Friday, August 28, 2015

Our Idiot Treasurer

The fat bag of shit, Joe Hockey, must be so desperate to get the spot light off the budget, that he is indulging in the mother of all distractions The Republic debate. Has Joes just realised that under his treasurer watch with the Liberal Party that the deficit has blown out to twice the amount it ever did under Labor.

Thursday, August 27, 2015

There Are Fat Boys Too

I woke up 6.45am, late for me.

It was raining when I got up. It was falling heavily. It was like a winter’s day.

So, of course, Sam was up not long after me and he wanted to talk. I’d just settled for my quiet time to write, but it wasn’t to be. He wanted to talk about Mark’s investment proposition. He wanted to talk about it endlessly. I had sentences in my head that I was trying to hang onto, but with Sam talking enthusiastically, it was like trying to catch water with my bare hands.

It had stopped raining by the time I left the house. It was grey and bleak.

When I got to work Kirin wasn’t there. I immediately thought she hadn’t survived the meeting with Paddington Bear last night. But, then I remembered she had 2 days off for her family whatever it was. Yes away a week, back for 3 days and then away for 2 days. Nice work if you can get it.

I waited and waited and waited for Fatty Cake to come in, but the morning slipped away and she didn’t appear. An email came late in the morning saying that Fatty Cake was off on personal leave. Goodness me, is she still being held in the highest of esteem that she was? I wondered? The test will be in the future, surely, she can’t take any more sick days? Or it means the negative feedback from Guru Gail was right all along.

Fats Guts Carol Brady came over and told me her team was away and I think she said something about boss lady Fran being out of the office and Barbie being in FNQ.

“So it is just you and me holding down the fort.” We both did a girlish squeal together. She tries so hard to be nice, but somehow it always comes off as though she is talking at you. Oh, I shouldn’t be like that, she has been nothing but helpful to me. It is Kirin who calls her The Moll, or Fat Guts, with contempt.

Kirin thinks Barbie is a bitch and Barbie has always been lovely to me. Kirin thinks Fran is a flake, but she has always been nice to me too.

Does Kirin rail against anybody who has power over her? It's a thought. I guess she does. As much as she'd like to be known as mother earth, she can be quite negative and she can be less than forgiving towards people she feels have done her wrong.

It was grey and bleak beyond my window. The rain fell. It is funny how the gloom outside somehow transports itself in.

I entertained myself with dirty thoughts about the cute Irish boy for a time, Irish Rocky. He has an arse on him that is well worth a second look. As I headed back to my desk late in the morning, he was squatting down at the filing draws and his red undies stretched tight across his gorgeous rump showing off the thick mat of hair disappearing into his delicious arse crack. I shook my head, after I’d done a double take to have a second look. Then I nervously looked straight ahead, as it must have been obvious what I was just looking at. I gazed around sideways as I continued to my desk, it didn’t appear as though anyone had noticed what I had just done.

I wrote my journal for a bit. It is much easier to keep it up to date, if I write as close as I can to the actual events. You know, jot down what happened in the morning, at lunch time. That sort of thing.

Then I got down to work.

Fran floated by at some stage. She always says “Hi,” in her airy, private school kind of accent. She is the type that wraps herself up in a shawl like a Xmas present, or wears riding jodhpurs, into the office. Today it was a black lace up corset and tights with electric blue pixie boots and a blue felt cape.

You know, I thought Kirin and I were getting on well, but if only she’d answer her bloody emails. When she doesn't answer people, they start to email me. It is annoying. There had been one about the national survey that she hadn’t answered. Then the guy sent it to me and asked me to provide the info. Kirin had clearly asked him to ask me for the info. Really? I lose patience with her very quickly. Do your own work, luv. It just proves she has no idea how busy I am. This is what drove Mazz mad.

She just text me as I am writing this. Apparently, she forgot the tax calculations for blah blah blah blah... I should text Mazz. Snigger! Oh what would be the real point to that? To listen to Mazz spit her dummy, that would be the point. I shouldn’t keep dragging her back into it, like a mother octopus, or ocky strap man.

