Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Fairly lack lustre in Dingley today – just aint got the energy every day it seems...
BUT I managed to have a shower and a shave, so at least I've done something today.
It's kind of depressing measuring success in such small increments, but that's the way it is for now...
How's your day going?
Sorting it out?
Also, I should probably let her tell you this, though I am assured it's no secret...
Jude is having a baby.
What do you think of them apples?
It's not depressing... it's fantastic... that you are getting stronger every day.
My day, amongst the idiots, is going as well as can be expected. At least the many and varied vipers have kept away from me, thus far.
Yes, it's all sorted... and finished, even. Just have to wait now for the usual recriminations, back stabbing and finger pointing. Good thing I'm made of strong stuff, huh. The bastards chatter in the back ground, stabbing me, thinking I don't know... but my wings are like a shield of steel... be gone you fools!
What is it with all the straight girls around me... biological clocks tick, tick, ticking, huh? Hopefully, Jude will have the good sense to have it removed before she gets to attached to it, just like Aby.
But hey, the sky is blue and the sun is shining, what the hell do I care?
She's having the baby Christian. She confirmed the pregnancy last Thursday.
Talk about hare-brained schemes? This one takes the cake.
And it IS the biological clock thing – I don't know how she thinks she's going to make ends meet??!! She can barely afford a train ticket (or, more truthfully, the fare evasion fine) as it is.
And she feels like you know what so she aint working that much already.
I feel like slapping her, but what can you say?????
Since I went into hospital, it's been
- going to Japan to teach English
- going to Europe with Phil
- teaching English to Somali refugees at a migrant resource centre
- working in a bookshop
and now she's having a baby.
I really do feel like slapping, and perhaps my vision is black at the moment, but I see her becoming one of those overweight whining mothers who make their child an extension of themselves and their own drama.
Is Jude ready for it to be not about Jude for the next twenty years?
That's my question.
Anyway, nothing I can do!!
SMS. 12.36. Well, I’m almost afraid 2 ask but r we still on 4 2morrow nyt? – Kym
but i do like the random act of rachel geting hit by a car... you take over for a bit.
are you wedding this weekend even though its on sunday?
wag monday wag monday wag monday!!!!
and tuesday and tuesday!!!
Yes, I do believe I am weddinging on… what… er… um… Sunday. Yes, Sunday. Is that right, Gladys? What? Ohhhhhh! Apparently so. Sunday? Damn, strange day for a wedding. Must be fucken Jesus Freaks! Er… um… is it too late to pullout? (said the scout leader to the boy scout – as he patted his peach-like cheek) No? What? I confirmed? Really? Oh, bugger it. Must check the fine print more carefully next time. Yes, then… well… I guess, I’ll be there. Woop! Woop! Yeah!
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Now here’s the killer.
But the answers aren’t always what you are searching for though.
We put together a memo of the Sydney HR Manager’s mistakes – or her department, but the responsibility comes back to the same person, regardless – with contracts. We photocopied examples of contracts written by her that are – to cut a long story short, but let me just say – examples of the worst HR contracts I have ever seen in all my time doing what I do. (A reasonably bright Year 10 would be able to pick the holes in them, if only using logic) We sent them to the Director of HR, who had asked us for such examples of our problems after hearing about our frustration. And she went and had a chat to the HR manager in Sydney.
The office junior in Sydney would, essentially, get job managed. And I would get a talking to for my aggressive behaviour with the said junior, particularly in regards to rude emails I have sent.
You gotta to love... I guess you know the name of the company by now, huh?
I know the HR Manager in Sydney is a two-faced, back-stabbing, lying snake, capable of anything and will blame anybody for her mistakes to cover up her own breath taking incompetence – she has a history of it. But this defies gravity. We had her sown up with our evidence. (This was never about the Sydney junior. I feel the sorriest for her. And I can never say anything to her about it, for political reasons.)
The only logical conclusion that I can come to is that the HR director didn’t read the memo… or more frighteningly…
Let me digress for a moment.
We’ve had a really good HR consultant in working with us, who has told us three very interesting facts about the HR Director.
1. That our HR consultant has had to explain even the most basic things to the HR Director. Like really basic. (Reasons why she might not understand complaints we’ve made)
2. That the HR Director is a completely political animal – my translation, she didn’t get to the top of the heap in so many years by being nice to anybody, or by being particularly smart – my further translation, she hired the HR manager in Sydney and she wouldn’t be about to admit to anything that tarnishes her own name. (Although, I’ve always found the HR Director to be great, I have to add, to be fair.)
3. The HR Managers in all states are bosom buddies with the HR Manager in Sydney – who is, I guess I should mention, the HR Director’s pet.
…now that I think of it, the HR Director (cunningly) called my boss just before she went to see the HR Manager in Sydney, when they did talk about the junior and when my boss made a joke about my rude emails… something along the lines about now she could understand why I have got so frustrated at times and why I may have said things in emails that I shouldn’t have. (They apparently laughed) The point is, that my rude emails are ancient history, almost twelve months ago.
