Snoozin’ for a bruisin’

The snooze button. I love it. I attend to it daily. A few times daily. I especially love it about thirty minutes before I actually have to get up out of bed. And every five minutes from there until I finally, reluctantly, drag my sad and sorry ass out from under my duvet/doona/quilt (depending on where you’re from, apparently). I am not (nor have ever been) one of these people who springs out of bed, eager to get into their day, bright-eyed and happy from the first moment of waking… No, I’m more like the monster from the lagoon depths, struggling to move at any great speed, grunting my greetings before coffee number 2, and looking like the monster’s ugly step-sister. It is NOT a pretty sight.

So, the morning has broken, and my alarms goes off. I press snooze and quickly return to my dream (I’ve been blessed with the uncanny ability to pick up exactly where I’ve left off in my dreams). Five minutes later, the alarm goes off again. I hit snooze and go back to sleep. Five minutes later, the alarm goes off again. I hit snooze and go back to sleep. Five minutes later the alarm goes off again… and you get the idea. This can go on for hours.. actually it usually does.

But this morning, I think I set an all-time record. I snoozed for 1 hour and 45 minutes. My PDA doesn’t stop snoozing after an hour (like previous alarm clocks I’ve owned have), it just goes on and on. For 105 minutes.. Even I was impressed with my own effort. Or at least I was after I’d had a few coffees and could actually think about.

Funny headlines..

Was talking to my colleague about the various ways we waste time at work.. I mentioned Perez Hilton, smh.com.au, my various email accounts and of course the lovely Facebook, and he saw me all these and raised me The Sun (www.thesun.co.uk), after which conversation turned to interesting headlines. I don’t think there is a paper in the world that does headlines better than The Sun. A personal favourite (and I kept a copy of this particular day’s edition – I was SO impressed with the journalistic integrity) was the day after Elton John married his long-time partner David Furnish. “Elton takes David up the aisle!” the paper screamed (I was in London at the time and invested my 25p wisely, I feel).

 This headline actually gets a guernsey on the following site, along with a few other good ones:

http://rucku.com/mod/vanillaforum/vanilla/comments.php?DiscussionID=392&page=1

Kevin-oh-seven!

Have the bro and mother staying with me this weekend and my brother decided that rather than go out on a Saturday night while on holiday, like a red blooded Aussie bloke, he would much rather stay in and watch the election count. So that is what we’ve done. And it’s been a K-Rudd-slide (Kevin Rudd is down with the homies, yo!). So, now we’re watching the speeches. And Howard (the out-going prime minister, who has just lost the Australian federal election to Kevin Rudd, for those not sure what I’m rambling on about) gave one thanking his long-suffering wife. And while he gave it, she corrected him. That’s what I like to see.

Congrat anyway to Kevin Rudd.. who is giving his in-coming speech as I type.. So far, nothing too funny to report about his, except to note that he is much easier on the eye than ole’ Howard. And his wife did nowt more than blow him a kiss.

Corporate golf day

Had a day out of the office yesterday for the annual corporate golf day. Have never been to a corporate golf day so was a bit unsure about what was going to happen.. it could have been a boozey, love-fest of the type that gets Telco employees fired, as much as it could have been a death-by-powerpoint day. It turned out to be a very enjoyable day in the sunshine, the best part being the golf carts. I was on fire behind the wheel of the vehicle of choice for the golf club.. on fire!! Hooning around, terrifying the local fauna, and getting that baby on two wheels around hair pin turns near the 12th hole.. I reckon I got it up to at least 40 kph for a few seconds there.. Before the engine cut out on me anyway. As it constantly did. Not sure why.

But no matter. I made it around the course a couple of times. At speed. In case you’re wondering, I wasn’t playing. I was the driver for the girl who was filming the event, who also happens to be the girl who sits next to me at work, which means that she is also happens to be the one I run amok with more than anyone else. We make a great team. And we decided that there is only so many times you can film office-dwellers tee’ing off (often verrrrrry poorly) before it becomes to put it bluntly, pretty bloody boring.

But we jazzed it up as best we could. With beer, boy-racer-style tactics to get around the course, and of course some very fancy editing of the said vid..  which will make it look like the drinks-cart girls are handing the national sales manager the “do not drink” pond water and a customer skulling a beer before crashing his cart, making the channels manager ninja roll from the cart to fall precariously over a cliff.. As I said, not super rivetting stuff. But back to the go-cart… er.. golf-cart. Or not. Let’s just say that my colleagues are now saying that they’re not surprised I had a car accident on Sunday.. Hmmm..

