Tuesday, December 31, 2013
I learnt that the Australian public can't be trusted to vote in decent human beings to run the nation. The public can't differentiate between decent human beings and self serving, elitist cunts.
I learnt that the general public doesn't really care about the environment, and therefore, I can only assume, they don't care about the future of their children.
Otherwise, maybe, they are just stupid. You've got to wonder?
I'd be happy to interpret the election against the carbon tax another way, but what would that alternative interpretation be?
I was shocked (that is sarcasm) to learn that most super foods are only super because some marketer said it was so.
Don't buy undies in Vietnam. Vietnamese boys have smaller arses than Aussie boys. Vietnamese boys are petite, and you can't stretch Vietnamese boy's undies across Aussie boy's beefy bums and expect them to stay in shape. Six months and they are falling apart.
Sunday, December 22, 2013
I was awake at 8am. I’d been dreaming about schools, no country roads, no tracks and… oh… um… (Sam has now put a computer game on the TV and I can’t think) people were trying to get somewhere, me included. I think there were muddy roads and difficulty travelling.
I got out of bed, the light was still shadowy. I bent over to pick up my laptop from the desk and I involuntarily farted. Burble burble.
“Lovely.” Sam’s voice broke the quiet.
Oops. He was awake now, I thought. So I let the rest of the fart go. It burbled long and low.
“Just lovely,” said Sam.
I don't know to write? It is a quiet Sunday morning. My boyfriend and my dog and my cat are sitting next to me.
The dog tried to play with cat and the cat headed into other rooms.
We watched cats doing funny things on YouTube.
We've done our chores, all done. Back yard sweeping, dusting, vacuuming, kitchen cleaning, clothes washing.
It is overcast and humid, dark and sticky, grey and thick. Lady Gaga sings Applause.
I walked to the supermarket to get milk. I got port wine jelly and blueberries. I also go whole meal bread, thickly sliced for toast.
It was raining as I headed off. My old legal firm umbrella is the umbrella of choice, it’s a golf sized umbrella, it keeps me the driest. I guess, the company had to be good for one thing. That is the only thing about carrying that umbrella, is that it is advertising the “hell” company. I want to get a black texta and write, is a shit firm, and, is a shit place to work, graffiti style on the white panels.
On the way back, I saw an abandoned bag of supermarket shopping, followed by a smashed pair of sunglasses, followed by a discarded pair of, somewhat, stretched pink knickers. My mind reeled with plot lines.
A bit further along, Awesome Dog was sitting on the veranda of his student house, in his canvass pants, with a discerniblebulge, his cute blond-hair-framed face, flushed red, with ever so slightly wonky eyes. He thumbs up’d and muttered, “G’day mate.” I didn’t have Buddy with me, so he didn’t smile broadly and say, “Awesome Dog.”
A bit further along and not far from home, a strapping builder crouched down in front of me and started doing something with the floor of the house he is renovating, facing me was his tan pants, the elastic top of his white undies and the delicate hairs of the top of his furry arse crack.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
The issue was smoking a joint.
The fact is that I think marijuana should be legalised. There is no real reason that it shouldn’t be. Nobody has ever died from a marijuana over dose.
If you substituted the joints in the piece for glasses of red wine, nobody would think anything about it. Alcohol kills how many people a year?
I'm sure there would be an argument that could be made that if all the "boys" boozed off their minds on alcohol in King Street on a Saturday night had smoked a joint instead there would be far less violence and possibly lives saved. Not to mention, dare say, that if they taken ecstasy they'd be hugging each other rather than punching each other.
The only real long term out come of banning drugs is to make a great number of criminals very wealthy.
If we took all of the money away from policing the drug problem around the world, that would include the budget of the jails to house the people who were caught smoking a joint, or whatever it was they were taking, from all around the world. If we put all of that money into the health budget, I am sure, that everyone, including all of the drug addicts, on the planet would have access to the best medical treatment, all around the world.
I think the rich should be taxed. Lower taxes with more emphasis on flat taxes has only made the divide between rich and poor wider, so that social experiment hasn’t worked.
Successive conservative governments have lowered taxes and sold off assets to afford it and now we are broke because of it. We used to be a country that offered free education and free medical. We should try to become that country again.
I think The UN’s powers should be expanded and they should be given authority over food distribution, there is enough food on the planet to feed everybody well. The UN should also be given authority for environmental controls, because modern politicians are too self interested and too piss weak to pass the laws that are necessary.
