Life's illusions I recall

Aussie Aussie Aussie! Ow! Ow! Ow!

2009-04-08T19:57:00.004+10:00

Only a couple of weeks ago, my colleague and friend Dallas attended her citizenship ceremony, and was proud to now be able to call herself an Aussie.
If only it were that simple.
What Dallas didn't know, is that it is not the citizenship test, nor the ceremony that makes you an Aussie, but the passing of several initiation tests with ones mates that does it.
Let me explain about Dallas. She is smart. Wicked smart. She was born and raised in Sri Lanka and given a good British education. Her grasp on the English language is far tighter than many of us Aussies, and we are often asking her to help us construct speeches or carefully worded emails at work. So, when we can stump her, we feel quite victorious!
Sometimes it's just plain funny. Especially when she innocently uses a word which she thinks has a particular meaning, and we have to educate her on the Aussie translation (read: rubber=condom, dinger=condom, muff=...well you should all know that one!)
Then there are the sayings we have taught her. The particular favourite we instructed her to say to DIAC when sitting her test: "Hey mate, can I have a glass of water? I'm as dry as a dead dingo's donger!".
However, it was only last week that she passed the last initiation with her mates (I'm so sorry I wasn't there to witness it!). After attending a friends party, it was time to call a taxi to go home. "No need!" says her friend Ryan. "I have my bike - I'll give you a dink!"
"A what??" says Dallas.
"If you don't know what a dink is, then you are not an Aussie yet" jibed her friends.
Never one to decline a challenge, Dallas held her head high and said "sure, you can give me a dink".
Being quite a sensible lass, she did - to her credit - almost concede defeat when she found out that the said dink, wasn't a comfortable, nor ideal situation. Still, with a few voddy's in her already, she summoned the 'Aussie within' and perched herself on Ryan's handlebars.
They started the rough journey home, and within only a few minutes they hit a bump, and Dallas was thrown over the handlebars. Not to worry, she brushed herself off and jumped back on, thinking she now knew what to look out for.
If only it were that simple.
The next bump saw her legs flail, her shoes come off, and her toe caught in the spokes of the front wheel of Ryan's bike, before flipping over the handlebars.
Ouch.
So, it was with a heavily bandaged, thong wearing foot, that Dallas came to work on Monday and declared - "If I tell you this story, then you can't call me a FOB (Fresh Of the Boat) anymore. I've been drunk, I've accepted a dare off a mate, I've been dinked, I've been injured, and I've put away my pride by sharing the story with you - I've more than earned my Aussie citizenship now."
And so she has!

Bargain central!

2009-03-31T21:31:00.003+11:00

I suddenly awoke on Saturday morning with a strange (yet familiar feeling)...I just had to go down to my local St Vinnies store. The wardrobe I needed would be there. I had been trawling ebay and the said St Vinnies store for weeks for a wardrobe, but as yet - no luck. So what would bring me to drag myself out of be at 8am on a Saturday? I didn't have time to question it. I just did it.
Get up. Check. Shower. Check. Breakfast. It could wait. Get in the car and go to St Vinnies. Check. Wardrobe there? Check. Within price range? Not quite. Another cabinet I needed to house my bedroom stereo there? Check. Able to bargain on the two items plus delivery? Check. Bought both wardrobe and cabinet. Check check.
Indeed I was more than rapt with my recent purchases - but I wanted more.
Now I had a cabinet to house my stereo, but surely I could now fit a tv on top of my new unit for the complete bedroom comfort? I started on ebay again. Cheap little tv. I put in a bid. 5 minutes to go, I thought I was a shoe in....time for a cup of tea....I check the net again to pay for my bargain buy (thinking I am on a roll this weekend), but alas, I lost. Shattered.
I bid for more tv's, but they are more expensive than the first. Will I have to wait weeks for this too?? I give up.
Wake up Sunday morning with that now all too familiar feeling - I must log onto ebay again, my tv will be there.
Low (Loewe?) and behold, there it is. 12 minutes to go. I place my bid. Waiting by the 'puter this time, I don't want to miss. But there are no more bids - lady luck is on my side. I win. I know I only win by default as no one is interested in a Loewew TV with a broken remote. Maybe I am the only one that knows that the seller misspelt the brand and it should have been a Loewe TV. And no one knows I already have one in my lounge with a working remote that will transfer to the new bedroom one. I just scored a $5,000 tv (well, it was the RRP a few years ago) for $40.
It may be a little bigger than I need, and a little more extravagant, but I'm not really one to do things by halves....
The moral of the story is, I feel like I've had a most successful weekend!

