Thursday, March 31, 2005
Each morning at work, between 8 and 8.45, we have the medical laboratory nurse come in to take blood from our patients. The drill is, no appointment necessary, patients turn up on a first in/first served basis, and you can never gauge how many are going to turn up on any one day. Mondays are no different in this respect from Fridays or any other day.

Often, if I'm opening the surgery in the morning, there are several cars in the carpark when I get there....so I walk straight past them to the back entrance and let myself in that way. Years ago, we used to let them all in when we turned up. But it became difficult to get our morning routines going properly when patients that arrived early would start expecting attention while we were busy turning on all the computers and getting the money float for the day organised etc....so eventually, we agreed it would be easier on us to leave them waiting. Afterall, the doors don't officially open until 8am...and anyone who turned up at 7.40am would just find they had to wait.

On arrival at work this morning, I found an elderly chap waiting on the doorstep. It was raining and cold and I smiled at him said good morning and added "I'm sorry, but I can't let you in right now"...seconds later I'm saying "Oh look, I can't leave you out here in this, it's far too cold today....come inside with me now, we'll lock the rest of them out" (There was no 'rest' of them this morning...noone else was silly enough to be out that early, but I meant anyone else that turned up prior to 8).

I locked the door, he seated himself and I set about switching on machines...pressed the login button for the EFTPOS machine etc....2 minutes later I'm hearing a constant high pitched squeal...ok, where the hell's that coming from?.....I head back to the EFTPOS machine...maybe one of the buttons is stuck and causing it to make that sound....nope, everything's in order there.

One minute later it started;

"WHOOOOOP DING DONG WHOOOOP DING DONG WHOOOOOP DING DONG WHOOOOOOP DING DONG WHOOOOOOP!!!"

This was nothing compared to the earlier squeal...this was overwhelmingly loud and ear piercing and I just about crapped my pants!

Seems my kind heart at letting the gentleman in from the cold early, had broken my morning ritual of opening up the surgery just enough for me to forget to disarm the alarm. Poor bugger...I was lucky I hadn't given him a heart attack.

Ah well....not the worst thing in the world to start the morning off with a racing heart eh?
Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Complaints of the Day

1. Silent Lurkers: I received an email last week, from someone called Blake Rhodes. He is apparently a CEO of some website search thingy and said that he's now put my blog site on there, so should any of their search engine users put in something that's in the content of my blog...I'll end up in amongst those searches. Don't know how effective this is or even if it's the real deal. But what I do know is....a few days ago, my site counter jumped up 60 hits in less than an hour...last night while I was at work, my site counter leapt up 110 (this is a phenomonal amount of visitors for me). I'm becoming obsessed with checking my site counter!

Now, I can't help but wonder if these people have a quick look-see, utter "boring" and move on, or whether they're actually reading anything I bother to blather on about in here. And I say that, cos although the traffic appears to have picked up....the comments still remain from the faithful blog pack I've come to follow around like a lil puppy dog.

If you are indeed one of these such silent lurkers....please comment, so I know at least that you're real...even if it's to say how boring I can be, or for me to shut the hell up! Thank you.

2. Teenage boys bedrooms stink! It doesn't seem to matter how much they clean up, or shower, or use deodorant or whatever....their bedrooms still have that kinda teenage boy body and dirty sock smell. Why is this?? I have to say though....whenever I smell the Gilette or Lynx deodorant the kids wear each day, I'm under the impression there's a real bonafide man living in the house. And that, I rather like.

3. Why didn't my cat yell out the other night when she'd been trapped in the laundry?? She's more than capable of making shiloads of noise at 4 in the morning when she wants to be fed. It was a rather windy night, and the wind had pushed the window closed enough so she couldn't get out. Hence, the following morning, I opened the door to 'spread' her cat crap across the laundry floor. *gag* Not my favourite thing to do first thing in the morning (or any time of the day or night for that matter)

4. My boyfriend has a woman staying in his house at the moment, who seems to think the word 'no' means 'yes'. He's got his work cut out for him with this one and is concerned he's going to have to get nasty and say "fuck off and don't come back" to a friend he's known for over 25 years. Course, I'd be happy to say that on his behalf...and in keeping with Frally's most recent post "Get the fuck away from my man, you mother-fucking whore-bag!". Aaaaaaah, I feel better already. (See how rational I'm being about this? *sob*)

5. I didn't attend WW on Monday night, because I'd had such a naughty naughty week, that I didn't want to fork out $17 to find that I'd either not lost any weight at all, or god forbid, had actually put some on. And I didn't even have any chocolate!

6. Blogger seems to be playing up again. But maybe, just maybe, this post will finally get through.

Right, that's all I can think of for now....time I got myself ready for work. I've done my online grocery shopping already, and should I come home to find the courier's been thumping on the door, to the deaf ears of my kids...and the shopping bags are piled up against the ranchslider when I return...my voice will reach new decibel heights.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Sleepless in Ottawa

Canada has a good friend of his staying from overseas....from England to be precise. She arrived this afternoon, and for the past few weeks, he's been getting himself prepared for the onslaught of this woman.

This lady was a regular bonk buddy for him and between the two major relationships in his life, she was always available...he loves her as a good friend...she's in love with him....and regardless of how much he'd tried to tell her differently, she would still continue to ask him if she could pack everything up and move in with him. (This is a complicated scenario and I won't bore you with the details.)

Anyway...I never realised just how worried and apprehensive he was about her visiting. Last time she stayed was over 17 months ago...and prior to our relationship. This time around, he made it clear that under no circumstances would she be sleeping in his bed...and as such made up the spare room in preparation for her. Besides doing that, and cleaning the house from top to bottom (as you often do when overseas visitors are coming to stay)...he installed a lock on the inside of his bedroom door....and he's left out a tube of cream in the bathroom, that could give the impression he's got an infection down below...bit drastic I thought, but he knows her best.

She'd been in his house for less than two hours and she'd already tried it on. Don't suppose you can knock the woman for being so persistant. I know this, because the silly man was still awake when I got home from work at 9.20pm (4.20am his time) as he couldn't go to sleep. He also told me he's thinking of staying awake for the 21 days that she's there. Thinking and doing, are of course, completely different things and it would be foolish of him to try. But he's never really needed a huge amount of sleep, so I wouldn't put it past him to make the effort to stay awake that long.

During our relationship, he's been living on New Zealand time, just so he can spend more time with me. He basically sleeps when I sleep. All his friends know not to ring him before midday. Just as well he works from home is all I can say. When I spoke to him this morning, before he picked her up at the airport, he sounded down and so tired I wanted to smack him and shove him straight into bed.

This evening I was expecting him to be in bed by the time I got home. But nope. And guess what? He's sick. He was coughing and spluttering down the microphone at me...sick as a dog. What's more, he's ecstatic about it! He thinks it's great...because now he feels certain she'll stay away from him. Geez, she sounds like a scary kinda girl.

The last thing I want to be dubbed is a nagging bitch by my boyfriend, but it's difficult when he lives so far away and I have no way to look after him in the physical sense. Trying to get him to go to bed early is utterly hopeless. He just refuses and stays up until he hears me yawning my head off. That's his sign that it's time for him to get to bed too. I've even tried feigning it, but he knows me so well, he sees right through it.

As much as I trust him on this issue...on any issue....I've tried to tell him that we need to be realistic about our situation, and that should anything happen...then I would understand. Saying this only angered him...and he told me that if he actually has sex with her, then he would have to question his love for me. Ok, I can understand that...and I'm not encouraging him to sleep with her...I wouldn't like it much at all...but I'd still understand.

Blah blah blah....as you can tell by this post, I'm tired and should be in bed myself. I apologise for not being very interesting. Time to hit the sack *yawn*

Night All :)
Sunday, March 27, 2005

Chocolate and Grunting

I didn't do the easter egg hiding thing this weekend, I decided that my boys were too old for it now. Actually, I had planned to do it, but the eggs I bought were kinda annoying and I didn't want to open the packets and spread them around the house....so I put it off...then it was 6pm and the boys were walking in the door lol.

Neither of them cared about the hunt...they were just pleased that their mother was voluntarily giving them copious amounts of chocolate.

13 had bitten a hole out of the top of his big egg (no, not his father, it was just a hollow chocolate easter egg)...and then proceeded to follow me down the dark hallway, breathing into said hole, and sounding like Darth Vader.

This reminded me of when I was a kid...my Dad used to put a blanket over his head and walk slowly around amongst his children grunting....used to scare the bejesus out of me...but it was fun. He would do this occasionally....I guess to feel like he was bonding with his offspring.

Years later, when I was living with my husband-to-be....I was 20 at the time....I answered the phone early one morning and heard the familiar grunting of my Dad....I pretended I didn't know who it was...he continued to grunt....I handed the phone to my bed partner and said "I don't know who it is, must be one of your crazy mates".

He takes the phone off me....listens (Dad surprisingly is going along with things and grunts for him)...."Hey, Roger ya stupid bastard!"...and laughing my ex continues to tell my Dad what a silly arsehole he is. I'd sprung off the bed by this stage....an expression of shock and horror etched on my features.

Lucky he'd been embraced into the family well and truly by that time, but he was obviously extremely embarrassed and red faced next time he saw my father.