Otherwise, the human race is simply not going to survive. I don’t really care if the human race survives, it is too self-focused and too selfish and too stupid to really matter, but I know a lot of people do, so lets give this ago.
I think abortion should be uniformly legalised through out the country, there is no substantive reason why it shouldn’t be. I think voluntary euthanasia laws should be passed and yes, tired of life, should be allowed as one of the reasons.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
I left at normal time. I stopped for the last cigarette at the normal place in North Street. I thought those days were behind me, shiver. Still, all the smokers are coming to stay because of the funeral.
I got to work on time. Yadder, yadder, yadder. My (working) life is safe and on time. Keeping busy, with so few demands on my time. You think that would be good, be it isn’t really.
I went to sneak out at lunchtime, 12.30, to have a cigarette before I ate and down came the fucking rain. (Even though I have fessed up at work, I still do it behind their backs.) "@#$%^&*;! Oh, of course!" I don’t think it has rained all morning and it choses this moment to piss down. Bloody hell!
I had my computer in my hand. I slung it over the right hand side of my face, as if a vampire caught out in the morning sun shine. Or a witch in the rain.
I had a mornings worth of work, that I stretched out for the whole day. Yay. So easy. Put my feet up. I wished.
Sam was just making the short walk home from the corner of Gertrude Street to our front gate, when I turned the corner into our street tonight. He smiled and waved.
I went in the back door. He went in the front door. I stopped and patted Buddy at the roller door half expecting Sam to walk up the laneway, but he didn’t. As soon as Buddy heard Sam opening the back door, his ears went up and he leapt out of my grip and sprinted to the house. I was left crouching in the driveway, the roller door up and my car door open, on my own.
Sam decided that we should head straight out into the sunshine, to buy food. Translation – no joints.
“We need to get ready and leave, now! Move, move, move!”
“Oh, come come,” I said. “If you are going to take this ridiculous attitude, I’d better roll one right now, even before I change out of my work clothes. (I always get changed first)
“You still haven’t learnt that if you follow my instructions you will get on better in life.”
I looked at him with the mull bowl in one hand and the mulli in the other. I laughed. “No.”
Sam adopted his “just poisoned” attitude and called for tea. I’ll follow your instructions to anywhere, baby. Sam decided that it was seafood risotto, unless I could come up with a better idea for dinner. I’m short on ideas for food, it is too hard. Thank goodness for Sam.
“I see, you just don’t want to stand there and stir.”
“That’s not true.” It was true.
“So what it your better idea?” I didn’t have one. Looked as though we were having risotto.
So we drank a cup of tea, dunked what was left of our Scotch Finger biscuits. Then we smoked another j, with a sustain objection from he who wants to be obeyed. Once he’d got over his second bout of head spins, we saddled up the dog and headed to Woollies.
We walked down the street to the supermarket. Sam headed inside to do the shopping. Buddy sat down and wouldn’t take another step, all the time gazing in the direction in which Sam had gone.
A cute man in a truck babysitting what looked like his daughter said,
“Look at the doggie,” or some such thing. He smiled at me.
I’ll look at your doggie, I thought.
“Nice dog, mate.”
I smiled back. Cute.
Buddy still wouldn’t budge a muscle. No, nothing. And to all you people who think I was being a wimp, you have never owned a bulldog. They lie down and look sideways at you, as if to say, you’ll never move me. He would not put one paw forward. Not one. Not interested. The sun may have been shining weakly, but I was getting cold. I text Sam to hurry up in there. I accidentally typed “bored” instead of “cold.” Oops.
I dragged Buddy across the road to the sun. Sometimes it works if you cross the road, and on this occasion it did. As soon as he was on the other side. No, that’s as far as I am going, no further forward. The bulldog sat down.
“Goodness me, you can’t wait while I am doing the shopping…” said Sam when he reappeared.
“I meant to type cold not bored.”
“I see,” he replied. “Let’s go.
I stirred the risotto for, what seemed like, hours.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Buddy came inside this morning, while I was having a cigarette on the wicker chairs. When I looked around, Buddy and Sam were cuddled up in the middle of the lounge room floor. After Sam got up to make raison toast, Buddy looked alone in the middle of the lounge room, with a very sad face. Still, not to be perturbed, he just headed off quietly upstairs to find a bed to keep him warm. He is as silent as a mouse when he pulls that move. Sam tried to stop him, but Buddy was determined, so Sam said when he appeared minus dog at the kitchen door.
“Go get him,” was the order.
“He’s your bulldog.”
