If I could... meme

If I could be in two places at once: @ home with Sam & invisible in next door in Tommy’s bed room when he gets undressed and goes to bed.

If I could give away a fortune – to who: stem cell research

If I could sing one song to a loved one it would be: Ain’t No Sunshine

If I could fly – I'd spread my wings and take Sam by the hand and sore into the blue...

If I could make one dream come true – it would be: to spend one more day with Tom.

If I could change one thing about my image: Much more confidence

If I could clone a physique, it would be: a blemish free, well built 21 year old

If I could choose the lead role in any movie it would be: some kind of road movie, driving across the country with a handsome guy in a historic sports car

If I could turn back time I would: go back to The Exchange and find my pub buddy Ian and say yes (I’d just come out, and Ian never actually asked me, even though my mate Rick said Ian wanted to)

If I could fix one thing in this world it would be: inequality

Easter

"What a trip!"

Last puff on a spliff.

"Sins neutralised."

"Ready to beam up, Godot."

Music Critic

Sam and Brun went to bed. I stayed up later with Otto.

If I go to bed too early, I wake up way too early.

I pissed around with AI.

Later, I realised I hadn't cleaned the kitchen, so I put some Bette Midler on while I cleaned up. Thighs & Whispers. I've delete the three awful tracks and added Martha, It Should Have Been Me, and Here Comes The Flood. (I love electronic albums) I would usually listen to music on my head phones, but this time I put if on the lounge room sound system.

I've been on a bit of a Bette Midler kick lately, after Mark sent me the track, Martha, the other day saying he'd never heard it.

Otto was under the coffee table asleep. As soon as I put the music on, he pulled himself out from under the coffee table, looked around as if he was saying, What is this noise? I'm not staying here and listening to this. I'm going to bed. And he took himself off to bed.

It was funny. It made me laugh. Everyone is a fucking critic.

"Everything okay in the critic section?" I called after him as his cute little arse disappeared out of sight.

Apparently not.

"It was worse before I fixed it." That made me laugh some more.

The Door Slammed You On The Fat Arse On The Way Out, Tony, You Just Didn't Feel It

I had to do some final remuneration figures for Fat Tony's demise, er, departure, all the tax routes breaks, the shit they package, etc, you know, that sort of thing.

After I had done them and sent them off, I saw that I'd made a mistake. Oh damn! So, I re-worked the figures and was about to send them to the Great PonyTail when I thought - my actual thoughts - this bitch will make such a song and dance about these mistakes, because, I am pretty sure, she is addicted to the drama, LOVES the drama, especially if it is vindictive and on someone other than herself. So, you know what, none of them are much smarter than a box of rocks, when it all comes down to it, and I pulled my finger away from the send button at the very last moment.

It's a couple of thousand K. Awe, poor Tony.

What to do?

Owning up to it, which is what I should do, is a bit like kicking an own goal with this lot and none of them have the capacity to look at those figures and pick up the error. None of them are Sheldon Cooper, lets face it.

Tony was the slackest arse around, always missing deadlines, and schedules and things he had to do, more often, than not, blaming it on anyone he could, other than himself.

If I own up, The Giant PonyTail will come down shrieking doing cartwheels through our department to the Big Poo's door, (she loooooooves running to The Big Poo) pointing and calling me a 'mistake maker' and demanding a Royal Commission into what went wrong like the odious cow that she is.

You know, my perverse side sees it as 2K for all your shit we had to put up with, Fat Tony, too incompetent to realise you've been ripped off 2K. It makes me chuckle, it really does,

The only one I have to be concerned about is The Midget, with her feverish little gaze, and her habit of pawing over the figures to find the very last morsel to shore up her yearly bonus. Oh yes, it is she I have to worry about.

Still. Shrug! The genuine joy it gives me to know I won in the end, Fat Tony, kind of out weighs being caught out by The Midget.

"Oh, really, a mistake, you say?" Vague look.

What is she going to do? I didn't get a pay rise, or a bonus, this year. (Are some of you wondering right about now that you may have worked out why? Oh, stop it.) so that threat is off the table. She can't demote me. Can she? Nah? No one below me, as such.

Sack me? Go on. It would at least make my mind up about my procrastination with resigning.

Does this make me look bad? Yeah, sure it does. But, it is delicious. (he rolls the S on the end of that word multiple times)

Let's just look at it as an allegory about kindness, or lack there of, in the corporate world.

Feeling Better

Boris called me this morning and asked me if I was feeling better.

"Yes, I'm feeling better," I said. "I just felt like I was going to be sick yesterday."

"I didn't think you looked well in our meeting (with the midget)," she said. "You didn't look like your normal self."

"Oh." No, that was me being pissed off. "I didn't feel good, no."

"Well as long as you are feeling better today."

Yes, I am home today. "Yes, I feel better," I said.

What can I say? I am a good actor.

And today? They all (not Boris) seem to have taken their stupid pills.

Monday in the Office

I was in the office begrudgingly. I had a meeting with Boris and The Midget scheduled to get me into the office.

I was going to take a sickie, i um'd and ah'd about that, as the sun came up, but I also wondered if Boris would reschedule for Tuesday making me to go to the office then.

Nyr! I couldn't risk it. It would be infuriating. I might just resign on the spot, and I still haven't quite decided to do that, or not?

Oh I know, no one procrastinates like I do.

We have an American chick in our department who never shuts the fuck up. It is a continual stream of American drawl yap from her.

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

Why do I have to put up with this yappy halfwit, I asked the universe? Did her parents tell her she was beautiful too often?

I don't have to put up with this working from home, I find myself muttering to myself.

I started scheming to pull a half day sick day from 11am.

I left at 1pm. Lovely. 

Boris said, take care, when I told her I didn't feel well, almost made me feel guilty. Almost.

It was a spectacular day, great weather. (there is something about being out in the sunshine in the middle of the day, when you should be some where else, that is so satisfying)

I came home and played around with my old blogs.

After that, we took the dogs for a walk.

I Wanted A lazy Track Suit Pants Kind Of Sunday

We cleaned, of course, it is Sunday after all, and my boyfriend is bossy keen to keep the house clean.

I did the vacuuming, as it is my job.

I was suggesting early that we should just order mango deserts from Hungry Panda and put a movie on, but pretty much, as I was saying that, the sun came out like a blooming flower and diminished my bargaining power quite significantly.

Not longer after, after we'd settled back down, Sam said, "Oh, should I just go to the supermarket?"

"Oh, yes," I agreed smartly. I was pretty keen for a lazy, stay at home, Sunday. Again, thank you fucking universe, the sun came out brightly illuminating the world beautifully, and Sam said, "I'm going to have a shower." And we all know that is code for, get ready, we are going out to get lunch.