The Photo Saga

After I told Canada that I'd posted that pic on my blog (how stupid of me to tell him) he was very quiet. I knew he was unhappy about it, and eventually asked him to spit it out. He said that he was uncomfortable with others seeing me in such a way. He said "I don't want everyone else seeing my girl like that". That immediately got my back up "So...if I happen to go out with a low cut top on, that shows some cleavage, you'd be telling me to go and get changed?" (Over my dead body he would).

At this stage I was already feeling annoyed about being a dork and going through the the camera, handcream, tv, breakfast bar, bedroom dresser, kitchen window thing, because he'd said he was going to crop out my body and it was my face that he loved the most. Ok, I understand, the man loves me to pieces, he wouldn't care if I was 500lbs or 100lbs, and my body is not the reason he loves me so much...he's said it several times during our relationship...but even so!....I didn't go through that to have him cut out my body! Bastard!

My annoyance was teetering on the brink of fury so I decided it was time I buggered off to take some deep breaths "I feel sick, I'm going to lie down, I'll catch you later". *poof* I was gone before he had a chance to say anything else.

After deep breathing and stomping around the house for a couple of hours...feeling like I'd just made a complete and utter fool of myself, not to mention a tad on the slutty side and that I'd completely wasted my time doing it, I went to bed and lay there feeling upset and fuming. This was of course due to the fact that I wanted to yell at him more lol. You know...something to the tune of "For God sake...it's just a bra and a pair of tits, it's not like noone's never seen that before!!".

The phone rang (of course it did, you knew that was coming, right?)...."Hello dear"..."Hello"..I said staunchily...and then...fuck me...if I didn't let myself down and burst into tears...bloody emotional twit that I am.....but the stubborn bitch in me rushed forward and launched herself "I'm not a possession, I can wear what I like, when I want and wherever I please...that photo was only going to be on there briefly....right now it can stay there forever after for all I care! There aren't too many that read my blog on a daily basis...and those that do I've come to trust and think of as my friends".

"You don't know who's looking at that picture....some lunatic in New Zealand could have seen that (I interrupted "don't you be talking about LLCoffee like that!") and chose to cut and paste it and start stalking you. I'm in Canada for Christ sake...I can't do anything to protect you from over here!" I have to admit that new tack of his took the wind out of my sails a bit. I stopped listening to what he was saying and started thinking about that bit in particular...he's right...what if they did?...do I really want another James in my life? The answer is obviously no....but I'm my own worst enemy...and I lay in bed fighting the urge to spring out, rush back to the PC and whip that pic off the screen. I felt that if I'd removed it then, I'd have lost the entire argument. Stupid huh??

Oh well, not to worry....it all got sorted it the end. 3 hours later we decided it was time to hang up...it was obvious.....I was talking less and less and in almost a whisper...and it had just turned 8am in Ottawa.

We had another small talk about it this morning and then changed the subject and went back to 'normal' (if there's such a term in these circumstances). The bugger about having arguments at this distance is of course, the fact that we don't get to cuddle up and fall asleep after resolving them. That is one of the extremely frustrating facets of an internet relationship.

Right, it's all over now...nothing to see here...move along (oh! but don't forget to come back again ok?)

oh! LL? you do know I didn't really say that don't you? lol
Saturday, March 26, 2005

Quick Update

Update: Now that I've figured out how, I've removed the pic and due to the fact that I had an argument with Canada about it being posted on here, it stayed here longer than I was planning to show it for. ("Ya know? after that reaction, it can stay on there forever after as far as I'm concerned!") Anyway, that's been sorted out now, but I was tempted just to leave it here til Kingdom come, just to piss him off further. lol

Holy shit, I did it...now I'm really feeling like a dickhead....ok, you lot, this is only going to be here for a short time, so take ya best shot lol This is all a bit more than I was planning to show anyone, let along publish it on the net, but after all the fucking around I've done with Hello etc, it'll have to it for now.

(fuck, I can't believe I'm doing this, now be kind or I'll have to hunt you all down and injure you)

Oh by the way, I've practically given up on the whole idea of photo crap for now....all this has got me thinking I'll just link my digital camera up to the pc later tonight when the birthday comes around and show him with sound and motion. God, the lengths I go to.

Hello!

I'm not sure what I've done here but I think I've downloaded Hello and installed Picasa 2 and have been mucking about in here trying to figure out how to post a picture, just in the editing part of my profile.

I say I don't know what I've done because I've farted around so long and invited and added and clicked on 'blogger' and then it tells me that "blah blah" (my sign in name) has sent 3 pictures! As far as I was aware I only sent one and I can't even see where they or it have been sent *sigh*

I was going to try being funny and post one of these ridiculous baseball shirt pics as my profile photo for a few short hours, so you could all have a laugh at my expense but alas, I still haven't achieved it, and someone somewhere could be already gasping at my audictity at sending them a baseball shirt/underwear shot of me standing in my lounge with a whole shitload of evidence I need to do some housework in the background.

I never thought I was a thicko, but man, this blogger and HTML stuff is really starting to undo me. *stomps outside to hammer some loose nails into the side of the house to vent some frustration*

Aaarrrgggh!

I've just spent time moving myself and the camera around the house, trying to prop the camera at different heights, angles, and putting myself through the same manipulation (no no not that kind). I've taken over 30 photos.

Some with the sun coming from behind the camera, some from camera perched atop the cabinet (not to mention on top of a rather large tub of handcream for extra height)....propped up on the tv (also handcream helper evident). I've had the camera sitting on top of the dresser in the bedroom...I've had it sitting on top of the handcream on top of the breakfast bar, and I've been leaning my back against the oven for crying out loud! Anything to find the right height and light to get a true reading of myself. I'm ready to go crazy and flash blind, and hate hand cream for the rest of eternity.

I'm gonna go nuts if I don't get this done this morning. It has to be done this morning, cos I know I won't have time this afternoon...and this afternoon it will be turning midnight in Canada and thus his birthday.

I guess I could ask Alice to come take the photos but hell, I feel like a dork enough as it is taking cheesey pics of myself.

This has GOT to happen, fuck it!! *chucks handcream across the room*
Friday, March 25, 2005

I really am a Spoon

Well, here we are on Good Friday. Easter is a busy time of year for bakers...hot cross buns and all that points-heavy-forbidden food stuff.....and 15 had to start earlier than usual today. So, this morning at 4.40am he's in my room waking me up...and 5 minutes later I'm walking down the stairs to the car to transport him to the bakery. (Are you impressed with me, only being awake for 5 minutes and then being in control of a motor vehicle? I am).

Some good news about this Easter stuff....I read in a book the other day....that chocolate is rated as a low GI food. GI stands for Glycemic Index...and the lower the rating, the longer the food keeps your tummy full (or something like that). Considering the fat content and the high point value of chocolate, I think I'm well capable of finding something else with a low GI rating that is less harmful to my cholesterol level. Mind you, wholegrain bread does not make me swoon at the smell of it like chocolate does these days. So there's a little trivia for you, if you don't want to feel guilty about eating chocolate eggs over the Easter break.

I have so many birthdays happening now and coming up...yesterday's was a dear online friend of mine from Toronto whom I met in person (53)...she came and stayed with me and Canada for a week in Ottawa. Today is my best mate's (34)...tomorrow is Canada's (46)....my godson's is on Tuesday (5), so also a big day, starting school....13 is becoming 14 next Sunday, my brother in laws 40th is being celebrated next Saturday night....the following Saturday night, a close softball teammate is celebrating 40 as well....and the following weekend, my favourite baby in the world (Jaimee) is turning 1. Where the hell am I going to get all this money from??

This year, due to the fact that I'm still trying to save like mad to get an airfare together (which is not easy to achieve on a part time wage with two teenage boys in the house)....instead of sending a parcel to Canada, I've decided to try doing the 'timer' thing with my camera and take a photo of me in my NY Yankees baseball shirt for him. He's been going on about the fact he wants to print out a recent pic of me to frame for his dresser (how cute), to put alongside the ones he has of his daughters. So, tomorrow, in between shopping for easter eggs for the boys (no, I really haven't done it yet)...meeting a close friend for lunch...and catching up on housework when the boys are gone....I'm going to attempt to take a pic of moi for him. I was thinking maybe...undo a few extra buttons at the front, show off some pretty white lacey bra with a small view of my magnificent cleavage...put some extra eye makeup on...and wa la! Hm..does that sound like I could be taking a pic of a tart in a baseball shirt? It's going to be trial and error, I can feel it in me bones.

13 just had a phone call from one of his mates. He's coming over to spend some time with him today....13 comes out of his room to say "Um Mum, he's coming over right now"...."oh? are you telling me it's time I got dressed?"....."In a way, yeah"....(I'm not long out of the shower, so I'm sitting here in a towel).

I stood up and said "well ok...*sauntering towards him as provocatively as possible*...but don't you think I look really sexy like this?" *pouting lips*....he's laughing at me..."oh god Mum, you really are such a spoon".

I walked up the hallway to the bedroom, my parting shot "Yeah well, what do you expect? I lived with your father for 15 years, he's the biggest spoon of the lot, it's a hard habit to break".
Thursday, March 24, 2005

Ego Burst for the Day

The practise manager and I were discussing the imminent arrival of her first grandchild this afternoon, and we started talking about the various ages that woman are having children these days. She mentioned she felt she was too young to be a grandmother at 56, but loved the idea of being a Nana.

I said morosely and mumbling to myself more than her..."I'm going to be 40 this year". A stunned expression came over her face and she did a double take and laughed..."oh my god, you're kidding me right? I never would've picked you for 40...I was sure you were only 34-35"

"Awwww...you are just the BEST boss EVER!"