My final conclusion.
The HR Director didn’t understand our memo. The HR Director doesn’t understand contracts.
The HR Director is the living proof that the HR Manager in Sydney will be the next HR Director.
The bottom line is that the entire HR team is rotten to the core, mostly infected with a virus that’s coming out of Sydney. Triple therapy anyone?
The sad moral of my story? You don’t get anywhere in my company for being smart, you get somewhere by being a cunt. A corporate cunt. And the best way to survive is to get something on the others.
Gee that was a long email yesterday from home – I think I caught the gist of it, except to say I'm not quite sure if all of a sudden everything is YOUR fault now.
Such a small font Miss!
Yeah I thought you might be visiting Bolago next weekend, now that the wicked witch of the north has left. That should be nice'n'relaxing for you.
I almost wish I was going myself!
The night at Perry's is turning into a mini-shebang – at least it will be if all the people I have turned on show up!
Well, if Mark forgives me anyway.
I sent him a little simpering card in the mail yesterday, apologising for my bad behaviour. Perry had a wee word with me on Sunday morning about it – Mark was indeed left feeling a bit hurt, the poor lad.
I need anger management classes perhaps?
Anyway, I hope today is better than yesterday, and that you might even find time to smile at the world.
Love you lots
Well, you know, I didn't get that you were angry on Saturday. I got that you were tired and needed to rest. (Although, I might have got a flash of anger about the dog on your lap) I thought it was just bad timing.
But I did think the little note was a nice touch. And Mark is a nice boy too.
Have a nice day, miss. I think I'll be working late, in the snake pit. (Salt mines is far too nice a description for this place. At least salt has a use.) Boo hoo.
Well Christian, I've just awoken from a 5 hour nap – must have needed the sleep.
Why are you working late so late in the month?
Mark got my card and was fine about it.
It's nice to send cards anyway, something I used to do lots of, many many years ago...
I hope the mine is bearable.
I think sending cards is nice, harks back to a gentler time when people were far nicer than they are today. (But then, not so long ago, the government didn't use fear as a political tool, quite the opposite, quite frankly)
I'm working late tonight because HR here is now such a basket case that I am now keeping them together... as well as doing my work. Good Old Salt mines Forever. And no one gives a rats arse as long as it all goes though. I should just let it all fall over. "Thar she goes!"
It was a day of cunts, from every state. Every day my job is a battle of whit’s. Some days I’m exhausted. Some days the stinking bitches win and some times they don't. Sometimes I prevail and some days, on the rarest of occasions, I'm am left to do my won work, without getting dumped on by the poises bitches that are the HR team.
Heaps, tops, pets – do you still have a job?
Let's go to Italy...
I am off to Granada in Jan for me mate Jen's 40th and am counting down days til Xmas hols. You, trooper missy, are in my thoughts (Buddhist benign but loving soothing glance).
Hey you know what? Despite my spitting and saying Nooooo neverrrrr! I might well come over again this July, but only if I get some European summer too. I want to go to Transylvania-Bulgaria and end up in Greece, but a dear dear dear dear old old old old friend wants me to go with her with her kids to Ma and Pas as I can speak some Danish and she lived with us (er, she's Danish and I'll be there at Xmas) and can help out. While there I could visit an old old old old old old old old old old friend, after she's had a week off, because he's no cunt.
What happened last time? Your dear dear dear dear dear dear dear old friend squoffed all your drugs and shat on ya bed? Er, carried on like a harridan ("maggots") and shat on ya bed? Nonsense all lies and dreams. We could do a road trip... you could come back with me and we do lovely Europe in August. Italian beaches....?
I'll be in Slovenia in June at a peace camp (Human Rights for the Balkans).
Watch your back, switch off at home, and stick in there sausage...(or stick the sausage in, can't remember)...
Gales van Hales
Damn! There goes my trip to Cambodia, next October.
Yes, yes, you should come. Of course. Interesting that you only remember one harridan, though. One maggoty maggot. But no, shan’t say a word. In the interests of world peace.
You’re certainly getting around during the year. How do you fit it all in? Granada. Transylvania-Bulgaria Greece, Italy...
And Tom will be well by then. And we can go out and not risk being poisonous by staying home. And you can meet the new boyfriend. That’s Tim’s, not mine. Quite handsome, is our Nicholas.
You should come in the summer. The weather is glorious about now. Oh well.
We could do a road trip. Have you seen Wolf Creek? You should go and see it at some arty German theatre. The best of Australia. I’m sure it would be showing somewhere.
Take a friend.
I’m going to bed. The snake pit was a rattling all day, nearly drove me mad. And you know what happens when a snake pit rattles, the nuffies roll out. Dick heads with dick head questions. Did I say that 50% of the population is stupid and just wasting valuable resources in their very existence? It’s more like 70%... and rising. Fuck there are some dumb cunts amongst us.