“He’s your bulldog.”
I had to retrieve Buddy from our bed.
Sam said that the Waterdales will all be here for Xmas, more than likely, as we brushed our teeth. Sam wondered if he’d head OS to visit his parents, he’s been thinking about it for a while.
“You know there will be drama.”
He’s not one for drama. He has wondered if he should visit his parents over Xmas for some time now. I told him he should go if he wants to, he has mentioned it quite few times. I don’t want him to go, but I also don’t want to stop him going either.
I was leaving early this morning, before 8am. Well, I couldn’t have that, so I switched on my PC and pissed about on it.
There were a whole bunch of updates and the computer, of course, was slow to download them. They took forever after I’d finished what I was doing. I went outside and had a cigarette. I went outside and had a second cigarette.
It finished after 8.15, so I had to get my skates on. I still got to work by a minute after 8.30.
We had spongy, creamy, chocolaty layer cake for morning tea. Christine bought it in. I think it was her eighteen year olds birthday cake. I thought about Jason in his new birthday undies momentarily, as I held the spoon over the wedge of cake. Shake of the head. Focus on the triple chocolate portion. Push down the cutlery. The cake was nice, layers of sweet fat.
I ate sushi for lunch. No sweetie.
Sitting in the long line of traffic in Langridge Street, waiting for the impossibly short lights at Hoddle Street, I thought to myself, I drive like a burglar, I don’t need you to let me in. Who needs to be let in, if you drive intelligently, there is always some other doofas who doesn’t have a clue that us smart drivers can always take advantage of.
So don’t look at me, who has sat in the line of traffic for twenty minutes waiting for the green light, to give you anything. If you are stupid enough to get yourself into that mess, get yourself out.
I hate the traffic, it makes me grumpy.
Rich Waterdale died at 8.30am this morning. Mark called and left a message. I skyped him. Rich died with a nurse with him. (sister) Chris was on her way, but she didn’t make it in time.
Mark is trying to change his flight back. The airline is being difficult, call centres and recorded messages.
Sam was home when I got home. We dunked Scotch Fingers in our tea.
“Oh, I made a few mistakes today.” I said to Sam, “I wonder why?”
He replied with his customary, “Er!”
as I passed him the joint.
Sam cooked stir fried vegetables and egg with bitter melon. I hate bitter melon, but he thinks it is good for us.
“I want to see the proof,” I said.
We sat on our fat arses and watched TV. No walking. No leaving the house.
I put together Rich’s funeral photos. Old Rich. Grumpy, cantankerous, generous, inclusive Rich. It must have been hard for him to accept all of his son’s gay lovers, but he did. All of us all say that he was always lovely to every one of us, no exceptions.
Monday, December 09, 2013
I had a cigarette outside on the wicker seats this morning, as Buddy went back to his kennel and didn’t reappear. He reappeared once, to hang a no smoking sign.
It was a very over cast morning driving down Victoria Street. The light was blunted by grey clouds and a still atmosphere, the air was still. Everything was on matt finish, the weather was threatening to turn to something else.
Big rain drops fell before I made it to the smoking spot to have my last cigarette before work. Standing in the street. I had to pull up somewhere new. I had to think quick. I pulled up in front of the pub, badly parked.
The sky was matt grey, the heat arguable. Indecisive. I didn’t bring a jacket, and I had to walk to Vic Gardens at lunchtime to get food, it could be a problem.
Sam sent me an email during the morning to say that I ignored him over the weekend, too fucking out of it, is what I think he would have added if it wasn’t a work email.
We had spongy, coffee marble type cake for morning tea. Cathy bought it in.
The walk to Vic Gardens at lunch time was over cast with the possibility of stronger rain, as there were rain drops falling as I left, in the slight humidity no doubt the rain was causing.
I bought sushi for lunch.
It poured with rain for most of the day. Heavy, pouring rain.
We ate the leftovers of the stuffed turkey roast, it was yum.
Mark called. He has had all of his lower front teeth removed. Apparently, they were a mess underneath, rotting and infected.
He called to give me an update on Rich, who is still struggling along, so nothing had really changed, and Mark was in too much pain to talk for too long.
Mark will be home next Thursday.
Jane called for an update on (grandfather) Rich. I told her what I knew, but then told her she should call (Mark’s sister) Chris.
Emily sent me photos and I pulled together a collection of Rich photos for his funeral.
