The Day Off of Kings

So, what did I do today? We took the bulldogs out to lunch, to eat Japanese. The sun shone. Two gay guys sat next to us, outside in the sun, talking about Grindr, and the like. Buddy charmed them, as only Buddy can, by walking under their table to say hello.

We walked lunch off in the sun. Window shopped, just a bit, everyone was sans mask. We did some grocery shopping in Aldi, meat for the dogs. I bought some more DVDs, on sale for $1 each. 

I came home and lit an open fire and watched YouTube, as I uploaded the DVDs to my movie hard drive. 

The day off of kings. Friday, the end of the week, despite my end of the week really being Wednesday.

It was lovely day, once it warmed up from the morning cold.

Lazy

I am so lazy, it is true. My father said I was lazy, which is kind of a distant memory, when I think about it now. But, I am, he was right. Of course, he loved me none the less, I know that.

It was a nothing kind of day, the beginning of my weekend. Time to stop thinking about work.

I always have been. Lazy. I'm equally happy doing nothing, as I am doing anything more interesting. I'm happy to do nothing all day, and as I have always joked, to rest afterwards.

Today was a day to do nothing. I built a fire first thing, as it was zero degrees this morning. I sat in front of it with Buddy and Bruno. Sam had to go into his office. (It's like Patsy Stone going to her office around here now a days when either of us have to go to our)

“You’re going where?”

“The office.”

“What for?”

Shrug. “I have to get a new pass.”

“To the office you don’t go to?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

So, I had most of the day to myself. I did some op-shop shopping. The sun was shining by the time I left the house, so it was really nice for a walk. I bought a DVD of short films, which I then watched for the rest of the day. I love a short film. Moments, in people’s lives. Windows. Being allowed in just enough. Interesting ideas. I came home with a handful of thoughts.

How lovely it is to do nothing all day. I kept the open fire burning all day despite the sun coming out. I hate over-heated houses, as people so often do in the winter, but open fires don't seem to do that. And the bulldogs love it, stretching out in front of it in their super dog poses. (stretched out, just missing the capes) Side by side. Like a couple of sausages.

Aby the Bulldog

There is an old man who lives near us who has an 8 month old bulldog puppy named Aby. He can barely control her. Sam, Buddy, Brun and I literally stand and watch him as he careers by some days, almost like a kite flying behind her, just our four heads moving from left to right. 

I haven’t put Buddy on a lead for 5 years and he asks, “How do you do it?” 

As I watch him stumble by at speed, I want to ask him the same question.

Delve Into The Mind Of The Liberal (Conservative) Party, If You Dare

I wrote this 6 years ago and while the topic may be different and the players may have changed, it still sums up the workings of the conservative party in Australia quite eloquently, even if I do say so myself.

(for overseas readers, The Liberal Party is the governing conservative party in Australia, confusing, I know)

 

Gay Marriage Liberal Party Style

 “Sacred right of a man and a woman,” says One Term Tony. “Why doesn’t the world get it?” He looks perplexed.

“What are we going to do! What are we going to do! What are we going to do?” shrieks Mincing Poodle Pyne.

“Why can’t we just tell the truth…” says One Term Tony.

“I’m sorry?” says Angry Joe.

“What do you mean?” squeaks Poodle Pyne.

“You are not making any sense,” says Everyone-Is-Entitled-to-be-a-bigot Abetz.

“Say that again?” says Gerbil-of-a-Thing Joyce.

“Why do we have to say anything?” says I-Know-Nothing Morrison. “We should keep it secret.”

“That our Lord and saviour says no to it,” says One Term Tony. "It is an abomination according to god and the scriptures."

“No!” growls Angry Joe

“No!” yaps Poodle Pyne.

“No!” says Everyone-Is-Entitled-to-be-a-bigot Abetz.

“No!” says Gerbil-of-a-Thing Joyce.

“No!” says I-Know-Nothing Morrison.

“Then why can’t we tell them it will increase terrorism?” says One Term Tony.

“Nothing is working,” says Old Man Andrews.

“Cory’s bestiality reference didn’t fly,” says I-Know-Nothing-Morrison.

“The "fad thing" didn’t work either, no one is buying that,” says Angry Joe.

“I still think that children deserve the best start in life should work,” says Everyone-Is-Entitled-to-be-a-bigot Abetz.

