12 years and counting

Made a quick stop off on the way to Christmas lunch to see Mr C. After the biggest hug ever, we got a coffee and had a brief chat. I gave him a copy of The Chrysalids, and he gave me a pair of earrings. Apparently he stood in the jewellery store for ages feeling uncomfortable because he couldn't find a pair of earrings in the shape of books, so he settled on owls because they were the closest thing. I didn't tell him that I spent ages standing in Readings trying to choose a book that would suit him.

Mr G seemed pretty relaxed, which is good considering Mr C will be around forever. I think he's realised that Mr C is not a threat - I told him how before I dated him, Mr C supported me through a rather traumatic relationship, but kept his own feelings well hidden because he likes to do the right thing. I think I might bail Mr C up and ask him to put the Mr N thing in perspective. I'm pretty sure I know what he'll say, but I think I need to hear it from someone who loves me, but isn't IN love with me.

I'm still begging him to come back to Melbourne. I want him to live here so I can see him more often. He countered with an offer to take me to the open range zoo if I come visit him in Adelaide. I think I will - I've almost saved enough for a cheap holiday to Europe, so I may as well spend part of that money watching someone I love pretending he's in Kenya. Seriously, he actually told me we're going to be playing make-believe the entire time. Mad.

*Random side note: Mr G says the wedding should be in November 2012. I say November 2013. I told him that if he wants to get married that quickly then we'll just get the paperwork done now. He wasn't impressed.

A Love Story

POWER DOLLS!

Too many posts in one day, but this is the funniest thing I've seen in ages.

Kickboxing for useless people

Despite kicking my trainer instead of the bag, almost throwing up and being totally exhausted at the end (to the point that I can't move), that was the best training session I've ever had.

It was about 25C while we were training, and I don't think I've ever been this sweaty (I know, what a marvellous thing to announce).

I'm getting a more complex training plan that will involve 5 days a week. I admitted that I'd been lazy and exhausted and that I can't seem to manage myself very well. My brilliant trainer is dealing with that very well, and is going to give me an eating plan too. He knows I have no intention of sticking to it, but he said it might help anyway.

I'm pretty happy with things despite the lazy behaviour - I'm much stronger and my back never hurts now. Mr G and I are going hiking early next year, and I was thinking that since we love it so much, we should do something similar for our honeymoon. I was a driving force behind a lot of the strange things we did when we traveled, so if i put together a new request list, I'm sure Mr G will agree to at least some of them. He loves to go to new places and explore (although I'll have to be stern about his guitar not coming this time), so I don't think I'll need to do much convincing.

On a completely unrelated topic, I freaked out at work the other day because I thought I saw someone I used to date. Turned out it wasn't him, but it just rattled me. I have had people I don't like come to the front desk before, and that was confronting, but what do librarians do when an ex-boyfriend comes to the desk? I suppose it depends on how the current relationship is. If Mr C rocked up at work I'd probably tackle him for an epic hug. If a difficult ex arrived I'd probably get security. Thankfully I usually have a good desk partner on with me.

Can't keep typing, I think I need to peel myself off this chair and get more water. Body hurts.

Love from far away

Didn't eat enough breakfast, went to a meeting and didn't really understand what was going on, got given more work, ate an average lunch, got interrupted so much I gave up on my break, asked for stuff to be done and got no response at all. Then I got home and made a horrible salty dinner.

Tired and close to death, I fired up my beloved lappy in a last ditch attempt to revive my day and found a lovely email waiting for me.

The subject was:

Hellooooo Melbourne buddy!!‏

Heh :-D

The other Miss A had somehow heard my desperate call for help (muffled by a face full of cookie), and told me to come stay with her in Sydney. I haven't even talked to her in months. Amazing.

I'm going in January. With a quick stop in Canberra so I can check out the National Library and bump up my nerd-cred.

The other Miss A and I met in London and after months of being weird and awkward, realised that we are the same person. We giggled over the cute but dorky guy, and laughed at the awful fashion obsessed cow that ruled the office. We ate muffins and asked for directions at Scotland Yard. True love.

Then we broke up. I came back to Melbourne, and she went to Sydney. The dream team was no more. But then we decided that such a glorious friendship had to be maintained and we began writing letters. I love letters. Emails just aren't as interesting. There's no effort involved in an email. You can't pour over old emails and feel the same joy as a real letter gives.