Happy-Smiley-Floats-In-A-Sea-of-Dough has a packet of half eaten Tim Tams hidden behind his computer, I noticed, when I took an extra trip to the kitchen to gaze at Irish Rocky, one more time. Happy-Smiley-Floats-In-A-Sea-of-Dough is the jovial large sized lad who does, um, I’m not really sure what he does. He is an analyst, of some sort. He has the weirdest body shape, as though his lower half is a pair of strap overalls with the arse and legs filled to overflowing with water. He is wading through life that way. Happy-Smiley-Floats-In-A-Sea-of-Dough is really friendly, he’s lovely really. I think he replace Terminally Ill Martin Clunes.

Of course, there is Fat Frankie too. The loud mouthed bag of shit, who gets on his phone and bellows so we are all apart of his conversation. He could just drop down dead from a heart attack mid phone call. If there was a god, let me tell you he’d be a corpse on the floor already.


"MAATTTEEEEE!!!!!!!" Oh, I so hate it when I hear him bellow that.

I worked until 5pm. I nearly got everything finished. The second journal file failed on me in the end, bugger, bugger, bugger. I should have stayed and finished it, but I could smell the day off. It got to 5.15pm and if I’d done it again, I would have been there to 6pm. Still, I probably should have finished it, 6pm, or no 6pm.

I have tomorrow off in lieu of all the long hours I have worked. The problem being that I am still going to have to work long hours to get the next fortnight of work done on time and taking a day off is just going to put me behind.

Still, at 5.15pm I could put the next fortnight of work on the never never, with a day off immanent. Let’s let Ron worry about it, hey?

It rained all day, but by the time I was walking home the day was still grey but it seemed exhausted from the rain, you know, all cried out. It was just the residual drops falling from eaves and tree branches that were still drip, drip, dripping.

I typed some of this up in the morning, perhaps for half an hour and then I got into work. I printed it, though, so of course, at the end of the day I was paranoid about making certain the printed copy was in my bag. Even just writing about it now, at home, gives me an irresistible urge to check that I have the copy here with me at home, despite having checked it numerous times. Oh, could you imagine if any of them found this and read it. It makes me nervous just thinking about it.

We ate cauliflower soup for dinner. Sam hadn’t got crusty bread, again, so I drove to the supermarket and got an assortment of bread, crusty bread on the end of day special. I toasted olive bread to have with the soup.

I had a headache from the day, so I took a couple of pills and lay down on the sleepy couch, always fatal. Apparently, I was asleep by 9pm.

Sam woke me at 11pm, saying go to bed.

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Tony Abbott is a Disgrace

Tony Abbott is an absolute disgrace as a politician and a disgrace as a human being! He is willing to, effectively, go to war to improve his popularity in this country, to improve his chances in the Canning bi-election. The man is willing to bomb another country so he doesn't loose his job. He is officially a low life. Let's not mention the fact that invading/bombing Iraq is what created Isis in the first place.

It Is The Failure Of We As A Society On Which I Am Commenting

I woke up at 6.45.

Once in the lounge room, I had an annoying pain in my back, which made me feel a little poohwah. Stupid thing. It is my bad posture when I sit too long at my laptop writing this crap. You know such things push my hypochondria buttons. Must think positive thoughts, must think health, health, health, sweetie.

I headed into work early. There was the most beautiful sunrise. I took a couple of photos on my way, (they must still be on my camera.) The sun was shining, by the time I got to work. It was a glorious walk to work.

Fat Guts Carol Brady and Obese Olwyn were both in when I got there. Fat Guts Carol Brady is ingratiating herself to the company still, and Olwyn has no life, she practically admits it with everything she ever says.

I pretty much only work with women and 60% of them are fat, to obese, the same ratio of society in general. So I am not so much commenting on the failing of women, but commenting on the failing of society in general when I talk about my working life, it just happens to be populated with the female of the species.

Kirin tried to cancel her meeting with Paddington Bear, but he wouldn't even entertain the thought.

“I’ve been off for a week, what does he expect?” she said.