"The security of knowing their biological parents and the diversity of male and female role models, no one is buying that now,” says Silver Fox Turnbull. “And please don’t trot out the polygamy thing aaagain.

“So what can we say now?” asks One Term Tony. “Now that America has gone and lets us down so badly.”

“The whole world is turning gay,” shrieks Poodle Pyne. “What are we to do?”

“It’s not looking good,” says One Term Tony. “The whole world is caving in.”

“Not in Asia,” says Everyone-Is-Entitled-to-be-a-bigot Abetz.

‘No, no, no, no, no, Asia hasn’t,” says Gerbil-of-a-Thing Joyce.

“Yes,” says One Term Tony. “Give that a go. Asia isn’t buying it, so how can we be expected to.”

“I like it,” says Everyone-Is-Entitled-to-be-a-bigot Abetz.

“It might work,” shrieks Poodle Pyne.

“It’s good,” says One Term Tony. “Asia, Asia, yes Asia, we’re going to go with that. Ar Ar Ar Ar Ar Ar.”

“They’ll see us as…” says Gerbil-of-a-Thing Joyce.

“A bigot,” says Everyone-Is-Entitled-to-be-a-bigot Abetz. “A bigot!”

“No, that will never fly,” says Gerbil-of-a-Thing Joyce.

“Can we link it to breast cancer,” says Everyone-Is-Entitled-to-be-a-bigot Abetz. “Gay marriage causes breast cancer!”

“We don’t want to look like bigots,” says One Term Tony.

“Fixers,” shrieks Poodle Pyne.

“Rich,” Angry Joe calls out.

“Decadent,” says Gerbil-of-a-Thing Joyce. “They’ll see us as Decadent.

“Decadent. Ar Ar Ar Ar Ar Ar, I like it,” says One Term Tony. “We can’t legalise poofs getting married because it will threaten our trading partners in Asia because they will see us as decadent. Yes!”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” says Silver Fox Turnbull.

“We’re going with that,” says One Term Tony. “We’re going with that. Asia is the problem.”

Businesses Continue to Cheat Workers

Last year during the covid 19 turn down, after a sob story from our CEO, “Oh yes, the employees are the most important thing to us,” the staff of my law firm agreed to a 10% wage reduction to help the company out, which lasted, I want to say 3 months, maybe as long as six months?

The law firm earns more than 1 billion dollars a year. And the down turn didn’t turn out to be so bad for them.

Now, this year, the company has refused to pass on the 0.5% increase in company paid superannuation, designed to be paid by the company, instead reducing everyone’s take home pay to increase the super to 10%. Yeah, right, the employees are really important to you, you lousy bastards.

Why are the public continually made to feel sorry for how business is coping, in this day and age, when typically, business just rips their workers off?

Give A Fuck About The Planet

 

Saturday Morning

It was cold this morning, you know cold cold. As opposed to just a slight winter chill in the air. I found myself wrapping a blanket around myself as I sat and ate my breakfast and tried desperately to find something interesting on Facebook. 

So, I lit a fire. Bruno and I are now sitting with our backs to it, feeling the warmth. It is crackling behind us. 

Buddy has left the house for his kennel, as the crackling fire scares him. He used to lie right in front of it for years, but, I think, one night a large cinder shot out and hit him, scaring him out of his bulldog suit. I think that’s what happened, but Bud is getting more scared of more things as he gets older.

See, it’s not just people. We get more scared as we get older, because we are aware that awful things do happen. Well, that’s my take on it. We learn that the world is an amazing place, but we also learn that there are terrible things that happen. Dogs are no different, and I think bulldogs are smart, but, of course, I may be a little biased.

Ah, the fire is nice, though. The warmth is radiating out against my back and warming me so beautifully.

Sam’s getting busy as he thinks that’s what Saturday mornings are for, time to do chores. I don’t share that belief.

Now, let’s make another coffee and open the Guardian and see what tale of misery it has to tell me today.