Sunday, December 08, 2013
At 7am, Buddy woke up, stretched next to me, stretching his front legs out and his neck up, I said to him, “Do you want to go and sleep… er, okay, I did say daddy,” but I swear I would only ever refer to Sam in such away strictly when it is only me and Buddy, I wouldn’t dare utter those words in public, too cutesy. Buddy followed me up the stairs, he powers up, not so elegant on the trip back down. He was straight into the morning-sun filled bedroom and up on to the bed.
“Oh, why did you bring him in here.” You’d think I’d take this as my first clue? But, no.
On the bed, sneeze. That's my bulldog.
Not repentant, I closed the door.
I came down stairs and I rolled my second j.
Marvin Gaye followed Joan.
An hour later, the boyfriend and the bulldog arrived back into the lounge room. "Why would you do that?" Truthfully, that should have been my second clue.
"Don't you want to sleep with you bulldog?" Then I offered him a j. Truthfully, the joint offering was probably the biggest mistake.
He flung open the windows and the doors. The wind blew in cold at 8am.
He's not in favour of the pot head boyfriend. Shake of the head. Not so much.
I pointed out to him that he just got blogged in real time. I wrote it as it happened. He smiled. He switched on his laptop.
"Where's my coffee?"
Leo Sayer followed. He was a great song writer, and singer. The man can sing.
Muesli, milk, banana and honey. 9am.
Sam played Diablo, accepting the "poison stick" intermittently.
The bulldog got washed. The front and back gardens got swept.
There was a walk to the supermarket, where I was promised free range at whatever I wanted. It was a “sweetie” run and I could buy whatever I wanted. Could I eat all I wanted was also checked, in case there was trickery afoot. Yes, apparently, I could. Then Sam said he would come too.
Donuts and cakes were dismissed immediately. “No!” The Venetian cookies were scratched from the shopping fairly early. Actually, we wanted Scotch Fingers and Venetian cookies, but they had to be the same if we wanted the “special” to apply, so we got the Scotch Fingers as Sam wanted to dip into his tea. Ice creams were scratched too, but we were allowed to get a tub of ice cream, which we weren’t allowed to eat today. Chips were allowed but, again, they couldn't be eaten today.
We ate a whole packet of Scotch Fingers dipping them into two cups of tea each. Yum. I love the way the short bread biscuit goes all “puddingy in your mouth.”
We ate rolled turkey with macadamias and cranberry stuffing and roast vegetables.
Saturday, December 07, 2013
It is the most perfect day in Melbourne today. Sparkling sunshine.
We ate Pho with David, he's been waking up crying every morning for three months. He denies it is to do with the cocaine binge he and his boyfriend did in Amsterdam in August. He seemed fine today, but Mike has packed his bags and gone somewhere for a break. David can be a nightmare, although I never let him when we lived together. I'd slap him and tell him there were people in the world who didn't have access to fresh water.
Sam and I walked home in the sun. The sky is a beautiful blue.
Anthony called to say he was expecting a lovely dinner tonight, he'll be over soon. He wouldn't believe he and Leah were supposed to come for dinner last night. At least Leah messaged and apologised. He insists it was tonight. He wants to see Leah's apology texts when he got here.
"It was definitely tonight, don't be ridiculous "
That usually indicates he's back on just the "one" wine with lunch.
"Just the one bottle. I'm perfectly fine."
We're eating fried rice, despite the pre-approved menu being fish. Anthony always likes to check, maybe suggest an alternative, subtly, if the suggested dish was not to his liking. I made a mistake, I should have check with chef before making any promises. He'll have fried rice and like it.Being the perfect host, I sedated everybody and out on stand up comedy. I must admit, I was, shall we say, sleep on the couch. The night drifted away.
Friday, December 06, 2013
Both Leah and Anthony bailed. Leah, at least, messaged to say she couldn’t come, Anthony, nothing. Nelson Mandela died, so I just assumed Anthony was deep in morning over the great father’s demise. Still, Leah only responded to my where-are-you-text. I’m guessing if she hadn’t heard from me, she wouldn’t have messaged. You know, you just know sometimes.
Somehow, I’d allowed myself to think about smoking this evening. And when I said that I wanted some, Sam simply said go call Guido. Guido messaged back in minutes, he was just down the road, come down and see me, which I did. I had it in my hands only an hour after I first truly thought about it.
Sam and I ate leftover noodles.
I spent the rest of the weekend stoned off my bonce.
Thursday, December 05, 2013
I haven’t done any walking in my new running shoes, as yet. The new running shoes that I bought because my boyfriend has taken to calling me fat boy.