Oh, don’t drag me into this, I thought.

“He’s trying to make me resign, I tell you,” she said. “That’s his game, I know it.”

It is his game, I thought.

“He’s trying to make me sick, isn’t he?”

I don’t care, I thought. Actually, I do care. I get on fine with Kirin, I don’t want her to get sick and leave. It might be better with somebody else, sure, but it could always be worse too. Kirin’s okay with me, I can work with her just fine.

Why she doesn't go off on stress leave altogether I am not sure. She says he is awful to her. She says he singles her out for less favourable treatment. People need to get over their prejudice against workcover, it is a viable alternative to working.

Fatty Snoop Cake Lady made it back in today and she managed to last the whole day. She didn’t get in until kind of late, 9ish. “Good morning,” she said in that little girl voice of hers. Oh that little, fragile girl voice of hers that, I feel, hides something deeply unsettling.

She is the analyst, the detective, the auditor, she has no control over her own life, so she has to exert control over other people to make herself feel better about herself. It is pure Freud. (or is Freud just the desire to lick your mother’s snatch?) She builds herself up by professionally blowing out the candles of others.

I heard the crinkle of snack wrappers coming from her desk all day. She, actually, never stops eating. Crinkle crinkle, crinkle crinkle, was all I heard through out the day. Macadamia nuts, savoury rice crackers and nutty health bars. Sugar and carbohydrates and fat, way to go babe, you will be dead in no time.

She told us that she has a Goggomobil and that she would love to go to Bavaria next year for the anniversary of something to do with the car. “I’m the woman with the crazy little car.” Points to her. Interesting car. She goes up in my esteem. (Who has ever read Peter Carey’s Bliss? Who remembers the image of {was it} Harry jammed into his Fiat 500? That was the image that came into my head.)

It was all drama with Kirin today. The performance catch up, presumably with the independent witness consumed us all day. I’m guessing that was what was happening, the independent witness, although Kirin had been strangely quiet on that fact. The talk of it went on all day, however. She was completely absorbed in writing out her briefs. This is the thing with her, there is always a reason why she can’t be doing work, there is always something else she just has to be doing, deadlines, or no deadlines. That is usually when she dumps it on me? Well, not so much me, up to this point, but she used to dump it on Mazz and in the end it was Mazz’s fed-up open refusal that I remember most.

Kirin was nervous trying to get her answers completed. Security. The liability problem. And a third thing, I can’t remember now.

“He’s trying to get me on anything he can,” she said. Her last words before she went to her maker.

I did end of month stuff all day. I heaved a sigh as I entered all of my end of month reports back into my report writer, which I lost with the great login fiasco.

I got on top of all of the things I had to post at the end of the month. I nearly got them all done, even with setting them all up again. It should be a doddle next month.

I got on top of the emails. Oh, the fucking emails. Jesus fuck me Christ? What a bunch of whiney babies these people are. The emails never stop, the enquiries never stop. Always someone wanting me to do something for them. It gets to the point where I have to spend my time vetting the emails for what actually comes under my JD. I think it is because I try to find the answer for people, rather than just palming them off on to somebody else. If you like, I am being punished for being efficient. (I’m sure this is an exaggeration written purely for the effect it has on my blog)

If only Kirin would answer the emails she had to answer.


We ate stewed meat and turnip and carrots and rice for dinner. “Is this paleo?” I asked.

“Ha ha,” said Sam.

I’m thinking we should give paleo a shot, if it means loosing weight. I could drop a lazy few kilos right about now.

Mark called about his new venture in country Vietnam. He wants me to invest money into it. It would be interesting. Maybe? It would nice to transition from working income to investment income. Oh it is to dream, to leave all the huskies behind and to become independent.
Oh, that's a hard one Joe Hockey

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

And The Other One Returns

How many days did we think that Fatty Cake would be away? This many? Guru Greta was right, maybe. Unreliable? Has a tendency towards absences.

“Do you think she’ll look sick when she comes in?” I asked Kirin.

“You mean, do you think she’ll have lost weight?”

“I didn’t say that…”

“But that is what you meant.”

