Weeell I’m deleting my MySpace Account. I have decided that because I’m sick of caring, frankly! So before I do that I thought I’d better get all my blog stuff from there and post it here. So there’ll be a bunch of stuff after this that is actually old, (like anybody cares), so treat it as past-tense.

 

That is all!

The last week-and-a-half…well, let me explain it in textpics:

=.=  …  0.0  …  TnT  …  0\/0*  …  0.0  …  @.=

It started with our beautiful, fluffy Oscar-cat getting seriously ill, so we rushed him to the vet’s. What followed for a week was in and out of the vet’s, culminating in surgery and then an infection. Not good. But the morning I was woken up by my Mum telling me to spend time with Oscar as we may have to put him down… well, what a way to wake up!

So Delilah and I spend the morning with the cat, her crying and me refusing to cry and freak out my beautiful cat.

We set off with our poor, sore, feverish and generally unwell kitty at 8:30. Oscar is on my lap on a blanket in the front passenger seat, Mum is driving, Delilah is in the passenger seat behind Mum. Of course Oscar decides he hates car travel, as per usual, but since we don’t have him in his carrier because he’s sore he manages to jump down to my feet. Which is fine except he can feel the breeze coming out from the middle console and keeps trying to escape out there. So I have my head down near my feet fussing with Oscar, Mum is giving me advice and I guess Delilah is a silent observer.

All eyes are on the cat.

Who is watching the road? Anyone? 0.0

Suddenly Delilah yells – I have my head down near my feet fussing with Oscar, I look up out of the corner of my eye and where I should see sky I see a wall of white! There is a scream, a screech of tires, the cat darts under my chair, glass flies everywhere and then we are stopped.

And it becomes apparent that the wall of white  was in fact a wall of BUS.

So there’s the eternal second of silence where we all sit in shock, random settling noises from the car the only sounds I hear. Mum says “call the ambulance”, I whip out my mobile and dial 000. I see no window on Mum’s side, blood on her hands, glass everywhere and my sister in the back makes this low groan and then says “ugh, my thigh” — I whip around and yell at her “Don’t pull anything out! Whatever you do don’t pull anything out!”.

We have driven five houses up our street.

The operator gets me the ambulance but as I talk it becomes apparent we don’t need one. We’re in a Dihatsu Charade, and while it’s a crappy machine for safety, as my Mum says it could ‘turn on a dime’. When she realised she was driving into a bus Mum planted her foot on the brake and yanked the wheel to the left and narrowly avoided a face full of bus.  So the glass everywhere came from the shattered side mirror, Mum’s window was already down, there were a few tiny cuts on her hands and my sister was totally unharmed (although she was sobbing uncontrollably…).

They still sent the ambulance though; I’m guessing it’s because I said we’d had a minor accident with a bus, and they thought: “minor accident… bus… I think we’ve got some head injuries here…”

We live up the road from the hospital so three minutes later and they’re parked; I’m out of the car embarrassed, explaining the situation and I get a call from the fire department.

“We were just wondering how many people were in the bus?”

I face-palm, and force myself to tell the lady on the end of the phone - who now has my name and number and probably this whole conversation on record - that there was nobody in the bus, we hit a parked, empty bus on the other side of the road. I told her nobody was trapped, the ambulance was there and everyone was fine, so she didn’t need to send anyone.

The second I hang up a fire engine rounds the corner. Delilah and myself both put our head in our hands and groan in embarrassment. We got polite, swift service, smothered in grins and head shaking, and a bottle of water each before the emergency services headed off to deal with people who were actually in trouble, not just idiots.

I call work once we drive home (a three second drive).

“Oh, hey,” I say in a shaky voice, “I can’t come in this afternoon, my cat’s really sick and we might have to put him down… and we just had a minor car accident and I’m honestly an emotional wreck.”

“Are you sure you can’t come in?”

Yeah, we’re all fine, thanks for asking!

 I get a call back three minutes later telling me they are understaffed (well yeah, we always are) and desperately need me, could I call as soon as we got back from the vet’s to let them know if I can work or not. (Basically, if our cat is not put down I’m working.)