Nails

I am a vain creature. I have never denied it. But lately, my vanity has reached new heights. A little over a month ago, I decided to make like Reece Witherspoon in Legally Blonde and go and get my nails done. So, into the nail parlour I strode. And 45 minutes and 45 dollars later, I strode out again, nails looking (and me feeling) strong, smooth and fabulous. Every photo since has some how shown my nails proudly (it’s amazing how I now hold a champagne glass to show those suckers off!!)

Anyway, the point of my blog… So, I went in for my first refill and was sitting next to a rather large lady. A rather large, and, to be brutally honest (knowing I am no oil painting) a rather large and unattractive lady. And a thought flashed into my mind: “Honey, it’s gonna take a whole lot more than some fake nails…” Then, my gaze fell downwards to my own beer belly, and I thought, “come to think of it, why am I spending this money…”

I related the story to a friend on the phone a bit later on that day, and I even mentioned the self-gut-gazing… She explained the larger lady’s desires for nails, and it all made perfect sense. “They may not do much for her look, but she can make sure she can scratch the eyes out of anyone who says anything!”

Got it.

Better out than in…

After the dramz of the car, I thought that things were surely on the up… but little did I know…

I had been in agony for about four days with a sore throat, swollen glands and ulcers on the left side of my mouth. I had a wisdom tooth coming down and it was poking into my gum. When I went to the dentist a couple of weeks ago, he told me he wouldn’t take out the tooth.. ok.. he is a dentist. If someone is gonna know about teeth, it’s gonna be him, right? Wrong.

That tooth became the bane of my existance.. It was like a knife cutting into my gum every time I swallowed, smiled or spoke – which as a beer-guzzling, laughing chatterbox, happens an awful lot. I booked in at the dentist and they told me it would be a few days before the extractor-dude-dentist was in, but that I could come in and they would get me to sign all the forms, etc.

When I made my way over, with the tissues stuffed into my cheek like a chipmunk, I was met with an air of bemusement… “Shall we get the dentist to have a look at it?” I nodded disdainfully…

And to make a long story short, twenty minutes later, the little fucker was out! YAY!! So now I have a gaping chasm where I used to have a wise tooth but am back to being footloose and agony-free. Hope all are well out there!

Just when I thought this year couldn’t get any better…

I crashed my car.

Yes. The car I reluctantly bought off the parents to save (more) arguments with the ex. The car I haven’t paid off yet. The car affectionately knows as “the chiko roll mobile”. Funnily enough it’s not called that because it’s fabulous. Instead, it’s because it looks like a car that you would drive to watch your boyfriend Shane or Robbo surfing with their bogan mates, while you sat diligently on the beach, ready to run for their chico rolls as soon as they came in from the surf. Anyway. I crashed it. Or rather I impaled it. On a much bigger cars tow bar (sob!).

Luckily the people I crashed into were lovely. And understanding. Especially as they pulled their car to the side of the road, and my car inadvertently followed because it was… um, attached… I was mortified as I watched my little car get dragged (I would love to say that it was kicking and screaming, but it was as limp and lifeless as a car could ever be…) to make way for the oncoming tram – the wrath of the other car’s occupants was bad – I don’t think I could have handled 5-6 tramfuls or commuters (surely all on their way to beers at the beach in the 35 degree heat) glaring at me as my car sucked on tight to the tow bar like a hungry child to a nipple. I then had to watch, equally horrified, as a hulking great tow truck had to lift my car OFF the other car’s tow bar.. The crowd of 30 or so people who had gathered to watch applauded. I smiled weakly and my car was towed away…

Ohisashiburi ne!

I haven’t written for a while but will make a determined effort to get back into the swing of things in coming weeks. Have been flat out with work and play – doing both hard as always! My gorgeous flatmate, a good friend from Sydney and myself ventured to the races on one of the first days of the Spring Racing Carnival – we took a step out of dodge-ville (where we were having WAY too much fun) and frocked up for some glamour, guzzling and gambling! I have always refused to mix it with the plebs in general admin, but to my chagrin, even members at the fabulous Flemington track was full of the same type of folk… Luckily my gorgeous gals and I were in The Rails.. not quite the birdcage, but still a bit more fabulous than the rest of members.. I won some money on a few horses, lost some money on a whole lot more, got a bit tipsy early on in the day, before getting a wee bit more tipsy later on in the day. My shoes stayed on my feet the whole time and there was no breast over exposure due to intoxication, so all in all a fabulous time had by all. The highlight though, was the latest flame coming to pick us ladeez up after the event. There was no way I was going to stand in line for an hour for a taxi, or worse (gulp!), catch pubic (sic intended!) transport (with the afore-mentioned general admin folk). So the darling came to be our private driver (I won’t mention that he was in a Falcon – grouse!) and then proceeded to taxi us all over town depending on our whims and fancies, or more likely,  texts from other post-race drunkards. You gotta love that sort of service!