She was definitely being genuine...and I sailed out of her office feeling fantastic...and I felt fantastic for the rest of the day. It was a small thing, but made me feel great...I felt like I could leap tall buildings in a single bound. Yeah yeah ok, now even I know I'm talking shit.

Still, a wonderful natural high. Yay!

Zuma Part II

To those of you who don't know what Zuma is, go here. This is where I found the game, and then my best friend sent me the full version of it via msn.

Anyone who may be interested in getting the full version of Zuma, email me, or let me know via comments, and I will email it over. It's not a large file, zipped up, it's less than 5 megs. Can be a lot of fun, and I warn you now, it also can be addictive. The kid's love it!

I've had a gruelling morning at work, I feel sooooo tired. The microwave is singing it's radiation waves through a WW frozen vegetable lasagne (3.5 points) and I'm hoping like hell it's tastier than their disgusting Macaroni Cheese.

*beeeep beeeep beeeep*

Right, that's my cue to stuff my gob.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Zuma!

For the past couple of months, off and on...in my spare time...I've been playing Zuma hard out. It's driven me nuts to the point where I have been laying in bed at night seeing coloured shiny balls rolling and exploding through my dreams.

Today I finally managed to get to the last round and clock this game. OK, so it looks like I'm a dweeb for even playing it, but when I'm sitting here talking to Canada on the headset, I get restless and I have to be doing something other than just staring off into space. In an ideal world, he'd be right here in my living room and we could watch telly together without even having to say anything. You know, that silent companionship thing? However, having an online relationship of this kind, you can't do that. You can't just sit here watching tv saying nothing...what would be the point? You may as well shut down the pc and go watch the tv *sigh*. And so, to have at least one part of me moving while I chat and listen to him, I've played Zuma to make me feel like I'm achieving something besides sitting on my chuff.

Anyway, I have now officially finished the 13th hidden tomb of Zuma, and for my trouble, the ugly looking trollie beast thing that's been visiting me every three rounds is now so impressed with me, he said we will call each other brother...as I have "earned your place alongside me in the stars".

And now that I've written that rivetting information for the day, I shall take myself away to work. Au Revoir!
Tuesday, March 22, 2005

The Short and Tall of it All

Work was fairly mundane this evening. I have to admit, I really don't enjoy the evening shift too much...especially after daylight savings has ended. During the summer, when I finish at 9pm, it's still light outside and I still have some energy left in me. When Winter descends, by 6.30pm it's dark and I'm sitting behind the front desk thinking that it surely must be time for bed. Driving home tonight was nothing short of dangerous and hair-raising as the fog is still thick outside and makes driving at the usual speed almost impossible. It's been like this for days, the airport is still closed and this morning as I drove through the mist to drop the boys at school, I had visions of it never ending, which was awfully depressing.

13 is going to change his name to 14 shortly....in less than two weeks, he's going to be 14 years old. This evening when he hugged me goodnight before bed he added "I hate my height". Ok, he's always been slightly shorter than average, but then so are a lot of others, and they tend to sprout almost overnight. I'm kinda hoping that will happen for him. For me, he's actually an average height for his age, but to him, he feels that he's the shortest kid at school. Not so, I've seen a lot shorter.

Course, it doesn't help him much that 15 is above height for his age, and has always been fairly above average height wise. 15 is almost a foot taller than 13. My two boys are like chalk and cheese to look at. They're only 19 months apart in age, but one is tall and lean, with dark curly hair and olive skin (he takes after my brother in so many ways physically); the other is average height, solid build, blonde straight hair and fair skin (he's the spitting image of his father). I always reckon that when 13 came along, his Dad was rapt that he finally had someone in our family that took after him. I used to worry that people would look at my sons when they were little and think I was a harlot of some sort that had two children to two different men so close together. What a putz I am.

When I came home from Canada last year, 13 had sprouted about 4 inches and lost a lot of his puppy fat. All in just a month....so I reckon he's going to be just fine.

And just as a warning for you H&B, I shall be posting 13's birth story shortly....possibility on the day of his birthday, so it'll give you some time to get your bucket ready, should you feel the need to 'bleech' your days food takings into it!

Now, what am I going to get that kid for his birthday this year?? He has a TV and computer in his bedroom, a PS2; he had one of the very first Nintendo Dual Screens in New Zealand because I pre-ordered it and paid for it while I was overseas, and when it came in they rang Canada, who duly shipped it over here for his Xmas present. I refuse to buy anymore consoles for either of them. I think we're going to have to go for PS2 games and money or something. Sometimes I wish he was still only 2 years old, he'd be so much easier and cheaper to buy for!

Right, I'm off to bed...I am in the throes of that time of the month, screaming full force at me, and I'm knackered for sure (which hopefully justifies some of this nonsensical rambling tonight). Goodnight All.
Monday, March 21, 2005

Indians and Silent Screaming

Frally posted a couple beautiful interpretations of her dreams the other night ("Cool Freaky Dreams"). Both were about her children and I loved the way she interpreted them.

I don't have any such wonderful dream memories, but I do have one I'll mention. It was a reoccurring dream I had when I was a child. It was short and to the point and I used to get to the stage where I hated falling asleep in case it was going to conjure up again. We lived in a two storey house way back then.

Here's my dream in a nutshell. I was being chased by a red indian, in full dress including a great feathered headband and he was brandishing a tomahawk. He would chase me up the stairs and down the hallway, and I ran into my brother's room to hide behind the door. He runs in slams the door and approaches me....I'm screaming my lungs out but there's no sound (and no, I aint so old that silent pictures were still playing in the theatres, savvy?). I'd wake up in a sweat.

Don't you really hate it when you're screaming in your dreams and you can't hear your own vocals??

Now, fast forward 30 years. I had a great weekend, drinking, eating, being merry etc. The key word in amongst that lot is eating. EATING! Yep, you guessed it. On Sunday in particular, I completely and utterly blew my WW points plan out of the atmosphere. I think I clocked up about 45 points. When I'm in fact only supposed to have 23. And if the truth be known, I actually ate 21 points just for breakfast alone. I felt I needed a 'hangover' brekky, and as such went to McDs and bought one.

Now, I've finally realised that my indian dream was indeed about my future (stay with me now). I reckon that that indian was depicting the weight watchers guru, who was giving me a future sign that I would fall to pieces only two weeks after starting this plan and was doing it's best to stop me. What do you reckon?? Am I right, or am I right??

Yep, I reckon I'm right. *dusts hands*

Anyway, with Monday being weigh in night, I went along to see the damage, and found I'd lost a paltry 700 grams. But hey, I still lost and I can deal with that. It's next week I'm concerned about...with Easter looming, I might just have to skip past the scales and yell "pass" at next Monday night.

PS: Canada has been blathering in my ear about how that 700 grams works out to be exactly 1.5625 pounds and that besides the fact that to him, I'm shit hot already, he's still proud of me for losing it. Way hey!
Sunday, March 20, 2005

Dancing and Trohpies

I went out last night to the softball club's prizegiving evening. Always a good knees up, and usually a whole lot of people getting merrily drunk and dancing in all sorts of manners.

There's the typical style of two people dancing about 2 feet apart, not really looking at each other, but occasionally smiling in the general direction of each other; the groups of girls in a circle that a brave male dances right into the middle of and gets loads of whoops and hollers as he's strutting his stuff; the married middle aged couples who you can tell have been dancing together for years because they kind of mirror each others moves. There's also the "I'm so Drunk" dancer, that doesn't give a toss they're the only one on the dance floor, cos they're so well gone on booze they're having the time of their lives despite having just thrown up in the loo and are back on the dance floor with their zipper down or worse yet, for the ladies, the back hem of her skirt tucked into her knickers.

Ah well, if nothing else, was a thoroughly entertaining evening with good music, company and food. Won't mention the food too much, cos I didn't really eat much at all that's points worthy and besides I do believe I drank my fill of points for the next week.

I didn't actually play softball this season....I played so badly last season I thought I'd give the humiliation a miss this time around. Pre-season training started while I was away overseas last September and that was enough to cut the bare thread that was holding me on to continue for this year. Catching up with my old teammates from the past 7 years was great...there were new faces to meet ....one of which was awarded 'Most Outstanding Player' for the season...I later found out this fabulous new player is now standing in my position on first base. This of course confirmed for me, that should I choose to go back to the game next season, I will most likely be watching from the bench.

When my girlfriend and I put this social team together 7 years ago, it was due to watching our spouses play every weekend, and deciding that maybe, just maybe, it would be more fun to play than just sit and watch. And therefore team NFI was created. NFI stood for 'No Fucken Idea', (which we felt appropriate because none of us really knew what we were doing) but what those initials stood for became a bone of contention with the then executive committee...they didn't like it....it was coarse and unladylike and not a name they'd like the club being associated with. So we changed it officially to *drum roll* NFI, now meaning New Found Interest (haha, more than one way to skin a cat, reeoow!) and thus we were accepted onto club grounds.

Anyway, back to last night (I'll write more on my softball career later I think). Apart from the seperate team trophies, there are approximately 15 big trophies awarded for overall club things, most outstanding, club personality, club contribution etc. Last night my ex husband was awarded "Best Club Person for the Year". This is a relatively large shiny cup atop a block of engraved wood, that has a small silver softball mitt attached to the top of it and I know this because I received it myself a couple of seasons ago.