Try not to let it consume you....

2009-03-05T13:18:00.024+11:00

I know that the bushfires seem to be all that anyone talks about these days, but I thought you might appreciate a personal perspective, along with a little (long) story.....

On Sunday the 8th of Feb, I posted about the night of the fires, and some of those that I knew that were affected. As a quick update, I am pleased to let you know that the horses were found miraculously safe and (not so) well, but have now been transferred to (literally) greener pastures to heal.

My mother is safe, though she was on tenterhooks with her bags packed for 3 weeks, ready to leave if she had to.

And Jack...well, there is a story....

A bit of history to fill in the picture:
Jack and I had been together - on and off - for around 4 years. He is 10 years my senior. I am totally and utterly consumed with the man. Always have been. Don't know if I always will be. He is what one would term a "Commitmentphobic". After 4 years, I wanted the diamond ring, white picket fence, 2.5 children, and the dog named spot. He said he did, but never did anything about it. I wanted a future vision - and we nearly had it. I introduced him to Flowerdale. I had been keeping my eye on Flowerdale for the past 6 or so years. It was always my dream, and I shared it with him. We would go there on Sunday drives, and slowly he warmed to the idea of buying a weekender there. And that was the turning point. When it came to us making the offer on a property, he couldn't do it. We broke up.

A month later, he bought it on his own. Was I shattered? You bet. Did I deal with it? I had to.

He worked on that block of land. He worked his arse off. It was the first time he had ever invested in anything - physically and emotionally. It was symbolic. Yes, we were back on talking terms during this time, but talk about Flowerdale was taboo - I couldn't go there, it was too painful.

Then the fires came and razed the land, and cleared all that had gone before it.

I always said that I would never go back there - not unless Jack and I were together again and it wasn't just his, but ours. But last Saturday, I just needed to go. And so I went.

And now, the experience of driving through the devestation to get to Flowerdale:

It sounds cliche, but it really is indescribable. The photo's and stories you have seen in the media do not come close to what it's really like.

We drive through Whittlesea, stop to get our wristband (they are still only letting locals up there), pass the roadblock, drive around the corner...then bam, there it is:

Nothing. One minute there is something, then there is nothing. No colour. No leaves. No sound.

It's not long before I see the first brick letterbox to signify that there used to be a house on that site. It draws my eyes to the background to see what remains of that house. Maybe there is a chimney, most certainly there is corrugated iron. That's all that's left of the houses. The Fire was so hot that everything literally melted and evaporated if it wasn't concrete or iron.
Not far down the road, I see the first of many Australian Flags that now fly proud outside many properties. It's like they have replaced the police tape with the flag to say "it's ok, I'm still here and I'm ok".

We pass the Kinglake General Store - well, what is left of it. I need to take a breath, knowing we are on the homestretch to Flowerdale now, and I'm about to see a stretch of road I no longer recognise. Funnily enough, I do still recognise it, I know each bend and turn in the road. I know what each house that has burnt down used to look like. We round the corner and there is a massive green oasis - somehow the nursery and it's surrounding trees seem unscathed as if it was covered with a dome when The Fire stormed through. I can only imagine that the owners put all of the sprinklers on and hoped for the best. The sign out the front reads: "Come in, we are open!". Like anyone will be planting pansies this weekend! Still, it's reassuring to see normality in such a disrupted, not normal environment.

