Not what I was expecting..

So, was planning on writing my first blog entry in a week on something super exciting, like the Big Day Out that rocked on Monday, or Australia Day, and how grouse it is, or even the whole work thing that’s been going on, which I know you’re all DESPERATE to hear about. But.. as a good friend of mine once said, “the best way to make god laugh is to tell her your plans”. And so today’s entry is about my lovely next door neighbour.

He is a lovely gent. Actually, he and his lady are both lovely- middle-aged, portly, and generally keep to themselves except when we swap gardening stories, which normally involve me bitching about the possums eating my garden, and him showing off his fab plants. Generally, nice neighbours. So, imagine our surprise when the flatmate and I open the door last night to discover him on our doorstep.

The poor love had had his pushbike stolen from outside the flat and was wondering whether my flatmate or I had heard anything. We hadn’t. He was visibly upset, so inspite of the fact that we were both exhausted because of our big day out at The Big Day Out, we invited him in for a glass of wine and a chat and a bit of consolation. 

I noticed we both leaned in closer as he said, “I’m probably going to regret telling you this…”

And closer again as he said, “oh well. I’m going to tell you anyway.”

“Yes, yes?” we quickly (but ever-so politely) urged…

“I used to be a woman.”

WTF?!?!?!

Yeah. My lovely pot-bellied, balding, bearded, short arse bloke, used to be a blonde, buxom beauty. Now that is not what I was expecting from my Tuesday night in front of the teev on the couch.

Update on the ex-loved one

The ex is back. Well, not back (never!) but certainly raising his ugly, ugly, ugly head.. My flatmate was out last night at her cousin’s hen’s night and she was approached by one of the other girls. She was asked if she knew “x” (or should I say “ex” – heh, heh) and if she new “y” (or should I say “I” – again – heh, heh!!). Flatmate-that-I-love nodded and this girl proceeded to explain that she had seen her photo on Facebook (ahhh, facebook… a wonder of our times!), to tell her about how she had been with my ex, when she was with him, what had happened, and I would love to say it was after my time in the sun, but alas, the two rocky relationships happened at the same time. It was exhausting being in just the one I was in, so I’m not quite sure how he managed two shitty relationships, but kudos to him, he did.

So after a bit of getting used to the idea, I’ve arranged to meet up with this girl for a glass of wine. I actually think it could be interesting to discuss our mutual friend (and all his failings.. ad nauseam.. over lots of wine..) and maybe even call him while we are together. He probably won’t be able to deny the fact that he was cheating when we are both on the other end of the phone. Or maybe a nice photograph of us both looking hot so he can see what he is missing out on. Hmmm. Will keep you posted.

Just wanted to put this in here

A slow day here in the office today as the network does something or other to the something or other. We’ve all been sitting around, complaining about the speed at which our work emails aren’t being sent, and, more importantly, how slow Facebook is. Hmmm. I have had a pretty eventful day though, with my senior management panicking and sending a million emails regarding the same issue (scatter gun approach – super effective, right?). So, everything gets escalated up the chain.. and then it all comes back down. At once. To me. And I sigh my all-knowing, patient sigh, and say, as though I’m a hippie smoking green, “Chill out dudes, calm down.”

Actually I don’t. I am way more subservient than that and go, “OK, what do you want me to do? Sure. OK, ten minutes ago? Sure, no problem.” But I don’t panic. Unlike a few others around me. I don’t really see the point. I’d rather get angsty at Victorian drivers, or rude waiting staff, or the arrogant clients who call me that I can barely bear to speak to, but not my colleagues who I know are doing their best, busting a gut like I am.

So I don’t. I merely nod, or say “yes” on the phone, or by email. And then bitch and moan about it over 20 glasses of wine and a blog entry later.  

Bad jokes

Had some friends over the other night, and the evening degenerated.. into bad jokes that usually wouldn’t have been funny, but after a few beers and some laughs already, were farken hilarious.. So I got to thinking about some of my favourite dodgy jokes.. And even though a few of them have been favourites for a long time, so more than some of you have already heard them, I thought I would share a couple now (as well as a few new ones I heard the other night).. who knows, you might not have heard them and they may drag a smile from your tightly clenched lips..