Hmmm. That little 'I love letters' speech has inspired me. I might write Mr C a letter as well. I can tell him all about the terrible creatures that live on the ocean floor (this is what I looked at for a reasonable part of the day), and cheer up his life in SA. Sometimes he seems terribly grim about things there.

Anyway, I'm going to write to them both and tell them all about what I discovered today. The hagfish. It covers it's prey in foul goo, suffocating it. Then it slides two retractable plates filled with teeth (it has no jaw) out of it's face and eats.

GROSS.

Mr C will love it. Miss A will be impressed. Tomorrow, love will be spread around Oz and I'll have a great day.

Editing a novel

My dad is a writer. Literary fiction mostly. He's a smart man, and when it comes to writing, he knows what he's doing.

He told me once that I can never fall in love with my own words. He said that I need to look at my work critically and be prepared to cull chapters ruthlessly.

May I just say that I've chopped an entire chapter.

If I got rid of it because I thought the entire thing was stupid, that either means I'm not in love with my words or that the chapter was so appallingly bad that I should consider turfing the entire thing before I embarrass myself publicly.

Unfortunately, I can confidently state that the chapter was so shit (watch your language Miss A!) that I couldn't even pretend that it could be fixed. It's a good thing I'm so stubborn.

The Victorian Writers’ Centre does manuscript assessments for $570. I could tweak this silly thing forever so I wonder how people make the 'finished' call. When is it going to be good enough that I can send it without feeling like I'm wasting my money? Why is it that the two people I know who are capable of editing properly are my darn parents? I do know a lovely woman who works in editing, but I know heaps of people who think they can edit but are only capable of twisting a story to fit their own style. I think I'll just spend the money and if it comes back in tatters I'll just suck it up and go on holiday.

Finally! We're good to go!

I feel like this has been coming for years. I sent another draft of my thesis proposal to my dad. He wrote back:

I've read the proposal. Barring a few errors, it sounds okay. I will read it again before Monday to see if any further fine-tuning can be done.

HURRAH! This is high praise, and means that on Monday (when I work myself into the ground 'fine-tuning') I can send it off to my potential supervisor to get more editing before it's submitted. Then I wait to find out if I'm allowed to go ahead. The joy of hoop jumping.

A few people have tried to put me off, telling me horror stories about how hard research is.

To them I say "Shut-up. I'm a librarian, and I know other librarians." Thanks to my colleagues I have access to records and primary sources that I would never have even dreamed of. Plus, now that a few of the super-smart people know about my interest, they keep coming up with helpful items. It's rad, because they're always on target. I haven't had anything that's useless to me. And none of them even bothered to conduct a reference interview. Unless they did it without me noticing...

Anyway, things that I must do include:

1. Write the bibliography as I go. Also, I must cite things properly. This always seems to be my downfall. I make lousy notes, then freak out months later.

2. Make good use of my time. I have hour long lunch breaks. That's a lot of time that gets wasted. Plus, when I get home I tend to watch Mr G play his guitar (I know, it's weird). I should probably stop doing that.

3. Set a reasonable target. A certain number of words per day. That's how I got through my undergrad, and that's how I'll deal with this.

I am so madly excited that I'm going to explode!

Thanks idiot

Hmmm. I managed to set my hotmail up so it deleted emails. A bunch of emails. That I haven't read, or even seen. This explains an annoyed text I got asking why I haven't responded. Responded to what?

Worst part is, it's not hotmail's fault, it's mine. I am a muppet. I tried to be fancy, made a group of friends, then I blocked them all. By accident - in case that wasn't obvious.

I am also amused that it took me this long to figure it out. Why didn't anyone crack it sooner? Why didn't I add my mum to that group? She has a tendancy to text me after every email alerting me to the fact that something is there, waiting for me.

Thank heavens I still have gmail. Which is full of nothing but spam because nobody ever bothers to email me there.

Plus, I wrote this weeks ago, but didn't post it because the posting 'failed'. I hate emails and I hate the internet and I hate everything AND I have very sore arms.

The End.

Melbourne History

Today's fun historical picture comes from a book called 'Footscray's first fifty years' by H. Michell, published in 1909.

I was having a lovely time researching Footscray, when this lovely picture caught my eye.

Hairdresser, Tobacconist & Fancy Goods Dealer

"Sir, I need me some fancy goods!"