One thing I can't stop noticing along the side of the road is the metal safety barriers. There are notches in them. Dints from where trees came down across the road. Each dint represents another tree, and another barrier that stopped so many trying to get out.

There are some houses still standing, but it only adds to the confusion. Why did that one survive? You try and make sense of the direction and behaviour of The Fire, but you just can't. It was indiscriminate in what it consumed.
We hit Flowerdale, and turn into to Jacks property. I am glad that I am there, and I get out of the car and walk up the hill on my own. It's so quiet. The air smells thick with ash. I reach the top of the hill to look at the view that I so often dreamt about. I brace myself thinking : "This is the moment, this is when the grief will hit me". To my surprise, it's ok. In fact, it's more than ok - it's still beautiful. It's just in sepia tone now.

I thought that I would cry when I first saw all the destruction, but it's literally so unbelievable that you can't relate to it, you can't get it. You need to sit with it a bit to understand just what has happened. And you need to appreciate the good stuff - the changes it has made to people and their priorities.

That night Jack and I sat under the stars, in the still of the night. Glass of wine in hand, sitting in silence, I almost felt bad that I was so comfortable. But I didn't. Jack and I were sitting side by side, and we were at Flowerdale. For the first time in many months, I felt like I'd come home. Despite the damage to my two loves (Jack and Flowerdale), we were together, and perhaps the damage that has been done can now grow into something more beautiful than what it was....

Silver Creek before...

Silver Creeek after.....

The fire moved with such force and speed that you can see the direction it moved in by the direction of the leaves on the trees. It's like they have been mummified that way now. There are also saplings that have been bent to the ground in the same direction. Bizarre...

What is left of the cottage. We figured out that the cottage would have burnt before the tree fell on it.

The view from the top of the hill is still beautiful - just not so green anymore.

You can quote me on that!

2009-02-16T20:15:00.006+11:00

Quite often MD, Al and I are together, and someone says something stupidly funny. Sometimes it's also stupidly rude, so we agree it's out of bounds for the bloggisphere. Sometimes it's not just funny, but it makes you think: "Could that be true?"
Either way, more often than not, we chorus together: "I'm blogging about that one!"

So, here are a few I thought could be opened up for discussion and comment:

MD: As most of you know, MD is off on a trip to Sweden shortly. When I asked her recently why she had cut down on the wine, started eating way too much salad, and begun getting up at stupid o'clock in the morning to exercise, she simply said: "Because Deb, you can't be fat in Sweden". Being that MD is far from fat, I really do wonder if there is anyone under a size 8 in Sweden. I mean, does she really have a point?

Al: After spending the day at his local drinking establishment in the upper end of town, Al came to work complaining how it had been taken over by gay men. I reckon I have a pretty good gaydar, and (obviously) Al is gay, however, I still naively asked him how he knew everyone there was gay. His response: "Because Deb, every one of them owns an Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirt, G-Star jeans and Prada sunglasses". Can this be true?

Then there is another friend of mine who recently said to me (about my ex Jack): "Sometimes his head is so big, he can't get it through the car door". Seriously, did she make that up, or have any of you heard that before?

And here is one I thought was common, but apparently my family made it up. When something fits really well (like when tightly squeezing a piece of furniture into an alcove and it has no room to spare on either side) I would say: "Fits like a bum in a bucket".

So, the list could go on, but I ask you my good friends, what are your quotes?

Spare a thought

2009-02-08T13:00:00.003+11:00

A serious post this time folks....

Today is a very sad day for Victorians. History was made yesterday in more ways than one, as Melbourne had it's hottest day on record and bush fires raged throughout the state.
Waking up to see the carnage this morning was heartbreaking. Still, we must be grateful for what we do have, and as the day unfolded into night, I began to realise the importance of friends, and the unimportance of so many other things in your life.

