Recipe - Le self pity

1. Cold & Rainy Afternoon/Night - Check

2. New Sheets on bed - Check

3. Freshly laundered pyjama pants stolen from the cunt that STOOD ME UP FOR THE BILLIONTH TIME - Check

4. Depressing Cold Play Music (Track 4) - Check

5. Feel-good take-away for dinner - Check

6. 'Off' button on mobile so I can't keep checking for the elusive little envelope
sign for the messages that the cunt won't send me - Check

7.
In Mint Chip flavour, of course - Check

8. Baileys. And Ice. - Check

9.
The Queen of them all, on DVD. - Check

Mix together listlessly. Avoid throwing squishy purple cushion against wall. Watch DVD, and resolve to become more liket the Grand Old Dame herself - chew 'em up and spit 'em out, etc.

Finally, follow with a spattering of vomit and a bit of No Doubt's 'Sunday Morning', and pass out.

Voila! Your Saturday night in the bag.

Train-gang

Ok. I'm sitting here, with one IE page open writing this, another IE page open reading blogs and what-not, I'm on the phone, I'm watching TV, I'm talking on MSN, and I'm involved in a text message threesome.*

Congratulations to me for being the 2006 Bestest Multi-tasker. Hurrah.

It is however, indicative of how my life is going to be now. No longer can I open up my fave blogs during the day; in fact, I've already discovered that some of my faves are not considered appropriate at all to open, even during my own time. Hello to internet usage monitoring. Thus, I'll be even further behind with my reading. And commenting. So 1000 apologies to those I love, and even those I don't love, because I'll be coming in three days late and by then it won't matter if I comment or not. But know that I still love/don't love you. In a mate's way.**

So. The Job. Well shoot me down with a bundle of sticks if this hasn't been what I've been looking for my whole life. Open Communication Channels; Ordered teams and designated work; Proper Processes and Procedures; A Cubicle; Pay Slips...the list could go on and on. Give me six months, and I'll be whinging more than a certain head-banded housemate BUT anything beats the ad-hoc approach to management, work and hr that my last job had.

It does have the inevitible downside though. The trains. I was already apprehensive about catching them; turns out that they certainly live up to their not-so-crash-hot reputation.

I caught an express the other morning; should have had me in at Southern Cross at 8:17am, plenty of time to walk to office, and check out suit talent*** on the way (my new fave past-time). However, it was running late - 12 minutes in fact. Not so great an impression to make on my second day.

So today, I caught the 7:31am train - this one was late as well. Like, this just makes me really fucking MAD. I'm paying PREMIUM prices, and this is the sort of service that I'm getting. I mean, they're trying to encourage us to catch PT, be more green, not park your cars in the city, etc, and they charge so much money for a service that quite frankly is not worth it.

For a first time user of PT (I've never had to use it before; not for school, uni or previous jobs. Yes I know, how very suburban of me - Mr & Mrs Croydon anyone? Yeah, well, meet Miss Mentone****.) it is a real eye opener, and it makes me even want to join the Public Transport Users Association because did I mention that I was MAD? And that's an extrordinary feeling for me, because I've never felt passionate enough about something to make me want to join a 'society' or similar. Except of course, cruelty to animals, but that goes without saying.

It's funny; too often people don't give a shit about something until it directly affects them. I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing; that type of selfish-ness is just human behaviour and didn't Bjork write a song about that? I don't know, I may not hold the informed, or even any views about topical issues such as detention centres and shit, but trust me when I say that I will hold society's best interests at heart when I will be taking on the cunts that run our PT system. And have no fear, if detention centres had train lines, I'd make sure they were re-zoned as well, so fares wouldn't be as expensive.

Who's with me? Do you think your fare's fair? Actually, that's going to be a great fucking slogan for my campaign, and I TM it right now. Or are you happy with your service? What improvements would you like to see? Obviously, this is fairly Melbourne-cised, but if you're interstate/overseas, how do you think your PT system compares? Especially price-wise. I would be interested to know.