I spotted my ex coming in from outside after he'd finished having a cigarette (and probably talking a whole lotta crap to someone out there) and went over to him. "Can I give you a hug?" I have to ask this, his girlfriend and her watchful eye are forever upon what he's doing and who he's talking to, and she's one scary mama, so I aint messing with her, not to mention causing him any more problems. He throws his arms out and replies "Sure! Why not?" (Hm, too enthusiastic, he must be drunk already.) I hug him "Congratulations"... "Thanks!"....."You're welcome. And you know what the best thing about this trophy is?"...."What?"... "I'm on it first" HA!
Saturday, March 19, 2005

Haloscan has Arrived!

After trying to post comments on several of your blogs recently, and worn a path in my carpet from the PC to the kitchen waiting for them to load up, I have given in and installed Haloscan. I have to admit, I never tried this before (even after reading that some of you have given up on posting on blogger comment because of the delay) due to it being another one of those things I'd have to tell 15 that I wasn't capable of getting my head round, and dragging him out of his bedroom to do for me.

This was the most simplest of exercises I've ever done on my blog with HTML. I was rapt it was so friggin easy!!

I have tried on many occasion to be patient (clipping toenails, filing fingernails, plucking eyebrows etc) whilst waiting for blogger comments to open up for me...and then sat here in pure frustration that it STILL is not happening! Raaaaarrrrr!

So now, my sanity has been restored and I have haloscan...so that at least, anyone who may wish to pass over the frustration and comment on my blog, is able to do so.

Yay!
Friday, March 18, 2005

Glorious Fog

Just dropped 13 off at school. The fog is so low out there I could barely see where I was going. Wellington Airport is closed due to these low flying clouds. In fact, there are no planes at all at Wellington Airport, because they all flew out yesterday and haven't been allowed back in.

The surburb I live in is quite high up on one of Wellington's hills, so we get to experience this foggy phenomena up close and personal like. I drove to the school with the lights on, as you do in such conditions, obviously you want to be seen by other motorists if at least you can't see where you're headed. The amount of cars out there without their headlights on astounded me. And OMG, the ones I spotted were silver and white...what the hell is up with that??...were they playing a game of cat and mouse? Ghost riders perhaps? Of all the colours least likely to be seen in this weather, silver and white have got to be the worst. Stupid people like that must like dealing with their insurance companies. Anyway, that was my short rant for the day.

Canada is going to a baptism this weekend. His niece's. Now, let me just tell you, Canada is in fact actually a Canadian Greek, although he prefers to be categorised as Canadian because he doesn't like the way "they're so arrogant and feel they're more superior than other nations, it drives me nuts" (his words, my apologies to anyone who may be offended by that comment). His brother, father of the baptism girl, is a bloody twit, and falls into the Greek arrogant class....everything has to be bigger and better than anyone else's as far as he's concerned...so the baptism is going to be a large affair. There's actually only going to be less than 70 people attending...but from all accounts it's going to cost close to $10,000!!!

I've sat here listening to him worry about his mum getting up at 5am each morning to cook various greek dishes to help cater for this event...listened to the frustration in his voice when he mentions his brother and the newest lame-brain scheme he's become involved in...sympathised and understood when he's also voiced his frustration at not having me over there to attend the ceremony by his side.

Yes, I've listened to this, made the right noises and nodded my head and rubbed his back (well, you know what I mean)...and the whole time I've been mentally drooling about the amount of food and what kind of food they're all going to be stuffing their faces with. Aaaaarrrgggghhhh!
Thursday, March 17, 2005

Pie and Patience

My body is crying out for hot apple pie with lashes of whipped cream!...my body wants kentucky fried chicken WITH all that fatty skin...I want lollies! Lots and lots of them til I feel sick and have a delirious case of the shakes.

I would feel ill when all that greasy chicken fat drizzled down my throat...and the sugar from the sweets would make me nauseous and tired after a short burst of nothingness...but the apple pie and whipped cream?...GIVE IT TO ME!

*takes a deep cleansing fat-free breath*

I've been reading Happy and Blue 2's latest post about things that others rant about and the zillion or so comments that have been added to it.

I have to say that as I read my way through all this, I could relate to everything you all mentioned. It drove me nuts thinking back to those times of frustration...it got me sooooo wound up!

There are so many things that get on my nerves (the least of which is not having apple pie and whipped cream in front of me). Slow walkers, fast walkers pushing past me, people in the supermarket that leave their trollies in the middle of the aisle as they're wandering up and down adding things and getting in the way of everyone else.....anyone in the service industry that used to ignore my children as they were waiting patiently to be served, yet serving all the adults around them instead.

That last one has been a pet peeve of mine for many years. I've often seen adults push ahead of my children at the deli or the picture theatre kiosk or wherever, to get served first, regardless of how long and patient my sons have been. I've stood back to see how the boys react to such rudeness, always straining myself from leaping forward and swatting them "How dare you? Who made you the Queue Jumper Sherriff? Now, fuck off, my son was here first!!"

Course, that would hardly be a good example to set my children would it? How are we, as good parents, supposed to teach our children respect for adults and the art of manners/patience, if there are adults out there, that are going to ignore it all in such a way? I'm sure whenever someone pushed in front of the kids all it achieved was to piss them off.

A couple of years ago, a female patient in her mid 40s, had a heart attack in the waiting room. After 45 minutes of the doctors and nurses working on her, unfortunately she didn't make it. It was a busy time of the day in any surgery, and the waiting room was filled with patients. One man in his early 50s actually complained that he had to wait so long for his doctor....and this after seeing that very doctor on the floor not less than 3 feet away from him, trying to help a dying patient. What the hell is wrong with some people??!!

Ok, I've done my blog post for today...and a bloody long one at that...NOW PASS ME THE PIE!
Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Kilos to Pounds

Not a lot to report tonight I'm afraid...I'm so damn knackered I feel like climbing into bed and pulling the covers over my head to shut out the rest of the world.

On the weight issue, and for the benefit of those that don't know their kilos from their pounds...there are 2.25 pounds to each kilo. *gets calculator, tap tap tap*...that's 8.1 pounds...wow, that's fantastic! (I didn't do this conversion the other night). I do wonder if perhaps that large weight loss over one week had something to do with my new haircut (I mean, I did cut off alot last week) and I shaved my legs, armpits and plucked my eyebrows before the weigh in. I'm sure it all counts!

Anyways, I might be tired, but I'm also starving...so not so tired that I won't be making the effort to cook something for dinner. And you know how I knew how very hungry I was??...because I went into the local butchery near work this afternoon, and stood there actually enjoying the smell of raw meat. How disgusting is THAT??! *bleech*
Monday, March 14, 2005

News Today

A large women in her 40s comes in to work today, stood in front of the counter for 10 seconds and went and sat down. My co-worker and I were both on the phone talking to patients and when I hung up I went over to get her name so I could check her in on the computer for the doctor. When she saw me approach she said loudly and aggressively "I did come to check in, but you just ignored me". I apologised and explained we had both been busy with the phones.

The phones on Monday mornings in particular are incredibly busy, and most patients understand that if we're already on the phone, we will eventually get to them. We do our best not to leave anyone waiting too long, tend to excuse ourselves, put the caller on hold and deal with the patient in front of us.

She ranted and raved about being kept waiting and reckoned it was all a get rich quick scheme that she had to see herr doctor, to get her prescriptions and that the prices were nothing short of extortion (it had been quite some time since she'd been in, and when her husband rang that morning and asked for a script over the phone, he also asked if she would need to come in)...after looking at the last time she'd visited and it was almost a year, I told him that unfortunately she would. (It's health policy here in NZ, if you're on regular medicaiton, you need to see your doctor at least twice a year, primarily so he can monitor that it's still doing the best job for your body).

She stormed outside to have a smoke and I went back to my desk, checked her name on the computer and realised she had actually turned up an hour early. Blah...that meant I had to go out there and tell her. I went outside and said "Mrs Bitch?*..." interrupted by her yelling at me "WHAT DO YOU WANT?! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" (God, if anyone needed medicating it just HAD to be this woman).."your appointment's actually at 10.45"...."FINE!" Jumped in her car shot out of the carpark and squealed up the street, I heard her toot angrily at someone/something that was obviously getting in her way. Poor lady was having a bad day I guess. I watched her car disappear in the distance under a haze of burning rubber and thought "oh ok, fuck off out of my surgery, see if I care".

Some days it can be exhausting not fighting back....but....us receptionists don't know what these patients are coming in for....we don't know what's wrong with them....and anyone that carries on in such a way could be an unstable mental health patient. So, I obviously can't be saying what I really want to say because I could end up being thumped. Anyway, after talking to her doctor, turned out this particular lady is most unstable, very very difficult to deal with (ya think?) and after hearing what I told her, the doctor told me to be prepared later when she returned because she may have to admit her to the psych unit at the hospital today.

The drama didn't end there, but I'm too tired to keep typing and besides I have some personal news I want to tell before I fall asleep.

So to end this on a more positive note...I went for my first weigh in tonight after my first week of trying out the Weight Watchers plan and lost a startling 3.6 kg! THREE POINT SIX FRIGGIN KILOS!! God knows how I did it, but I must've been doing something right. And I don't expect to ever lose that much again in one week, but hey, for the time being I'm happy with that. Yay!

*not her real name....pseudonym used to uphold patient confidentiality
Sunday, March 13, 2005

The Good Old Days?