Then the voice in my head said, you should go and do an hour’s exercise. Shut up, was my first reaction…

Thursday, before I left for the vet, I had a piss. After I had taken a leak, I wondered if I’d put deodorant on, so I shuffled sideways to the mirror, without fastening my jeans again, not really sure why. So, in front of the mirror with my pants now down around my knees, I lifted my shirt and slid the deodorant up to my armpit. I gazed in the mirror and I looked like one of those plump, alabaster Botticelli women all round and fat, the kind for which Italians went mad however many hundred years ago. I was taken aback. Actually, froze in the mirror image momentarily.

And, the last thing I had read before I headed upstairs was about Martha Raye, (Oh, I was wasting time on Youtube, she was doing a Judy Garland impersonation, you know how it goes) who in her last years suffered from poor circulation and in her last year she had both her legs amputated. Admittedly she was much older than me at 73*, but I don’t want to get to her stage when I am her age… and maybe when I’m 73 we’ll have those “doo doo” medical tricorders from Star Trek that will cure us of whatever ails us, who knows… but just in case we don’t…

Hence the start of exercise yesterday.

The sun is out, said the voice in my head, go and exercise, it is still early, in an hour you will still have the rest of the day.

* at 73, I hope to be still travelling the world, seeing and learning things

A Ridiculous Amount

60 million in Thursday night’s lotto. Someone won it, because I see next Thursday’s lotto is back to 3 million.

I’d be just as happy with 3 million dollars, I think, as 60 million. In fact, I’d be happier with 3 million dollars, in reality.

3 million wouldn’t change my life, it would just complete it. Round it out, ice the cake, so to speak. 60 million would change my life irrevocably, which probably wouldn’t turn out well. It’s just greed, and greed can never be good.

3 million dollars would give me all the things I need in life. 

What would I do with 60 million dollars? I’d have to buy a whole lot of things that I really didn’t need. It would be bloating, if anything, your life would become fat and overweight. (I guess, I could put it all in the bank and just not touch it)

What could you do with it? You couldn’t give it to family. Have you seen how families bitch over who got a better Xmas present, or the better seat at the wedding.

My mother’s family had money, and they all lied and cheated each other out of it, cheated me out of money, and none of them were on speaking terms in the end. My father’s family had no money and they were a happy group of people.

You couldn’t give it to friends, because friends just don’t work that way. Friends don’t work on a monetary basis, not well, anyway.

60 million would give me a lot of stuff, but it would probably take away just as much, more. Who needs that? People who want too much are never normally happy, let’s face it.

I guess if you were willing to move away from everything you knew and loved, and start out with a clean slate, then, maybe. But what a price?

The reality is, though, that I didn't even win $1 last Thursday.

I Stuffed Up

I made a stuff up at work. Not only did I stuff it up to start off with, I stuffed it up during the process, and even nearly managed to stuff it up again at the end.

My boss Boris gave me instructions, which I misread. Then Boris took control to wrestle it back from the brink, then he handed it back to me. And I stuffed it up from there. 

And then it rippled up the chain of command like a domino, where it came back to Boris. Who kicked me.

Then, in a deft move, (read desperate, Jesus fuck!) I snatched it back from the jaws of defeat at the last minute and it was fixed in the end.

It was my fault, I am not denying it. But, I'd also say that Boris' instructions are never that clear. The two lots of instructions that he gave me concerning this I got something completely different to what he intended. When I go back and re-read his instructions I can see what he meant, and, in a sense, wonder how I got the meaning wrong, but I did. But that is so often when I get things wrong, when I get instructions from Boris. (sometimes)

He used to always say to me good work. He doesn't say that any more. 

I hate stuffing things up, it makes me feel useless and stupid.

It makes me feel like a scolded child, not that I got scolded by anyone, but I know what they are probably thinking.

Grrr.

I've always been one upset away from feeling disappointed with life. I don't know why? Stupid really. I've got nothing about which to feel disappointed.

Oh, I wish I'd taken a different path at uni. I wish I'd studied arts, and literature, and theatre, and creative writing. I wish I'd learned the piano when I was 6, when my mother's friend the piano teacher told my mother that I was too old to start learning. I wish I'd kept up with singing that I did as a teenager. I wish I had the great uni experience you hear people speak of. I didn't, I struggled and was lonely. It was an isolating experience. (I didn't really make post-school friends until my mid to late twenties, when I accepted being gay, and I went out and found gay friends. You know, so fuck all the bigots who try to make being gay invisible) I wish I wasn't an accountant.  I wish, I wish, I wish... 

