six impossible things

OK, so first of all: Let me get my World Cup gloating out of the way early, before my team dies in the arse. MY TEAM IS TOTALLY BEATING YOUR TEAM. How great are the Kiwis going? Aside from the dubious distinction of sending a team called the All Whites to South Africa (I don’t know HOW many times I have had to explain the reasoning behind the name these past two weeks) (the rugby team is the All Blacks, hence the soccer team is the All Whites, the basketball team are the Tall Blacks &c &c to infinity) (and beyond) we are somehow SURVIVING. And Australia is filled with National Angst at the performance of the Socceroos (clearly I don’t come from a place of strength regarding team names, but SRSLY) and are openly supporting the Kiwis as their second team. I don’t need to tell you that the only time a Kiwi will support the Aussies as their second team would be if the Aussies were playing actual card-carrying terrorists who bite the heads off kittens, or maybe the French, so this sudden spirit of Oceania-love has come as quite a surprise to me. Anyway, we are riding the wave of World Cup love in the office. My boss, who is also a Kiwi, has found whatever extension you dial to turn all the desk phones in the office into loudspeakers (like a mini PA system). Today he turned it on and played the iPhone vuvuzela app down the line for a good minute. I don’t know if you’ve tried to work with a loud horn blaring through your phone speaker, so I’ll save you some time: you can’t. Just relax to the soothing sounds. How’s the serenity. (Movie quote to appease the Australians… please don’t kill me! We’re Oceania, remember!)

Speaking of killing me, our work day was also interrupted by a gunman. Yes! Melbourne had a gunman! Now we can truly hold our heads high when compared with other cities around the world. Our gunman absconded into the depths of Richmond, parts of which were duly shut down. Guess which suburb I work in? If it’s not the vuvuzelas, it’s the police helicopters circling maddeningly for a good three hours. Oh, and let’s not forget my boss added to the racket by turning the phone speakers back on and playing iPhone gunshots down the line. Please note the supportive and encouraging environment in which I work. Keeping us on our toes apparently.

My god, it has been one of THOSE weeks and it is only Tuesday. Isn’t it? I think it’s still Tuesday. It’s like the space-time continuum has stretched endlessly. One point this morning at work I thought, “It’s only 10.30am on Tuesday? How can this BE?” It felt like one million years had passed and that I could feel every one of those years. Oh and I forgot – also last night this laptop went to do its online backup, froze, and gave me the Blue Screen of Death. OH YES I LOVE THIS. But unbeknownst to me, Mr. T has somehow fixed that this afternoon. I am down some sort of Emotional Roller Coaster-slash-Rabbit Hole. You know how some people create drama in their personal lives for the fun of it? OH MY GOD THAT WOULD KILL ME DEAD. I’m not designed for tension. I am designed, I think, to be some sort of genteel English upper-class person, on a lounger with a G&T on a lush green lawn out the back of a country house. I wonder why this life, which I am clearly so suited for, has not materialised around me yet? Hmmm.

Hey, do you have a giant glass canister of snack-sized Kit Kats on your kitchen counter? No, me neither, anymore. They did not last NEARLY as long as you might think.

So when I told Mr. T about my dream (aka harangued him about his selfish behaviour) he laughed his head off and accused me of stopping him from following his dreams. Which were, quite literally, MY dreams, but whatever. And he looked all shifty about the $24 grand and won’t tell me where it is. The thing is, the note in the dream actually named the bank, but I CAN’T REMEMBER. Oh the irony.

Other than that, my car has been having odd electrical problems for a few weeks. Occasionally the electric windows wouldn’t work, and then once it started raining (which it hasn’t done for months), I discovered that when the windows wouldn’t work, the wipers didn’t work either. I had to turn the engine off and then on again to get everything to work, which is a bit difficult when, say, driving down the freeway. I meant to book it in this week but then this morning, backing into my parking space at work, I noticed the lack of brake lights reflecting off the concrete wall behind me. Oh. Great. Obviously I took the car down to be serviced today (after sitting in my parking building turning my car on and off, on and off, on and off until finally the electrics caught and held…) and when told the year and make of my car, the technician said, “oh yeah. They do that sometimes. It’s the ignition switch.” THANK YOU HERE IS TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS. I used to love my car but it is rapidly tipping away from Benign Mode Of Transportation towards Money Pit.