Monday, November 28, 2005
I had Perry and Wes over yesterday which was very nice – no temper tantrums from me (poor Mark W...)
Now I'm off to the hospital for a bone marrow biopsy at 9am – yippee. I just hope I'm not there all day.
I'm having a night at P. Street next Saturday – if you'd like to come over and visit you are more than welcome.
Speak to you soon
My weekend was very interesting, nothing I can elaborate on, on work email, though.
But I'm smiling today, so I guess that's the main thing.
I think I'll be at Bolago next Saturday night, I think, so thanks for the offer but I won’t be able to make it.
I hope the biopsy went okay.
I walked home through the Fitzroy Gardens and felt distraught about our memo to Evita (National Director of HR). Nothing was going to change. Fucken work! Funny how when you are alone in a dark park you have time to think. I should resign and stop being such a pussy.
SMS. 21.36. (Beck) Thinking about it, the only logical conclusion that I can come to is that Evita never read the memo – Christian
SMS. 21.40. Evita doesn’t understand contracts. Evita understands Jack Shit! – Christian
SMS. 21.45. Why would Evita say she was sick of hearing about Heather Henson, when she was only copied in on the last email – Christian
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Recovery day. Mostly home in the back yard, in the dappled sun light, with Tim, Mitch, Jason and Sophie.
We had no dope. Pity. I wanted to get Jason stoned so I could rub his leg. Not really. Yes, really. He’s got sexy, hairy legs. I settled for the nice bulge in his jeans – he was watching me out of the corner of his eye, pretty quickly.
A bit later in the day, Jason was in the room next to mine getting changed. I headed into my room and he came to the door and hung around with that expectant look, that boys get, making very small small-talk. Naughty Jason, you would have fooled around, even with your boyfriend just down stairs. Boys will be boys, I guess.
I chickened out. The thought was nice, the tease was enticing, but his boyfriend was downstairs. When it comes down to it, I don't want to be that guy... the guy who can't be trusted around other guys boyfriends. No, no I don't.
SMS. 12.29. Hey Shane, have you got any?… – Christian
We sat outside in the back yard in the dappled sun, the drug zombies, all on slow simmer.
Nicholas had to be at work at 6am. He had no sleep. He took a pill just before he left home. Ah, to be twenty five again.
He was home by early afternoon with pot.
"Not happy," he said. Then his blue eyes sparkled and his handsome face creased into its customary sexy smile, as he pulled the pot from his back pocket.
And we all sighed a sigh of relief. Okay, it might have just been me sighing.
Shane, eventually, called, but I was in the shower, sobering up from the pot I’d had, so… so... I just didn't care by that stage. Oh come on, it was at the end of a very long... give a boy a break.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Up early and off to visit mum’s friend, Jean’s, to discuss the new digital camera. How many visits do you think will be required to actually procure the camera? What can an old woman tell me, I ask you? It is all part of the game, though, all apart of the dance.
"I'll pay for the camera," says mum. If you pay me this much attention, silently said. Still, I don't mind. I like my mum so it's no chore.
I went to visit Tom, after my mum’s, all the way down to Tom's parents place. I was supposed to be back in Fitzroy by 3pm, so when Mark W. arrived at Tom's I made my exit. But then Tom quickly declared that he was tired and needed to rest, so we both had to go. Poor Mark, all that way down to the far southern suburbs and then Tom said go home. When you are as sick as Tom, you get used to thinking only about yourself... it seems. And Mark had bought his puppies for Tom's enjoyment. They cut no sway though. Puppy smuppy, go home I'm tired.
I tried to balance my phone on my knee and text Rachel, as I drove up the Nepean Highway, but I couldn’t. So I pulled up at the end of her street, which runs off the Nepean Highway.
SMS. 15.34. Driving passed the end of your street…hello – Christian
SMS. 15.41. Where r u off 2? How r Hansel and Grethel? – Rachel
SMS. 16.30. Dingley to visit a sick friend. Now Fitzroy for a birthday party. H and G is going okay – Christian
Stupid really, being so close, just ten, or so, houses away. But, it was just supposed to be a text from the car as I whizzed past.
Then it was back to the pub in Smith Street for the beginnings of Tim’s thirty fifth birthday. Rush rush, pant pant. Then home.
We all had two E’s. Of course... you were expecting lemonade and party hats? Iced sponge and streamers? Ha ha.
Later in the night, I tried to talk Manny into coming over, with certain filthy suggestions... what I’d do to him. Kiss him all over. Lick him. Cover his eyes and undress him. But, he wouldn’t budge from his place. I got him so turned on, though, he rang back twice saying he had to ask me, again, if I was going to go over to his place.
“Come over." Husky, deep, thick voice. "Come over... Come over me.”
I got myself so turned on, I went to his place. I was supped to be enticing him. I got sucked into my own vortex and I got thrown about and spat out on the other side of desire.
Then I was kissing his soft lips and staring into his eyes.