“Maybe, you should walk to work,” said Sam, just as he walked out the front door, just before I headed out the backdoor to the car.
I should walk to work, but it is currently just a bit far, it would take me close to an hour, and I currently start at 8.30am. And I’d need a shower when I got there, as some of the cute boys do… but, too hard.
Everybody drives with their windows closed in the mornings. All of them. Every window closed. The sun glints off the closed glass as I can only imagine their air conditioning whirring away inside. The selfishness of man, wasting the world’s resources for their own comfort. Not to mention, that we are becoming so cossetted, so protected, so well, lets face it, beige for no real good reason. Not me, I have both my windows open letting the fresh air gush in. It was, actually, lovely this morning.
What to do today? The same problem as yesterday. (main boss) Peter appears to be away today too, so there is nobody to check up on me. Lovely.
Daydream? Read the news? Piss around? All of those things, and then some more.
I started to clean up, throw away all of my working papers that I’d generated thus far, but no longer needed. I started thinking back over the old days at the black law firm. I’m not sure, now, what prompted me to think about it? I think it was a discussion about the new bullying legislation we’ve had recently. I’d written on a pad, a doodle of regret about those times at the black law firm. It was my regret not having sued their arses for bullying, I would have had an excellent case. It was those notes I read and then threw away in my clean up.
The Gord Bitch became my boss, after the mentally unstable Anorexia Stupenda bullied my lovely boss Beck out of the place. Rebecca Gord, she didn’t have a fucking clue. She was nice to my face, oh so nice, but she blamed all of her incompetence on me behind my back. She had no qualifications for the Beck’s job and I’m still pretty certain she was licking out Ms Chest Pains on a regular basis to get the role. She had to have been. Favourites, that’s what she was. She was forever in Ms Chest Pains office with the glass door slid shut.
I should have got the role, I was the natural choice, but of course, I wasn’t one of the sisterhood, I didn’t suck clit. (2016 – oh could you imagine, in that den of miserable cunts? I made a lucky escape out of there)
The Gord Bitches’s boss was Ms Chest Pains – who tried to do so much she constantly suffered from chest pains in her late 30’s, she told me once in a rare spasm of sisterly generosity. She was the greatest disappointment, Ms Chest Pains, as she was a colleague once, but she abandoned all of that for status and prestige of the upwardly mobile career of middle management. She told me when she was a friend about the chest pains.
Our head of department was The moody/mentally unstable Anorexia Stupenda. She’d always been a piece of miserable work. The rapid weight loss and the excessive exercise regime only exacerbated her natural unpleasantness.
The problem you have when you have a whole line of female bosses, is that start to menstruate together and then they become diabolical. (As told to me by a senior, female HR manager) They become the proverbial Pack of Blood Bitches. I was simply waiting for my eligibility for long service leave to click over to resign, otherwise I would have got out long before I did. I would have resigned the day Beck did. But, I figured, that it was the only time I’d ever get a long service leave pay out and I wanted it. Upon reflection, that was a mistake, no amount of money could make up for the treatment I suffered at the hands of the black law firm and, as the IT Director called them when he was managed out of the place, the Witches of Eastwick.
I thought about those days when that Gord Bitch became my unbearable boss after Beck left, after Anorexia Stupenda had bullied Beck out of the place, before Anorexia Stupenda started on me. The day I sabotaged the Gord Bitch, just the thought bought me a whole lot of satisfaction all over again. It was a great retribution. It was a thrill, as though I was getting away with something.
I chose to sabotage the Gord Bitch because she repeatedly stabbed me in the back, as she smiled and gazed into my eyes and told me she had no problems with me, or my work. All the time she was feeding lies to Ms Chest Pains to cover up for her own mistakes, who in turn, I can only presume, was telling Anorexia Stupenda.
Anorexia Stupenda was calling me into her office to have performance issue discussions, which enabled me to realise I was being done in by the Gord Menace. It didn’t take too many meetings, with the astoundingly ugly Anorexia Stupenda (2016 – okay, personal attacks are not okay) to work out that some sort of retribution was needed.
The Gord Hag, when she clearly wasn’t coping, which was often, would leave early, there by leaving me to do as I pleased. I selectively destroyed documentation in those windows of opportunity. I never destroyed enough to create a pattern, but I destroyed enough to make the Gord Bitch look incompetent or, at least, more incompetent. It just started off with some letters she had left to post. She said something like,
“I’m glad I have finally got that done.” And then turned and left at 3.45pm, with the look of distain she reserved, it would seem, exclusively for me. That was what gave me the idea in the first place.