I attended an engagement party last night for a lovely young couple, ages 21 and 23. It always amazes me when I attend something like this or a 21st, where there are a group of young people together drinking and socialising. I never feel that much older than them, but in reality I'm almost 17 years older than them. 17 years. That's a whole other teenager's life.

When I was 17, I was still in college, was an average student for any subject, except shorthand typing, which was my favourite and the only subject that I consistantly scored in the late 90's percentage-wise with any exam. It was my saving grace. I read shorthand books while sitting on the toilet, I read shorthand and wrote it during english class, it was my bedtime story at night before I fell asleep. I appeared to be obssessed with it. I was one with those strokes on the page. I was awarded certificates and trophies had my name engraved on them because of this wondrous subject.

I was a good teenager (funny that huh? good and teenager going together like that). Unfortunately my older sister was not classified as one...my mum was called down to the principal's office at the college on many occasions to try getting her daughter on the straight and narrow. My father was often present at these meetings, but my mother didn't always tell him, for fear it would start another yelling argument and threats of boarding school for getting into trouble once again, and thus mum would attend alone.

After having to deal with my sister and then me being the wee angel that I was *cough*, my father continued to dub me as "the good one" (which is not to be confused with 'the chosen one'). Ok, I never did get into the amount of trouble my sister did, in fact I was barely any trouble at all, but I was also quieter about what I got up to and so my parents had to wonder what, if anything, I was doing.

I lost my virginity at the age of 17 to a 23 year old irishman I'd met and known for only 9 days. I met him while standing waiting for a taxi late New Years Eve with my best friend at the time. Two boys pulled up in a car, the door swung open "Ladies, can we offer you a lift somewhere?" Jesus, when I think back to that time now, I wonder what the hell I was thinking.....but considering I was 'the good one', I did tend to do the occasional thing that I knew my parents would be horrified to find out about, it was the rebel in me coming out. "Sure, but only if you take me home so I can wish my parents a Happy New Year first" (I am nothing if not a dutiful and loving daughter).

They took me home, I ran in to kiss both my parents and ran out saying i was staying the night at my girlfriend's. (oh god, not THAT line?!). Jumped back in the car, rushed to my friend's house and did a similar thing, I went in with her and hugged and kissed her Mum Happy New Year (I was nothing if not a supportive and convincing best friend). The boys took us to Mount Victoria. Now for those of you who don't know Wellington at all....this is basically one of the highest peaks in Wellington City and thus a lookout, and during my teens, a major makeout spot. (my skin is starting to crawl and I'm feeling very seedy writing this lol).

My girlfriend disappeared off god only knows where with one chap and I was left wandering around the lookout with the other. Seemed a nice enough man...we just talked and to be honest he wasn't going to get much out of me. Looking back now, I think he may've felt I was a tease....I mean to say, what girl doesn't just get picked off the street like that and then NOT put out? Anyway, was all new ground to me, I'd never been picked up like that before, so I was going to play by my rules as much as possible. It was an interesting night actually...we did a lot of talking, about families, about school, his work etc...he never seemed to be in any rush to 'get on with things'. I was relaxed but always wary (fat lotta good being wary was gonna do me on a dark night with a stranger....a black belt in a martial art would've helped more).

Short story to long boring dialogue....my girlfriend eventually returned to where I could see her....we were then taken back to my girlfriend's home....I kissed my new irish friend goodnight and happy new year (I am nothing if not one to get into the mood of celebrating annual occasions), gave him my phone number and got out of the car.

Later that night my girlfriend told me that the guy she was with actually said to her "so, do you want do to it?" I laughed so hard after hearing that, I ended up choking on hysteria and she had to smack me several times on the back.

Thinking back to the silly things that amused me, not to mention putting myself in a potentially dangerous situation like that, makes me shudder at the thought of my boys getting any older.

Please don't make me feel I'm the only silly teenager that's done something like that....come on you lot, drag up those memories and give's some of them.

HEY! WE CAN PRETEND WE'RE THE BLOGGER BRAT PACK! weeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Thanks

Thank you for your support about 13 guys, I really appreciate it.

It really is difficult to watch him lash out in such a way.

As far as the school counsellor is concerned, I've had raving reports about him and in fact when 15 first started college he was struggling to settle in and having problems with bullying, so I sent him to the same counsellor. The first session he had, I asked him how he felt about it (he also, like 13, was feeling nervous about talking about his problems with someone he didn't know). But he came home and told me "You know? I feel like I can tell that man just about anything now" which gives me hope that he falls into the category of the latter counsellors. Fingers crossed for 13 anyway.

And what a fabulous idea about 13 starting his own blog. I'll put the idea to him when he comes home from his Dad's this weekend and see how he feels about it. I'm not sure he'll be so open to the idea, but it's worth a shot. Thanks heaps :)
Saturday, March 12, 2005

Not a Happy Chappy

Before I left the house to get my hair cut the other day, I received a phone call from 13's maths teacher...he was talking quite assertively and had obviously been shaken up. There had been an incident at the school that involved my son and a very nasty outburst in class. He was told perhaps it would be a good idea to go outside and cool down for 10 minutes. 10 minutes later the teacher went out to see him and talk with him about what had happened.

At this time, 13 told the teacher he just wanted to be left alone, and as the teacher was trying to encourage him back to class, my son actually stood there punching his fist into the other hand and telling the teacher to leave him alone...the teacher said "are you threatening me?" and 13's response was "I wouldn't care if I killed you". A statement like this, besides shaking up the teacher and making my heart stop beating when I heard it....has serious consequences. He's been stood down (suspended) from college for 2 days, Friday and Monday.

This decision came about after 13, his father and I, met up with the teacher and the deputy principal and had a long discussion about what went on and where this horrible burst of anger came from. There was another teacher in the class as well that period and 13 had felt she'd treated him unfairly by telling him that he was up to no. 6 in his task book wasn't acceptable "well, that's not good enough" is what he was told. After hearing both sides of the story, I have to admit, I would've been a bit pissed by hearing that too, but not to such a drastic extent. The teacher told me 13 was visibly shaking with anger.

Unfortunately, 13 has been known to have angry outbursts like this in the past. They happen at a rate of maybe once a year. He tends to bottle things up and then blow with the straw that breaks the camel's back. Usually he's a placid child, but when that valve blows, it blows big time. It's like watching a Dr Jekyl and Mr Hide. There is a lot of anger built up in this young man....where it stems from is something I've been trying to find out for years. And none of it used to happen, until after his father and I separated (he was 8 then). Which makes me feel I'm responsible for this change in him.

I put him in counselling after Dad and I split....that was when the anger was boiling up regularly, and he seem to settle for a while. A few years later at Intermediate he started up again....so I put him back in counselling. Interesting, although maybe not unexpected, his father never saw this side of him. Not until a couple of years ago. Dad's girlfriend and I had of course seen it, but never Dad. So when he witnessed his son go off his rocker for the first time he was shocked. I'm glad he got to experience it only because prior to that, he must've thought his girlfriend and I were exaggerating.

After the second lot of counselling, same thing happened, he settled, seem to have control of it and life continued it's usual path, until now. Besides being stood down for two days from school, being grounded at home for the week and having to write two letters of apology to both teachers, he will start seeing the college counsellor. First thing Tuesday morning. I also took him to see the doctor yesterday as he'd been experiencing headaches the past week....doc says he's been having migranes. I wanted to eliminate the possibility of it being something in his diet that was having a reaction. Unfortunately after sitting there calmly to have his blood test and just before the nurse was about to start taking blood, he stood up and said he couldn't do it, he refused. Course she can't take it from an unwilling patient, and as she tried to encourage him, he yelled in his face and told her to stop talking about it. So, no blood tests yet.

This had me back in the car later in tears of frustration. What on earth is happening to the sweet child I used to have? What sets off these incredible bursts of anger? One day he'll do it and someone is going to pummel the crap out of him. I do hope the school counsellor has some good methods on how to help him deal with it as well as find out what's causing it so he can extinguish them altogether and feel free of them. He's very remorseful and embarrassed after they happen. Says he feels stupid for doing them. It appears he has a mighty big chip on his shoulder....the trick here is to figure out how to knock it off.

The one thought that keeps coming back in my head is, if we don't get this sorted soon enough, what if he harms himself? The statistics of teenage suicide in New Zealand frighten the hell out of me. I hate even writing that down, it screams at me from the page and makes me want to vomit.

My apologies for the depressed rambling today, that last paragraph is not something I've voiced out loud but it eats at me and I just felt the need to say it 'out loud' to somebody.
Thursday, March 10, 2005

A Fable for the Day

Busy day today.

Very busy at work this morning, no dramas like last Thursday, but constantly busy and didn't leave until well after my shift was supposed to finish. No worries, it happens sometimes.

I get home, do some housework and feel proud at how shiny and clean looking and smelling my bathroom and toilet are. My kitchen is clear, the dishwasher is churning away, the washing is all folded and put away. Life is feeling in control.

Off out the door to get my hair cut. I really got my hair cut. Before I put my foot through the door at the salon, I had long straight thick dark hair....long enough to almost reach the small of my back. I now have hair just past my shoulders and what's more, with lovely stripey kinda golden highlights in it. I love it, so I'm happy and so is my hairdresser when I paid the bill.

