A Taste of Home

January 12, 2010

I should have listened to Dame Edna and made a more sensible request.

My friends just arrived from home! They brought with them a box of chocolate fingers for me.

Now, I’ve only got three left, and I’m leaving them there. Cause if I don’t finish the box, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Ok I just finished the box.

Symtoms of Depression

January 12, 2010

So there’s this guy. Let’s call him Mr A.

Mr. A works for a non-profit organisation. Mr. A is the CEO.

Turns out, Mr. A is a bit of an asshole. He swears at people, he shouts at people, he’s over-controlling, he doesn’t listen to anyone and shows little sign of empathy. He causes anxiety in his staff. He creates bad relationships with suppliers and then he blames them. He’s causes people in the charity and people outside the charity to get upset, to feel bad and to  say things like ‘this isn’t worth it’.

In short, he’s a bully.

But the most striking thing about Mr. A is that the organisation he runs  is a support network for people with depression. It’s like he’s trying to drum up more business.

How bizarre.

How infuriating.

How sad.

Let the River Run…

January 8, 2010

Last year I worked a 3 week contract as a Marketing Co-ordinator in a little 3 woman architecht office. Little did I know at the time that the fast-talking, TV presenter/architecht boss would actually turned out to micro-managing, power dressing bitch-from-hell who was so tightly wound she made the squirrel from ice-age look like it was on vallium.

I think my final conversation with her went a little something like this. . .

Her:  ‘Can you write the About Us page for the website, and call around some  designers for  quotes’

(Translation:  Can you make something up ‘about us’ that sounds like we’re a professional organisation and then go on the internet, find some freelance designers, call them and provding they even answer, tell them the spec for a fictional website we haven’t even discussed yet and then demand them to tell you the price over the phone there and then, so i can know in like 5 seconds, then forget instatly, change my mind and get you to do it all over again tomorrow?)

Me:  ‘No problem’

(Translation: ‘I wonder what I’ll have for dinner tonight’)

2 Mins later, while writing the About Us page…

Her:  ‘Did you call the designers yet?’

(Translation: Why are you so incompetent?)

Me:  ‘Oh no I didn’t I was writing the About Us content like you asked, I’ll do it now’

(Translation: I can’t read your mind)

Her: ‘Yeh, do it now. So, like, you can do two things at once’

(Translation: Are you thick or something?)

Me: ‘So you want me to write the content and talk on the phone at the same time?’

(Translation: Go fuck yourself )

Her: ‘Yeh, is that too much to ask?’

(Translation: Go fuck yourself)

Fart, Go Away

January 7, 2010

I can never bring myself to say… gulp… eggplant.  It’s just such a weird and disgusting word.

It says nothing about the majesty of the aubergine, not is it logical as an aubergine neither resembles,  nor tastes like, egg.

In fact, the word aubergine has it’s origins in sanskrit and is derived from another word that literally means ‘fart, go away’.

I think I love it even more now.

The WordNerd has spoken.

Hypno-Tut

January 7, 2010

Last night, while I was drifting off into a serene and peaceful sleep, Batman started snoring. It was the kind of choking on something in the back of your throat snore that I love so much. Before i tugged at the duvet to rouse him a little, I let out a tut. (I tutted my sleeping snoring boyfriend. I am my mother.) After I tutted, I didn’t need to pull the duvet, he stopped.

What does this mean?

It means he can hear me in his sleep. And it means he subconsciously responds to my demands. This discovery has endless possibilities.

Most will end in him not snoring.

He’s hip, he’s naked , he’s 71 years young and he wants YOU to take off your clothes,  sit on a  rock and dive into the sea. Cause it’s good for you. And it is.

Ode to a Light-Rope

January 6, 2010

It’s official, Christmas is over. And the decorations have to go. Huff.

I’ll miss you peppermint candy-canes I hung from the bookcase.

I’ll miss you poinsettia that I lovingly placed by the TV.

I’ll miss you gnarly, old branches that I bought at an inflated price in Kits and are now eerily growing the green shoots  of the undead.

But I’ll miss you most of all  light-rope.  We had good times. Like when I gave you to Batman and his little 30 something eyes lit up with 5 year old joy. Like when we arranged you in a cool wavey shape on top of the bookcase and turned you on for the first time in the darkened room. Like when you suddenly broke free from the tape we had holding you down and nearly sweeped the water-filled vase in front of you onto all the books below. At 2 am. Scaring the sh*t out of us. On Christmas eve.

We love you light-rope.