I was cleaning up, ready to leave, I had that mail in one hand, to take to the mail room on my way out, and some documents in the other hand to shred. I nearly shredded the wrong handful by accident, just stopping myself before I did, swapping hands.
“Oh you idiot,” I said out loud.
Then when I looked down to see what I had in my hand for the mail, I saw that it was Gord’s superannuation paperwork being sent to all the funds. It was a big job, a monthly chore, so many super funds. It just came to me in a split second, you know, like a light globe moment.
“I’m glad I have finally got that done,” her words repeated in my head. I’m so pleased, that you are pleased, I thought.
And then, I simply pushed the letters into the still spinning shredder without another thought. That was how it started. It gave me such a fucking thrill, I can hardly describe it. I felt like an espionage agent as I strode to the lift, my dirty little secret hidden amongst the indecipherable contents of the shredders belly.
I told myself I wouldn’t do it again. I told myself that it was really wicked.
But then the remaining four months had to tick over before I could resign. And the Gord Whore continually blamed me for mistakes she had made. I was called into Anorexia Stupenda’s Office on and off, for mistakes I never made. I was told what the issue was and, so often, my only truthful answer was, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
So, the destruction of the superannuation documentation escalated, deliciously as I had absolutely nothing to do with that work, that was all the Gords doing and she couldn’t blame me for it in any way. Well, I guess she could…
I think my greatest triumph was the HR girl, was it Hannah, who came back to the black law firm to work for 6 months, I think? That idiot Gord bitch had messed up Hannah’s superannuation, somehow joining Hannah up to the companies default fund, rather than her choice of fund. Hannah was understandably annoyed, but even more so when The Gord Idiot fumbled the corrections. I think she messed up the corrections twice.
After many phone calls and much effort by the Gord Liar the problem was fixed. Hannah was furious, but placated that it was finally fixed. The Gord Hag had completed all of the paperwork and had written out a cheque and the proper payments were being made. I listened to the Gord Bitch apologise profusely and promise sincerely to Hannah that it was all fixed. Definitely! She was posting off all the paperwork and the payment that day. All done.
The Gord Bitch grovelled, oh the simpering was almost too much for me the stomach, and Hannah seemed to be pacified. No she wouldn’t escalate the problem to the HR Director now that the Gord Bitch had promised, seemingly on her mother’s grave, that it was all fixed up. Definitely. No exceptions.
All I could think was, I need to get my hands on that paperwork. I entertained myself with the thought, not really believing that I would. I didn’t really care, just the thought was enough. Then, as luck would have it, the Gord Whore left early for the day, tossing the paperwork into the mail tray, telling me not to forget it.
Don't forget it. I watched the Gord Bitch remove her fowl body, stinking of inauthenticity, from the office, disappearing through the door to the lift wells. All that work, I thought. So many mistakes. Such an angry, position of authority, employee. All fixed now.
Oh, you can count on it," sounded Gord's insipid tones. Let me just apologise again, I got a thrill, which I enjoyed just a little too much, as my hand wrapped it self around the multiple envelopes.
The shredder was a big mother, there was no amount of paperwork that it couldn’t cope with. It went zzzzzzz. Lovely. Gone, in a millisecond. I shivered all over with excitement. It was one of my funnest moments.
It would have been delicious. I only wished I could have been there for that next phone call from Hannah.
Hannah would have been beside herself with rage, when her super was not fixed. The Gord Bitch would have been at a loss to understand what had happened. She was dumb, really. She knew a bit, but really she got by on her looks and her rat cunning. But, I tell you, her looks were beginning to fade when I left. Her face was puffy, she had bags under her eyes. Hannah would have added to that degeneration by the time she was finished with her. Hannah was connected at the black law firm, she had friends in very high places. She was a very senior employee only removed from her position by child birth. I like to think that my effort with Hannah’s super drama expedited the Gord Bitch’s exit from the company.
But, I had resigned by then and I had left a few days later.
It would have been great.
I heard that the Gord Bitch resigned not long after, apparently, of her own choosing, but, you know, maybe not? The only disappointment with it was that I never got the feedback on what happened, due to my handi work. Sad really. I hope, in my own way, that I added to the Gord Bitches demise. I can only hope. She was way out of her depth. She had no idea what she was doing. I can only assume it caught up with her. Ha ha.
And I wonder if she ever realised that, as Sebastian loves to say, you should never cross a queen?