Q: How was copper wire invented? A: Two Sctosmen fighting over a penny.

J: Two parrots were sitting on a perch. One looked at the other and said, “is there something fishy about this?”

J: An Englishman, an Aussie and a Saffer are sitting in a bar in London. The Saffer skulls his beer, throws his pint glass in the ai, pulls out a gun and shoots it, shattering the glass. The Englishman says, “what did you do that for?” The Saffer replies, “In Sarth Africa, we have so much sand, we don’t drink from the same glass twice”. Then the Aussie skulls his pint, throws his glass into the air, pulls out his gun and shoots it, shattering the glass again. The Englishmen again asks, “what did you do that for?” To which the Aussie replies, “In Ostraya, we’ve got so much sand, we also don’t drink from the same glass twice.” The Englishman thinks about this and drinks his own beer in one go, pulls out his gun and shoots both the Saffer and the Aussie in the head. The bar man turns and says “what did you do that for?” And the Englishman replies, “In Larndarn, we got so many Saffers and Aussies, we don’t drink with the same ones twice.”

And my all-time, favourite dodgy joke:

Q: What’s ET short for? A: He’s only got wee legs.. (heh, heh)

Feel free to add your own personal faves..

Big love. But not that big.

My girlfriend (the one who was in Singapore with the burnt boobs (see previous entry) and wanted my other friend to wear a tracksuit out for her brithday (she features heavily in the pages)) sent me details of her flights to and from Melbourne to visit me. As I clicked excitedly on the pdf I thought how good her visit is going to be – she is coming down on the Australia Day long weekend and in particular for the Melbourne Big Day Out (for those who don’t know what I’m talking about: http://www.bigdayout.com), which is going to be on the public holiday Monday. Flatmate-that-I-love and I are pumped and now even more so that this girlfriend is coming. It’s gonna be loads of fun.

So, anyway.. back to me clicking open her itinery.. and discovering she’s coming down with Jetstar. Which is fine. The airport is miles away, but I love my friends, so don’t mind the hour-down-the-freeway drive. All good. But then I see this:

DEPARTS:                                                                                                                                                                                                    MELBOURNE – Avalon; Tues, 29 Jan, 2008; 0600 hr/ 06:00 am; Avalon Airport

HUH? 6AM? 6-friggin’-am?!?! Meaning I would need to get her there at 5.30 (AT LATEST!), meaning I would need to leave home at around about 4.30 (although at that hour I reckon I could get away with doing 130 k/h because everyone else will be asleep (AS THEY SHOULD BE!!) – but anyhoo). So. I have basically said that I will get them to a bus and they can get a shuttle out there. Is that being a bad friend? Who cares? 6 in the morning the day after a music festival? Yes – it is being a bad friend booking something – anything - at that hour!

I bet that you look good on the dance floor

I’m back into today, hard at work which of course means writing a blog entry. One of my girlfriends from Sydney had emailed me a few months ago to give me the details of two of her friends here in Melbournio and I hadn’t yet had the chance to catch up with them so decided last weekend it was going to happen. And it did. We started with drinks at one of the girls houses and afterwards headed to a club that one of them wanted to try. The club was called “The Ding Dong Lounge” (which I think was dubious to start with) and the night was an Indie night. Indie? I’m 31. Too old to be dancing to electropop like a robot from 1984. From 1984!! (That’s an indie joke, for those in the know). But these girls I didn’t know wanted to go. And I wanted to hang out with them.. (Logic 101= A therefore B, B therefore C, A therefore C)

But anyway, a few drinks in and I forgot that I was too old for this indie/alternative/Britpop palaver, and I remembered all the moves my bestie and I used to do in Radelaide when we were young, impressionable students who frequented a nightclub called Pop and danced the night away to Blur, Pulp, Lush (“Here we go, we’re hanging out in Camden, drinking with my girlfriends on a Saturday night…”), et al. Ahhh, those were the days..  