There was shitloads of my hair all over her floor, and she said "you know? we could thin it out a bit more if you like, it's not like you don't still have enough of it". "Yes ok, why not? may as well do it while I'm being so brave today". It's layered and light and going to be so much easier to take care of and cost so much less to look after because I put shitloads of product in my hair to produce that 'shiny, healthy' look. Blah. But that's only cos I know I'm worth it *groan*

Anyway, as she's sweeping up all the hair that is slowly dying on the floor, I have a light bulb moment and cry "wait! give me some of that!". I get down on the floor trying to find a 'curl' of it or something that resembles a curl, which is ridiculous when you have/had straight hair. I find something I'm satisifed with. Now, the other night Canada was talking about some of the things he missed about me after I left that gorgeous country of his....and one of them was the smell of my hair. So...the sentimental twit that I am, I thought I'll grab a lock of that and send it to him when I send off the next parcel...yeah, like he's going to want some dead hair arriving in the mail. End of the story....I forgot about it and I left it behind. Blah again.

I get home, make dinner for the boys, have myself a WW frozen meal of macaroni cheese (one of my favourite meals in the whole world)...it was disgusting, bleech, won't be buying that again. A couple of hours later I go in to use the toilet (as you do) and feel like yelling "Who the hell did that to my toilet??!" BASTARDS, the lot of 'em!

And here endoth the short story of the toilet and the hair.

The moral of the story is: Don't concentrate too much on the hair, cos the toilet is going to get it while you're not looking. hahahaha *bashes head on computer desk*
Shoot me now!
Wednesday, March 09, 2005

"What the Hell" Take Two

The background to today's post can be read here and here.

*ring ring*

"Hello?"

"Is that Sara?"

*exasperated tone*
"Oh, for fuck sakes James? What are you DOING?!"

"I know, but I..."

"Is there a point to this?!"

"Yes, I was wondering if you would give me your email address?"

"No I will not! NOW, LEAVE ME ALONE!"

*beep*

Damn, it's just not the same with portable phones....you don't get to have the pleasure of SLAMMING the phone back into the cradle.

I do not want to have to go back to the police about this man. The unfortunate thing is, that each time I file a report, it lasts for 12 months, and then gets archived. And seeing as he waits the full 12 months most of the time before getting back in touch, I have to go back down to the copshop and pour out the sordid story again.

I also don't want to have to change my phone number. I refuse to change it because of one complete and utter headcase (I'm a stubborn bitch like that). I am, however, getting mighty close to calling on a couple of chaps from the softball club to go search him out and give him a thump.

But I won't, cos I don't need any lawsuits being brought against me or my friends.

I suspect he just wants something he can't have. Oh well...maybe he'll find someone else to get all obssessed and spooky about soon. Here's hoping anyway.


Tuesday, March 08, 2005

And so it begins...

Hey, thanks guys for the support. I went to the meeting last night and felt extremely overwhelmed with it all. There's so much information to take in. Think it would be easier if they just wired my mouth shut, then I wouldn't have to think in WW terms.

So anyway, keeping in line with my new eating regime, I started today. Problem I had was I hadn't done any shopping so there was little I could eat from the fridge or pantry, except for items really high in point value. Those points are going to drive me potty until I get them sorted...already, by the end of the first day I am seeing a point value in everything around me. I did manage to stick within the food 'budget' for the first day though regardless. Yay me!

And that being said, I promptly came home from work this evening, came online and went straight to the Woolworths site and ordered. lol (don't know why I'm laughing, I'm already fed up with it and feel like fish and chips, which I haven't eaten in months).

But...I have been doing more thinking goal-wise. Next February when one of my closest friends gets married, I've been asked to do a reading at the ceremony for her and her lovely fiance. Keeping that in mind, I've decided that when I get up in front of the congregation and struggle back tears while I read (cos I know I'll be such a cry-baby about reading soppy stuff for those I love), I'm going to look damn HOT!

Yes I am!....I'll be so hot the groom will want to run off with me. Ok, I don't really want that to happen, but I am going to look fabulous, tears an' all!

And that's all I have to say about that.
Monday, March 07, 2005

Clean Out

As I mentioned recently, Alice has emotionally blackmailed me into joining Weight Watchers with her. Tonight is the night, first night of signing up and weighing in and doing whatever it is that they do at these secret meetings behind doors.

Thing is, Alice can't make it, she's off to Hong Kong tomorrow, so will have to attend next week instead. Ok, I've been psyching myself up for this all week so I'm not going to wait another week and add another 10 lbs, so shall go on my own this evening (gives me a head start on the Alice competition hahaha).

I've noticed there appears to be a pattern forming food-wise for me this past week. With the big WW meeting looming in a matter of days I had eaten my way through a mince pie (it sat in my stomach like a rock), cream donut (thank you 15), roast pork with all the trimmings, butter chicken and two chocolate bars...these are things I wouldn't normally eat. I guess my mind was saying "hurry! quick! before they take it all away from you! *sob*"

I even cleaned the fridge out. Don't you just love tupperware? I do. And I have shitloads of it. The only problem I have with the stuff is that if you open, let's say, a tin of salmon, place it in said container and then leave it too long, you have to deal with it when you eventually take the lid off. And we all know what happens when you take the lid off right? It now resembles something other than what you originally put in there. The beauty of it being, you can't smell that...the horror of it being, you have to remove it somehow.

Here's what I cleaned out of some tupperware containers in my fridge the other day:

1. something that looked blue and powdery, but smelled so bad I was gagging as it was churning down the disposal; (formerly known as salmon)
2. leftover slimy, dripping lettuce leaves;
3. tinned asparagus with a blue powdery glaze
4. leftover sliced ham (which never seems to last more than 2 days before it starts to stink);
and
5. a half finished tin of chilli beans that have crusted around the edge and started to grow fuzzy white beards (thank you again 15).

I won't even go into the weeping tomatoes I found squashed in the bottom of the vege drawer, alongside the slimy black mushrooms (oh, too late, I just did).

I don't foresee this problem happening again...I feel once I start this WW programme, there's a strong possibility the fridge is going to be emptied by me almost as fast as it's replenished.

My fridge smells alot better now, go figure.
Sunday, March 06, 2005

Cream Boy

It's 5.40am and I answer the phone sleepily to hear 15's weekend Boss saying that someone has just called in sick and could 15 cover for the morning please?

15 has been working at the local bakery for the past 18 months, saving up spending money for his recent trip to Japan. He scored the job as 'Cream Boy' which brought forth lots of comments about him wearing a cape and mask and striking a masculine pose for the tabloids after his latest creaming adventure. This position is basically the bakers' assistant and involves anything from filling the donuts etc with cream to washing down whatever and buttering cake pans. It's only once a week but he did manage to save $1300 to take with him for the 4 weeks he was gone (and would've taken a lot more if he wasn't spending frivously - when I discovered that, his EFTPOS (bank/ATM) card was removed from his being with a vitriolic serve care of moi).

I was proud of him for sticking with it...the job was tough and he complained about it alot but refused to chuck it in due to the money he wanted (he's very money orientated is this kid). Over the time he's been there he's seen a number of cream boys come and go and as such I give him plenty of credit for hanging in there. It's the 6am starts in the weekends that are a killer, but he's still going to Dad's every other weekend, so we share the broken sleep.

For the last two Christmases 15 has reluctantly got himself dressed in a Santa Claus suit and walked up and down in front of the bakery ringing the bell and handing out vouchers to people passing by. He had to do this 4 days in a row each Christmas, and of course, with it being Summer over here, a Santa suit is not cool attire. 13 and I were instructed that under no circumstances were we to visit him during this time, he didn't want us to see what he looked like in this get up. Later that day 13 and I did a 'drive by shooting' with the camera.

The little kids loved him of course, and he was great with them. He came home one day and told me that one child had pushed himself forward and asked "Who gives you presents Santa?". Thinking quick on his feet he replied "I don't need presents, it's gift enough for me to give them to all of you" (*snort*) A young voice was heard from the back "See? told ya!"
Saturday, March 05, 2005

Dinner Out

15 went out for the day, expected home around 5pm....13 hung out at home doing not much at all and I spent the majority of the day doing housework and then catching up on reading blog material...I go in each day to check, and lately I've noticed that either 1) your posts are being held up in blog ether or 2) you lot aren't posting daily like normal. I say this because I've been checking daily (yes, I repeat repeat myself) and there's nothing new to read...then whammo! I go look this morning and I have days of blogging spendour to read to catch up. Odd.

By 4pm 13 and I are starting to get real hungry....we decided that once 15 called to say he was ready to come home, we'd go grab him and go out for dinner. By 4.30 my stomach was growling and 13 was looking woefully thin....I had to stop myself from ringing 15's cellphone to say we're on our way.

He rang at 5.20....we raced out the door, drove dangerously round several corners to collect him and went and parked our butts on seats at a local Indian restaurant. I'd been there once before, the boys hadn't. I say "Let's all order a different dish so they can lay them out in the middle of the table and we can try each others...it's good to experience different flavours". I knew what was coming next. They both want to order Butter Chicken. We grapple over this for a while and I start getting irritable....I need food. I give in....may as well give them something I know they'll eat for sure. They order Butter Chicken, I order Chicken Tikka Masala. I love butter chicken, but I wasn't going to be a sheep and have us all eating the same meal.