I should have put in a bullying claim, I really should have. Still, it does do me good to think about my retribution occasionally. Ah, good times, snatched from the jaws of bullying.
The day drifted away after that. I did nothing much before I went to lunch. Noodles. Yum!
Then it was back to work. Yay.
I was going to go for a walk, in my lunch hour, but the weather had turned, yet again. We are back to winter, incomprehensibly. We are back to cold and overcast with rain. I was almost going to brave the elements, I went outside to gauge how it was all looking and it just looked a little too unpredictable to risk it. It looked as though it could really rain down hard at any moment.
So I went back to my desk and read the online news.
Shayleene and Cate went to Vic Gardens to get me a chocolate bar. (Yes, that will help)
Peter came in early afternoon.
Christine went shopping.
I twiddled my thumbs for the first part of the afternoon.
I guess I should be concerned about doing my work and being productive? Why exactly? I’m not going to get a good performance review? I’m not going to get a performance review at all? I’m a temporary worker. It is up to them to make sure I am kept busy. I don’t get tenure. I’m out of here in less than two months. I don’t have a career that I have to attend to.
It is better that way, as most bosses are cunts and they will use any employee’s performance review as a means to further their own careers. Performance reviews are bullshit.
Wednesday, December 04, 2013
I’m on 90 kilos, it has just crept up on me in the last year, or so. I haven’t smoked for two weeks though. The no smoking must count for something. I have to lose ten kilos. Fifteen. I’m in denial. I still haven’t gone for a walk in my new running shoes. I've been a lazy twat, I'm still being a lazy twat. I must get into it, because when I do I lose weight fairly easily. It drops off easily, usually.
The sun tried to shine as I drove down Victoria Parade. It did a bit. The traffic was fairly easy. Cruising down the parade I have it easy in that sense, 10 minutes to work. I must remember to get a job in the CBD that I can work to... with Sam. I like walking to work with him. I like spending all of my time with him. We chatter away all the way/ all the time/ all our lives.
Three days with nothing to do? I couldn’t decide if that is good, or bad?
Sam stressed about Buddy and wanted to take him to the vet tonight. I’m not sure what the vet was going to do, take Buddy’s temperature with a thermometer up his bum. Dogs always look weird with they are having their temperature taken analy. They have a special face just for it. I can’t remember Buddy exactly, but my previous dog, my Rottweiler, used to get a very strange look on his face, like how I imagine a straight boy would look if he got a gay boy’s finger up his arse.
We googled sick bulldogs all day. It was so confusing. It was all forums and people self diagnosing. So instead I sent Sam pictures of bulldogs with ice packs on their heads.
I decided to read the latest financial journal that (minor boss) Cathy said we should all read. I got the feeling that she was going to test us somehow on the updates and legislative changes, being the over achieving type that she is. There didn’t seem to be much in it. I think she was over reaching, to be frank. You know, a busy mind is an active mind… er… um… whatever.
I read the cover of The Age. I’ve maxed out the number of articles that I can read per month, or whatever the time frame is. Usually, I don’t care as there are lots of online news platforms. But, I worked out that if you take the title of The Age article you want to read and just Google that, the system will let you read it if you access it that way. Great Age, really likely to make people subscribe.
It went dark early in the day, late in the morning, and then it rained like a bitch for most of the rest of the day. Every time I looked out the window the rain seemed to be coming down. What is with this crazy arse weather? It is even weird for Melbourne, you all have to agree.
Brrrrr! It was a nice day to be inside.
The sun was almost shining when I walked out to the car at the end of the day. I text Sam as the car warmed up telling him to bring samosas. He said no. “No!”
Buddy was very excited when I got home. He was a bundle of energy. He was waiting at the roller door when it opened and from there he was all go go go He was clearly feeling much better. He came zipping out the front with me as I got the rubbish bins. He came barrelling up the stairs and hopped straight up on the bed as I got changed out of my work clothes. I felt a bit tired after work and I lay down on the bed with him. Then the two of us wrestled o the bed until we heard the click of the front gate and the key in the lock of the front door.
He was still excited when Sam got home. Very obviously he was feeling better. Yay!
Sam bought home pork buns. Yum, yum. He said he wasn’t going to, but he did. Yay!
Sam made noodles and we watched the Big Bang Theory. Would I lie to you? QI. It was a quiet night in front of the teli.