Snow peas and a lovely new garden

I grew snow peas! Lovely little snow peas! They were delicious. I'd been ignoring the plant because it had fallen over and quite frankly, I was sick of trying to weave it in and out of the dodgy frame it was leaning against. Plus, most people who grow snow peas had their crop ages ago, while my plant was looking miserable.

Foolish Miss A. It had fallen over because it was covered in yummy goodness! Goodness is heavy.

There's something beautiful about growing food. When the first shoot pokes through a plain patch of dirt, it's delicate and sweet looking. It's hard to believe that such a tiny thing will produce food.

I love having my own yard. We had the super lovely Dan from Very Edible Gardens come out to do a permaculture design. I'm getting an orchard, chickens and a few vege beds. Best of all, I get all the things I love to eat. Including blueberries. It all seems a little bit unreal, and I asked for what I thought was impossible, but Dan was magic. He even included an area for the chapel and declared to Mr G that it was practical. HA HA HA! A serious promise is a serious promise. Even if it's completely mad.

I was a little surprised at how well the consultation went. I had time to ask all of my questions and Dan answered them without making me feel stupid. I know I want to be very hands-on and build my garden myself, but part of me now wants to use VEG to do it for me. Maybe I can bring them in at crucial points. Like planting time. And pruning time. And chicken buying time.

Anyway. Baby steps. I have a shovel and I've eaten my snow peas. Very exciting.

Close call

I was two seconds away from writing a tragic apologetic email to Mr N. I blame Mr C, tonight he's been talking about books and he asked me to recommend some. I thought of Mr N and felt all sad and puppy faced. Why can't I just apologise and ask if we can be friends? Is that so bad? I miss him!

Then, I read Hawm's post:

As human beings we take perverse pleasure in wallowing in our own pain and misery. Rather than let the scab heal we keep picking at it. We read text messages/emails/letters from people who’ve hurt us. We listen to music, watch movies/tv shows, read books they recommended when they were still part of our lives.

It was the books part that got me. Clever Hawm. Defending the mental health of his friends without even knowing it.

Something secret

While I did announce my engagement to Mr G, I never said how it happened. I suppose I was keeping it close, but then I realised that even though it is unfortunate and rather pathetic, this is my journal. So, I should write it down so that in 5 or 50 years time I can remember things clearly. Plus, if I don't include it, the end of year adventure summary is going to be incomplete.

So, after working out our differences (more accurately, my commitment problems), we decided to go away to Red Hill for our anniversary. I was really getting quite excited about it because I love Red Hill. But I wasn't expecting anything. I KNEW that he wouldn't propose, he told me that he'd never do it on a special day because I'd suspect that, and more specifically, he didn't want to be stressed out on our anniversary.

We stayed the night at his parents place (house-sitting) and when we woke up the next morning I was massively excited. I really adore Red Hill. It's a lovely area. So Mr G goes upstairs to get his stuff and the doorbell rings. I had a weird moment where I wondered what Ita would do - is it rude to open the door when it's not your house? Anyway, I saw two figures, realised that it must be the older ladies next door and thought it best to let them in.

Surprise! It was Mr and Mrs K&S, who asked if I was alright, then handed me a ransom note that had been left with them. Mr G had been kidnapped! By a ninja heatpack I use. Apparently I hadn't paid him enough attention and he was seething with jealousy. To get Mr G back I would have to solve Ninji's riddles. Off we went, to eat breakfast and solve the clues. Turns out that the clues were in Japanese, as were the answers. Ninji, knowing that my knowledge of Japanese is rather limited, provided a cheat-sheet.

The clue gave me the location of the next stop - my favourite cafe in the city, Rue Bebelons (love it love it love it. The place is sweet and cosy, they never charge for soy, and the staff are charming). There, I met Miss J, who sat me down for a coffee and provided me with my next clues. We had a good chat - a little too short in my opinion, then off I went to the Chinatown gates to meet Ninji's henchman. The dastardly Mr R.

He appeared out of nowhere, wearing a fake moustache - the man who introduced me to Mr G and played wingman to us both. He took me for lunch at a Japanese restaurant, where we figured out the last clue. Actually, that's a lie. I couldn't work it out so Mr R told me. Mr G was to be released on the steps of the State Library. If I made it there by 2pm.

I dashed off and bolted up the stairs and Mr G leapt out from behind the pillars. I was so delighted I'm pretty sure I was jumping. He gave me a big hug. Then he told me there was one more surprise in my pocket. I was slightly confused because I knew I had some lip balm there, but sure enough there was a little box.