! .\/.*

But after all this, a week later Oscar is fine, has a new haircut (I’ll have to post some before and after photos for you. He is adorable and now he has a spring in his step again!). And Delilah did my shift that evening (NO I am not a horrible sister who asked her sibling to do a shift after such a crappy day – she wanted to work and get out of the house to escape the stress.)

We still don’t have a side mirror. Did you know those mirrors, unlike the windows of a car are not designed to take impact or crumple in any way – they shatter into millions of sharp fragments, a lot as fine as sand, and they pepper your car to keep turning up even a week after being cleaned several times over. It’s like gravel rash for cars.

~If you’ve ever had gravel rash you’ll know that months later you’ll be washing and you’ll pull a small pebble fragment out of your knee and just wonder…~

Delilah really put it in perspective for me that afternoon, though. We were lying on her bed and I said,

“You know, in the scheme of things, I guess today wasn’t the best day.”

“Are you KIDDING? I woke up and I thought our cat was gonna die, then I thought I  was gonna die!”

Delilah said she was watching us approach the bus (at 40ish km/h) and had the following thoughts:

‘Does Mum realise she’s on the wrong side of the road?’

‘We’re heading straight for that bus, has Mum seen it?’

‘Gee, we’re so close to it, is Mum even watching where she’s going?’

(At two feet from the bus) “MUUUM!! BUUUS!!!”

Well, she was never the sharpest tool in the shed! Still, she’s doing better than me: in an emergency situation, I lose the ability to freak. I would’ve thought really loud ‘oshitoshitoshitOSHIT!’ and then right at the last second managed to force out very steadily “Mum you’re going to crash into a bus”.

Oscar then:

                    

Oscar now:

 

 

You know I was the only one who did not laugh at him when I saw his haircut. And I don’t think it shows it well enough in the pictures, but he always smelt like a wet sheep when washed, and now he’s been trimmed, he is all soft and fluffly like a sheep after it’s been shorn… he curls up extra close to me now to keep warm ^^

Feel free to leave me comments telling me how beautiful he is, he has low self-esteem at the moment and he needs the perks! (lol, well it’s nice to know if somebody sees these pics. Let me know if you have pics of your pet that you adore on  your blog - I will gladly check them out. I love animals!)

Wowser, suddenly there are things to talk about! Embarrassing and awful things, really…

***

A Dandy Afternoon…

Well, Mother and myself are both into herbal remedies (ones that work, not hujuju like shark cartilage curing arthritis or anything…) Aaanyway, something fantastic about also being vegetarian is you get to know a lot more about plants’ nutritional properties than those healthy meat eaters. Like how to get complete proteins, enough iron etc. Anyway, a great source of iron is dandelion leaves, but the catch is there are two types of dandelion, and one, the hardiest one, is the crappy one. It has white sap, and it looks weedy in comparison to the other dandelion, and it’s the one that smells gross when you pick it.

Mum thought she’d found some decent dandelion, but as she is physically hindered, she needed me to help her get it. It was conveniently placed on a MEDIAN STRIP JUST DOWN FROM A ROUNDABOUT. For high visibility of the very obvious girl picking it up. And yes I’m obvious, because I’m about 180cm or so tall, uncoordinated, and bright red (not normally, but I blush easily…). I fought this idea (to no avail), saying things like “No way!”, “Can’t you just eat parsley?” and “What about buying seeds?!”

“I can’t buy seeds,” says Mum, “I’ve looked everywhere, gone online, called people, and the best response I’ve gotten is ‘just go down and pick some up off the side of the road, they’re weeds!’ So that’s what I’m doing!”

“No Mum, that’s what I’m doing, you’re just coming to watch!”

After that, we got in the car and all Mum did was laugh at me the entire time. And of course, I ended up standing there, in the middle of the road with a bright red bucket and a spade, peering at dandelions… And Delilah took photos of my red face because she found it hilarious.

*sigh*

And in the end, after that embarrassment, I could not find any good dandelion anyway. Just futile embarrassment.

***

Signs…

Work has gotten interesting again lately also… well by interesting, I of course mean frustrating as hell with funny moments to break the pattern of dull… and of course, that would include infuriating customers.

