px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYyt-NxcFQk30klJBluKE8ufl3iJBLBrBWO0KJyJCai10zQI2etbyGTmAB9m0samqxBUjcdZUzMRbaZoOE3NoTeA6C-fGx31GQAG-zEfd1afS6gMXt5RVQ1szvPAuppD9_wOvAMhqCdNk/s320/angrybrain.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363801774682911426" border="0" /></a>It feels like forever since I've blogged. Hectic times, my friend. Hectic times indeed.<br /><br />Today I had my last day of a five-day training course. Well, it was my last day attending the course, and now I need to study my arse off if I want to have any hope at all of passing the test. The worrying thing about doing this course is how out of shape my brain is. I guess being a Team Leader isn't the most cerebral of jobs? It felt like it took me a few hours to blow the cobwebs out of my cranium and remember how to learn. And I'm still not sure I'm doing a very good job of it.<br /><br />The whole point of me doing this course is to make me far more suitable for That Job I went for, so it is Very Important that I do well. Speaking of That Job, the Director keeps on giving me inside goss on where they are up to (wants to get rid of me, perhaps?) and I found out that they only received the applications last Friday. So I would expect that they would be finalising the shortlist, or inviting people to be interviewed, or whatever the hell they do next at the end of this week, or maybe the week after.<br /><br />The other inside info that Captain BigBoss told me is that he heard that there were three jobs going, instead of just two. This made my tummy do a flip-flop, because my previous "investigations" told me that there were already two valid contenders for the two jobs available. But if there's three, then I may have a better chance, whether I am crap or not.<br /><br />What I need to do is stop thinking about it, gosh darn it.<br /><br />In between trying to learn all of this techy stuff I am now studying for my piano exams. Yes, I know how to take the fun out of a hobby! I decided to do exams in the hope that it would keep my motivation levels up, plus give me a target to aim for. And one of the songs that I can choose to perform is The Chamber of Secrets from Harry Potter, so therefore the whole world is jealous of me. It will probably be quite a long time before I can take the exam, especially since I seem to have no time to do anything at all right now.<br /><br />Also, I did something to my ankle, so all I can do is hobble around and watch my stamina slowly disappear.<br /><br />Summary: my brain is exploding and I am feeling unfit and podgy.<br /><br />The end.RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-49730553630170970252009-07-18T18:11:00.003+10:002009-07-18T18:14:07.911+10:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPpWLYIvxz0F2Tt9WxyYCNA3kP3sq81sLoPn-aMLFQs3NuotQpnHg_3vgJibn1kV4H7-dH4h7wNfEB_rQ9O23j7qmD3LAmoyPqwWGYAfLVqaziKoXvHkhuAVRzsPk9veirmS5TZpFBeI/s1600-h/dexdrawing.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 163px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPpWLYIvxz0F2Tt9WxyYCNA3kP3sq81sLoPn-aMLFQs3NuotQpnHg_3vgJibn1kV4H7-dH4h7wNfEB_rQ9O23j7qmD3LAmoyPqwWGYAfLVqaziKoXvHkhuAVRzsPk9veirmS5TZpFBeI/s200/dexdrawing.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359709890140892290" border="0" /></a>It's generic life update time!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dexter!</span> Dexter is the naughtiest kitty ever, and basically divides his time between slashing my flesh to pieces and sleeping on my hair at night. My right hand in particular looks as though I shoved it into the insinkerator. He has settled in very well and I love him muchly, despite the pain he causes me.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Abbey Medieval Festival!</span> Alas, good sirs and fair maidens, we did not go. And the friends who were supposed to go and then bring us hilarious stories also did not go, because they wanted to go to a chocolate fair instead. Chocolate over jousting? Oh, come on. I guess there is always next year.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The job!</span> Have heard nothing yet but I would expect to receive some type of notification next week. I was the sneakiest of sneaky people and asked a friend with access to the government jobs database to have a look at how many other people had applied, and who they were. Only 11 applications! For two jobs! This is great, though I did recognise two of the names (and at least one of them is a shoo-in), so it's still very uncertain. I am hoping though, because to move into a shiny new job would be just delightful.