So I gave away my Gmail account today, making me a good and noble person for not selling it on Ebay. Hopefully this fills up my good and noble account balance, as I’m sure it’s been severely depleted for some time. Probably due to all the ranting I do about people. For example …
I went to look at suits today after work (yes, I sometimes must wear the corporate straightjacket – pity me) and there was an offer for $100 off certain styles. Surprisingly, I found a black suit (not pink, not brown, not jolly-hockey-sticks-English-houndstooth) which didn’t have shoulder pads the size of a small African nation, and which didn’t hang off me like the workhouse smock of a neglected orphan child. Things were looking promising! However, the only pair of trousers in my size had a faulty buttonhole. No matter. I wandered up to the counter to pay, and asked the salesgirl if she had any other trousers or if I could get any from another store. Of course! Only too happy to help! Let me call another store right now! One held pair of trousers later, and I’m forking over the VISA. She rings up the jacket and … charges me full price.
Jac: “Um, excuse me, aren’t these suits $100 off?”
Extremely pretty but vacant salesgirl: “Oh, yes, but only if you buy the jacket and trousers together.”
Jac: “Isn’t that what I’m doing?”
EPBVSG: “Oh! Didn’t you want to buy the trousers from our other store?”
Jac:“Well, NOT IF I LOSE ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS, I don’t.”
EPBVSG: “Oh! Um! Well … how about you buy the suit here, and return the trousers at the other store?”
Jac:“Yes. I thought that was the original plan.”
EPBVSG: “No! Hee! I didn’t think of that before!”
Jac:“No one in this store would blame me for smiting you where you stand.”
OK, so I may not have said the last bit aloud. This just PROVES I am good and noble, really.
animals on the underground
Unfortunately, the only animal I can see in the Melbourne train lines is a really long snake. I’m imaginative like that.
Be warned, you may need to shield your eyes from the unbearable cuteness. No permanent damage should occur, but you may feel a mild pleased sensation whilst viewing. This should not last long; and, in fact, if you don’t like animals, may not occur at all. Consider this your official warning.
Back into the work grind, how quickly that holiday feeling flees the merciless approach of mindless tedium. Gah. Still, Queen’s Birthday weekend is in June (another three day weekend, I love you Queen, regardless of your strange offspring) and plans are already afoot. Afoot, I say! My kingdom for afoot!
I made a green chicken curry for dinner and it was slightly on the hot side; just enough so that I had to eat it really fast so that it wouldn’t burn my mouth while I chewed. It wasn’t exactly Monkey hot (ooh! oooh! aaah! aah!) but pretty close. Still, I love thai food and I am not averse to letting tastebuds die in the pursuit of coconut cream. Mmmm, coconut cream. It’s a fruit, right? Good for you. Bound to be.
The dogs and cat have settled back in nicely from their holiday at the kennels; the Cat in particular is very full of his own magnificence and is yowling assertively all over the house. I assured him we hadn’t purchased another cat in his absence, but he didn’t look convinced. The dogs were thrilled to see the cat (the kennel people appeared dubious when I told them the cat would like to visit the dogs while in confinement) and took turns in ramming their large dog heads into the cat carrier to see him. There was a few muffled yowls then some free-style biting, and the dog would retreat, only to be replaced by the large skull of the second dog. Cue the biting. You know how this goes. Only you have NO idea how long the dogs kept it up for.
So I’ve been gallivanting this week, or jaunting, whichever archaic phrase appeals to you most. The jaunting (or gallivanting), it is much more fun than working. Which is sad to realise, as chances are I will be spending a lot more time working than gallivanting (or jaunting). However, as jaunting (or gallivanting) is on the agenda this week, let me inform you all of my doings. Well, one of my doings. A doing, so to speak.
Yesterday Mr. T and I partook in a trail ride at Airey’s Inlet, on the Great Ocean Road. This involved riding through bush, then down to the beach for a spot of cantering. May I say now that Mr. T and I have not been on horses for a very, very long time. (It is at this point that my lower back muscles would like to interject and add another ‘very’ to that sentence.) Regardless of my (lack of) physical condition today, it was great. Beautiful day, no people around, out of control atop a large animal running for England across the sand. Mr. T discovered why we had to sign those massive insurance disclaimer forms when his girth broke and he slid slowly towards the sand. I was in front (winning! I’m winning!) so all I heard was a strangled ‘yipe!’ and turned to see … only a horse. Mr. T and the saddle were in an ungainly pile behind the horse, who managed to pretend this had nothing to do with him. It was fabulous. Mr. T was completely unhurt, which meant it was perfectly OK for me to laugh till I got the hiccups, and to circle around him taking photos howling “Look at me! I’m a cowboy! Howdy howdy howdy!”. That’s what a good girlfriend does. Ask anyone.