And when something goes wrong with my, perceived poor choices, I so easily end up feeling disappointed with life. Stupid, really. 

I don't seem to be able to shake it.

I don't know if that all even makes sense. And yes, I know, boo hoo poor me. I'm not trying to elicit sympathy, I'm just trying to work it out for myself.

The Liberal Party Vaccine Mess

 

Australia had such an advantage, being relatively covid free. But, then our terrible, Morrison, federal conservative government got the vaccine rollout badly wrong, and pissed our advantage away.

If The Answer Is Barnaby Joyce

 

The insufferable climate change denying, beetroot, in the name of Barnaby Joyce, is back leading the minor, rural, conservative party. How anyone could vote for this pompous twit is beyond me.

He raged about family values during the same sex debate, all the time he was cheating on his wife with one of his staff members. I wonder if he still espouses family values?

Before Refugees Became A Political Meal Ticket

 

Before the conservative politicians weaponised refugees to score political votes, Australia used to treat refugees like human beings.

Trolling

You know something, I have an admission to make. I love trolling people on Facebook. 

Thinking about Chrissy Teigen, and all. I assume, the difference between me and her is that I never swear, I never abuse anyone, I certainly don't threaten, or worse. I just tell people what I think, in decent, eloquent language. The dweebs dislike it just as much.

And, I don't tend to troll individuals, as such, I tend to go more for the group think. I just tend to state what I think, and I'm done. I rarely go back for a follow up. I just feel that all I need to do is give my opinion, that's enough.

Well, Facebook is so boring, I have to do something to make the experience more exciting, or is that, just exciting. (I'm sure that is a sad indictment, however)

So many people making comments about things they say they hate. Then advert, after advert, after advert. 

And the conservatives are such snowflakes, let's face. Dumb and indoctrinated. And the Christians arc up beautifully because they have no facts on which to fall back.

And it amuses me, if only for a minute. I'm sure that is shameful on some level, but whatever.

Essentially, I am just stating my opinion, but often I do so it is a record of dissent in a conservative's thread. I do it to get up their nose? Maybe? 😬

Shrug.

Look-At-Me Julie

Just by the way, what is Julie Bishop giving it, with her atrocious haircut and her Barbie doll?

Julie Bishop, ex-foreign Affairs minister, the Liberal Party's original good time girl, famous for going to the opening of an envelop, almost as famous for, allegedly, doing it all on tax payers' money.

It's Human Nature, I Guess

I’m sure all Victorians can be excused for feeling a little pleased, well, not pleased, exactly, but maybe vindicated with the continued outbreak of Covid 19 in NSW, after having ScuMo and FryThemBurgers ramming home, on every occasion they possibly could, how much of failure Victoria has been throughout this pandemic. 

We’re all in it together said ScuMo and JuniorBurgers at the beginning of the pandemic, however that soon changed when the well, awful, opportunistic Federal Liberals saw how they could score politically with every bit of bad luck Victoria has endured, never falling to hold up NSW and Glady’s whateverhernameis (corrupt Glad getting away with it because she is a Liberal and that is what Liberals do) as the gold standard because it was politically expedient to do so. 

And before I get, don’t-say-that, you-make-me-feel-awful-when-you-say-that, of course it is wrong, of course none of us should feel like that, and, of course, none of us feel that towards the people of NSW, but that is what the politics of division at which the Liberal Party is a champion engenders in people.

It gets wearing when you are continually called the pariah state for no good reason other than keeping a bunch of fat, empathy deficient, Liberal Party liars in power.

Dawn

 

Sunday, then Monday

I cooked Bolognese in the morning, listening to Norah Jones. It's a Sunday morning kind of thing to do. Sam played his new game. That’s what you do on Sundays. You know, it’s just nice, looking out into the garden, not a care. When you are cutting onions and smashing garlic, I doubt Sam’s eye left that small screen.

I repotted my pot plants at midday listening to David Bowie. The sun was shining by this stage, a winter's sunny day. Hands in the dirt, wipe them on my shirt. “Ground control to Major Tom…” The Rosemary Sam planted as cuttings in pots, which I am hoping will supply the herbs for my Bolognese sauce. And those pesky agaves I acquired when David hi-tailed it up north. Of course, David had never repotted them, they are just like cut flowers to him, disposable and all that, so I have had to repot them twice since I got them. And I don’t even like agaves all that much.