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Boring fitness shit!</span> I am on Week Eight of my running program, with just one more week left until I am officially Hardcore. And by Hardcore, I mean rubbish. But I should be able to hobble my way through Bridge to Brisbane, which was the whole idea. I can already foresee that being in the middle of thousands of other runners is going to make me run much faster than what I am capable of so that I tire in the first 30 seconds and have to sit down on the side of the road with a glass of water. Should be lovely!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Piano!</span> It's official - I am going to be "performing" in a small concert for adult piano students at the end of September. I predict that I will completely cock it up. This is very certain. But I will ask Beardie to film it on my shiny new video camera and then perhaps I'll post it. Especially if I screw it royally, because it will probably be very hilarious (i.e. shockingly embarrassing for me).<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What else!</span> Nothing much. Doing some training over the next couple of weeks, followed by an exam, to turn me into a super 1337 techo nerd geek h4x0r type person. Going to a barbeque tomorrow at Beardie's boss's place, which is apparently a Big Deal and I'm not allowed to wear fat pants and thongs. Other than that, business as usual. Work is work, and highly worky.<br /><br />I hope you are having a tip top weekend.RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-22544933963742451202009-07-12T14:37:00.001+10:002009-07-12T14:37:58.402+10:00As you probably know, the reason I started RAT and ditched the Old Blog was related to my ex. Specifically, I wanted somewhere else that I could write, that he didn't know about. So I tried to make this one as anonymous as possible, with no links or references to the old one, and thought that would be that.<br /><br />So how should one feel when the ex mentioned has shown that he is actually reading this blog, by leaving a comment on one of the posts?<br /><br />a) Indifferent. It's been a long time, so what does it matter?<br />b) Happy. Oh, so great to hear from you!<br />c) Incredibly annoyed. LKSDFLKJSDFLSDlkjslf#$#ljsdfk! <i>[head explodes]</i><br /><br />I guess I need a mop to clean up my head.<br /><br />More back story is probably needed, but it is just frustrating after making such efforts to move on with my life, only to once again have another reminder of a time in my life when I wasn't particularly happy.<br /><br />Call me crazy.<br /><br />Sigh.RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-25269161955203188922009-07-09T19:43:00.003+10:002009-07-09T19:50:59.705+10:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxe_iVQokyc0DSiRJASlDD-jS9fOKGTHOFCqeAmMay3MuP9A4bYTae6d5zusOXkEtnXEQ-z7pzlLXlaAq-HV5YZ0GA61xhvRe0fECMTFqppZl80jutv1cuSRU7RjCDe0Bokpxjn00kjOA/s1600-h/dexter.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 190px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxe_iVQokyc0DSiRJASlDD-jS9fOKGTHOFCqeAmMay3MuP9A4bYTae6d5zusOXkEtnXEQ-z7pzlLXlaAq-HV5YZ0GA61xhvRe0fECMTFqppZl80jutv1cuSRU7RjCDe0Bokpxjn00kjOA/s320/dexter.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356394266554503698" border="0" /></a>We named the kitty Dexter. Yes, after the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dexter_%28TV_series%29">donut-loving serial killer</a>. And I am so in love with Dexter. Dexter the cat, that is. I have gone kitty crazy. I go to work and talk to the other Cat People about things, like "oh, look at the hole in my stocking, Dex did that this morning. Ha ha! Yes, I look like a homeless person! Ha ha. Oh, cats. Cats? Yes, cats cats. Cats." He keeps me awake half the night by pouncing on my head, chewing on my hair and licking my eyelids but I am still giddy and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">swoony</span> over him. He has shat horrible cat <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">diarrhoea</span> all over our bed, but he just looks up at me and meows and all is forgiven. I arrive home from work and he starts purring like a car engine and it is just lovely.