Clever me. I finally figured it out. And yes, I did panic a bit, but in a good way. I'm not entirely sure about the next part, but I do remember that to make it official Mr G used all of my names, which was a pretty good effort.

Now, the nicest thing about this was the ring. He had taken my grandmother's diamond earring, driven to my old home town and found my high school metalwork teacher. They had set the earring into a ring from there. I was especially pleased that the three people who have changed my life for the better were involved. The ring means something to me beyond the obvious. Also, Mr G has a nice plain silver engagement ring to wear as well.

The engagement party is coming up fast. I am not one for parties (not large ones anyway), but I am looking forward to seeing all my friends. I hope Mr C can make it, he lives so far away now. He's promised to come to the wedding no matter what, so I suppose I can overlook the engagement party.

Anyway, we're trying to negotiate where we'll go for the honeymoon. I want to go to Greece and Turkey (surprise surprise), he wants to go to Japan. We're toying with South America or Canada now.

Table building for hopeless cases

I have borrowed three books about woodwork because it seems that I can't even remember the basics.

The picture is of a coffee table I made that has black velvet underneath a glass top. Forgive the tacky velvet effect and the strangely positioned legs, I was a teenager and thought it was cool. Actually, I still think the velvet is cool, so maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself. Anyway, these days, I'm sad to say that I look at timber and just draw blanks. In fact, I went into Bunnings to see what they had in stock and I buckled under the pressure of having all the men (there were no women to be seen) stare at me. A few of them looked as if they were going to come over to see if I was lost. So I made a very quick note of what I wanted to use and I bolted. Because, in truth, I was lost. I knew what kind of wood I wanted, but there is no way I could have named a cut or even explained what I was trying to do.

What am I trying to do? I have no idea. I started off thinking I'd make some planter boxes for my garden, but now I'm starting to think 'just make a table. An outdoors table so if it's rubbish it doesn't matter'.

I think that's a rather good idea. If it goes horribly wrong, I'll tear it apart and build the planters. And pretend it never happened.

I'm looking forward to settling on a design, changing it, breathing in sawdust and the inevitable sense of contentment at the end. Wood does that to people. There are also books on woodcarving at work, but I'll take one craft project at a time. I'm planning the novel, thesis and a trip to Vietnam (hooray! I'm going to travel again!), so I think I might need to watch what I take on.

My wonderful mother who drives me crazy

I feel that the following emails will explain a lot.
The first is from me to my parents.
The second was quite seriously written by my mother.

1 Feb 2009:

Hi parents,

I went for an elephant ride yesterday. Our mahout jumped off, and
our elephant decided to go in the river. So there we were in the
middle of a river with our mahout laughing at us from the bank.
I was slightly worried until I realised that riding elephants should be in my blood.
So I hopped off the seat and went and sat on his head which was great. I
also got punched in the thigh by a street kid because Mr G refused to
buy me a rose. It was pretty funny.

Mr G also got attacked and hugged by a baby who was quite taken with his
blonde arm hair.

Today is a quiet day, we're going to see if we can go out to some caves now.
I attached some photos.

love from Miss A.


2 Feb 2009:

Felicitations oh wayward daughter,
I was relived to hear that you are still with us.

However it must be noted that, outwardly at least, you have once
again failed to maintain the self restraint and decorum expected of
someone of your age and lineage. May I remind you that you are
embarking on holy pilgrimage. Cast your mind on matters spiritual
and curb that look of extreme irreverence and unwholesome levity
that I witness in every image.

(Pardon my ignorance but are all the elephants tiny or just the
ones you were permitted to ride?)

I genuflect before St Afra with my Rosary clenched in my hands
asking that you be assisted in your quest.


Your prudent and devoted Mother

This is either a valid rant, or I have wedding envy.

Weddings. They are EVERYWHERE. Ordinarily I would say 'awww' and get all mushy, but recently they have started to really annoy me.

Gripe one: I got a second round invite to a wedding.

If I am invited to a wedding as a back-up/reserve/2nd round guest, then in general, I will happily say no. This is because I do not have the money to pay to travel to a wedding (they all seem to be held well out of Melbourne these days), pay for a gift that isn't crap and buy something to wear. I also don't want to use my precious annual leave or waste a day of my weekend watching two people I have no opinion on get married. I'm very close to the people I do have an opinion on. In fact, I speak to them quite a bit. I'd be expecting that if they did second round me, at least they'd tell me about it. And at least they would have the brains to change the RSVP date before posting the invite.