What was supposed to be a 40th birthday celebration for a friend, turned into a strange situation as we all tried not to think of what was happening outside of our safety bubble of the inner city. We drank, we played lawn bowles. We went through the motions of what one does to celebrate a birthday, but we just couldn't be there in spirit. There were several of us who had friends or family that were in danger, and there wasn't a lot we could do except for make phone calls, check the CFA website, and wander into the clubhouse to check the news every half hour.
It seems we all were affected in one way or another.
My mother was alone in her house in the Yarra Valley, and was facing the decision of staying or going.
The wife of the party boy had horses in Kinglake that she couldn't get to.
And Jack had recently purchased a property in Flowerdale which was now under threat.

We all went home at about 10pm, but there was no way I could sleep. Jack came back to my place and we stayed up all night. Still checking the CFA site, but trying not to think about what was happening. We talked. We talked and talked and all of the anger and resentment that we held against one another from the breakdown of our relationship faded away, as we realised that there are far more serious things to waste energy on.

And as I cried watching the destruction on the news this morning, I sent up a prayer of gratitude. My mother is safe and well, the horses have been sighted, and Jack was back, if only for a short while.

And the Winner Is.....

2009-02-06T10:06:00.003+11:00

Jayne has kindly presented me with this Lovely Blog Award. If you are not already readers of Jayne's blog containing fascinating facts about our Great Southern Land, then I highly recommend you pop on by for a squiz.

Now, I have been charged with the task of forwarding on the award. The rules are as follows:

1. Add the logo to your blog

2. Link to the person who gifted you the award.

3. Nominate 7 or more blogs to bestow the award upon.

4. Leave a message on their blog telling them they have One Lovely Blog!

I am happy to now present the award to my most dedicated followers and commenters:

Miss Diarist, I know Jayne also gave you this award, but I would also like to give it to you. You started this whole blogging business, so you are truly worthy.

Al, I don't care that this award is pink and pretty, I shall present it to you because you are you. Besides, you are gay, you are supposed to show it loud and proud.

Andrew, I don't know you as well as I know Al, but ditto the gay thing, and also know that I love reading your blog.

Rueben, you are one truly switched on unit. You often astound me with your perceptive observations. Again, sorry about the pretty pinkness of your award.

Rhubarb, I love anyone who still contacts school books.

Pat, for showing us that true love does exist and is worth the wait.

Brian, for your hilarious cartoons and wacky wit.

Ok folks, must do some work now. Stay tuned for the next post coming soon....

Simply the Breast

2009-01-22T19:58:00.004+11:00

I have a delicate issue, and I'm not sure what to do about it.

Every two to three weeks, I go to get my nails done. Usually, I go to the same place, and I have the same lady. Today, I was out of town, so I went somewhere new.
I sat down, told the lady what I wanted, then she started to work. It is at this point that I start watching her shaping and filing my nails, and I remove my focus from what she is doing with my hands, and my focus moves to her chest. Not just her chest, but her breasts. She has, absolutely, gorgeous, boobs. Not big, not a joining cleavage of mass proportion. Just a perfect undulation of B Cup mounds, with a slight gully in between.

Now that I've seen them, I can't stop staring! I try to avert my gaze, but when I start looking once again at my nails, I can't help but let my eyes glaze over and change focus again. Why look in the foreground when you have womanly perfection in the background?

Then, it gets worse. She starts to buff.

With just a little side to side motion, her beautiful bosom starts a little jiggle. I'm convinced now that she is not even wearing a push up bra, but these gifts from God are indeed natural and free to stay positioned how God intended.

I look down, trying to glance at my own cleavage to compare. No, hers is definitely better.

So, my problem is not that I want to jump this poor lass, but that I think I have just acquired a new addiction. I have to see those breasts again. I don't care that she is an hour from my house (my usual nail lady is 5 minutes up the road). I don't care that she charges more. I'll pay it as long as she wears a v-neck. I'm not in love with her boobs, I am in awe of them. Is that really so wrong?