<br /><br />This weekend I am finally buying the new video camera I've been planning on getting for yonks, so expect gratuitous cat photos and video shortly. Yes, it's my blog and I can act deranged if I want to.<br /><br /></obsessive cat lady talk><br /><br />In other news, <a href="http://rightafterthis.blogspot.com/2009/06/bleurgh.html">the rumours</a> turned out to be true and two jobs have been advertised. I applied on the weekend and am trying not to get my hopes up this time. Even if the Manager of the area sent me an e-mail making sure that I knew that the jobs were there. Must not think about it. Must. Not.<br /><br />Have a fairly busy weekend planned, with work drinks tomorrow night (the work socialising is getting slightly mental of late), a high tea date with the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">laydeez</span> (and one boy) on Saturday, and a possible visit to the <a href="http://www.abbeytournament.com/home.htm">Abbey Medieval Festival</a> on Sunday. I thought it would be a great chance for me to test out the new camera, by filming the mock <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">sword fights</span> and jousts and whatnot, but apparently cameras are Strictly Forbidden. Maybe because they weren't invented in medieval times. Or maybe people dressed as noblemen and women who play with weapons and call <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">each other</span> "good sir" and "wench" don't want to be filmed. I think it would be hilariously awesome.*<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Look at <a href="http://www.abbeytournament.com/docs/sunday_09.pdf">the program</a>, they have Morris Dancing!!</span>RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-88103598079672145512009-07-05T15:21:00.003+10:002009-07-05T15:25:40.222+10:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh87IRFzmQxNsBGk9XSXvtF8gdFZ38fEfYfNHOVHhUhvzJ2Wr6bLfrR-ElRD0NcTC4G9hzQ_-GiEuwRYLhIcSih3mo5mzRM4ezyCra3c0QWrx3c0D41yDLwVTsTmyNZJ56NZoi6-BgjSk8/s1600-h/kitty.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh87IRFzmQxNsBGk9XSXvtF8gdFZ38fEfYfNHOVHhUhvzJ2Wr6bLfrR-ElRD0NcTC4G9hzQ_-GiEuwRYLhIcSih3mo5mzRM4ezyCra3c0QWrx3c0D41yDLwVTsTmyNZJ56NZoi6-BgjSk8/s320/kitty.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354842189854141746" border="0" /></a>This is a kitty. A mischevious little imp of a kitty. Despite not having a kitty since I was living at home in my teens, I have always been a Cat Lady. I display all the characteristics of a Cat Lady, I have just been lacking the cat. Well no more! Beardie and I have discussed it many a time and have always taken the sensible route, i.e. "What if we travel?" "What will the real estate say?" "We should wait until we buy our own house" etc. etc.<br /><br />Apparently our brains simultaneously revolted with a "Sense be damned!" and we are now kittified.<br /><br />Here is what the kitty did to me, about three seconds after picking it up for the first time. This is a sign of things to come.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU4MS_j4jQlCFY32NGAEgXgfrOrc_zT6kAaKDgvJyNdEIQZMvP8K9s85IQfwemDzOJ9ZHC9i5MfaU5ZmGQ6SjYZh7XSlAWA1rrgpP8tp02-sNqSXxO07XUv-d6aN2Y3xdc-PmDn_8nQeM/s1600-h/scratches.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 205px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU4MS_j4jQlCFY32NGAEgXgfrOrc_zT6kAaKDgvJyNdEIQZMvP8K9s85IQfwemDzOJ9ZHC9i5MfaU5ZmGQ6SjYZh7XSlAWA1rrgpP8tp02-sNqSXxO07XUv-d6aN2Y3xdc-PmDn_8nQeM/s320/scratches.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354842194213469698" border="0" /></a>Kitty currently goes by the name "Kitty", though any suggestions are welcome. With the names that we keep coming up with, he might be Kitty for quite a while.RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-14592978265368634412009-07-01T22:13:00.003+10:002009-07-01T22:15:33.876+10:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB7q5q6vYOjCLdv79248ZCvSjrzfrR4pZLwST0QFSVHAHVns5MDDrGIW8FQ6x_tLbroa6g85VAusdhxlwZE-B546__vbSWWPc2o9NEuSpmSk0Uk-ZCdJBb2TkOtSM_NiBTPbadrPXF9uU/s1600-h/frubear.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 143px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB7q5q6vYOjCLdv79248ZCvSjrzfrR4pZLwST0QFSVHAHVns5MDDrGIW8FQ6x_tLbroa6g85VAusdhxlwZE-B546__vbSWWPc2o9NEuSpmSk0Uk-ZCdJBb2TkOtSM_NiBTPbadrPXF9uU/s200/frubear.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353463926320349922" border="0" /></a>Frubears. You can find Frubears in the health food/dried fruit bit of your supermarket. They are little bears that are made of dried apricot, dried peach and mysterious "fruit fibre". They are healthy and pretty tasty and having a couple is just lovely.