What could I say, that is what I meant.


Kirin laughed.

Fatty Cake Snoop Lady did come in. All in black. (Anna Wintour would be appalled, she hates the all in black look, even on, shall we say, husky girls. It doesn't make you look thin, it just makes you look like a huge black thing) She said she was excited to get back to work. She said she felt much better, thank you. She said she got so bored at home. She said she even tried to do some house work last Friday, but it wore her out. (that was the day, I thought, she was in hospital having kidney problems) Bored at home? House work to relieve the boredom? Oh really? Put down those sugary treats. Get yourself some runners and some thick tights. You know those running pants, maybe it is just me. I want a pair.

I saw her eat her stash of food pretty soon after arriving. Quietly, surreptitiously, as though she’d done all her life. The crinkle of snack food wrappers in the dark. She, actually, never stops eating. 


She lasted a few hours and then she declared herself done for the day "I'm not feeling good," she said in her small, girlish voice, that hides her true intensions. She headed home.

I found out the story behind the 8am meeting. Kirin refuses to have a catch up with Remy, aka Paddington Bear, without an independent witness present. Apparently, in the last catch up Paddington was so vile to her 
(the image doesn't bear thinking about, perhaps I should call him Ted) refuses to go back for another session, without an independent referee. (I should have done the same with the insane Belinda, if only I'd known what the out come of that psychological episode was going to be) It is true, Paddington Bear is trying to get her out, despite his claims to the contrary. So Kirin had to meet with Fran Di Dio, who suggested Kirin take Fat Guts Carol Brady with her. I'm not sure how Fran di di di Dio got involved, you know how HR like to keep out of staff issues, if they can. (Most senior HR staff, from my experience  believe their role is to look good in something stylish, Fran is no exception)

“No thanks, she is apart of the problem,” responded Kirin.

“You can take Clarissa.”

“Yes, okay, Clarissa would be suitable.”

(Clarissa, the woman who spent 10K on her child's first birthday party. 10K on a 1 year old? How can you take someone who spends 10K on a 1 year old's birthday)

Kirin did a creepy thing today, however, just to play into everything Mazz said she is. I got to see a side of her I hadn’t seen before. She let her guard down just for a moment. I felt like it was a bonding moment for both of us. I said something about Arthur, that I was sure I’d told him something, that he’d possibly done something different, the long and short of which I could lay blame on him if it went pear shaped. Kirin laughed and when I looked at her, she was smiling a weird smile, the interpretation of which was that I could blame Arthur for anything not done right.

Oh yes, apparently, Happy is unhappy about what happened about me being accused of being rude to her. She is distressed that she caused me to get into trouble. Apparently, Kirin is going to use it against Fatty Cake.


Are you keeping up?

Then this afternoon something happened, just before I was about to leave the office. It was something that Fat Guts Carol Brady had done. There is some thought that Fatty Snoop Cake Lady and Fat Guts Carol Brady are in cahoots. Is Kirin getting paranoid? I think, it was something about an email Fat Guts Carol Brady had sent to Kirin asking her a question about something. Apparently, what Fat Guts Carol Brady had forgotten was to do was to delete the email trail that told the story of some meeting which appeared to be about Kirin. 


Suddenly, Kirin asked me if Fat Guts Carol Brady was at her desk? (I can see her, but Kirin can't) I said she was?

“I want to talk to Lacey,” said Kirin. Lacey is a sympathetic HR manager who works for a different division of the company but sits close to us. Kirin wanted Lacey’s expert opinion on what the email said.

“Fat Guts Carol Brady is on the phone,” I said.

Suddenly it was all cloak and dagger stuff, I’m not sure why? Kirin didn’t want Carol Brady to see her talking to Lacey, again, I am not sure why. Kirin and Lacey chat all the time. But, I could see the panic in Kirin’s eye. Kirin waved to get Lacey’s attention, behind the wall out of sight of Fat Guts Carol Brady. Suddenly Kirin was the fifteen year old at the back of the class trying to get her buddies attention without the teacher seeing.

“Tell me if the moll gets off the phone,” said Kirin.