My Package

2009-01-19T20:34:00.002+11:00

Now that MD and Al have had a good laugh about this silly situation, I thought you might appreciate an update on my package.
Ladies and gentlemen, my package has been found! Nearly 2 weeks after it’s disappearance, I received a phone call at work. A phone call from Michelle. I have no idea who Michelle is, however, she says during said phone call (quite fast and without taking a breath): “I know this might sound like a strange question, but did you send me a DVD? It’s just that the note inside says it’s from Deb and you are the first Deb in the work directory, so I thought I’d ring you and ask you if you sent me a DVD….” I had to stop the poor girl, she was in such a tizz. I confirmed that yes, the package was sent from me, and no, it was not for her. She seemed a little disappointed, but told me she’d drop the package to me at my desk.

20 seconds after hanging up, she was at my desk.
Turns out Michelle is new, and sits about 15 metres away from me.

All that stress of wondering where my package was, and worrying who had received it, and it was that close all along.
Dorothy was right, you should never go looking any further than your own back yard.

An Animal In The Bed

2009-01-13T11:19:00.003+11:00

So, as most of you are probably aware, when you break up with someone, there are a few practical matters that one must deal with. One of the biggies is: "What do I now do with all this room in my bed"?
It's been almost 4 months since I broke up with Jack, and during this time, I've had to experiment with different ways of dealing with the extra space. At first, I put a pillow lengthways next to me, blocking out "his" side of the bed. Like a "do not enter" sign - going to the other side was too dangerous to contemplate. This was also handy, as it doubled as a substitute body also. If I slept on my side and draped my arm across the pillow, I could almost imagine I was nuzzled into his arm pit and had my arm draped across his chest...
I then realised this wasn't healthy and I needed to confront this conundrum. So, I slept diagonally - almost willing myself to utilise the the space, like, "Yeah, I really needed a queen size bed all to myself, I don't know how I dealt with having so much room taken up by an extra body". This was actually working quite well until the cat realised what was going on. All of a sudden, the cat and I were fighting over a queen size bed like it was a vacant block of land in Sydney priced under half a million dollars. I know what your thinking - it's a cat, how hard can it be, right? You haven't met my cat. She's big. Not like, panther big, but like, 7kg domestic cat big (now, before you go calling the RSPCA to report me on overfeeding my cat, I can assure you her vet has confirmed she is not overweight, just big) . She is also a princess and used to getting whatever she wants (ok, my fault really...mental note, do not substitute cute fluffy animals for children and then spoil them because they are your only child). So, now that Jack has gone, she has suddenly realised that she no longer needs to be delegated to the end corner of the bed near my feet, and that she can now sleep next to me (near my chest), where it's cozy and warm. I actually don't have a problem with this when we go to bed, because she curls up all cute like and purrs close to my ear. It's kind of snugly actually. What I have a problem with, is when she wakes me at 2am, because she's realised that rather than sleeping in a cute little ball, she wants to stretch out lengthways. Back legs down, front legs outstretched over head. What's the problem you ask? She doesn't do this in a top-of-the-bed to bottom-of-the-bed fashion, she does it perpendicular - across the bed. That's close to a meter of 7kgt cat, monopolising my bed!
I think I'll be delegated to the bottom corner of the bed soon.
Joni lied. The bed is not too big and the frying pan...well, it is a little wide....

Have you seen my package?

2009-01-07T16:50:00.004+11:00

Yes, I'm back!
So, if any of you work in my building and are wondering why you have recieved a DVD of Entourage in the internal mail, please let me know. I was trying to return it to The Cookie Monster, however, it seems I forgot to put his name on the front of the envelope - therefore the delivery would have been made to whoever's name was last on the envelope. Being that I work in the National Office of the company, I only hope it wasn't the GM...or the CEO. I do believe I put a "with compliments" note inside, I'm just not sure what I wrote on it: "Thanks for an entertaining evening", "I like to watch", or was it something about "needing cake for my next form of entertainment"?
This could be bad. This could be very very bad.