<br /><br />Eating an entire packet is NOT LOVELY.<br /><br />Beardie and I had a movie date tonight to see <span style="font-style: italic;">Transformers 2</span> (Review: Fox is extremely hot, robots are pretty cool, movie was ok overall but not superawesomecool like the first one) and in an attempt to be healthy, I purchased some things to eat in place of the usual salty popcorn and choc top loveliness.<br /><br />Frubears seemed like a great option due to the health factor, however I made the deadly mistake of forgetting all about the fibre content.<br /><br />I JUST ATE 20 GRAMS OF DIETARY FIBRE IN 15 MINUTES.<br /><br />Imagine if somebody cut open your stomach, dropped a large stone inside and sewed you back up. My digestive system is really pissed off with me.<br /><br />I really shouldn't be making these kind of mistakes at this age.RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-68092497596938841282009-06-25T18:22:00.005+10:002009-06-25T18:31:40.439+10:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqoVAN6bTOmSXdd6HiKTbknWfCqwBvkgUjfOUfTxvBVZEsCKWOtyrG_qkDnJV_d782-YaVnCRhrpo4dLzdLvzlRYFtKBalOufxE-RdPDDRFe4m7EPlPIQr4WsVg3C63qR0roHow2AmFZw/s1600-h/twitter.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqoVAN6bTOmSXdd6HiKTbknWfCqwBvkgUjfOUfTxvBVZEsCKWOtyrG_qkDnJV_d782-YaVnCRhrpo4dLzdLvzlRYFtKBalOufxE-RdPDDRFe4m7EPlPIQr4WsVg3C63qR0roHow2AmFZw/s200/twitter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351179793015354594" border="0" /></a>I joined Twitter last week. I joined it so I could follow <a href="http://twitter.com/serafinowicz">Peter Serafinowicz</a>, with no intent of ever using it, and then while I was out drinking with workfolk the discussion moved to Twitter, and I started using it.<br /><br />(Also, have arrived home to discover that Miss Audrey Apple has <a href="http://audreyapple.blogspot.com/2009/06/tweet-tweet.html">already posted</a> a similar (though much better worded) confession. Quite freaky.)<br /><br />I am not game enough to link it, because it is all Real Name-ish, and Real Photo-ish, and for the first time ever I am doing something on the internet without my anonymity to back me up. Can you believe it!<br /><br />But, this post is supposed to be small, because all I'm saying is that I joined it, and am therefore officially NOT the last person on the bandwagon, for once in my life.<br /><br />Or maybe I am.<br /><br />Either way, you are permitted to punch me in the face now.RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-52014873162092615142009-06-21T08:52:00.005+10:002009-06-21T09:08:06.826+10:00Bleurgh. What a weekend!<br /><br />Grade 7 Poetry:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMrI-tGEWds59pkyl03VQBW-bpyVdZjzaSWVuZkHUbZhXA6Zol2axZu3GtJPZpzhXD8rdjvf7JUBoUk543Mmlkfv1fbnVDE-Mf5E6b86amYZ4wkIoHXqGb1oigcyklrohuObPrInSzM1A/s1600-h/shitbox.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMrI-tGEWds59pkyl03VQBW-bpyVdZjzaSWVuZkHUbZhXA6Zol2axZu3GtJPZpzhXD8rdjvf7JUBoUk543Mmlkfv1fbnVDE-Mf5E6b86amYZ4wkIoHXqGb1oigcyklrohuObPrInSzM1A/s400/shitbox.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349546936614849858" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Ode to a Little Green Shitbox</b><br /><br />With your crumply front plate<br />And your unroadworthy state<br />I was ripped off when I bought you<br /><br />But your smells and your squeals<br />And your crooked front wheels<br />Meant that slowly, I came to adore you<br /><br />Then I bought a new car<br />Which was better, by far<br />For economics, I had to sell you<br /><br />I put you up on <a href="http://www.carsales.com.au/">Carsales</a><br />Excluding some minor details<br />Within a day it was time to farewell you<br /><br />Now I see and hear you around<br />(I know your unique clicking sound)<br />And your new ginger owner dotes on you<br /><br />And while I am cashed up and glad<br />My heart feels a bit sad<br />For my Little Green Shitbox; I loved you<br /></div><br />Sniff.<br /><br />And briefly:<br /><ul><li>I turned 26 on Wednesday. Beardie and I both had the day off work and went shopping, followed by a big mother of a steak. I am all about the steak lately. 26 seems to be going ok. I am in my late twenties. Apparently I am lover of steak in my late twenties. All is well.