Sunday, half relax, half dread, before you know it we’re into bed, and morning comes and it is “the dread” part. Monday morning. Then, of course, it is not so bad, don’t know why we get that in our heads? Because, it is nice to do as you please and then afterwards to rest.

Mondays come, and then Mondays go, that’s the best thing about Mondays. What more can I say? I work fairly autonomously, so the annoying people don’t get to me so much, even less so since I have been working from home. So, yay, let’s hear it for working from home.

Getting The Story Straight

5.50am. I was up.

I got straight to work as I have to take Buddy for a blood test at 10am.

It rained quite heavily. Milo came in about 4 times soaked rubbing against my legs. Four times I had to dry him.

7.45am. David calls. “Now I know something is wrong,” I say. David doesn’t get up until midday, usually. And he’d called me early two mornings in a row.

“Ha ha, it’s quite lovely, actually,” says David. “Being up this early. Who’d have thought?”

He’s on his way to the Gold Coast to see a specialist. David loves a specialist. He spends a lot of time seeing them. Well, I mean, he is precious. Chuckle.

8am. Sam is up.

I go a lot of my work done. I finished off work for Themidget and Thegrandpoohbah. I hoped they wouldn’t have any questions about any of it while I was gone to the vet, as I wasn’t planning to disclose my absence to any of them. They never know if I am there normally, so why start telling them now. Surely, that is one of the perks of working from home. Besides, I’d already done 4 hours and I’d only be gone for 2.

9.20am. I leave for the vet. Me & Buddy for Buddy’s blood test.

We get there right on 10am. We wait in the waiting room with a gorgeous Golden Retriever. The Golden retriever wants desperately to play with Buddy, but Bud is having none of it. Maybe, he knows the gravity of the situation he is in.

10.15am. I’m in seeing cutie Dev. “Hi, long time no see,” said Dev.

“I guess that’s a good thing,” I said.

He laughed. “Sure.”

He’s still handsome, maybe a little fatter, just a touch. Guess who’s been eating during lockdown, I thought.

I lifted Buddy onto the table and Dev examined.

“I’ve treated lymphoma in the past and I have done chemotherapy,” he said. “I’d expect to see Buddy’s lymph nodes more swollen.”

He didn’t think Buddy has lymphoma. “Only some of Buddy’s lymph nodes are swollen up and, but they all certainly aren’t all swollen.” He thinks it is more likely an infection.

“Like the ear infection for which we bought him in?”

“Well, yes.”

“But, the other vet looked at his blood under a microscope and saw something… with Buddy’s blood.”

“Oh, Karen,” said Dev. “Well, that is consistent with and infection too.”

“Oh, well, that’s good… then.”

“Yes. You’ll have to bring him back in a few weeks to check him again.”

“Sure.”

“We’ll do the blood test,” Dev said. “That wouldn’t necessary show lymphoma, but we’ll check for anything else.”

Dev picked Buddy up in his big, strong arms and took him out the back for a blood test.

I didn’t know if I should be angry, or pleased. Angry at the junior vet for what she’d put me through, or please with Dev for straightening it all out. I opted for pleased.

The 1^st of July we have to go back. Can you believe it is nearly July already?

Buddy has a shaved patch on his leg where Dev took blood, like a war wound.

We headed home, Bud and me.

What To Do With Buddy

What to do about Buddy? I didn’t have a satisfactory experience with the specialist near home when I saw them about Buddy’s luxating patellar, some time ago. I’m not really sure that they don’t put earning a dollar before the care of the animals they see. I really don’t know if we would be going down the chemotherapy route with Buddy considering his age. I wasn’t really sure why I was even taking Buddy to them? We didn’t really know what we were going to do. 

What to do? Did it make sense to spend thousands on chemotherapy, if he was in his final years? Oh, did it feel like we were letting him down if we didn’t? Bulldogs average life expectancy was around 10 years old and Buddy will be 11 very soon.

But, he was Buddy.

So, I called my vet and spoke to them. I said I didn’t really know what to do? The receptionist was very sympathetic, as she’d had a dog with lymphoma some time ago. She thought that they usually take a biopsy for detection of lymphoma. She went to talk to their senior vet.

