Friday, March 27, 2009

Bilingual Jane

I went to a fantastic dinner party the other night. I have discussed on the blog before my antisocial habit of writing down funny things that people say. I really do try to keep it to a minimum but Bilingual Jane was so funny that I cracked and in the end had to keep pen and paper at my elbow for the entire evening. (An aside: you were probably too drunk to remember this Jane, but you specifically requested that you be called Bilingual Jane and so you shall be, on this blog at least).

Here are some words of wisdom from the mouth of Bilingual Jane:

(on rude scrabble) This is like a dream come true. Phonetics! Genitalia!

(on her work situation) Either I’m going to become a male and regress in years, or I’m going to become a nutcase. I don’t like either of those options.

(on our dinner) The chicken is like sex in my mouth and there’s nooooo balsamic in sex.

And I will end with the final 2 comments on the paper from the evening. They are in my handwriting but I don’t remember writing them. I am also not entirely sure who said them or quite what they mean but that has never stopped me repeating myself before so here goes:
“Wild swamp anal dick?”
“That must be a sexual one”

Next up in the funny-things-people-say-at-dinner-parties series will be Lingual Alison, but I wrote those ones on post-it notes so they are floating around somewhere in my bedroom..

Thursday, March 26, 2009

What Could Be More Boring Than Watching Bread Go Stale?

I only have two rules in life: I don’t do boring and I don’t do stupid. There is a new girl at the crazy workplace who is named after a cheese, and she is the most boring person I have ever met. The boredom just seeps out of her and infects the air around her in a somnambulant haze of ennui. At first I thought it was just me being judgemental and unchristian but I soon found out that all the cool kids think she is boring too, and they have nicknamed her The Dullard. The Spy was so desperate to avoid the tedium of a bus trip in The Dullard’s company that she decided it was preferable to look at bread through a bakery window for a quarter of an hour until the next bus came.

As many of you know (because I never shut up about it), I was once diagnosed with boredom. Having your former disease come to life and parade around you in a pair of flat shoes, a plain skirt and a solid belief in her superiority is not especially pleasant. Yes, ok, I wear flat shoes too but on me they are not boring. In fact, now that I think about it I realise that everyone at the crazy workplace wears flat shoes but they are only thunderingly boring on The Dullard. I don’t know why; she just has that effect on everything she touches. Probably Cirque de Soleil would be boring if she went to it.

As well as being boring she is ambitious. This is a pretty frightening combination when you think about it; it’s like she was born to be middle management in a large accounting firm. So while The Dullard is not exactly stupid, I think her ambition will blind her into doing some stupid things. I certainly hope so, or I will soon run out of bitchy things to write about her and that is no fun at all. As a consequence, I am heading off to work today in a positive mood as I anticipate her future encounters with The Only Gay in the Village, Tanty Man, Major Dick and The Eye.

Monday, March 23, 2009

I Didn't Sign Up For This

The Eye’s need for control is out of control. The other day I left a chart for someone explaining the ins and outs of a huge pile of books. Apparently this is unacceptable behaviour. The Eye hunted down every single person who had worked over a 2 day period to ascertain who the culprit was. Upon discovering it was me, I was given a talking to. Heavens to Betsy!!!

Here is a little roundup of conversations I have with a frequency that bores me to tears:

About once a day:
“Is there a public toilet near here?”
“Yes. Go to the corner and cross the road and you’ll see it”.
“Oh my goodness is that the closest one? That is so far away! My trust fund bones are way too fragile for such a distance. My sense of entitlement is sorely affronted!”

About once a week:
“Is that the only copy you have?”
“No. We have a secret underground cave where we keep the real stock, but we only show it to people who know the password”.

Almost every single transaction, which means about 50 times a day:
“Are you in the loyalty program?”
“What is you surname?” [I only ask because my powers of intuition have momentarily failed me. You could just tell me your name from the start, but then we couldn’t have this 15 second interval that allows you to feel pampered and important]

And finally, the hot off the presses news is that the cd we have been listening to this week is called “Songs Zosia Hates”. It’s a really incredible collection, let me tell you! I don’t appreciated being asked – through song – what I have done today to feel proud. Once a day would be bad enough, but I have been asked that fucking question every 45 minutes for 8-hour stretches. There is also some stupid Whitney Houston song on there that is basically the same line repeated over and over with a key change every 20 seconds. I have never hated key changes so much in my life. I also understand why her sister wanted to kill her in The Bodyguard.

I probably don’t even need to mention the fact that there is a Bryan Adams track on there, because it’s like some universal law that anywhere a crappy collection of early nineties music is collected, he will feature in the mix. In thousands of years after our civilization has died out and the remnants of it are discovered by aliens, they are going to understand seminal ideas about our society through the music of Bryan Adams.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

I am a Sad Individual

I have found that, in life, there are little signposts that pop up along the way to notify you of how tragic you are. You often find yourself caught up in the hustle and bustle of every day busyness and forget to check the trag-o-meter so these little clues - the real-life equivalent of Hansl and Gretl’s crumbs - are worth noting down and filing away for future reference. I may not be making all that much sense here but please trust that I am getting to my point, and that my point will be one which makes me look like an idiot and (hopefully) makes you laugh…

The first sign that there was something wrong came about 4 or so years ago when I realised that I owned 2 separate and different recordings of the 'Moon River Cha Cha'. Not just 2 different versions of the song 'Moon River' (written by Henry Mancini for the movie Breakfast At Tiffany’s (based on the novel by Truman Capote (who as a child was the neighbour and friend of Harper Lee (author of To Kill A Mockingbird)))) and the only thing ever sung on film by Audrey Hepburn) but 2 different versions of the Cha Cha version of 'Moon River'.