</li></ul><ul><li>I organised a night of bowling for my team on Friday night, which was super fun, though every time I stay out for drinks with work people I regret it. I mostly regret all the shit that I spout which is really not making that great an impression when you have to go back to work and be in charge of these people. BUT THEN, I also went out last night for an engagement party. Plus, we had an enormous dinner beforehand (including a rocky road sundae, which we completely inhaled in seconds, much to the disgust of the other patrons and amazement of the waitress). So basically I am feeling seedy and porky today and as a result am going to detox this week.</li></ul><ul><li>There's some whispers on the job front that could see me putting in an application for the department that <a href="http://rightafterthis.blogspot.com/2009/03/so-i-was-expecting-horrendous-first.html">brutally rejected me</a> the last time. The only difference between now and then is that next month I am going on an awesome training course which will actually give me some of the skills that they were asking for the last time I applied. They are only rumours at this stage, but I still get a little excited skippety-skip in my tummy.</li></ul>What's the best thing to do when you are seedy and porky? Clean the house from top to bottom for an inspection this week. Fricking awesome. Hope you've had a good weekend, lovely people.RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-26252115797104725812009-06-12T18:36:00.001+10:002009-06-12T18:38:54.251+10:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkcS5mnYViP12kWtguWmrqH2WEsRiggVtP7CJsERdGaApdDNTCmXTcMThOCBBVy4MhTIQhlNQrYMfyXDvzxyadtRK1kNvXtHMvSmYy8qTFFXxtE18IkThDypVtKwH5KFI1lOWsfv3pYsI/s1600-h/rainbows.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkcS5mnYViP12kWtguWmrqH2WEsRiggVtP7CJsERdGaApdDNTCmXTcMThOCBBVy4MhTIQhlNQrYMfyXDvzxyadtRK1kNvXtHMvSmYy8qTFFXxtE18IkThDypVtKwH5KFI1lOWsfv3pYsI/s200/rainbows.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346357631069619266" border="0" /></a>I have come to a realisation. Nobody can read my face. My face is unreadable. I often find myself in scenarios like the following:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[Scene: a management meeting, Director present, discussing boring crap about boring work and the like]</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Manager:</span> Well what I would like to propose is <span style="font-style: italic;">[insert proposal here]</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">[listening, however thinking dreamily about having leftover Mum's Stew for lunch]</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Manager:</span> Oh, well just look at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">RAT's</span> face, she doesn't like it!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[All turn to look at me]</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> Oh, um, not at all?<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">[Conversation continues]</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Manager:</span> So I guess the main idea is <span style="font-style: italic;">[insert main idea here]</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">[listening, however contemplating how many pieces of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Hubba</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Bubba</span> are required to blow a bubble the size of my torso]</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Manager:</span> Look at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">RAT's</span> face, she obviously has something to say about that!<br /><br />And so on. The most common one is receiving comments that I look as though I don't like something, when in fact I do actually like it, or don't really care about it much, but am definitely not opposed to it. Maybe I just have a disagreeable face and look like a miserable git all of the time? Very possible.<br /><br />Maybe this is to do with turning 26 next week? And my rapidly ageing face is handing out mixed messages to everyone?<br /><br />Also very possible.<br /><br />Well I guess it is better than everyone and their mother being able to work out exactly what I'm thinking just by looking at me. Yes? