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Friday, January 21, 2005

I have come to the conclusion that myself and Moonlight Cinema are cursed. I have been trying for years to get it together to catch a movie in the Botanical Gardens, but various acts of fate have always prevented me from actually getting there. Thunderstorms when the whole picnic was planned and bought, cars breaking down, friends cancelling. One year I even bought tickets for everyone for Christmas and couldn't use any of them myself and had to give some away. I also have a bit of a thing about bats - but that hasn't actually stopped me getting there.
So when last week, it finally looked like we were going to make it, and the weather was good, and the food was planned, and all could make it, and my sister had free tickets, I should have known that fate would intervene. We got there ok. We got a park right outside the gate. We settled on our rugs in a great spot, we had a yummy picnic (sushi rolls, zucchini flower quiche, home grown kippfler potato salad, fresh fruit and cheese), we drank wine, we watched the inflatable screen go up, the bats didn't attack me, dusk settled and.... the projector wouldnt work. Night cancelled. I am cursed.

But I'll probably try again next week - so take that fate - I laugh in your face. I will not be beaten! (Perhaps if you keep an eye on the news next week you may read of someone being hit by lightening or struck by a bus outside Moonlight Cinema)




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Tuesday, January 18, 2005

You know that old theory that everyone is promoted to their level of incompetence? I think I reached that one or two promotions ago. I went to a meeting today, and came away so completely baffled that I have spent all afternoon just trying to work out what the acronymns everyone was using mean.

My theory with work had always been to act as if I know what I am doing - because most people don't know anything. So if you appear to know more than them, as they don't actually know anything they can't accuse you of knowing nothing. This comes unstuck when you meet someone who actually does know something - but they are few and far between. It has mostly served me well, and I suppose I actually do know something, but more meetings like the one today and I think I am about to be found to be a complete fraud. Lets just hope that everyone else in that meeting was pretending they knew something by throwing in confusing acronymns and really none of us have any idea what is going on. Or that I can work it out by the next meeting date.










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Tuesday, January 11, 2005

I have been very disturbed by something at work today.

It's not the amount of money that I found in the corridor and posted a note on the door about, only to have all and sundry come up trying different amounts... "I dropped $20 in the hall Sarah. Or maybe it was $50?. Or perhaps $17.35?" No soup for you. I was going to make a joke about how everyone believes that I will donate it to the Tsunami appeal if it goes unclaimed but that I would really spend it on trashy magazines, but then I really will give it to the appeal and that is impossible to joke about. I apologise for even thinking it.

And no - it wasn't the new guy who asked my what I was passionately looking for in a new system we are looking at. (Passionate - about an IT system - this is disturbing, just not the most disturbing)
No, it was the shirt that a co-worker was wearing today. Instead of the (or what seems to be) regulation Polo Ralph Loren logo on the pocket - this shirt had the word "Pringle". For all I know this is the most exclusive brand of Men's business shirts, but really, it's a chip.



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Yesterday I spent some time volunteering for WV in their call centre, raising funds for the Tsuanmi Appeal during the cricket. There is a sort of glow of self rightousness around volunteers, but aside from that, it was all for a good cause, and kind of fun in a way. It was pleasant to deal with people on the phone that were all helping - it made for friendly phone conversations - which I am sure is pretty much the opposite of what normal conversations in call centres are like. And my faith in the Australian people (despite the election result) is restored, some were just ringing up to say thankyou to the volunteers taking donations. One lady gave me a complete run down of the cricket match so far when she found out we couldn't see a TV where we were. A man told me that we was proud to be Australian and had spent the last of his pension on his $50 donation - but was going to eat baked beans all week and that he was sure that was better than what most of the survivors would be eating.

It took me back to my Uni days when I worked for telephone betting, and could complete a crossword with one hand and take bets with the other. Except there was nobody desperate to spend their last 50c on the quinella at Bendigo, and I wasn't abused once for missing the start of a race. Good on you Australia.

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Friday, January 07, 2005

I don't think that I have ever talked about Mr R's sleeping habits here. But he is a very, well, boisterous sleeper. He thrashes about. He steals all the doona. He whacks me as his arms flail about. He creeps closer and closer to my side of the bed to the extent that I often have to push him back so I have enough room. But most of all, he talks. And talks. And talks. And yells.

Mostly, he talks about work.
"Not the pressure release valve!"
"No, I said the 10 tonne press".
"Have you decided on the jig?"

(bonus points for those who can guess what he does for a living - I have probably said that sometime here anyway, so it shows who is paying attention)

I am used to this now, and find it pretty funny really, I have had some great conversations with him whilst he is fast asleep. I have been on trips with friends where we share rooms and I find myself telling him to be quiet as soon as he starts talking, (which actually works - he does shut up if you ask him to) only to find in the morning that everyone was waiting to hear what he would say.

So anyway, last night, I was reading and he had gone to sleep. The usual restless sleep ensued, including one point where he knocked my book out my hands with a flailing arm. I thought he had actually fallen into a deep sleep until he flipped over, groaned and yelled:
"Fair suck of the sauce bottle!"

Indeed. I think that takes the cake. Particularly given I have never heard him ever say this when he is awake, and I am actually not at all sure what it means.




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