The food turns up.....my stomach cheers....I insist the kids each try some of what I'd ordered... they do so reluctantly. The next thing I know, my meal has gone (I think they inhaled it) and there is an abundance of Butter Chicken to be had.
Friday, March 04, 2005

To Be Chauvanistic, or Not To Be

Being the mother of two boys, I've always felt it my duty to the fellow womenhood out there, to make sure they are in touch with their feminine side...or maybe the correct phrasing would be..'non-chauvanistic'...the feminine side thing sounds a bit poofy. I wanted my boys to be independent and sensitive to their counterpart's when the time arose. From an early age, despite my best intentions, it really wasn't practical (or possible) to expect a 3 year old to be cooking his own meals or doing his own washing.

Occasionally, when the boys were both toddlers, my sister's husband used to take off up north with his mates and go motorbike riding (in other words, a weekend of adrenalin rush and beer drinking). Whenever these weekends came about I would leave my children in the care of my husband (with huge lists attached to the fridge door) and disappear for a weekend. God, they were bliss! No schedule, noone hanging off my leg, noone whining and calling out to me in the night. It was only a couple of nights, but it seem to do the trick to rejuvenate my energy levels to get back into it when I got home.

One such weekend, my sister and I went to a local county fair. All manner of items were up for sale, including the good old fashioned wooden toys. As it was November I chose to buy my boys a wooden oven as part of their Christmas stash....I then went to The Warehouse and bought various 'play' pots and pans and plastic food items to compliment it. Before I forked out any money I rang my husband to gauge his reaction to this brilliant idea of mine. He paused, then just said "yes ok, if you feel you must". (He was awfully chauvanistic so I was surprised by the answer, but hey, maybe the worm had turned?).

The boys enjoyed Xmas day, they loved their new oven** and we had constant dinners of various descriptions that we had to continue pretending to eat. Living next door to two girls that were about 8 years older than my kids helped my cause...the boys were forever coming home with nail polish or make up on...my husband wasn't pleased with this new turn of events...he was concerned his boys were going to turn into pansies. He soon discovered that you can't take the boy out of boys and relaxed that his kids were still males in every sense of the word.

These days I sometimes feel I'm fighting a losing battle. Although I still manage to slip something in there that you wouldn't say is the 'norm' of everyday boy stuff. 15 is doing pretty well at this side of things I think. I've had him go into the chemist to purchase me tampons...he's painted my toenails on a couple of occasions...and with a fair amount of bribery and corruption, he's stood patiently, used a brush-comb and dyed my roots for me. (The most recent time was New Year's Eve, I had said goodbye to Canada the day before, and I sat in the chair and cried almost the entire time that 15 silently walked around me parting hair and painting hair dye on, pretending not to notice.) I said "how much is left in the bottle?"...he holds it up..."oh, I don't think you've used enough, when Anna does it for me, she usually only has this much left" *holding up fingers to show him*...his response "yeah, well that's Anna, I'm accurate". He did however, draw the line at the supermarket one day as I was standing in front of the tampons and sanitary pads, and asked "so, which ones do you think I should buy this month?" Ok, I wasn't really asking his advice, that was for pure reaction amusement. He bites so well.

13 is another story entirely and I believe that's my fault. I did attempt to educate him in the trials and tribulations of grocery shopping, but the fact that he brought every mushroom to me for my approval before he put it in the bag turned the incident into a painfully long session and I have to admit I gave up. He was always fantastic at the deli though, never had a problem asking for anything...in fact he often still does the phone calls or stepping forward to be the spokeperson for 15 (who is painfully shy in asking for anything). And faced with the same question in the supermarket about tampons etc, he surprised me by saying "here, how about these ones? *selecting box and reading side* it says their comfortable and easy to use and they have yellow flowers on them". Was he being sensitive and helpful, or had I taken this mission too far?

I am yet to get either of them into the toilet with cleaning equipment. My next hurdle to overcome.

**the oven was eventually sold and the money was used to buy a playstation game
Thursday, March 03, 2005

Answers

H&B: Nothing new to report re Canada...as I said earlier I'm taking things slowly....I don't want to disappoint him again and mess things up this time....it's important I do this right. We're talking everyday, spending time together just chatting or playing some game online...as you'd probably be aware, finding things to do together in this situation is limited, so we either play in backgammon tournaments or play literati (like scrabble).

He's champing at the bit to be able to call me his girl again..he's eager to rush over here and sweep me up etc.....and we're practically there, but I have to do this right...I'm scared of letting him down. I am however still saving money and cutting corners as much as practical so I can visit him again...this will be a long way off....after he comes here early next year.

So all in all, we're pretty solid...trying our best to keep it real and making sure we talk plenty about any concerns we have. Something else that came to me the other day...I like loving this man...I mean, I really like loving him. Things are positive...it's a wonderful feeling.

llCoffee: I'm so proud of youuuuu! Hope you get all you ordered and are happy with the way their system works. I got a substitute for a couple of things the first week, nothing drastic, but I persevered and learnt to navigate the site and I'm satisfied with it. Oh, and the snapping sound I heard when I first went into labour? was the membranes snapping, hence the watery dribble (bleech) <--- on behalf of H&B (I'm just lulling him into a false sense of security...the minute he relaxes about birth stories I'm going to hit him with 13's arrival.)

By the way, after all the hoorah at work this morning had died down, I dashed round the corner and bought me and Annette some chocolate cake and lattes. We felt we deserved it. I've a strong suspicion I'm going to gain 10lbs this week with all the comfort food I've been shovelling in. Oh, did I mention my girlfriend Alice has convinced (pounded) me to join Weight Watchers with her? Anyway, she did and I think considering all the changes that are happening in my life, I'm ready for another one. I promise not to turn this into another weight loss/gain blog....I still have the matter of quitting smoking to deal with yet. So there's a strong possibility that I could turn into a rather nasty bitch screaming on her blog about cream cheese and bagels.

Man, there are so many personal changes happening to me....this has GOT to be my year!

More Work

A lady in her early 40s rang this morning at 8am....said she'd had a terrible night with an asthma attack and could she see the doctor this morning. I booked her in with the locum at 8.30, and she said she was going to drive down now because she felt so dreadful. That was fine. The nurse hadn't arrived yet and neither had any of the doctors, so there was only me and the other receptionist (Annette) when she staggered in the door. We put her in the treatment room to lie down and discussed the possibility of getting the medical laboratory nurse to hook up oxygen to her (neither of us knew how to do it, but if push came to shove, I was thinking, how hard can it be?)

Luckily the nurse turned up 10 minutes later (she was late and surprised at how enthusiastic we were to see her). Still wearing her jacket and carrying her handbag we told her to go straight to the treatment room. She hooked up the oxygen and was calling an ambulance 10 minutes later (I was peeling her jacked off her while she was on the phone to the ambulance call centre).

The first doctor appeared, hooray! She's a locum who has been working with us for 3 weeks now, lovely lady, but unfortunately she was feeling dreadful as well, definitely not 100%. I went into the office to bring her up to date and found her getting frustrated with her PC which had locked up completely, I had to pull the plug out of the wall to turn it off. The nurse turned up 30 seconds later to fill her in on the patient...the locum threw her hands in the air and started talking really high pitched about the fact she'd only been there 2 minutes and already everyone was on her (crying now) and she felt like shit. I'm ignoring this slight breakdown, still working with the PC (ready to smash it) while the nurse is rubbing her back saying "it's ok, there there, just stand here for a moment and breathe for a bit". PC boots up properly, locum calms down, everyone's still breathing.

Locum checks the patient, ambulance arrives....patient spurns the wheelchair and insists on walking out to the ambulance (against the paramedic's advice). Paramedic on one side, nurse on the other, they guide her out into reception, where she promptly collapses in full view of children and parents in the waiting room. The nurse yells out for the doctor, who runs down and starts talking about IVs etc. There are now two doctors and two nurses and a paramedic (who's calling for more help on his radio) tending the patient. Unfortunately this is all happening on the floor in front of reception.

Annette and I are continuing to receive patients, smiling calmly and pretending that nothing is happening on the floor in front of us. I rang the patient's husband, who's at work and completely unaware that his wife had been feeling unwell during the night (how is that possible?)....he thanked me for informing him that she was going to the hospital. The second ambulance turned up, wheeled in a trolley bed and eventually they put her on it and wheeled her out. 90 minutes had passed from the time she walked into the door, until the time she was wheeled out, yet it felt like an eternity.

It seem to set the mood for the morning, but we didn't have anything as dramatic happen in the next few hours and now I'm home I'm going to get on yahoo and listen to Canada's voice, which has always been so good at soothing my ruffled feathers.

Thank god I don't have to work tomorrow :)
Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Work This Afternoon

Only had one doctor this afternoon, due to unforeseen circumstances the other doc left in a hurry. So we were pretty busy, juggling patients and squashing them in where they weren't really fitting, but things still managed to work ok regardless.

I received a call from a young dad asking me if he could bring his 9 month old son in. We were fully 'squashed' by then but I will never turn away a 9 month old, you never know what's happening in those tiny bodies of theirs that they can't articulate to you at that age. Dad said son had a temperature and he'd been very grumpy, not himself that day...he'd been teething a fair bit lately and he figured it was probably something to do with that. I told him to bring him in anyway because if it had something to do with his ears or elsewhere, the NOT knowing is worse and they may not have a very pleasant night ahead of them.

My children's doctor once said to me years ago, that parents are their children's best paediatricians...we know our kids best, and if something's a'brewing in their wee bods, they show signs that we pick up faster than a speeding bullet. This was often the case for me when I would take the boys to see him...he'd find nothing wrong....two days later, full blown ear infection or the like. It's like the washing machine....it's playing up until the serviceman turns up....then it's in perfect working order and he can't figure out why he's there...you waste money on the call out fee...and the machine packs up as he's driving of down the road. Grrrrrr.