Yeah...campaign...watch this space...



* - A non-sexual threesome. Sex (even text message threesome sex) needs your utmost attention

** - Isn't this the trendy thing to write on your blog these days?

*** - Fucking tongue-droppingly awesome.

**** - Me. For stalking purposes.

ONE DAY TO GO

I have to type quickly...or I fear that the Pharmacy Brand analgesic that I have taken to try and get some sleep will take effect and I'll nod off at my keyboard...either that or the World Cup will do the trick.

ONE MORE DAY.

One more day, and I'll be out of that god-forsaken minefield of bitchyness and more intrigue than a 15th European Court. And quite possibly into a bigger one, but there's more chance of getting away from it in a larger corporation, isn't there.

Actually, you could possibly pass it off as half a day, because the afternoon will most likely be spent at the pub down the road. But I promise not on the revolving dance-floor afterwards. Stalk away.

The one good thing to come out of it, was that I sneakily requested my own going away present, an ice-cream cake, and a trip to the pub instead of chinese in the office. Hurrah for me.

Then on the weekend I'm fucked-out busy, repairing shoes, taking up hems, getting hair done and buying a(nother) black suit. Hurrah, trains, here I come.

So yeah, here's a recap. Last day of work tomorrow; first day of work on Monday = too stupid to take a week's break in between.

Mmmmmm so sleepy now....have a good one....

I'd rather be in Albury...

Long weekends are Teh Jizz, you know.

And so to celebrate, here is a long weekend post.










.




I'm not that mean.
Here's some light entertainment for you. Oh, what I could do with such an acerbic wit such as that.

Now, I'm just off to buy a black suit (THIS TIME NEXT WEEK PEOPLE!) and also a parka/casual coat that doesn't look like it's squashing down my ample bosom.

As you were.

Regression

I wish I was in primary school.

In primary school, you never get cold. You get to walk around in shorts and a t shirt all day, and play after school at night at a friend's house in your shorts and t-shirt and you'll never feel the cold. Even when your mum nags and nags you to put your jumper on, you'll only put it on to shut her up, then when she's walked away again, you'll rip it off and go back to playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or Shop, or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles saving the shop from Shredder and Krang - whatever takes your fancy.

I'd also like to be in primary school, because you can get 'rostered' on to play Dinosaur Discovery in the afternoon. You and your partner get your floppy disk with your saved game from last week, and you'd sit down in the hallway to try and beat everyone else. And how good did it feel when you finally negotiated a safe passage? Almost as good as when you finally caught Carmen, I'd imagine.

In primary school, they'd give you a pack of coloured pencils. And one of those 'gummy' erasers too. They were ace. You could break bits off and throw it at people when the teacher wasn't looking. You would also get to sit at special lifty-up-py desks where you could hide secrets, and pick a new desk partner every fortnight from the teacher's Itty Bitty Bin, and hoped and prayed you picked Stuart (again). If you were really lucky, you could hear your teacher call Jonathon a 'moron' and think it was the MOST SCANDALOUS THING EVER!

So, considering all this fun stuff, it's no wonder there's kids walking around in t-shirts when it's 7 degrees. I wonder when you start getting cold. Probably when you get to high school, and there's boys and 'non-understanding' parents and science homework to worry about.

Obviously that's why adults are feeling the cold the most. They're the ones that are wrapped up in thermals and warm clothes and coats and scarves at even the hint of some fresh Autumn air. It's because they've got the most to worry about. Jobs, and partners, and money, and kids, and mortgages, and politics, and car crashes, and weight, and getting old and....

Or maybe, these kids are getting about sans jumpers because they've lost them for the 100th TIME THIS YEAR ALREADY?