You know, when you work in customer service you only tend to vent by talking about people who piss you off, which invariably leads to the assumption that you, as the customer service officer, hate all customers.

Which is totally wrong, without them I would have no job. (The ability to live notwithstanding, a totally awesome idea if I do say so myself.) But in my job, I get pretty much everyone, because everybody eats. That includes creepy old guys, bitchy women with Napoleon complex, people who forget how to use manners when sex is not a possible outcome (usually women), people who want everything so fresh it should by rights still be breathing, the slightly abusive and also the women who complain about things for that sole purpose only.

But a fellow worker of mine - let’s call him Battle Orc - recently got a doozy.

Situation: Serving ham.

CUSTOMER: *looks at two remaining slices of ham* “Do you have anymore of that ham?”

BATTLE ORC : “No sorry, that’s it.”

CUSTOMER: “But the sign says $14.95 per kilo.”

BATTLE ORC: “Yes…”

“But you don’t have anymore?”

“No sorry.”

The customer then quickly becomes loud and irate

“Well then that’s false advertising, if you don’t have the ham you shouldn’t advertise it for $14.95 a kilo!”

“…We do have the ham, it’s right here” *gestures to the two slices of ham left*

I should point out here that Battle Orc does not have patience with irritating people, and this guy was more than that.

CUSTOMER: “WELL IF YOU ONLY HAVE TWO SLICES YOU SHOULD ONLY ADVERTISE TWO SLICES, NOT A KILO!”

BATTLE ORC: ( .\/.*) “Well it’s just priced per kilo!”

This volley of “stupid guy bitching about sign” vs “you idiot it’s a sign” continued for a brief period before Battle Orc lost his nerve completely, went “AARGH!”, ripped the sign out of the cabinet, hurled it on the bench and shouted “THERE, THE SIGN IS GONE, DOES THAT FIX YOUR PROBLEM?!!”

At this point I had to leave, but apparently the guy took the ham and said he was going to complain to the manager. But nothing came of it. Except a lot of laughing afterwards!

***

Caesar Salad ala Musca Domestica

I’m a vegetarian for crying out loud!! But I love salad from a certain place, ( I hesitate to name it, although nothing I print will be libellous but better to be safe than sorry), and today myself and Spazmo (good friend from school) decided to be healthy. It’s the beginning of a new era! I bought cross trainers and she bought a tennis racquet and we are gonna be hawt!

But anyway I opened my salad and lying on top in the dressing was Mr. Housefly.

He was stuck there upside down wiggling his little legs at me. I nearly threw up. But I wanted my salad, and I reasoned, well, it’s bound to happen, I mean it’s an open salad area they get the stuff from, and a random fly may get trapped. Lucky it was on top…

Aaanyway, I spent five minutes thinking positively (Spazmo removed the fly for me) and then chowed down. Paying more attention I must say. And then I finally got down to the bottom, to the last couple of mouthfuls, picked up my forkful and…. THERE WAS ANOTHER FLY. This one was wings stuck to body not out, legs stuck down… I had the fork near my face, and we established eye contact. Ever had eye contact with a fly in a sticky situation? It’s eyes said “help me, I’m stuck here in this tasty deathtrap” and my eyes said “Ohmygodi’mgonnahurl” (and yes as one word).

So that was it, I could’t eat any more. I mean between the top of the salad and the bottom, who knows how many flies I consumed? None? A dozen? My desperate need for another flavour in my mouth and depressedness led me to a lolly store where I loaded up…

And that’s it from me. Nothing amazing but I felt I had to share! Also I had pictures for the fly story but our scanner is dead… wants me to edit some menu shortcuts which refuse to be edited…

Well, not that anyone actually cares, but it feels good to finally have unblocked!! I was sooo stuck, no writing, drawing, just endless consumption of other people’s creativity and boy, was I feeling down. But I’ve written a couple new poems (hate me if you want to, poetry’s pretty subjective stuff, one in fifteen million people usually like your particular brand… and then that’s usually you..)