Tuesday, December 03, 2013
I left home early, a few minutes before 8am. I’m not exactly sure how that happened, it wasn’t intentional. It was bright and I was driving into the sunshine as I drove down Victoria Parade. I couldn’t see very well, but, I think, that was mostly due to my windscreen needing a wash, than the glare. Lovely sunny morning drive, who cares if you can’t see. Vision is optional. Oh come on, it is early in the week. I haven’t even woken up yet.
What was I going to do today, I’m still a bit light on for work. Ha ha. Er? Cathy had said to me yesterday afternoon, that if I wanted a break from what I was doing, there were a couple of things I could do. So, I got onto those things first thing this morning. I made it fill in most of the day. Something pretty simple, I stretched it out.
A break from what I was doing? Really? What did she think I was doing?
Christine was away with her son’s 18th birthday, so there was nobody behind me looking at what was on my screen. So, I read the news for a greater part of the day. E news. That is only fulfilling for a few hours, really, but I made do. Ha ha. It was a struggle but I made do.
What do they think that I am doing? I mean I ask you? I have two bosses, neither of who are talking to each other. That is how I get away with it. One clearly thinks I am doing something for the other. Shrug. While the other one thinks the same. To be fair, I’m 30% of my time in one department and 70% in the other at the moment I’m in the 70% which isn’t her time allocation.
On my way out the door I said, “Good night everybody, see you tomorrow.” Like I do every night. It is one thing I learned from the black law firm, you can’t be too nice to everybody. (if you don’t want it to come back and bite you on the arse)
“Monday,” said Cathy, peeking over the top of her computer.
Monday? What? “Pardon?” I said. What is she talking about?
“I won’t be in until Monday,” said Cathy. “I am spending two days with my mum and then I am taking Friday off.”
“Oh well,” I said. Why wasn’t I told. “Enjoy that.”
She smiled. Spending time with elderly parents, was I being rude?
I turned and headed out the door. Three days to do nothing, I thought. Yowser! I shivered at the thought. Three days to do nothing sounds good in theory, but at work that can become really boring, really quickly. It is always better to have too much work than not enough. Now it will be three days when nobody will be watching what I am doing in any way, shape, or form. Boo hoo/Yay!
Everybody loves me. I need to get out of there before they all twig, I often think. I’m a contractor, why do I care, I think after that.
Sam bought home samosa to eat before we went to North Melbourne. I post my tax to my accountant, but Sam still goes to see his. We had to be there by 7pm. It was the same place as in previous years, Queensberry Street. Buddy and I both went. I walked Buddy as Sam met with the accountant. She was half an hour late. Bitch! She was scared of Buddy and wanted me to move him away from the doorway when she got there. We were sitting on the front step waiting. Cow! She just kind of stood on the footpath and raised her shoulders up and down, rather than talking, like a half whit. Then she charged Sam $50 extra to process the contract work he did for his old company. Bitch! said Sam.
Buddy and I walked to Errol Street. I like North Melbourne, with its wide, open streets and its wide footpaths and its charm. It has a relaxed calm that Fitzroy has lost. We walked back, but Sam wasn’t ready. Buddy climbed into the car as soon as I opened the door as if he’d had enough. Sam text that he wouldn’t be ready for a while, so Buddy and I walked in the other direction, down Queensberry Street to where it tips over an embankment and seems to come to a stop at Munster Terrace. I want to live on Munster Terrace. What a cool address. We walked to Arden Street and then to Dryburgh Street. We met up with two curly-haired dogs that were being walked by two poofs. And older guy and a younger guy. I bet the older guy hates being described in that way. Older. He wasn’t old, he was just the older one. The younger guy was handsome. And kind of blushed, cute.
We were heading home around 8.30pm. We drove to Woollies so Sam could buy chicken to make Indonesian Chicken. Buddy and I sat parked illegally in a drive way. Somehow Sam missed us – the guy in the Porsche was leaving just as Sam walked by and he got distracted – and the next thing he was texting us from the round a bout up the road.
“How could you miss us?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Don’t question me!”
“Really? That is the best you can come up with?”
“Do I need to come up with better?”
“Ha ha! Walking back to you now.”
Buddy wouldn’t eat his food. He ate a little bit, not much though. We tried to feed him pieces of chow, he ate some pieces but he spat other pieces out.
Monday, December 02, 2013
He's also been farting, like something disgusting turning to vapour and leaking out his arse. He has been clearing rooms with every brrrrrrp! OMG! Like nothing you have ever smelt in your life.
But, it is the cursory glance at the food bowl and then the turn of his head as though he just couldn't possibly, that is the most worrying part of it all.