Even though I own these songs, I do not think that this is ok. I really don’t. But it’s not like I can do anything about it now. I can hardly go back to the CD shop and say “Excuse me, but can I please return track 12?”. I would become their Crazy Customer of the Week! It’s just something I have to live with. And while it is tempting to put it down to a temporary transgression, I would be lying if I did not acknowledge that it is actually the clarion call of a worrying trend. As of last week, I now own 2 big band swing versions of the Radiohead classic 'Creep'.

On a different tack, it is probably worrying that I like to chose my dentists based on the comic value of their names. My current dentist is called David Jones but I am thinking of changing because I got a list of preferred providers from my health cover people and there is someone on the list called Dr Kiss. How can you not go to the dentist called Dr Kiss?

There is an update of The Crazy Workplace in the works, I promise, but so far have been to lazy to bring it to fruition.

Friday, March 13, 2009

Somebody Should Invent...

SOMEBODY SHOULD INVENT: clear wine casks. I don’t mean just the bladder bit, but the cardboard box bit too. When I am drinking from a bottle* I can measure how much I have had in one evening quite simply (ie: bottle is empty = time to stop). But with a cask there is this whole element of mystery. I have no idea how much I have drunk. The best I could do was pick up the cask and think to myself ** “ Feels heavy. I can’t have drunk too much”. It’s a fairly rudimentary measuring system and I’m not sure how accurate it is. But what has been troubling me (only a little teeny bit if I am honest) is that it is a sort of upscale cask (sounds oxymoronic but just trust me on this one), so I wonder if it feels heavy because they used premium cardboard with an expensive, thick finish on it, and that is why it feels heavy? If the cask was see-through with little lines on it like a measuring cup then all this angst would be avoided. Once again, measuring what you have drunk would become a simple matter: “I can no longer read the label telling me what this is that I have been drinking, nor see the lines on the side of the ingeniously clear cask walls that are supposed to mark 500mL increments = time to stop”.

*Obviously, what I mean here is not drinking directly from the bottle, but pouring from a bottle into a glass… unless I am in a park and the bottle is in a paper bag. I am all class.

**Ok, I might have said it out aloud to myself rather than think it, but I was the only one at home so nobody would hear me talking to myself… I’m just trying to make myself sound crazy in a cute, off-beat kind of way rather than an “if-you-see-crazy-coming,-cross-the-street kind of way). It’s all so complicated. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Don’t Be A Dick!

These are recounts of actual conversations Peter Fitzsimmons has had. I was present for both of them. This is not a story or an exaggeration of any kind but rather a reportage designed to display Peter’s personality with no commentary necessary from me, as well as one comment from The Eye for which I must give snaps.

(If you are reading this because you googled yourself can I say 2 things? First: I'm not surprised. Second: Everyone thinks you're a tossbag, but they are all too intimidated to say it to your face).

The Eye: Oh hello there!

PF: Don’t ‘hello’ me when you haven’t got my book on the shelf!

The Eye: Oh. I just sold one yesterday; it hasn’t come back in yet.

Random Customer: Yes there is. I’m sure I saw a copy. Let me show you.

RC and PF walk over to history section where RC does indeed find a copy of one of PF’s books. Upon returning to the counter RC introduces himself and says he enjoyed PF’s books. PF offers RC his PINKIE FINGER to shake.

The Eye: We’ve got lots of your new book on order.

PF: Really? How many?

The Eye: Over 100. Well over 100. And we’ll get more in if you do a signing for us.

PF: Oh really? So that’s your instinct is it? You think you’ll sell that many?

The Eye: Yes. Your books always do very well here.

The conversation continues in a similar fashion for a few sections (ie Burst of ego/ Stroke ego/ Burst of ego/ Stroke ego) then PF leaves.

The Eye (to me): “Oh that’s your instinct is it?” What else was I going to say? He walks up and down the street telling people to go and buy his book! We have people coming in saying “oh I just bumped into Peter Fitzsimmons and he told me to buy his book”. Of course we’re going to sell plenty. Do I need a crystal ball?


The Only Gay in the Village: I saw you on the telly last night!

PF: Oh really? What was I on?

TOGITV: It was that 20 to 1 show.

PF: What was I talking about?

TOGITV: you were talking about Pauline Hanson.

PF: Was I good?

TOGITV: Yes you were.

PF: I tell you what, I find Pauline Hanson bloody attractive.

There are so many things wrong with the above conversation, not the least of which is that PF’s two children were trailing miserably behind him at the time and heard the whole thing.

An update on the saga that is The Crazy Workplace will be forthcoming. It's all too depressing to bother typing out just yet.