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Hmm</span>.RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7311403272141815406.post-64398739829075519152009-06-08T07:14:00.003+10:002009-06-08T07:32:17.108+10:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi32dpNJxFquyOVr91XasQuZmfgXmMKcNSnr8rm92MjrbP4uk0sygH3MX_v7nVkrU1FwUS8cS0AwGi_a_KpAoDYH5hyphenhyphenaTliQqAkUaKHTUIJWI6ne5h7iY9uR-SuswkRj9NUBXCJR5L9qvs/s1600-h/canoe03.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 136px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi32dpNJxFquyOVr91XasQuZmfgXmMKcNSnr8rm92MjrbP4uk0sygH3MX_v7nVkrU1FwUS8cS0AwGi_a_KpAoDYH5hyphenhyphenaTliQqAkUaKHTUIJWI6ne5h7iY9uR-SuswkRj9NUBXCJR5L9qvs/s200/canoe03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344699267676507394" border="0" /></a>For people who enjoy the full use of their arms, shoulders and upper back, might I suggest that you do not go canoeing for seven hours? Just a tip.<br /><br />Alas, I am only able to give myself this tip in retrospect.<br /><br />OW.<br /><br />Cue mental imagery of Beardie and I lazily paddling along a calm, clear lake, with the sun shining and birds twittering. Then replace it with me screeching "go RIGHT, go RIGHT!!!" and us drifting head-first into an overhanging tree. And the lake was brown, but most likely from tannin and not actually from poo (as I kept claiming), and there were definitely birds about but they were vastly outnumbered by the mosquitoes. By about twenty billion to one.<br /><br />Our party also ended up lost at one point, and frantically trying to escape from a rapidly dwindling inlet before we ended up completely bogged.<br /><br />However! I did not fall out, or capsize the boat, or even get wet a little bit. In fact I did more damage to myself at lunch by dropping tuna all over my pants, and therefore smelling delightful for the rest of the day.<br /><br />It was actually pretty good fun, with good company and lovely scenery and all of that. And the pain isn't too bad this morning, though Beardie tells me that it might be that kind of deeply burrowed muscular pain that will come out the day after the day after.<br /><br />Other ridiculous things I have signed myself up for:<br /><ul><li>My piano teacher, who is as quiet as a mouse (I am a very quiet person, and she makes me seem like a big, loudmouthed git), asked me if I wanted to participate in an upcoming concert that they were holding. Given that the rest of the participants were aged 10 and under, I declined, not wanting to be the only Giant Person on stage. She said that they were considering having a concert just for their adult students and would I like to participate in that one instead? I said that if she gives me plenty of notice, I would do it. That's right. Performing on a stage. In front of strangers. This is only just an idea at this stage and I already need a change of underwear.<br /><br /></li><li>Beardie suggested that we partake in the <a href="http://www.bridgetobrisbane.com.au/">Bridge to Brisbane</a> Fun Run this year, and because I want one of those t-shirts that says "I completed Bridge to Brisbane", I said yes. Then I realised what I had just done, and said "ah, shit." It coincides pretty well with the running program that we're doing and I figure we can always just walk/hobble/crawl along if we need to. And can I just point out that the idea of me EVER partaking in something like this is just freaking crazy; I never thought I would. It's got to be a good thing, I guess.<br /><br /></li><li>We've accepted an invite to go a popular American-style restaurant which is famous for house-sized portions of ribs, wings, pork belly and other meals primarily based around gigantic slabs of meat. As somebody who has always been a small eater, and a lover of all things vegetable, I am already quite frightened by this concept. They don't have a menu online so I can't even make a plan beforehand and can foresee an evening of clutching my stomach, my pants exploding, groaning with a trail of hickory-smoked, porky BBQ sauce running down my chin.<br /></li></ul>Today I have a whole range of crappy girly movies to watch (as Beardie is working, I am sparing him the <strike>pain</strike> best time of his life) and I will probably try and finish reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/English-Patient-Michael-Ondaatje/dp/0679745203"><span style="font-style: italic;">The English Patient</span></a>. For those indulging in public holiday awesomeness today, I hope you have a shiny, tip top day.RAThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17841559398831014377noreply@blogger.com2