I made an appointment with my vet for a blood test for Buddy at 10am tomorrow.

The Specialist

I called the specialist to get an appointment for Buddy. The receptionist asked me what was wrong with Buddy, as I explained, I teared up unexpectedly. I wasn’t expecting to do that. It just caught me

“Oh, that’s no good,” she said. 

She said she didn’t have a mobile for me, so I gave it to her. I told her the landline she most likely had was not operational any longer.

The woman I needed to speak to was on the phone, so she had to call me back. I waited for an hour and a half, nearly two hours when I called her back. Was that too long for someone in my position to have to wait? I wondered? The woman I needed to speak to answered the phone.

“I had 17 messages to get through,” she said. “I was just writing you an email as we don’t have a phone number for you?”

“But I just gave the receptionist my mobile number.”

This was all starting off well, I thought.

I got an appointment for 9.30am on Friday. Buddy wasn’t to eat in the morning. I might have to leave him with them for tests.

Xi Jinping With His Dog

The Chinese leader and his dog

 

Spoke To Jill

I talked to Jill about Buddy and where she went for Bear’s cancer treatment. She said it was a cancer specialist in the eastern suburbs. She advised not to go the specialist route, or opt for chemotherapy treatment. She said I should just treat him with supportive care at this stage in his life.

Jill surprised me when she said she suspected that Bear’s cancer may well have come back and that she is not going to do anything about it now.

Buddy and Bear are almost the same age, I think bear is a year younger than Buddy.

We took Buddy and Bruno for a walk later and all the people in the street loved Buddy as they usually do, saying how fantastic he is. I felt kind of sad, all things considered. He doesn’t seem like a dog that is terminally ill.

Buddy’s Ear Infection

We left for the vet mid afternoon. Buddy had an ear infection for a few days, he’d been doing the ear rubbing thing. We were lucky to get an appointment as our vert is usually booked up, but we got put on the cancellation list and somebody cancelled.

Bruno came too.

The traffic was atrocious. WTF? I don’t know why? (Was it the over protective mother’s school run? Surely not?) We got to the vet at 3.50pm, 10 minutes late.

But, then we were ushered into a consultation room where we waited half an hour for them. I think in the end we waited longer than half any hour in that small, airless room.

A young girl vet attended to us in due course. The girl vet spoke with what seemed like a broad Queensland accent, like a whining chainsaw, she was really hard to understand with her accent and the mask she was wearing. 

She examined him around his neck, and then in his groin. Buddy got a finger up his arse, which sure stopped his panting for a moment. 

She took a little blood to look at under a slide. She disappeared with that for a time.

In due course, she came back. The news was bad, potentially bad. She started talking about lymphoma. How did we get to lymphoma from an ear infection? 

She said it was her preliminary findings and that it would need to be confirmed by a blood test, which she could do, tomorrow, I wasn’t sure why it had to be done tomorrow?

If we had to come back tomorrow, I thought we might as well go to a specialist and have it done, as a specialist would have all the treatment options.

We were referred to a cancer specialist closest to home. The same place that wanted to operate on Buddy’s knee immediately at a cost of $2500, five years ago, which was the reason we started coming to this vet to see Dev, who said it didn’t need to be done straight away. And if it did he’d charge about $1000. 

So, we left, a little shell shocked. Lovely Bud, he just seemed like his normal self. 

Sam would ask me later, “Do you think that vet (her name was Karen, {that’s not her name, but I couldn’t resist. You don’t think I am going to tell you her real name, now do you?} I would find out later) was on meth?”

“You think everyone is on meth.”

Sam laughed.

“But, you know,” I said. “I know what you mean.” 

She was thin and fidgety, and a bit kind of nervy. Maybe that was just because we couldn’t understand her clearly. I don’t know. 

I didn’t know what we were going to do.

I Never Push Myself

I never push myself. Never have. I never strive. I don't know why? (I've always got things too easily?) I'm lazy? My father used to say so. I'm happy to do nothing, in fact I am good at it. The thing I do best. The upside is that I never get bored.

Sam's mother asked if I am just sitting there. She's a hard worker, running small businesses. I'm not sure I loved the implication.

I don't think I have any discernible talent. 

David told me he disagreed. "You are a very talented writer." 