I was on the phone when Dad walked in the door carrying baby. Gorgeous baby boy. It was easy to see that the kid was burning up, his face was pretty red and flushed. The temperature today was around 21 degrees celcius...baby is wearing several layers of clothes. While I'm dealing with a man on the phone, who's telling me his heartbeat rate is now 38 (holy hell) and he's feeling nauseous and dizzy, I'm gesturing to Dad to start peeling off some of baby's clothes. This isn't easy to do whilst listening and talking at someone else. I'm making motions of striptease sign language to one person while talking calmly and trying to convince someone else they should be calling an ambulance. Dad takes off his own jacket (I fight to keep the expression on my face neutral). I shake my head....point at baby. Finally...dad starts taking off son's layers. Yay! I give him the thumbs up.

Ordinarily, I would put the telephone call on hold and talk to Dad, but when it comes to heart stuff, I never put anyone on hold. Eventually I thought I'd convinced this patient enough for him to ring an ambulance and felt comfortable enough to hang up.

Doc saw the baby...diagnosed with tonsilitis...Dad leaves with the needed prescription so that's good. I'm still thinking about the chap with the dodgy heart thing....I wanted to be sure he'd done as he said he would. I ring his phone number...and bugger me if the silly bastard doesn't answer the phone! "Now Mr Silly-Bastard, why are you still at home?" (course I didn't really call him that)..."I'd thought I'd drive myself to the hospital but decided that wasn't a good idea, so I'm just trying to find a friend who can run me in". Oh Lawd! The problem we can have with older patients, is that they don't want to 'put' anyone out...and calling an ambulance would seem like putting out a lot of people in their minds. In the end I told him "ok, I understand, but I think we've waited long enough now...hold the line for a moment please?" (ok, yes, I did put him on hold, but he obviously wasn't going anywhere for a couple of minutes) I hear a feeble "yes ok"...*press hold*....and I rang the ambulance and gave the details myself.

The doctor walked passed me at one stage and asked "Am I doing good? I'm doing good right?" (he's often so far behind time-wise with his patients). I say "You're doing great! You're a Legend, a Machine, you're a star!" He stops mid-stride and grins at me..."Hey, you can't stop now...keep going or I'll demote you to just being an ordinary hero".

Sometimes I feel I'm obviously just not pushy enough...and sometimes I wish I had an abundance of nurses and doctors I could forward these people to and not have to deal with it myself. And sometimes I wish there was a bourbon set up and waiting for me when I got in the door at the end of a day like this...not the stack of groceries I found at my front door because the courier had arrived, thumped on the door, and my two children who were in their respective bedrooms playing blaring music, didn't hear him.

But...all in all, not a bad afternoon.

Move Over Trade Me

I've just finished doing my grocery shopping. I love shopping with Woolworths online. I don't have to nagivate the aisles or wait at the checkout, and they deliver it right to my kitchen each week...how cool is that?! Ok, yes I do have to pay extra for delivery fee ($11.95 for orders over $100) but I figure that I save squillions as well because I'm not throwing whatever I fancy into the shopping trolley if I spy it on the shelf. And that my dears, I'm sure, is the key to some of my overspending. 13 is getting a tad tired with the shopping online thing, he rather enjoys the extras that I chuck in the trolley I think. This morning I told them I was going to order some groceries and did they want anything in particular (the tissues arrived in last week's order) he said "Can we just do some normal shopping for a change?" Amazing that that comment comes out of the mouth of a kid that absolutely despised going to the supermarket with me before.

I've been doing this for 3 months or so now and I have no complaints about what's turning up each week. Any meat, veges, fruit or bakery items received are fresh fresh fresh! I don't think I've bought them that fresh off the shelf before. Some odd items I've received have purely been my own fault for not reading the brand name or weight measurements on screen properly...one time I even received 2 large cannisters of black pepper that I never ordered. I rang to report and was told they'd make sure the correct recipient received another two and I could keep them. God knows what I'm going to do with all that pepper.

Last week I received a 'bonus' item. It was a free sample of frozen vegetarian canneloni and I ate it for lunch, was rather nice. I've even had the packers write the occasional personal messages on my invoice telling me to have a nice day and their customer services department has rung me 5 times over the last few months to see if I'm happy with everything and can they help me with anything.

Perhaps I'm the only lazy son of a bitch that orders from them and thus their best customer.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Ok, Here's Mine: 15's Arrival

When I became pregnant with 15, hubby and I weren't married, but had been engaged for 5 years. Becoming pregnant made us sit up and say "holy hell, best get our arses into action!". 1989 was a big, no HUGE, year for us. We got married, built the house and became parents all before September. Stress levels were high.

I'm 9 months pregnant. Waking up at 1am, I felt some movement in my stomach and heard a snap...not a loud one...it sounded similar to a pencil snapping. I nudged my husband, waking him and said "it sounded like the baby's snapped a bone or something". He looked at me weirdly. He got out of bed, came round my side, helped me out so I could get to the toilet, and as I was waddling my way to the loo, I felt liquid dribbling down my legs. Ok, this is a new feeling...Ye gads, it must be starting!

I yell at hubby that something odd is happening down there...and him being the sex fiend that he was (and always interested in whatever was happening down there) comes to chat about the details of it with me while I'm taking a pee. He's back in bed by the time I waddle back from the loo. "What are you doing??! You can't go back to bed NOW!"

He climbed sleepily out of bed and rang the hospital to find out what our next move should be. "Is this your first baby?"...."Yes"..."ok, bring her in now then"....so we got dressed, chucked the bag together and drove to the hospital, with me ouching and aahing all the way over the bumps. He was driving madly to get there, yet swinging round corners and flying over bumps wasn't great for me as I was having contractions.

We get to the hospital, the night nurse looks at us boredly, puts us in a room and says "You won't have this baby til around noon, so try and relax as much as possible ok?" How is that possible when I could hear some woman down the hallway yelling all the time??

Back track a couple of months...my GP rings and asks me for permission to have a medical student involved in my delivery. I say yes, and said student comes up later that week to write up an essay of some sort on my pregnancy's ins and outs and this is where I discover I got pregnant due to taking vitamin C (well, taking lots of it on a regular basis and then stopping completely, hormone drop..blah blah).

Back to the hospital....Medical student arrives, as does my mother and brother. I, being the organised person that I can be, had taken a deck of cards to the hospital, expecting to be hours waiting and thought playing cards would be a practical way to while away the time. Hubby deals the cards out all over the bed...I'm standing up rocking by this stage, moaning (and not quietly I might add) through contractions, and in a fit of pique, sweep my hand across the bed, flinging all cards unceremoniously to the floor. "I don't want those there right now thank you" (translated to: "What the hell?? Are you fucking kidding me??!").

He helps me onto the bed, as the midwife has arrived to have a look-see. (Those that have had hospital births, will know that at this stage you have no dignity left and any time anyone comes into the room, you automatically flop your legs open). Hubby is sitting at the head of the bed beside me...let me just add...my husband, whenever under stress tends to pull out his irish roots and cracks jokes to try making light of the situation. He said something that was supposed to be funny...I took one look at him and without even thinking, smacked him right in the jaw with my fist. At this point the medical student and my mother both vacated the room rather speedily. (Aaww, where'd they go?") Hubby on the other hand, is still looking at me smiling like he didn't notice anything different (gotta hand it to the man here, he deserved a gold star for that effort.)

I need to go to the toilet... I'm parked up on the loo, hubby crouching in front of me, his hands turning white, while I go through another contraction and I'm saying "Go tell that nurse I want an epidural, and don't you let her tell you I can't have one ok? Be assertive!"...He does as I request...I'm back on the bed and the Anaesthetist turns up...too late, baby's head is visible. Bugger, that's so unfair, give me drugs! Right, time for delivery, I'm being wheeled to theatre "no, my doctor isn't here yet, I'm waiting for him before I do anything else". Stubborn bitch. Course, 15 wasn't waiting, he wanted out...now.

Ok, this is getting too long....here's the rest quick-step format;

- I give up waiting for the doctor, besides my body is involuntarily pushing;
- The med student is watching, his eyes as big as saucers, he was no help at all;
- My mother is out in the waiting room explaining each grunt and groan to my younger brother("Now she's bearing down");
- I touch 15's head after it's out, just resting there between my legs...the weirdest thing I ever experienced that was;
- 15's pushed out in 8 minutes...placenta follows not long after;
- I haemmorraged (heard the nurse saying "it's dripping off the bed on this side");
- Doctor finally turns up in time to check baby over and give me stitches....he gives me a local injection, I say "shit", his response "no, no sign of that down here";
- Hubby stands at the bedside looking down at me and baby...tears in his eyes "I'm so proud of you".

Next day, I go to the toilet and have a weird sensation down there....a lazy piece of placenta comes out...next thing I know, my husband is running down the hospital corridor yelling "Nurse! Nurse! Come quick! A piece of meat just fell out of my wife!" Reading back over this now, I'd be surprised if the poor bastard actually felt anything other than immense relief when we split up.
(Sorry H&B, if you managed to read this far, I really did try to keep it as "bleech-free" as possible for you.)

7lb 2oz baby boy, arrived 4.55am, 1 September 1989 (on his due date and he's been as precise ever since).

4 hours of utter bitch, but worth it in the end.