“now i get it. this hideous mask is a form of psychological warfare. it sure can scare the wits out of a victim.”

I attempted to photograph and then scan my hand to illustrate the following anecdote, however, neither worked terribly well, so please imagine there is an image here of a bony, freckled hand with “TIPS” written on it in large purple letters.

imagine image of bony, freckled hand here

This was, naturally, to remind me to put in my footy tips for this weekend. I didn’t want to forget, because, gentle reader, I am coming FIRST in our work footy (AFL) tipping – FIRST! ME!

It’s all very exciting (and incredibly shocking and miraculous and all that) and best of all, it lets me lord it over the boys. And lord it I must, for this spectacular run cannot continue for long (especially as I tipped Carlton tonight and they are losing big time) and obviously I must make the most of my success by getting in maximum gloating while I can.

(update: gloating minimal, I’ve been knocked off the top already – stupid Carlton)


In scary news, I was watching The Biggest Loser earlier in the week – you’d think the scary would stop there, but no.

The remaining contestants were trying on their dream outfits. Fiona put on her dream outfit and it was the exact dress I was wearing that very morning.

Why anyone’s dream dress would be something that cost me $9.99 from Portmans, is rather beyond me.


In crap news, on my first day back at work today, I became entagled in a disagreement with 400 year old man – where he ranted and raved and generally implied that I was a complete moron (about a subject so inane, it would take your breath away). This went on for over 30 minutes. At around the 40 minute mark, I took a deep breath, announced calmly, “well, you sort it out, name-of-400-year-old-man” and walked away (because I was becoming rather distressed). Later he sent me an email, in his own special style, rude, abrupt and punctuated by seemingly inserting random commas, exclamation marks and capital letters throughout, cc’d to our manager, and concluded, “I do not appreciate being walked away from.”


And this altercation made me miss bidding on a cheapo mp3 player for Bessie.


Manager was not there today (won’t be in until Wednesday), or she would have had to deal with one very unhappy employee. I went to visit Department Freak Manager and asked him for the role which has just become vacant in Department Freak, because Department Freak all love me, do not shout at me and almost make me cry, nor do they treat me like an idiot. If I don’t have to take a pay cut, I think I will indeed remove myself (The Professor is freaking out at the prospect), because I shouldn’t have to deal with being treated like crap (or listen to people I like being treated like crap) anymore – screw that.


In startling news, in 1.5 hours my biggest baby will be 18 years old.

Holy crap.

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