I'm not really sure that I agreed. Yeah, sure, I can string a sentence together, but, actually, getting completed project/stories done, I am not so sure. Published and out into the world. No.

(I guess this is the point where you all agree with David.)

"No, no, you are a great writer."

(To snap me out of my pity party)

😬

Mark always said, "Unless you publish your writing what is the point?"

Well, you know, I get his point, what he says is kind of true, sure, it should be read by people for it to be useful, but just because it isn't published doesn't mean it shouldn't be written.

Blood Clot Anyone

We had our weekly, Webex team meeting. It had been a rather dull, quiet affair. Oh, I don't know why, maybe it is because it is winter, maybe it is the rain and the cold, maybe it is the lockdown, I don’t know.

It had just been the managers and then mostly my boss talking, you know, a lot of blah, blah, blah. I tend to tune out, I have to admit. Good thing there is no comprehension test when they are all done. (Remember those, I used to ace those, but not in this context, I suspect) 

At the end of the meeting, our boss asked, "Does anyone have any funny stories to tell?"

Apparently, nobody did.

"Did anyone do anything interesting on the weekend?"

Again, no.

"Does anyone have anything to tell us?"

Silence.

"Does anyone have anything to say?"

All mute.

"Anything?"

Nothing.

So, I decided to give it a go, even though I really had nothing. "I had my Astra Zenica shot four days ago, and now I am waiting for my blood clot to show up."

"What?" said my boss.

"Day 4 to day 20 is the critical period for blood clots, I'm on day four, so it could turn up any time."

Everyone laughed.

"Thank you, Christian,” said our boss. “I can always rely on you. And on that note..."

Dark Sense of Humour

Apparently, there was some report/study/finding/something that said a dark sense of humour is an indication that someone might get dementia in later life.

Do you know how many of my friends contacted me to tell me I was a goner.

I guess, it comes across on here, that what I write is supposed to be funny. I pick the things that amuse me and my dark, absurdist sense of humour. Life is absurd - you know, point and laugh - not the least for the fact you work for fifty years to get a few years off at the end. I can't take all of this too seriously.

You Are All A Cat's Arse

We were having a Webex meeting, you may know it as Zoom, and I was listening to the others yap on, when Milo, my cat, jumped up onto my desk. He has a habit of doing that. It is not the first time they have met him.

I use a laptop, with a large second screen attached, so most of my focus is directed at the large screen. But, of course, the camera is still on the smaller laptop screen. 

Suddenly, they were all laughing. What had happened while I was watching the large screen, and patting Milo at the same time, he had backed up to the smaller screen and his bum hole had pushed right up to the camera on my laptop, so they were all getting one giant cat's arse.

That's my boy, I thought, I couldn't have passed better judgement on all of them, if I tried.

 

 

Ha ha, cats are devious, cats are spooky. Do you think cats ever do anything unconsciously? I like to think not. Such little scamps, our feline mates.

Covid Shot, Blood Clot, Not

One covid shot, now just waiting for the blood clot. I wonder where is the spot? Will it be a red dot, that I got? In my veins, like red snot? Perhaps, what would help is a vodka shot? Or, some lovely pot. Oh, those thoughts I have to blot. And we'll all get through it ready, or not.

One of my mates asked me if I was branching out into rap?

Talk About A Bunch Of Whingers

It seems now that every night on the news we have small business owners whinging and whining about the state of things. Um, er, hey small business owners, which part of 'it’s a pandemic' don’t you understand?

"Can we be given a clear timeline of what the future holds?"

"No, it is a pandemic."

Bring Them Home to Biloela

 

You know, I do wonder if the rest of the world views Australians as heartless as the Morrison Liberal (for anyone outside of Australia, the Liberal Party is the Conservative party in Australia) Govt portrays us?

Does the rest of the world view the people of Australia as awful and mean spirited as our federal government is? I wonder.

Chatty Cathy

There is an IT chick at work, I call her holyblabbermouthbatman, who never stops talking. I mean never. I’m not exaggerating. She is loud and opinionated too, but of course. 

You go to the lunch room and she is the one talking. I can take a crap at work, and I can hear her in the lunch room. I can’t ever hear anyone else.

I said at work one day, “Holyblabbermouthbatman will still be talking 3 days after she has died.”