To be honest, I was less concerned about the second round invite thing, and more worried about the fact that I haven't spoken to them in over 5 years and they still invited me. I don't even like the bride! And they know that! Why on earth would they invite me? Was I meant to look feral and make the bride look nicer by comparison? Do they have any idea how much I drink when I'm somewhere I don't want to be? Was that the point? Was I supposed to get drunk and maul the best man, thus making drunk Uncle Carl look sober by comparison? I will never know...

Second gripe: Lame wedding gifts.

I am the lowest paid librarian at my organisation (fair enough, because I'm also the newest and the one with the least amount of experience). This means that I don't have the money to spend $60 on hand towels. I would spend that much on a present, but forking over that much cash for tiny tiny towels makes me throw up.

Besides, hand towels aren't really going to make you remember your special day, unless I write 'Loved the wedding, sorry for what I did to your sister, no hard feelings' on them. Message to everyone: Do something better than a boring gift registry or it's a green light for me to do what I want.

Gripe three: Doubts.

During a few of the weddings I've attended, I thought 'This is not going to end well'. The cynicism isn't entirely my fault. One woman has only ever been with her now husband (missing out on soooo much). Another woman is clearly in love with someone else, but enjoys the flashy social circle her husband is part of. I have no problem with these women getting married, but it does make me kind of 'bleh'. I would never date someone who's never been in a relationship before. What a nightmare! Anyone I date should be old enough to have had a few girlfriends who will have done the bulk of the relationship training.* As for the second woman, people can be in love with more than just one person, but stupid things like hanging out with b-grade celebs shouldn't really influence a relationship. Unless you were getting to hang out with Dr. McKay. Or Sam Worthington.

*A relationship trained boyfriend is one that doesn't freak out when you ask him to buy you tampons, tells you that you are pretty AND smart, doesn't comment on how hot your best friend is and doesn't use Lynx. Of course, I have been trained to realise when I am being emotional for no reason at all (see previous post for an excellent example of hysteria without a valid cause), to not rave on about how amazing my male friends are, and to use the power of blogging to vent.

Ode to a great man

I've been on the receiving end of some cruelty lately.  I don't think I deserved the things that were said, but they're out there now and unfortunately for the people who decided to vent their frustrations in my direction, they can't be forgotten. The hurt that it caused got me thinking about the people in my life. One person in particular.

I have a friend called Nathan. My pic on the left is his work. I was firmly against the picture at first, then he did such a good job I had to apologise for all the dark looks I threw at him.

In case you don't get it: VOLTRON.

He keeps making these t-shirts and putting them up on Red Bubble. I am always whinging at him because I can't wear most of the colours that his shirts come in. I have brown skin, rather un-tameable black hair and green/brown eyes. There are certain things I can't pull off. But now he's made a shirt in fire engine red and another in a deep octopus purple. The colour sort of reminds me of tasty pulpo. God. Pulpo. Disgusting and delicious at the same time...


He's also got a lovely voice. I spent about 11 years not realising that he could sing, something which he seems to find rather amusing. I keep making him play The Good Gardner because he does it beautifully. Once I managed to convince him to play it to me when we were sitting in my lounge room. I think he found my staring a little bit freaky, but he got through it in the end by refusing to make eye contact.

But the best thing about Nath is that he has seen the best and the worst of me and he still wants to hang out. In situations where most people would fling up a bit of jerk-like behaviour, he takes a kinder path. I've seen him get angry (it was awesome, he told some jocks where to shove it) and I've seen him get frustrated, but I've never seen him be mean or cruel.

He's rad and I'm lucky to have him around.

Bunny from hell

Millions and millions of chocolate rabbits and eggs are out and about in Melbourne. You can't escape them. They pop up in the most unlikely places, ready to give you diabetes and Easter cheer.

One in particular is destined to trap me again and again. It's the Lindt bunny. I've always loved them, with their cute little red bows and their adorable little golden bells. But they are over $5. And I am not paying $5 for a little chocolate rabbit. It's absurd.

I was sitting on the couch the other day watching a doco on rainforest animals (seriously, this is what I do on weekends), and I heard a rustling behind me. And then I heard the tinny sound of a little golden bell. And yes, it did sound golden. You could both hear and feel the gold dripping into your ears. From around the corner of the couch poked a little golden Lindt bunny, closely followed by a smiling Mr G.

