The new TV still in its box

Buying the New TV

This morning, I felt mean about Sam getting shitty about me not paying attention to the big TV buying and in my attempt to be make up for it, the buying of the giant TV somehow was back on. Damn it. So quickly it happened, it spun my head. It was all in the decision that a 55 inch TV was too big and that a 49 inch TV was more suited to our lounge room. That decision necessitated me agreeing to buy a new TV, even if that wasn’t, exactly, what I meant.

Sam left at 8am, with a whistle on his lips. I waved him good bye, as usual, knowing I had lost the battle over the large TV.

I pissed around on Facebook, looked at carsales.com and watched icon4X4 videos on Youtube. Buddy sat in my lap. I wrapped us both up in the grey woollen blanket, it was cold. Milo came and snuggled in under the blanket as well, so I had a bulldog and a cat sitting in my lap, which is no mean feat.

Then it was lunch time. Easy morning.

4pm. Sam wanted me to call JB HiFi in Thomastown and Nunawading to find out the availability of 49 inch TVs, neither were answering very quickly. Well, the receptionist answered straight away, but the TV department wasn’t picking up. The on-hold voice never stopped talking. NEVER. Yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap. Jesus fuck! And the departments eventually did pick up, thank the fucking planet. They both had two in stock.

Sam was home by 4.30pm. We headed out to Thomastown to JB to look at a new big TV. Thomastown, because I was thinking it was just passed Bell Street and that the freeway to the eastern suburbs would be bumper to bumper by that time of day. Of course, Thomastown is a long way passed Bell Street. Never mind, the traffic was manageable for a Friday night.

JB wasn’t so helpful, none of the sets we wanted to look at were on display. And the shop assistant didn’t seem so keen to get them. Sam wanted to look at the remotes – to see how easy the system was to use – but the shop assistant wasn’t even keen to get them.

Sam knew, exactly what type of TV he wanted, one with a Android operating system.

So, we went to Harvey Norman next door and the guy was much more helpful. The shop assistant was great. As I’d managed to get the size of TV down from 55 inch to 49 inch, that is what we bought, a Sony 49 inch.

In the same business park was BevMarks not far from where the car was parked. We have been talking about buying a new bed base ever since we bought the tempur mattress last year, the year before. The shop assistant was lovely, very helpful, nothing was too much trouble. And we bought a new bed frame for our room.

We were home by 9pm. We got Thai take away diner.

Looking At the New TV

We went to the body corporate meeting for Sam’s house in Brunswick. Oh yes, the dreaded body corporate meeting. Kill me now. Sam, as you probably know, doesn’t drive, so I have to drive him, every year. It is only once a year, though, I’m sure it is a legislative obligation thing before the EOFY. It rained heavily just as we were leaving. Yay!

Virtually none of the owners turned up, which made me buzz with excitement thinking it could only lead to a short meeting. This is unusual, as normally all the owners are there, with a couple of them always banging on about how beautiful the townhouses were when their mothers were living there attending to the garden. Oh, shut the fuck up, please! Thankfully they weren’t there.

Neither was the guy who I am sure is involved in organised crime. He is never in his place, he spends most of his time OS. He has shifty eyes and can never really explain what he does. Or why he is nearly always behind in his payments, or why, sometimes, he is way ahead.

Oh, I don’t know?

Thankfully, it has little to do with me. I just sit on the side lines like Barbra Streisand at the poker game in Funny Girl.

We ate Nepalese food in Sydney Road.

Sam has been on about buying a large TV lately. I have fended off the idea successfully for some time, not wanting a cinema for a lounge room, but it seems I am now losing the battle.

We went to Harvey Norman in Preston on Bell Street to look at big TVs. Sam gets chatting to the shop assistant straight away. I still don’t know about a cinema screen in the lounge room. I start texting Jill instead of listening to Sam. She, of course, is no help, she says she wishes she knew we were going TV shopping, she would have come too. Sam is walking between TVs with the shop assistant. He is giving me looks. There are lots of screens, it is all a big mind boggling. I keep chatting to Jill. Sam gives me exasperated eyes. Suddenly, he is walking off. I follow. He has cracked the shits and is heading to the car, because I was, in his considered opinion, bitching to Jill on messenger and not taking the giant TV buying seriously.

So, good job, no giant TV to ruin the lounge room. Bad me!

Bolognese for Dinner

I made Bolognese for dinner. Midmorning till I headed out to meet Sam for lunch. I found that I even liked it. It was fun cooking. Some music and the kitchen to myself, it was enjoyable. I thought I should do it some more. Why not?

I used to cook with my mum when I was a young teenager until I leaned to drive and could leave the house on my own. Lottie and I in the kitchen on Saturdays afternoon, me cooking, she doing whatever she was doing. So, much to the surprise of a lot of my friends, I know how to cook.

