Dreams Really Can Come True

Seriously people, don't ever give up on your dreams - you never know where they might take you. I essentially just landed a new job based almost solely on the fact that I once dressed up as a casserole.

No Means No

I have started reading the slush pile at work. Here is my response to the woman who submitted a reworked fairytale in the guise of a 'rap'. She followed up the original deathly silent non-response to her submission by resubmitting 'Rap on Cindy'* along with five more 'raps' and a comment stating that she "had no luck with the suggested submission process" so was just going to projectile email the poor receptionist her shit instead.

Dear Monica, 
I am not surprised you had no luck with the suggested submission process. 

Your work is derivative, culturally insensitive, and completely lacking in literary or commercial value. 

If you can managed to fix these issues I am sure you have a bright future as a successful published author. Keep trying! 

Kind Regards, etc ... 


*It is exactly as bad as you can imagine from the title.

Housebroken

Tallboy and I are househunting again. We are being evicted from our current abode but I don't really understand why; there was nothing on the lease that said we couldn't brew moonshine in the bath and sell it through the window so I don't know why they got so huffy. Real estate agents are SOOO narrow minded, man. It's not like we were selling to really young children or anything.

Anyway, we are looking to move to the inner west, mostly so that I can wear skirts with felt birds on the hem and not feel like a dick. But also a little bit so that we can buy some banjo folk indie fusion music and listen to it while we drink cider.  Tallboy wants to grow a beard but I think that's going a bit too far. Another reason we are not wanky posh enough for Potts Point is evidenced by Tallboy's comment from 5 minutes ago (and I am NOT making this up): "Shall I decant it? Oh I won't bother. It will decant naturally".

I am having a little trouble deciding on exactly which suburb we should choose, but I have been taking some pictures to mull over and would appreciate any feedback. I have added the best ones here for your kind perusal (bitchy, snarky, self-referential perusal is equally welcome):



Here is a picture I took in Summer Hill

And is one I took an hour later in Haberfield.

Don't Put your Foot In It!

Dear Shoe Manufacturers of the World,

What the hell do you think you're doing? I'll tell you what it looks to me like you're doing: a damn awful stink-bomb scabby scrotum of job!Why are there so many ugly-ass shoes around, and what the hell is the deal with all the tassels? Don't you realise that nobody has voluntarily sought out tassels on their shoes since 1992 - unless they happen to be a 67 year old millionaire retiree looking for yachting footwear? It just so happens that I am NOT a 67 year old millionaire retiree but I AM looking for footwear. Can I find any? Is the Pope a Buddhist?

Feet are gross enough to start with, and the point of shoes is to cover up the ugly. There is no rule stating you can't cover ugly with more ugly but it seems kind of a waste of time and money to me. And why would you cover ugly with ugly AND TASSLES??

Quite frankly, Shoe Manufacturers of the World, I am underwhelmed. You have let down not only me, but all non-millionaire retirees who have not had their feet and/or legs amputated.

The Importance Of Being Busy

If there was ever any doubt about how busy and important I am at my place of work I think today's efforts can safely put those doubts to rest: Hot DANG I am BUSY! And Lordy Moses am I one SMOKING-HOT important woman! SMOKING!!!! HOT!!!!!!!!!! Here is a rundown of all the busy and important things I did today:

Someone sent me a photo of a bunny wearing glasses and reading a book. I showed this to several people only slightly less busy and important than myself.

Someone sent me a string of photos that were of cats sleeping on dogs. I prioritized the sending of this to a number of my professional associates. 

I had a meeting with my boss. We discussed many and varied important issues including (but not limited to) the bras we wear, engagement rings, Robert Plant, tarot cards and psychics, her child, her niece, her sister in law and her mother. We did not discuss cheese as that is a frivolous topic of conversation for which neither of us have the time.

I got coffees.

I delivered a parcel.





I lent somebody a hair-tie.






I made a poor taste joke about feet and stigmata that I will not repeat here because this is my "classy" blog. But let's just say I had to take my shoes off to make the joke. And I have two tiny little cuts on my feet from a pair of sandals, that look a teeny tiny bit like stigmata due to their placement in the general vicinity of the middle of each foot... 




All in all, today made me feel more like Melanie Griffith's character Tess from Working Girl than any other day on the job, apart from the time my boss was away and I sat in her chair, and that other time when I got a really bad perm and accidentally wore a top with huge shoulder pads to work. 

I don't have TIME for this!!!

Today at work I took a phone call and was screamed at for about five minutes through the earpiece by someone who was very, very angry and upset. Something has clearly gone fucking bunta ass-hat crazy-bad with her delivery, but I was confused because it sounded to me as though all that had happened was that the books arrived in boxes she didn't like the shape of.

I had to wait for her to fully vent ("I don't have TIME for this! I mean, I really don't have time for this! It's going to take me ages to fix this!!! I'm really angry! I'm SO ANGRY!!!!!) before I could get a word in to ask for clarification.  And a good thing I did! Guess what the problem was? It turns out the books arrived in boxes she didn't like the shape of.

HELL YES!!

Today's motivational catchphrase is brought to you by FELIX! YES!!! Pump your fists in the air and repeat (in a facetiously loud voice) after me: THERE IS NO 'I' IN CAN'T. THERE IS NO 'I' IN CAN'T  THERE IS NO 'I' IN CAN'T... but there is one in shit.