Sunday

Today couldn't be any different to yesterday if it tried. It is sunny and warm and looks lovely out there, looking out my rear French Doors, even if I haven't, actually, been out in it myself.

We're off to get haircuts, walk Otto into town, get some lunch afterwards. Enjoy the sunshine. Get all tidied up for tomorrow, and the rest of our lives, ha ha.

Our mate Matt is coming to stay for a short time. Actually, the time frame hasn't been specified, which is never a good thing. I have learnt that the hard way with friends, in the past. Still...

It is a lovely day, why do I care to get bogged down in details.

Of course, first of all, before we do anything, it is cleaning day. You know how Sam is a stickler for cleaning day on Sunday morning. Me? Personally, shrug, I couldn't care less. Clean house, dirty house, it is all the same house to me.

I've resurrected my big begonia, which got too big for the house, not that I thought it was too big, I'm happy to push through a jungle to get to the kitchen, but the consensus of the house was that it was too big. It has deteriorated outside, so I have now found a new position for it, on our front veranda. I just have to go to Bunnings and get a new pot in which to repot it.

Rainy Saturday

It rained pretty much from the moment I got up. It was constant, fine, drizzling rain all day.

Consequently, it wasn't a day to do anything much. Not much. Nah.

Sam had booked us in for eye tests at midday down at Victoria Gardens, and, you know, I wasn't really feeling it, I can tell you. 

On a miserable day like today, the best place for us is on the couch with a tartan blanket catching up on all the latest releases from YouTube, drinking mugs of hot chocolate, I'd further suggest.

I suggested cancelling and re-booking for a sunny day when it would be much nicer to head outside, which was met with a curious look from my better half. "Eye tests are an in door pursuit," he said.

Yes, well, what could I say, he was right.

So rain hats on, me luvs, we'll be heading out to battle the elements in the name of good health.

The rain looks set in, so I am assuming we'll be scurrying to the optometrist and then scurrying home again.

I can't see much else getting done.

I'm on my second last pair of runners, as my newest runners started to leak in the rain because the toe was worn through. Now it seems my second last pair of runners is now leaking too. I'll have to revert back to an older pair, I don't know how many pairs ago, so my feet stay nice and dry. Alternatively, I could go and buy a new pair. Duh!

We caught the tram. I like catching the tram, I think it’s a good way to really feel a part of your suburb.

I changed my optometrist appointment to 1.30pm, at the tram stop, as we were a bit late getting to the Pho shop for Pho for lunch, but as it turned out, we still got to the optometrist by the original appointment time. I tried to claim my original appointment time, you know, as it hadn’t been long by then, but I had to wait half an hour for them to fit me in.

A friend of mine tells me that when she wants to cheer herself up, she goes and gets new glasses, or a new phone, two things I hate doing. I hate choosing new glasses.

We both got new glasses. Sam had already had the eye test, he just needed to pick the glasses. We pick them up in a week.

Parents Are Crap At Parenting

I sent a photo of an old man nudist to David, which I have sent him many times before, as it is funny because it bears an uncanny resemblance to what David would probably look like as an old man.

I would even argue that it is barely a nude photo, but the system classified it as a nude photo and I was asked series of questions before my normal text messaging would send it.

WTF is this all about?

I was so distracted by this new over reach of guard rails that I accidentally picked the wrong answer to the question and the system remove my image from my text message altogether.

What the fuck, I thought.

This is what happens when you effectively allow parents to opt out of parenting by legislating for kids level protections, we all are made to be inconvenienced by parents lack of parenting.

If you want to protect children, get parents to do their jobs and monitor what their kids do. 

Don't legislate Big Brother style where we all get effected by the legislation. As an adult, I should be able to judge for myself what I see, and what I don't see, without a computer system questioning me.

Let's put looking after children back into the hands of parents to monitor what their kids see, and don't see, and leave the rest of us out of it.

I haven't looked at porn online since the whole age verification stuff has become a reality. I haven't wanted to hand over any more of my information to anyone online, not since I have been involved in the 4th major data breach.

I don't want to give any more of my information to people online, since companies clearly don't give a shit about keeping it safe. 

It isn't good enough.

We're being fucked over by people with kids. I see friends giving their babies and toddlers their phones and iPads to shut their kids up, and then, apparently, all through the child rearing stage, I can only assume, parents are too god damn lazy to monitor what their little brats are doing online.

And then we all get to pay for parents ineptitude, by having to jump through hoops, give companies data, that they look after about as well as parents monitor their kids online.

Here's a suggestion parents of today, if you are too god damn lazy to look after your kids, don't have them.

You know what else, with all these teenagers who are committing crimes and apparently terrorising Melbourne, we should start charging the parents with the crimes their kids are continually committing, because the parents are responsible for these brats until they are 18 anyway. I wouldn't normally say such a thing, but according to conservative commentators we are in the middle of an emergency.

Sunny Thursday

My electrician who was supposed to come today to do a major re-wire of my fusebox, but didn't turn up. I didn't even hear from him. I could have called, but, you know, it isn't urgent, I keep my $2000 for now, so what the hell. Sam didn't, exactly, agree with that. He's much more 'get onto it' than I am.

"He'll turn up eventually, so what's the drama," I said.

I continued to re-write my 2014 blog posts, just because I am enjoying doing it. It is interesting to see them come together. There were lots of missing days, so I re-wrote my journals posts from then and posted them. (some of those original journal posts were so inadequate, I find, with some of them, I am just making shit up, but I have always said, this is all loosely based on the truth. I mean everything, at least, has a kernel of truth to it, but some days the embellishments, at least, equal the truth) It's interesting what I remember when I start though.