Sam cooks and I clean, that has always been our agreement. But, you know, now I am off work, retired quite possibly, I guess I could cook from time to time, especially if I find I like it. Friends have told me that 50 is too young to retire, and my answer has always been, “Watch me.” Oh, I don’t know if I am retired, or not. But, I can tell you one thing, I was finding work less and less fulfilling, And I guess I can’t sit on my arse for the next 40 years and watch Youtube? (Can I?) Gotta do something, if I am not getting on with that great Australian novel.

I’d do that job with my old boss, Beck, but all my friends tell me it is bad form to wish Mel’s (who has the job now) cancer back just to obtain gainful employment. Rachel (even if it was she who said to put Mel’s name in my freezer) Jill, Mark, David, all the people from who I take my advice tut-tut and shake their heads when I suggest it. That from one of them who voted for Tony Abbot, which I feel is far worse crime.

When will Tony Abbot ever just shut the fuck up? Mate, when will you realise, you are yesterday's news. 
Nobody likes to get dumped, buddy, we all know it hurts, but if you are still stamping you foot and herumphing about the place in a sulk, as you seem to be doing, buddy, you just begin to look sad. 

How Hard It Is? Or Do I Expect Too Much?

How hard it is? 

Or do I expect too much?

I ask you?

We have quite a gap under our front door and on these cold days, weeks, quite a breeze blows in and cools the house considerably. The hallway leads to the rest of the house, as you would expect, upstairs and downstairs. So, we have a door sausage that solves the problem neatly and easily. The problem being, the housemates can only manage to push the sausage towards the front door after they come in, most of the time. And in this case, near enough is just not good enough. Somewhere near the gap under the door does not, in fact, stop any of the cold air coming in.

Really, I think, the purpose of the sausage is quite easily to understand. And approximately somewhere near the gap under the door, is obviously not going to work.

Really? Is that too hard a concept to grasp?

Ha ha, just another thing to complain about. Maybe, I need to give sausage lessons?

"Now take your sausage in your hand like this..."

Just About To Piss Yourself

Don't you hate it when you are busting for a piss and the cord in your track pants pulls into a knot, just as you are finally standing in front of the bowl ready to go.

That sense of urgency quickly turns to desperation, as you start pulling at the cord, worried you are about to piss yourself.

OMG! Your hands start to shake. Your knees start to shake. Your mouth goes dry, as you can imagine the warm fluid pooling in the front of your track pants. You think of Stewart, that boy who was always crying in grade 3 with a wet patch on the front of his shorts, you wonder what happened to him?

The knot is tight, like a clenched fist. You pull at it! And you pull at it! And you pull at it! And you pull at it! And nothing seems to be working, the knot doesn't want to let go. No movement. Nothing.

All the time, you can't quite see what is stopping it, from the angle you are looking? You neck starts to hurt from the odd strain.

You always knew there was no god, and you didn't need this proof, you think. If there is a purpose to everything, what is the purpose to this?

You pull at it! You pull at it! And you pull at it! And you pull at it again.

AH!

You consider getting scissors and cutting the cord.

You consider tearing the front of your track pants open.

You consider just pissing yourself, I mean, how bad could it be? (Fuck it! You have to do washing anyway)

Your fingers ache. Your legs shake. You head spins.

And then it gives. Hallelujah! For no apparent reason. Who cares why. The cord is undone. You can stop imagining the warm trickle of fluid down your inside leg, like you are going to feel when you are 80 years old. Still, no time to linger with the sweet smell of success, you have to get those pants down and step forward and... and... and... ah, the relief. The whole world shifts back into its correct frame, panic stations are over, the alarm ringing in your ears can stop. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Thank fuck, you think!

Not This Tired Old Internet Scam Again

4pm my phone rings. Nobody really calls on my home phone any more, except scammers and thieves. The government now collects our metadata, but they don't seem to be able to stop the criminals calling in.

“I’m calling you from the technical support department from your internet provider…”

Oh please, not this tired old scam again? “I’m sorry,” I say, “from where are you calling me?” (just making sure I have heard correctly)

“Telstra. I’m calling you from Telstra. There is a problem with your computer, which I can help you with…”

“I’m not with Telstra…”

“You are, you just don’t realise that you are.”

“I’m sorry…”


“Telstra owns the phone lines, so they are your service provider, even if you don’t realise they are,” he says. “Are you in front of your computer? It will take no time to fix. What are your log in details?”

These guys are very confident, I have had them argue when I have told them they are scam artists. I have even had one guy tell me once that I did have the internet connected, after I told him that I didn’t have the internet connected at my house.

“Mate, one day you are going to be caught by the police and you are going to be put in jail and guys bigger than you are going to take turns holding you down and fucking you up the arse…”

Dial tone.

That seemed to fix it.