I’m driving home from work the other night, like I do every night. Damn this driving, the train was so much better. Apart from the falling asleep and waking up with a start and realising everyone is covertly staring at you. THAT part is much better in a car. There’s no one to stare when you fall asleep at the wheel.
Anyway. We’re stopped at some traffic lights, all lined up like drones. I am looking up at the sky – it was dusk, and really pretty. The sunset was just filtering through the elms on Dandenong Road, making even that car-infested horror a nice place to be. When … I SAW it. It is embedded on my memory, scarred deep into my retinas. It was CLIMBING ONTO one of those thick power lines that cross the road. It was GRIPPING the power line with its pinchy little feet and SCRABBLING across the wire, 10 feet above four lanes of stopped traffic. Its long thick bony TAIL was sticking out to balance its DISEASE-ridden body. The whole power line was SHAKING with the motion of its ILL-BEGOTTEN journey.
All I can say is, I hope to God it was a ring-tailed possum. If Melbourne can spawn RATS that big, I want to go HOME.
Oh, there’s nothing better than laughing at other people’s stupidity.
Baby’s Named a Bad, Bad Thing
Schadenfreude. Is that a boy’s name or a girl’s name?
I broke the car stereo the other day. I didn’t mean to – - I was trying to figure out how to preset a radio station. Anyway. I must have pressed the wrong buttons together, or separately, or something. I don’t know, I was concentrating on DRIVING at the time, foolish as it now seems.
Jac: [presses several buttons at once, in manner of 50 year old who knows nothing about technology]
Stereo: [odd grinding sound]
Jac: Oh shit.
Stereo: LCD panel continues to say ’105.1 FM’
Stereo: LCD panel goes black
Stereo: LCD panel flashes up ’000000′
Jac: Oh FUCK. Mr. T is going to kill me. What in God’s name have I done – - do NOT cut in on me you madman, I am having a MUSIC EMERGENCY.
Stereo: [stereo face flips up, which is standard practice when it wants you to insert or remove a CD]
Jac: WHY do you want a CD? The White Stripes not good enough for you all of a sudden?
Stereo: [face flips down to regular position]
Stereo: LCD panel clicks over to ’000001′
Stereo: [face flips up again]
Stereo: [face flips down again]
Stereo: LCD panel clicks over to ’000002′
Jac: Oh CRAP. My stereo is possessed. Can I see my breath? Are there dead people?
Stereo: [face flips up again]
Stereo: [face flips down again]
Stereo: LCD panel clicks over to ’000003′
Jac: No really, this isn’t funny anymore. Stop it, you hairy bollock.
Jac: [presses all buttons madly, which is difficult when stereo is moving up and down constantly]
Jac: Oh crap. Oh crap. Please stop. You are not under warranty any more. Please STOP.
Stereo: [continues flipping up and down methodically, while counting up on the LCD panel]
Jac: OK, maybe when you get to 10 times? At 10 you’ll stop? Yes?
Stereo: [continues flipping. Number 10 comes up. Stereo continues flipping.]
Jac: You ARSE. Right. Traffic lights. Engine OFF.
Stereo: [flips down then stops]
Jac: Ah! Ah hah! AH HA HAH HAAHAH!
Jac: [turns car back on in giddy excitement]
Stereo: [resumes flipping like the creepy automaton it has become]
Jac: HAHAH … oh godDAMN you.
It did not stop flipping up and down until I got home, and made a serious attempt to prevent it from moving. It stopped on ’000056′, a number which I will be studiously avoiding from now on.
Ultimately, I had to sadly confess my technology sins to Mr. T, which I REALLY didn’t want to do. He went out there and shoved the end of a paperclip into the restart button, which erased the demon part of the memory like it had never happened. Restart button, I love you. Never leave me again.
“The Catcher in the Rye”, J.D. Salinger. I’m a leetle behind on my core reading. And you’re all phonies.
Some unattended cellphone with no message bank. TURN IT TO SILENT, we’re all begging you.
A documentary on honey badgers. It’s either that or the new “Big Brother”. My conscience is clear.
Pumpkin and bacon soup. She cooks! She cleans! (actually, strike the cleaning) She pulverises vegetables into tasty bowls of fun!
Papaya goo as a lip balm. Who knew rotten fruit could be so beneficial?
Why should everybody get up, if Five is going to make you get down? Idiots.