The Seret Lives of Us

2008-11-08T16:26:00.002+11:00

It has been a while since my last post. Partly because work has been busy. Partly because I'm uninspired. Mostly because I wonder what I should write about. Sure it's fun to talk about funny life moments and bizarre thoughts...but what if your head is filled with serious stuff? Do people really want to hear about that?
Most of you are also readers of MD and Al's blogs, so you will already be aware that although MD has deservedly found herself a wonderful man, both Al and I have recently lost ours.
It's sad, so sad, it's a sad, sad situation....
However, I will not delve into that now. What I would like to talk about are Random Acts of Kindness (RAK's) and how they happen at the moments when you need them most.
Al told us yesterday of a RAK that happened to him whilst on the train to work (I'll leave it up to him if he wishes to share the details), but it reminded me that through some of the toughest moments in my life, a RAK has occurred.
I recounted the time in my life, when at my first job in a pet shop, I turned up on the morning of a public holiday (so I was by myself) to feed the puppies, only to find 3 of them had died (viruses spread very quickly in a pet shop). Obviously I was distraught, but dealt with it, and then had to make a train journey home. On the train, I sat opposite a boy (about my age at the time - 16) who was writing in a folder. Every now and then he looked at me and smiled, then would go back to writing in his folder. When he got up to get off at the next station, he ripped out the piece of paper and handed it to me. Didn't say anything, just gave me the piece of paper and got off the train. It was a letter "to the beautiful sad lady sitting opposite". Nothing untoward was said, the main message being "I wonder what has made you sad today, and I hope that your day gets better...". No contact details left. That letter did make the rest of my day better.
Then there's today. Although I try and at least start every day in a positive way, I just woke up feeling....blah. It lasted all morning, until lunchtime, when I was waiting in a rather long line to be served. A man behind me (that smelt of Winfield Reds, and VB), says to me "Smile Love!". I turned around ready to belt him, and saw his toothless smile behind his bushy, stained beard - and I couldn't help but smile back at him. With a few more trivial words between us, I got my lunch and wished him a good day.
And what about the RAK's from friends? The spontaneous coffee "meetings" scheduled during a tough work day, the "R U OK?" text messages just when you need them, and the sacrificing of public holidays and Saturdays with your boyfriend to spend time with a friend in need. It reaffirms to me that the relationship that MD, Al and I have, goes far beyond a "work thing".
We're in it together now.

Cookie Vs Cake

2008-10-22T20:01:00.004+11:00

So, those of you that regularly follow Miss Diarist's antics, should by now have a good idea of the concept of cake. However, I would like to further the conversation and perhaps even invite further comments.

As MD recently blogged, we did need to have the discussion of "if cake is sex, what is kissing?" And we decided that a cookie would be the appropriate euphemism. This in turn made my "Pash Pal" the "The Cookie Monster".
However, the conversation didn't stop there.
What MD didn't know, is that later that night, when Dallas and I were reunited with the interstate work colleagues for dinner, we systematically observed each dessert that was ordered, and interrogated it's orderer:

"Mark, is that a tart you ordered? Can you tell me, is it a sweet tart, or is it a tart tart?"

"Johnno, I do believe they are profiteroles - was there a reason in ordering such extravagance? And do you prefer fresh, or whipped cream?"

We thought we were hilarious! Our colleagues perhaps thought we were a little strange (or drunk)...

The evening progressed, and with a few more wines consumed, The Cookie Monster proposed to take me back to his hotel room. Deciding that I was full on cookies, and that cake was not in my best interests, I snuck in one last lingering kiss and left him adjusting his crotch on the corner of Flinders and King St's.