Oh here it is, funnily enough, on rainy Saturday. However I draw your attention to the Ikea roller blind in the window above it. Does it look sort of… aerated… to you? Like, for example, a little grey weasel has been CHOMPING on it? Even though he has toys and a brother to chomp on instead? THEY DO IT TO TORMENT ME.

Yesterday Mr. T pissed me off, so I went to bed annoyed with him. He left the house at 6.30am this morning and woke me up by mistake, which made me angry again (and he’d left early to volunteer for bushfire cleanup at Kinglake, which makes me HORRIBLE as well as ANGRY). Anyway, I went back to sleep and had this very real dream in which I found a note telling me he’d left me to go back to New Zealand to follow his dream of becoming a professional surfer. I was INFURIATED. Where the hell did this surfing thing come from when he hasn’t been on a surfboard in 15 years? How could he leave me to deal with the dog and the cats and the MORTGAGE while he pisses off and does what he wants? Eventually I woke up at some point and realised it was a dream, but it didn’t matter because I was SO ANNOYED at his STUPIDITY. In my DREAM. I even knew that in several hours this would be funny, but NOT RIGHT NOW OMG I AM SO ANGRY.

And now it is several hours later and yes, it is funny. Now. Just. I still plan to yell at him about it though. And also ask some serious questions about the mysterious $24,000 mentioned in the note (which he was planning to live off, you know, while surfing). This number seems strangely specific, so WHERE IS THIS DREAM MONEY I MUST KNOW.

See, when I posted that last post, I thought to myself, “Must post again tomorrow to show I am not still drunk on heavily spiced alcohol”. And then of course I didn’t. I promise you I haven’t been sitting here half-tanked the whole time. Honest! I mean, I just about hot-glue-gunned my thumbs together earlier tonight, and I wrapped three presents then realised I couldn’t remember what they were or who they were for; but all of those things happened without the influence of alcohol. That’s just the way I roll. (I once used that in an important phone conference call at my last job. I was asked a question, paraphrased to: “Why did your counterpart do this stupid thing in this stupid way?” and all I could say was, “That’s how we do things here – that’s just the way we roll.” They wrote it into the minutes and everything. I am also available for solving world crises and mediating disputes! Form an orderly line!)

Anyway, I have really opened this browser window to tell you “Sons and Daughters” is currently on TV. I KNOW. It is like I am fourteen again and slumped in front of the television in my school uniform, knowing it was either this or hours of maths homework. It is actually very creepy seeing these stalwarts of Australian soap history all young and fresh-faced. Also: shoulder pads vs pastel-coloured sweaters. Discuss.

My Christmas tree is tiny and fake. That would make me sad, because my tiny and real Christmas tree did not survive the move to this new house and is currently in prime position just outside my front door all brown and dead (I wish I were joking); but I am so excited to have a Christmas tree at all. People, I have two kittens and a Christmas tree at knee height and ALL THE ORNAMENTS remain on the tree. And no one has chewed on the lights cord and electrocuted themselves. I mean, currently one kitten is sitting in the dog’s bowl eating his food, and the other one is gnawing on the flap of an empty box; but these things are perfectly fine because there is a sparkly, unmolested tree in my line of sight. Aaah.

OK, when you go to Ikea to buy yet more glass kitchen canisters? (I know it seems likewo i go to iKea lots, but I work really reallyreally close) It is probabably a good idea to go to the Food bit after you buy stuff, and get a hotdog (although I didnt get a hotdog) and buy the seasonal food. Because, I mean., who doesn’t like christmas food? And whene you go there, and buy your gingerbreadd hearts and your little horses filled with caramel (oh those are sooooOO good, you should totallyget some of those) you should buy a giant can of Santa Beer, I’m pretty sure thats what it’s called, and you should definitely, DEFINIETLY get some glogg. That stuff. will bput you on your arse.

What?

Mny tongue is numb. This stuff is wickedd spicy.