"Shop at Hot Potatoes. They don't have Lindt"

I naturally thought 'oh how lovely' and we unwrapped the bunny ready to eat the damn chocolate and enjoy David Attenborough. Then I actually put a piece in my mouth. It was WONDERFUL. Entrancing. I simply cannot describe how spectacular this stupid chocolate bunny was. It was like that dream I had where Sam Worthington and I went shopping for toilet paper at a $2 store.

I want to break it into pieces and melt it onto ice-cream. I want to grate it into hot milk. I want to melt it in a little saucepan and then climb into bed and eat it straight from the pan with a teaspoon. But I doubt I'll ever get that far. I'll buy one, leave it on my bedside table for a few days, then in a moment of weakness I'll nibble the ears. Then about 5 minutes later it'll be gone and I will be feeling miserable.

The big one reads the Herald Sun. Pure evil.

The Lindt bunny has joined my list of evil foods that I cannot resist easily and must therefore avoid forever lest we have a repeat of the great expansion of 2006.

1. Apple and custard scrolls from Baker's Delight
2. Cream cheese
3. Lindt bunnies

I did the right thing and it didn't feel good

Things always seem to happen when I'm running late for work.

A friend just told me that he loves me and that he'll come home 'for me and if he had something to do'. That's a lot of pressure to put on someone at 7 in the morning on Skype. One can't hide dead silence and a look of panic on Skype. Now I understand why he said 'can we please skype? I only need 5 minutes'.

Now I'm all worried and upset and hyper and I have to go and concentrate at work. It's a terrible day already.

No, I'm not blessing you

Someone that I know on facebook posted that people who don't say 'bless you' after another person sneezes are 'jerks'.

I said 'I don't say it because I don't really understand the custom. I mean, I understand the history of the saying, but not why it still exists.'

People got a bit antsy then. Apparently I'm the only person this woman knows who is not pro-'bless you'.

I don't say it because there is no good reason. Why would I acknowledge a sneeze and not a cough?

I like the thought that a sneeze is the soul trying to escape. But if so, why would I try to force it back? It wants to be freeeeee!

A third person posted that the woman should 'hang out with more Christians'. I was sorely tempted to post 'or plague victims', but decided not to fuel the fire.

This is a rant against Vodafone

I love blogs because you can vent about things that nobody wants to hear.

So here it is. Vodafone.

I have an old Nokia that I bought in London for £10. It's done pretty well considering how badly I have treated it. It doesn't usually work. It's usually quite good with texts, and occasionally I can receive the odd phone call. But in the past few weeks it's just been getting worse and worse and I finally decided it was time to get on a plan so I could have a fancy new phone. I went for Vodafone, because Mr G is on Vodafone and I could call him and leave him weird messages for fun.

WELL. What an epic mistake that was. After putting through an online order (should be straight-forward, I've opened bank accounts online), I heard nothing for a few working days. I called Vodafone and after sitting on hold for ages I got told that I had called the wrong number (I'm not an idiot, I called the number on the website for the online store) and that I would be transferred. Cue lame 'funky' music. After another fun wait, a human told me to wait a few days.

Fine. I finally get an email telling me that they need more information. I was uncomfortable emailing all my details through (it's a hangover from email scam days) so I simply called up the so-called online store. Of course, this time I was expecting to be transferred so it was no great surprise when it happened. The woman I was put through to was totally freaked out by my request to verify and supply information. She kept asking me what I wanted. Finally I asked her to put me through to the Online Sales Team. She told me that she couldn't because they are online and there is no number. THERE IS NO FRACKING NUMBER FOR THE DAMN ONLINE SALES TEAM! Vodafone, you are a totally shit company. You can't give them some phones? I want to sit your CEO down and make him listen to hours of your rubbish hold music. Then I want to force him to talk to your dreadful "customer service" people. They can say things like "what do you want? What do you mean you ordered a plan and phone on the internet?"

It's called a job interview you idiots. Start screening the people you hire. Start with your management team.

Anyway, after I finally got this woman to understand, she took down my details. I went to bed telling Mr G that it would be a miracle if it all went through. I was so sure that all was not well, I emailed Online Sales the next day to ask them to confirm. They emailed back saying they couldn't access any of the information that I'd given. So I emailed it. I emailed EXACTLY what they asked for and asked them to send me a confirmation email that it was all ok.

Today I got an email saying that they need more information.