ALSO I’m starting to draw again!! I have never posted any pics here, but I am trying my hand at a cartoon, and if all goes according to my plans, this page shall host it! As egotistical as this seems, it will be based loosely on my life, i.e. the funny and that which is funny in retrospect. And some of it will be complete bull. But I shall attempt to make it cute at all times.

 Anyway, that’s enough out of me, clogging up the blogospere, so on to the poems, and I hope you recover quickly from reading this or any other posts I have published. I always find scones and tea can erase even the most horrendous images from one’s mind….

 

Just Like Me

I am not a God
I am not omnipotent
Don’t tell me all you’ve done
behind closed doors.

 I will not forgive you.

 Do not wear your heart out on your sleeve
I will rip it off
I will break you down
just to know what it’s like to be

on the other side.

 Do not confess to me
I am not a priest, I will judge you
as though perfection is attainable.

I will be the worst thing
that ever happened to you.

 If you are vulnerable
I will make you
miserable.

This is just another mistake
I will teach you what it is

to hate.

 And when the tears

burn

down

your

cheeks

 

You’ll be just like me.

 

 Such a Boy

Well I know what it meant
and I heard what you said
but I’m sure it was different,
You don’t understand.
You said it was deep
you said it was real
I believe you, I believe
but you just don’t feel…

Well you talk and you talk
and you talk it to death
and you think and you thought
’til there was just nothing left
You have thought of it all
now i’s complex and new.
You cling to it, this miracle,
but you’re just a fool

Given one and  one you have all the equations
But a sum’s just a sum and you’re too damn creative
So unhealthily strung-out and selling your secrets
I’m worried you won’t find out ’til you’re knee-deep

You cannot create it and expect it to stay
It will not be how you feel just because you say
You’re a fool and naive and it won’t go your way
You’re such a boy, oh
You’re such a boy, and I cannot save you
Boy, from yourself…

Well a fool with a dream’s
just fooling himself
And you sort as you must
on your segmented shelf
You’ve got labels and numbers
categories, oh sections
and it all fits so neatly
with no room for transgressions
Well if it won’t fit you make it
stubborn as a mule

Do you truly believe it,
that it all fits the rule?
You pine and you fret
You shake and take pills
wanting to fix it yet
so you charge to spill

All of your secrets and all you’ve discovered
every rejected ideal and lover
Have you any idea how wrong you have got it?
I can’t break your fall but you won’t stop running
You cannot create it and expect it to stay
It will not be how you feel just because you say
You’re a fool and naive and it won’t go your way
You’re such a boy, oh
You’re such a boy, and I cannot save you,
Boy, from yourself…

Running riot expecting to be directed
But I’m not your mother and what you expected
was more than I could give, but I still give plenty
You’re far beyond saving but you want to save many
You fool!
Such a boy, such a boy, such a boy
A fool!
And only fooling yourself,
Boy, I cannot save you…

 

That last one’ s a song so yeah, it’s good when you have the rhythm down (of course, that varies…)

Shall leave you all alone now! Peace! \/

Yep, that’s right, being single is a disease. At least, that’s what I’ve been led to believe, chiefly by the actions my co-workers seem to be taking to ‘cure’ me of it.

I’m only twenty! I have my whole life ahead of me, but apparently not having a significant other is a bad way to be.

This I am being told by several happily-paired people in my life… as well as everything stupid their partners do and how annoying they are…

Here’s how a usual day at the deli goes. I work with proudly half-caste Kujo, and her best, New Zulland bud (also Kujo).

Miss C walks up to customer: Hi, how can I help you?

Kujo/s elbow Miss C in bony rib-cage (ouch!) and jibe with one of the following selection of… jibes… (where’s the synonym button when you need it?)

 ”The question is, how can he help you?”

“Give him your number!”

“Ooh, she’s hot, maybe you should swap teams?”

..huh?!

Not that I’m shallow.. well, I am, but come on, as if I’m going to jump the first tradie that walks past me! And my New Zulland Kujo in fact seems desperate to ‘cure’ me of my single disease. Or at least, that lurking childhood illness of virginity. One in every two shifts she is drilling me on men, my likes and dislikes, and then getting to the nitty-gritty:

“Do you want to have sex?” Kujo asks.