The next day at training I was receiving the look of death from The Cookie Monster. Needless to say, there was no more childish kissing to be had, and he left at the end of the day to spend his last night in Melbourne with his sister. Feeling a little guilty that perhaps I had lead him on, and we weren't on the same page, I thought an explanatory text message was in order:

"Sorry I didn't want cake, I was quite content with cookies. I guess your appetite is bigger than mine right now...."

To which he replied: "WTF are you talking about?!?"

So anyway, this use of euphemisms got me thinking: Could we invent a new language that coded words in baked goods alone? Or would we need to introduce fruit and vegetables or other produce to complete the picture?

I only really thought about this because I was later questioning my decision not to take the cake. I decided that it was because what I really wanted, was my favourite spongecake that was recently discontinued at my local bakery......and I could surely talk about his buns and cookie dough 'till the cows come home....

To finish up, you will be pleased to know that I did have quite a raunchy dream about The Cookie Monster the following week. Unfortunately, work etiquette made me feel it not such a good idea to divulge such intimate information to him over the work email, so all I mentioned to him was "a dream with you in it". He demanded more information:

"Let's just say, I had my cake, and ate it too".

Apparently I am now officially a tease. And, I think he has now figured out what cake is.

Yup...I went there....

2008-10-08T22:39:00.003+11:00

I kissed a work colleague....and I liked it.
Of course, I open this post in such a way as this will be of great shock value to MD and Al.
I have been away from the office this week, attending a training session for work (which will make this even more infuriating for MD and Al as they cannot debrief with me - though I'm sure to expect an "Emergency Meeting" request for next week through my Blackberry the moment I hit "post" on this). This training also incorporates all the other people at the organisation who do what I do at work, but in other states (STS). It is the fact that this person lives outside of Melbourne that I use to justify not one, but two nights of childish pashing (and the anticipation of another two before he boards the plane home). Surely it's OK to pash a guy you technically work with, if he lives interstate?
It's not that it's serious - just an ego boost really. I'm only a recent recruit to the single life, so I use the great advice of people in the know about relationships...namely Sally (as in, When Harry Met Sally) who quite rightly says: "He's supposed to be the transitional man, he's not supposed to be the one". And although the context is different, I figure I can use that to my advantage. Isn't it a good idea to get the transitional guy out of the way so that you can make room for the one?
Maybe it's even simpler than that. As Dallas said to me tonight: "do you just need some cake"?

Litterally

2008-09-28T17:11:00.003+10:00

Waiting in line to be served at Priceline the other day, I overheard the checkout lady ask the customer in front of me if she would like a free gift - to which the customer replied a flat "no" (I did not see what the gift was, as I was too distracted by the 30% off manicure products sale to my left).
I got to the counter, and the checkout lady then asks me if I would like a free gift (while pointing to a small make up bag). Thinking that you can't get something for nothing these days, I said:
"Sure, how does it work?" (read: do I have to sign up to your club or buy something that is not even close in value to the cheaply china made makeup bag).
Without missing a beat, she replies: "It has a zip in the top you can open like this (she demonstrates) and pop your makeup inside...."
Yes, she was being serious.