No. No no no no no. I will not give you anything else. You are so dreadful that I actually want to stay with Virgin. Why did I even try to leave? They don't give me any perks, but they don't give me grief either.

I sent an email back asking Vodafone to cancel my order. If they cause even the slightest fuss, I'm going to put Mr G on the phone and he can go mental at them.

Get stuffed Vodafone, I'm going to work to get Mr G away from you as soon as possible.

The fall of Troy

Ages ago, Hawm gave me a copy of The Iliad. Bless his little half cotton socks.

I haven't read it in years. I started quite soon after he gave it to me, but I just wasn't into it. Then, yesterday on the tram, I whipped it out and started again. The wonderful world that opened up was like jumping through a Sliders' vortex. Everything was how I remembered it, only slightly different. Complex and beautiful. Since my last reading, I have been to Troy and while I can't claim to have any new insight, I do feel differently. Reading has always been an escape for me, an entry into a new world with new people to adore. It feels like I'm seeing old friends again - ones that I never knew I missed.

My passion for Turkey has only increased my love for The Iliad. This week will be a happy week.

Horsies!

This is Bruiser. That's right. I finally got my horsie and his name was BRUISER. And he didn't have socks. Not quite what I was expecting. I sort of wanted a glossy black horse with a shiny mane and white socks. His name would be Rodney (I love you Rodney!) and he would be my best friend.

Still, it was wonderful. I finally got to pretend that I was coming home from an epic battle in which I led my army to victory. After a real battle, I would naturally get to my choice of enemy horses (no doubt mine was killed in a dramatic and heroic manner), but I may have to choose from a bad lot. And it's not like Bruiser didn't have personality. At one stage he decided to make a break for it and jumped into some bushes. Unfortunately, that was the extent of his plan. This is why the enemy lost. Not even the horses were that bright. He had quite a bit of trouble getting out again, but together we managed with only a few scrapes and scratches.

Also, it was clear that my new steed was underfed. He kept going for the lush grass, despite my best attempts to keep him to the path. Then, he'd realise that we were lagging behind and off we'd go, trotting until we literally bumped into the horse in front. It must have been exhaustion. No doubt he'd used up all his energy charging people and ducking swords.
All very exciting for a first-timer. Next time, private tour and a horse with socks.

Trying to complete the list again

I sort of forgot about my list. I got too involved in REAL LIFE. And as we all know, real life has no place here. Poor form on my part, but it's fixed because I'm getting through the list once again.

I'm going to ride a horsie this weekend. I have no idea why, but recently I've started using 'horsie'. I had to answer a question about a horse at my job the other day, and it took all my power to just say 'horse'. In my head I shrieked 'iiieeee!'

So, this is a big deal because horsies like to eat human flesh. This is a fact. Once you give them the taste for it, they can't help themselves. Much like zombies. Just check out their chompers. MASSIVE TEETH. I have huge front teeth, so if I get bitten then I'm damn well going to bite back. Then I'll stand back, and the horsie and I will have to grudgingly accept that we belong together.

Seriously, I'm really quite excited. It will be just like my time on an elephant. Only this time I'll be going slowly and in single file with a bunch of others. So instead of pretending that I'm heading for battle, I'll have to make do with pretending that I'm returning from months of hand-to-hand combat, exhausted and on a new mount that I have captured from my enemies.

So. This weekend I'm going to be returning from my campaign on a shiny steed, with loot and prisoners.

Disgusting lizard

What a disgusting creature. I read about him in New Scientist. Everyone should read New Scientist during their lunch breaks. Imagine going back to work post-sandwich knowing that there are lizards in this world that shoot blood! Nothing could upset you.

Love?

Hawm just mentioned that there are 96 Sanskrit words for 'love'.
I tell one of my best friends that I love him all the time. And sometimes it makes other people uncomfortable, especially when they know my boyfriend and they hear me telling someone other than him 'I love you!'

I'd sure like it if there was a special word in English that would let me say 'you're rad and I'll keep you forever because you make me happy'. Oh wait, that word would be 'love'.

I bet Sanskrit would have words for the following:

1. I love you but I hate you at the same time.
2. I love you and I want you to be my best friend forever.
3. I love you, I'm glad I met you and you make me happy.
4. I love most of you, but you're missing some very important things.
5. I love you because I want to be you.
6. I love you because I'm related to you, but you really piss me off a lot.

On second thought, I don't think I'd want to say those things to people. Maybe it is a good thing that we're just stuck with 'love'.