Lacey came over. They read the email together. Kirin pointed out particular pieces. Lacy concentrated on what it said. They both looked serious. Kirin looked extremely nervous. Lacey shook her head. Kirin looked ashen.

I left for home, the drama of the day had been too much for me. It seems to be all consuming at the moment for Kirin. Shake of the head. Too much. It is exhausting.

Monday, August 24, 2015

The Texting Queen Makes An Appearance

I got to work just before 8am. Oh, what Days-of-Our-lives saga were we going to enjoy this week? Were the titans of my working world going to make an appearance? Or were they still in their corners licking their wounds?

I almost felt a buzz of excitement as I strode towards the building. It was a glorious morning, he sun always makes a difference, and the velvety green of the grass in the morning sun always edifying.

Kirin came in, although I knew that, she'd text me, she is the texting queen, after all. So am I, of course. It is something we have in common, we let our fingers do the talking. (It is the only way to have an intelligent conversation with some people)

I wondered if Fatty Cake was going to come in, if she did, we'd have no where for Arthur. 


Kirin had an appointment with Fran Di Dio at 8am, the head of HR who floats about the company like all good HR directors do, giving the impression of being an air-head mated with an Ice Queen. The linage is the same, or is that genetics? Am I talking genealogy  or DNA? It certainly takes a certain type, that is for sure. But is it nature, or nurture? Who can say? Kirin was quite nervous beforehand, which is unusual for her, she is usually quite confident, in a bull and china shop kind of style.

I got stuck into the work, I had a lot to do. A mountain still had to be climbed. A Trash Vortex of paperwork had to be dealt with.

Kirin didn’t say anything to me when she got back. I didn’t ask. She was kind of quiet, slipping back to her desk all business as usual. I couldn't read her. Had it gone well? Was she covering up well? I didn't know.
9am. Fatty Cake wasn’t coming in. Still suffering from the flu/gastro/kidney failure/pneumonia, or whatever the truth just happens to be.

I told Kirin that Arthur was an odd little fellow. Her eyes sprang open, she looked worried and asked if his name was (previous problem temp's name)

“No, it is Arthur.” 


She looked relived. "I couldn't have put up with that complication, not today."

A bit later, sometime around 9.30am I hear Kirin chuckle and say,

“Oh, I think your temp is here,” she said, “As here comes an odd little fellow.” She kind of chuckled again.

That will be him, I thought. Arfur. I wanted to say it out loud in a yorky accent. Arfur. I wizened up little hunch back with a combover. He'd have looked more at home ringing bells, I am sure.

He slipped in, muttered something about the morning, I can only assume he meant good, then he got working, in his quiet style. 

Kirin raised her eyebrows. I raised my eyebrows in response. I said to Kirin earlier that he didn't say much. Of course, I'd have been complaining if there'd have been much yap coming from his side of the office too. The poor little bugger couldn't win really.

In the afternoon, when Arfur was off on one of his inordinately long toilet stops - I'm not sure if he had a colostomy bag to attend to, or what - Kirin stood up with her password note book under her arm and said mysteriously, “If anything should happen…”

It was like that (attention seeking) video of Pauline Hanson wrapped in the Australian flag, “If you are watching this, I am dead.” (of course, we wish the idiot red head dead, but let's not get sidetracked) There was a hint of it. I felt nervous energy slide up my spine. I thought she was going to tell me something I didn’t know, some truth, some truth about this morning’s meeting that I didn’t know. She was making some admission? Was she leaving.

“I’d take this, if…,” she said. She tapped the book on the edge as though it was something precious. “Oh, no… never mind.”

What? What? What are you saying?

Nothing. She looked tired, the strain was beginning to show. I reckon she should have gone to the doctor and got more time off. She could have followed it up with a workcover claim. Why not? The new corporate frontier, everybody is out for themselves. It's a truth.

We worked late, the two of us.

Sunday, August 23, 2015

Catching a bus home from Chadstone. The sun was shinning what was not to like.

Saturday, August 22, 2015

Shopping at the lovely Footscray Market