Is it the waste of time olympics? Some people might say it it, but I enjoy doing, so how can it be a waste of time?

I've had a fascination with Joan Armatrading these last few days, so I listened to her while I wrote.

I threw Otto his ball for him while I wrote and listened to music. He never gives up on ball throwing, never. He is relentless with it, he would probably die doing it, given the chance. He is really a lovely boy.

Otto and I went for a walk after lunch, it was a gorgous sunny day, early afternoon.

I always find days with perfect weather to be really relaxing. Satisfying, even.

Essentially, it turned out to be a lazy day on the couch as the sun shone outside, just the sorts of day I like. You know, the thing I do best.

Oh, Annoying HR, There You Are Again

Oh, HR, you have been kind of quiet, how I have not missed you so.

HR asked me to prepare all of this highly sensitive information for them. I wasn't, really, sure why they didn't already have these figures? They do have the information, as it is all information that comes from them in the first place, but they are either too lazy, or too stupid, (I know which one I'm going for) to collate it for themselves.  

I questioned the need for me to do it, but Boris told me to do it. (One of the disadvantages to not doing the Finance Manger's job, especially when you have done the Finance Manager's job, is that, at times, you can get out ranked.) Boris seems to be sucking up to these bitches big time. (Oh, I've been watching too many gay standup comics picking up 'these bitches' from them)

The Giant PonyTail asked me for the info, so being the good little surf that I am, I provided it, spreadsheets with passwords.

Today, as if she just had to be annoying, or stupid, one last time, The Giant PonyTail told me that the passwords didn't work on the spreadsheets. (Oh, I know, we should be discussing the meaning of life)

So, I tried them myself, and they worked just fine. Grrrr!

So, I sent a clarification email. Capitals for the first two digits, then lowercase after that, no spaces. (the only thing I left off at the end was 'stupid')

The Giant (annoying) Ponytail emailed me back, stating that she understood how the passwords work, but they still didn't work.

I sent her new copies of the password protected spreadsheets, which again, I tested first.

No. The passwords don't work. She said she even copy pasted them, like that was something she did on her own initiative.

So, I sent her the spreadsheets without passwords.

Now, I am just waiting to be chewed out for sending sensitive information unprotected. She would. HR are that, I want to say vindictive, and while that is also true, I'll say two faced.

Why do I have to continually deal with these morons. I ask you?

Grrrrr! HR? They should all be shipped off to an island somewhere for the terminally annoying.

Actually, if the country is looking for people to deport, with the racists and the conservative voters, and inarticulate, lying red-haired wannabes, HR clowns could go too.

I did have a run in with one of the Sydney twats. (one of the dumbest) She essentially said to me the equivalent of she couldn't change a spreadsheet because it had already been saved. (I mean as dumb as a box of rocks)

I sent back, I guess what you would call, a borderline, incredulous in tone email response. (I couldn't help it)

The next thing I have The Midget standing in my office, starting with the line, "Your friend the brainless cretin..." (Okay, she didn't say the brainless cretin, that is simply what I heard) 

The Midget and I had a discussion about it. 

Then I pulled out my secret weapon. The Melbourne HR chick is great. Yeah, sure, standing amongst the bunch of her idiot HR colleagues, it wouldn't be hard to shine, but she is genuinely the exception to the dumb bitch HR rule. And not only that, she is really nice and a pleasure to work with (a revelation, I tell you, makes such a change from the snarling, hissing bitches with which I usually have to deal). I put her on the case, and I haven't hear from Bozo the Clown in Sydney again.

A Walk In The Park

 

I left the office early, after thinking 'fuck it' around 2.15pm. 

Sam was ready to take Otto for a walk, when I got home, so we walked to the park.

It was a glorious day for a walk in the park. Sparkling, near perfect day.

There is an interesting feeling about the day when you get out into it early on a work day. I guess it's kind of naughty and nice. 😀

My Day In The Office

It's my day in the office, and you know how much I love that.

I'd finished my breakfast and was just starting to get my shit together and it started to rain. I have to spend, what I condsider, a pointless day in the office, and now I have to make my way there in the rain. Oh, yes, I am very happy about that.

Momentarily, I consider working from home because of the rain, I don't know? Should I?

However, the rain stopped almost as quickly as it started and I suddenly just appear to be a whinger. Haha.

I’m in the office at 6:30am.

The Midget comes to tell me that Boris is sick and won’t be working. Then Boris messages me to say she won’t working like she is rubbing it in. Grrrr!

The yappy American chick starts up as soon as she gets in. I can hear her even with both our office doors closed. Every sentence she utters ends up being semi hysterical by the end of it.

She never shuts up with her annoying American accent.

She banged on today about wanting to know what her mother was thinking when she gave birth to her.

Then she banged on about whether or not her father had the latest iPhone in heaven

Gibberish. I reckon she must just like the sound of her own voice. Truely.

The sun shone outside. Gazing out the window 30 floors up.

1:30pm. I reckon I’m finished for the day. I just have to wait until 3pm now. I’m listening to Joan Armatrading on my headphones. Her jazz album.

I left at 2.25pm. I thought fuck it. Boris was away sick. The Big Poo is still on leave. Just The Midget, and when she disappeared into a meeting, I grab my bag and was out the door as quick as…

It was colder outside than I anticipated, that was kind of unexpected.