PS - In primary school, I made up a game. Imaginatively titled 'Car'. What you'd do, is get a group of friends together (4-6 is ideal), and sit in the playground at lunch time where you could see the road. You'd then pick an order, and each car that drove past would be allocated to each person in that order. Then you'd play and play and play until the bell rang for you to line up and then you'd decide who won, based on the following:
- colours of the cars that you 'got'
- exciting-ness of the cars that you 'got'
- occupants of the cars that you 'got'.
I once 'got' a bus full of grammar boys on their way to sports. That day, there was no question of who won.
I'm giving you all free range to play my game now - in fact DO IT this weekend. It will possibly help if you are a little drunk, and maybe even a little bored, but tell me how triumphant you will feel when you get a Ferrari, a fat-ass 7 series BMW and a car full of saucy members of the opposite sex, and you can go 'WINNER'.

Bonus points if they wave.

Not as smart as you think..

Seems I could be the world's most gullible person. You know the old saying, look up the word in the dictionary, see my picture, etc etc.

Seems everything that the Ex-Fucker has been telling me - the swingers parties, the male spas, the drugs - was all made up as some sort of test, to see if I've been telling people about it.

MADE UP. TEST. EX. FUCKER.

I've got a fucking neon sign over my head, haven't I? "Idiot, stop here" or similar.

So I'm pretty fucking miserable at the moment. Apart from the Ex Fucker's histronics, I'm dealing with finishing up at my old job, stressing over starting my new one, my finances are pretty much shot to bits, and I'm stressing about where I'm going to be living in a few months; I'm due at the nutritionist tomorrow night, and I reckon that I'm even more unhealthy than I was last November, and....well, it's just catching up with me...

Is it worth savin' me?

Do you laugh at people in their cars when you realise they're singing along to something? Do you deride them, point at them, flick your radio over so you can try to figure out what station they're singing along to?

Well don't.

Chances are, you've encountered ME singing along like I had a hairbrush in front of a mirror. My friends, I have decided that I am a WALKING, TALKING, VIDEO CLIP!

In case you're not getting the gist of it, it's like It Takes Two, but there's only one, and I'm in a car, not a Channel 7 studio.

I can't help it. Everytime a song comes on, I catch myself singing and 'acting' along to it. Melancholy Pete Murray songs? Yep, I'm gripping the steering wheel and looking wistfully out the window while humming "Soon, you'll see". Until I get pissed off after about the 7th repeat, and change the station, and the director's yelling 'CUT', and I have to do the whole sceen all over again.

Lucky every single station seems to have it on high rotation through-out the day.

La la la Kylie? I've perfected her driving sequence from the video clip to a 't'.

Run DMC v Aerosmith - 'Walk this Way'? More like 'Drive this Way' when I'm in the car.

Bat out of hell? It's just one big fucking soap opera in the Astra at the moment.

Hand movements, gestures, head nods, swerving in time to music enthusiastic drum beats on steering wheel. You name it, I'm bringing it to the roads. A danger? Probably not at the moment, but stop me when I clench my hands all emotional-y like while singing along to "What about me" (NOT the Shannon Noll version - that's an automatic loss of licence).

However, what I've found to be most disturbing, is my enthusiasm for Nickelback's latest ditty 'Savin' me'. Yes, yes, I know my hatred for the 'Back is well documented, but fuck me if I'm not addicted to watching the video clip. I LOVE the idea of being able to see how much time a person has until they expire, and you only lose this 'burden' after saving someone from their 'expiry date'. Ace stuff.

Because this song doesn't exactly inspire much acting, and because I just don't have quite enough time to bust out the paddlepop lion suit when it comes on, I've taken to viewing anyone and everyone I see, with a little orange countdown clock on their head! OMG, I have totally immersed myself into this video clip; now all I have to do is find someone to save, and I won't have to do anymore takes!

Lollypop man? Nope. Big orange signs and a whistle are such a deterrant.
Strange woman who sits in her BMW all morning. No chance.
Stupid private schoolboys who ride their bikes in front of me. Can't save them if I want to fucking run them over, can I?

My quest continues. I will find someone to save, and I will be free of my Nickelback curse. And don't forget to wave, if you see a slightly nutty girl in an Astra pining for her lost love on 'the day you went away'. You might just get your head on camera...