Whoever I said it to replied, “Oh, I like Holyblabbermouthbatman.”

I didn’t add the talking underwater comment after that.

I find her really annoying. Sam said I was being mean, and I really should try to be nicer to people, it would make me a nicer person. 

Hah! Holyblabbermouthbatman needs therapy, she never stops talking. Yap, yap, yap, yap, yap, yap. Never. OMG on and on and on and on she goes.

One afternoon I was heading around to the IT department, as I approached I could hear Holyblabbermouthbatman talking. Oh, er, I thought. I mentally braced myself for the onslaught. When I got there, she was the only person in the department. I laughed, as I walked through.

“Tell me what’s so funny,” she asked. (demanded, in her own kind of way)

“Oh, nothing,” I said.

“Oh, no, I’m having a bad afternoon, I would really like to hear something funny.”

I didn’t stop walking, I know that is how to deal with her, and I just sashayed through the exit doors on the other side of the department and was gone.

Anyway, I have just found out she is pregnant. I’m really surprised that she stopped talking long enough for her husband (boyfriend, common law partner, sperm donor, one night stand, drunken mistake, unknown assailant) to have …  you know?

Oh no, could you imagine the sex talk? Why did I think of that? Thank the lordly do dah day I’m not in the office, as we work closely together and if I heard her dulcet tones (if your dulcet tones are akin to shattering glass) I’d be mentally constructing her dirty talk and that could scar a person.

Anyway, we can all be pretty sure there was no oral sex involved.

Of course, I haven't been in the office for over a year, and I haven't had my ears bleed by Holyblabbermouthbatman for that long. I haven't seen her. I haven't heard her.  I'm surprised how triggered I was (Ha ha triggered, made to reminisce is more like it) hearing her name when whoever it was who told me she was pregnant. The full horror of her obsessional behaviour came back to me in its full surround sound quality.

Did I tell you she has one of those nasally voices? 

And she laughs the loudest at her own jokes.

Simultaneously Pleased and Displeased

Pinch, punch, and all that. Oh, my goodness, June already. Half the year has gone. Winter is no longer coming. 

Just by the way, my favourite was Robb Stark, not what’s his name over who everyone drooled. Then I saw him as prince Charming in those cream tights. Mmmm. That was followed by him, allegedly, having a gay relationship with that boy singer, who’s name I never committed to memory. Then he was banging that other cutie, Taron Edgerton, in Rocket Man, with Taron Edgerton saying he enjoyed every minute of his gay sex scenes with Richard Maddon. (Taron is such a scamp)

But, I digress.

I've got 5 hours of training this afternoon, because the brains trust that is HR have come up with some new (probably hair-brained) procedure and, of course, those geniuses can't make a decision on their own, so I have to be a part of the team assessing what they want to do. (Yay! 🙌)

It is usually a disaster when HR get all excited about doing something. It usually involves a creche (naturally), a lunch (they don't get those mum bods from celery alone), and ultimately a huge problem created for everyone else, so hang on.

So, I was signing in this morning thinking to myself, I have a lot to get done now that the HR slags have roped me into their, no doubt, half baked idea. Suddenly I'm not going to cruise into the weekend as I usually do, I'm going to have to hustle to get everything completed before midday. 

I was just mentally stringing a plan together for the rest of the morning, while I cursed HR, of course, prioritising what I had to do, when I realised it was Tuesday, not Wednesday. (Oh, it’s Tuesday. 😀)

I was simultaneously pleased and displeased. Oh! Oh?

"Oh yay, it's Tuesday, I have plenty of time. Oh rats, it is not the end of my week. Boohoo!"

And, you know, any new procedures introduced by HR are always to benefit HR, always to make HR’s life easier, or for legal reasons. It’s not normally for the staff. Or, the new procedure is an unmitigated mistake because the HR professionals loved the colour, “Loovvvv it!” and skipped the function altogether.

I remember at the awful law firm, those HR professionals bought an application simply because they thought it could do performance reviews, that one of the modules they were buying could do performance reviews. (There was a girlie titter all around, and champagne for everyone, as HR professionals love to celebrate their successes) It was a complete failure at everything else it was supposed to do, and it made a number of people’s work lives more difficult, and sometime later I found out the application couldn’t do performance reviews either.

So, let’s see what the brains trust has bought us today?