Taxi Tales

2008-09-18T17:29:00.004+10:00

With MD and Al both posting blogs about taxi rides, I would like to join in on this particular subject. While they both spend much time in taxi's - my role demands I spend most time in taxi's. This, I believe, allows me to be quite the expert on taxi capers.
Whilst I am fortunate enough to not have been in a situation such as MD found herself in, I can certainly relate to Al and the fear he holds for his life when entering into the yellow capsule. It's like Russian Roulette - we may have survived thus far, but one day that bullet will come up. It's incomprehensible that these people are trusted with our lives and hold such little regard for this small fact.
As well as the dangerous driving, there is also the dangerous environment. I've been in a cab where the driving was OK, but the state of the cab made me grateful that I always have a travel size Dettol sanitizing gel in my handbag. Seriously. The vinyl seats were ripped, the back vents were non existent, gaffa tape was holding several things together, and the roof (and pretty much everything else) was covered in grubby hand marks. How is this allowed? What if I was new to Melbourne and this was my first experience of a taxi? Not acceptable! I regret that in my haste to leave the taxi, I didn't get the taxi number to report it.
Then there is the problem of the smelly taxi. This has happened on several occasions. I'm not talking about "unpleasant", I'm talking about "I don't care if it's snowing outside, I'm opening all 4 windows because I need the air (and possibly somewhere to vomit)". Again, not acceptable.
And here's a new one: The taxi with no fuel. This week alone I have been in 4 cabs that have their petrol light on. One even loudly beeped the whole 30 minute journey as if begging it's driver to hydrate it. How the driver ignored this I do not know, but it made my journey most unpleasant as I resisted the urge to tell the driver to fill up just to stop that blasted beeping! I mean it's stressful enough not knowing if I'm going to make it to my destination alive, let alone with the added stress that if I do make it, I'll be late because the driver had to pull into a Caltex....

Indivi-dual-ity

2008-09-05T21:36:00.005+10:00

Words...have you ever thought about them? I mean, we use them all the time, but really, the beauty of words is that most of us don't even think about how we use them - they just....get used. Some are over used. I work in a corporate world, and I can tell you (moving forward), that some words (in the current climate) get so over used (so to speak), that they loose all meaning. Most meetings, phone calls, emails & memo's could take half the time if such superlatives were just omitted. If we have to use so many words in a day, could we not (at the very least) find new words to replace the old? It really would make the work place so much more educational. I mean, thesaurus's were invented for a reason...
I think of this because I do work with some very intelligent people. I work very closely with a migrant (we'll call her Dallas), who - despite her not arriving in Australia until 3 years ago - has a better grasp on the English language than I do. This perturbs me somewhat. Instead of saying "we get along together as the relationship works for the both of us" she will instead say "we share reciprocity".
Then there are the other two characters you probably know - MD and Al.
MD has almost been banned from Friday night quiz. As if her English wasn't good enough, she can also answer in another - somewhat exotic - European language (not sure if you'd like me to give away what this language is MD- is that getting too personal?). Then she could probably tell you the country of origin of where that question came from, and the history of any related fact...anyway - MD just has a way with words.
Then there is Al. He walks up to my desk ranting and raving about whatever the latest thing to rant and rave about is, and somehow manages to throw "duplicitous" into his descriptive. This made me feel somewhat offended, and at the same time, in awe of the somewhat adventurous use of such a descriptive adjective (tautological I know, but I like to get my point across doubly so).
Oh words.....don't even get me started on double entendre's, oxymoron's, acronyms and thing-a-lings...and what's the word for when you put two words together and somehow it makes sense (read: "Spork = implement that converges spoon and fork)??

Joining the crew

2008-09-04T08:36:00.005+10:00

So, I too have joined the blogging crew. I was starting to feel a little left out.
MD hadn't written about me in a while (and I missed myself), and now Al has gone all literary on us and found a new calling in his blog. So, I thought....if you can't beat 'em, join 'em!
It does raise all sorts of questions though. I know MD has always kept her identity private (and of those who appear in her blog - did you really think my name was Deb?), and I think that's wise. Al too, has kept an air of intrigue in his identity and background. I think it's a good idea to keep people guessing. I'll give you and example:
MD and I attended a training course the other day. It was pretty wanky. I won't tell you the content of the course, but it's basically recognising that different people have different personalities and styles which may be different to yours. I get along with most people, but for some reason, I just don't get along with this facilitator. I find her hypocrytical, and well, just sometimes downright annoying (my issue I know!). So when, at the end of the day, she challenged me, then stated "you know Deb, I haven't figured you out yet" - I thought "good, I'm not here to be figured out!"
So, coming back to my point, I look forward to holding a sense of annonymity and hope I don't get "figured out"....