O.O

“Well what kind of question is that? I’m not frigid!”

“Aren’t you worried?”

At this point in the conversation (and trust me, it usually hits this point pretty early on, thanks to my dear, pessimistic and oh-so-thoughtful deli bud) I shoot her the accusatory frown and bark, “Why, should I be?”

The fact that the conversation runs less along the lines of finding yours truly’s true love, and more along the lines of giving nookie, leads me to believe that Kujo – currently in the honeymoon period of coupledom – is getting waay too much; and has therefore had an epiphony: *cue dramatic pose, hand on forehead* without it she was nothing, and now a renewed, rejuvenated, energised woman, has taken it upon herself to save me from the desperate throes of morbid self-gratification by hooking me up.

Meanwhile I am planning my next counter-attack, namely asking her if me and sex are on her mind so much maybe she should just lay me and get it out of her system. Of course I’m joking, she’s too chromosomally advanced for my liking.

But then, should I be worried? Should I be concerned at her attempts to sell me to the tallest customer, when she is constantly hitting Big W for cheap bibs for her baby box? (She’s a forward thinker.) Obviously she’s nesting and while I understand it, I cannot live it.

The terrible, publicly indecent fact of the matter is I cannot get myself pregnant, and I’ll be damned if I let her do it! Obviously indirectly, but still… I never dreamed that 20 was old, and never once thought I was in a dire situation - or any situation at all – until the paranoia that has slowly crept in ever since she, and the other Kujo, were so verbally concerned for me!

And then there’s the party incident. This is a while back actually, but it stands fresh in my mind. One of our co-workers was leaving to go overseas and the two Kujos teamed up to make the ‘dynamic date-arranging duo’. (So what if it’s cliched?) We’re sitting in a circle, talking to a friend of our go-awayerer, (who is off somewhere dancing a beautifully sequened shirt, so long it could almost be a dress). Then Kujo (from now on there shall be no distinction – it’s pointless) comes up with something to slip easily into the conversation to change topic:

“Miss C is single you know.”

Well of course I go bright red. It is important to note at this point that my face has a mind of its own… so to speak…ahem… anyway, I constantly blush – when I am mildly embarrassed, when I overheat (and my head overheats randomly, it’s weird), and also, when ever my cheeks feel they need rejuvenation. Worse, is when I can feel it happening, and people look at me like ooh, she’s blushing and then judge why I’m embarrassed, and I get embarrassed and blush uber bad because I can usually guess why they think I’m blushing and I hate being judged like that!!

Whoo, moving on.

Before I get back to the party scene, I should give you the background to explain what Kujo said next.

There was in fact a third Kujo, a guy, funny but gross and when we closed the deli, he used to pretend he was ‘owning’ deli materials, if you catch my drift. You hear a ’squeakity-squeak’ of wheels, turn around, and there was Kujo, riding a trolley with vigour cowboy-style.

He called it taming.

Many a time I would walk around the corner, and he would be taming the edge of the bench, dominating the corner of the chicken-oven, or in the coldroom inexplicably on the top shelf, demanding the identity of said grill’s daddy. (Actually, the only exaggeration there was the daddy part – I swear to God I was putting ham away and he was up above me taming the cured meat shelf.)

So, can you guess what Kujo said to Mr Army Man at the party?

“She’s never been tamed.”

He didn’t get it, but every one else did. And then they said they had to go over the other side of the room and promptly left. In the ensuing uncomfortable half-hour I discovered that said army man, 24 and divorced, was still desperately in love with his cheating ex-wife, although he never said it in words, and even if he were my type I would not hook up to be an unpaid counsellor and rebound girl.

I also am extremely wary of getting into any more situations like that, and fully intend to avoid large social functions where I get left alone with any of the three Kujateers and an available male.

Well, that is all I have to say, I need to sleep and if I went on about it all you’d be even snorier than you are now!! Although, I’m sure my story is nothing in comparison to others, but it was enough for me! Keep half an eye open for more, as my life is getting increasingly complicated at this very moment.

So something to ponder… or laugh at.

Divorce: (v) future tense of marriage.