So, I was busting moves on the dancefloor and feeling quite comfortable with the whole thing until a realisation struck. It was a slow, creeping realisation, rather than a lightening bolt. As I looked around me, I realised that the whole club was full of old saddos like me, trying to recapture their lost and longed-for, indie/alternative/Britpop youth. At least I’ve finally found a venue where I’m not the oldest person in the place. (More often than not, the oldest AND the drunkest – not really cool in anyone’s eyes, is it?) In fact, I think I will need to go back often. It was banging tunes and DJ sets and dirty dancefloors (and that was another indie reference…)

A sad day..

I edged the blinds on my room open today and made a very grisly discovery. Like bad parents, the wife (aka flatmate-that-I-love) and I hadn’t pulled the cover over our pool. As I gazed down from my bedroom, I saw something floating. And I knew it was too big to be a bit of bark from the tree overhead. And it was floating the wrong way. My heart sank.

I rushed down the stairs to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me. And they weren’t. One of our little friends (now ex-little friend, I guess) was floating lifelessly in the pool. A possum. A ring tail possum as well – I wouldn’t have minded if it was perhaps one of the brushtail bandits that eat my garden – but a cute little ringy? Oh no.. I felt terrible that I had been responsible for the loss of one of our native creatures, and in particular, a nice one. That doesn’t eat my plants.

My next thought though, was…”What the hell am I meant to do with it?” It wasn’t like when I had to get my friend’s dead cat off the road (not pretty, let me tell you), and I put it in a green enviro-bag and she took it to the vet who disposed of it. I didn’t know what to do or who to call. So I scooped it out and put it in a bag… and put it in the bin. Gross. A wet ring-tailed possum in a bag. But not as gross as it’s gonna be IN A WEEK’S TIME WHEN THE GARBAGE IS COLLECTED!!! Yes, my friends – a week. Did I mention that we have been having 40 degree days? Farken hell – I would hate to be a garbo anyway, but on that day, in my street – all the money in the world couldn’t get me to empty that bin.

Bye little possum.

New Years Resolutions

Cinderfarkenrella had a great day yesterday registering one of the highest readerships to date – over 100 of you tuned in – unless it was you mum, with your 100+ unique IP addresses trying to make me feel better (in which case, thanks love). And yet, there is not a single comment. What’s girl gotta do to get a comment around here? Ask a question? Fine. Here it is, and a very original one it is too - what are your New Year’s resolutions? And if it’s to leave comments on blogs – I know a great place to start!

Speaking of resolutions, I have two. And I’ll show you mine… The first is pretty obvious because I think everyone makes it every now and then, and that is to get fit. To lose the relationship spare tyre which was compounded by breakup comfort eating and party season binge-drinking and to be able to run 10 kms without needing a heart transplant on the side of the road. Or to wear a bikini without my dad telling me I need to “do something”. So, I joined a gym a couple of days before year end (to get a good deal, right? – cunning… hang on, what do you mean, everyone gets the no-joining-fee-deal?!?!), and dusted off the sneakers and so far, so good. Three days into the year, it’s all going very well if I do say so myself. I’ve even put on the shoes and have actually (shock, horror) been to the gym.

Second resolution is to be better at staying in touch with absent friends, and for someone like me who has moved too often to too many different places - that is about 99% of them. And since, I figure, that they would probably also account for 99% of the people who read this blog, this is a big shout out to you all. And whether it’s by facebook, msn, email, or that old fashioned method – text – I will be in touch this year at some point. Big love and happy new year!

Now you show me yours!!

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year to everyone!!

Hope everyone’s  year got off to a cracker. Mine was more of a slow fizzle with the flatmate and a few friends deciding that we didn’t want to battle the crowds for either entry into a bar, a drink when in, or a cab home when we got thrown out. And as tempting as a pash with some drunkard at 12 was, I was keen to sit by my pool and chill with the homies. So we did. And it was lovely. The weather was war and balmy and the pool was inviting.

Yesterday was a sit-on-my-backside day, making today the first day of my new year. And, so far, no alcohol and I’ve already made it to the gym for some hexercise. A good year thus far then!

Anyway – wishing everyone a happy new year, and may 2008 be fabulous for everyone. If I was onthe Rudd marketing team, I would probably say: Great in ‘08, but I’m not, so will just say: Make it amazing.