Birthday list … not bad for the girl who used to eat lunch on her own at school because no one would sit with her, eh? A giant FUCK YOU to Gemma#1, Gemma#2, Lisa, Angela, Sally (ya bitch ... if one person in the world should've shut up at school, it's you), Kerry and Joanne. I rock.

Or, how blessed am I?

List as follows -

*Mod-Squad inspired black suit (Dad)

*Nan's engagement ring (Mum)

*Perfume (Mum)

*Giant lime green stuffed crocodile (DaveyB)

*Red knit dress in vv sexy style (SuperAnge)

*Class As on tap over the weekend (SuperAnge + ericmonkey)

*Richmond FC scarf and Mike Flowers Project CD (dave-oh-housemate)

*Marble Mont Blanc pen (godmother)

*Bach flower remedies + underpants (Simona)

*Large yummysmelly candle (Relda)

*Oracle angel cards (Daveandsuzanne)

*Original 1975 Barbie paper cut outs with complete wardrobes (Jojo She of Fairy Magic)

*Wool hat (MersandIan)

*Pair funky shot glasses (Lil Lovely Lizzie)

*Red bead + black wire choker (Mella for Star)

*Funky purple bracelet (Sophiemissmoo)

*The most beautifully vibrant and delicate green Japanese bowls and plates I've ever seen (RebenPaul)

*Hungarian pink glass statuesque bottle (Mizz Karen)

*Complete Japanese dinner set for four in charcoal (MissMary)

*Hot water bottle cover and socks (Auntie Bettie, bless her)

*Countless drinks and hugs and kisses and probably other stuff I've forgotten - but I didn't do too badly, huh? How blessed am I?

Happy four-day holiday to me, happy four-day holiday to me ...

It's Easter time, which means diddly to me seeing as I choose not to follow organised religion, but thankfully the State Government does, which means when I leave work this afternoon, I don't have to be back until Tuesday morning. And I won't even be in Melbourne during this time - I'll be here, relaxing my little bony butt off and making the most of some missjenjen+ericmonkey time. Mwahaha. Spas, excellent gourmet food, Scrabble for hours and lots and lots and lots of goooooood lovin'.

Life is good.

Something is good in the world

My tooth began aching again today (that's not the good bit), which reminded me that a) I must visit a dentist soon and b) I can't afford to do so until I reactivate my medical insurance, which went into suspension last year when I lost my last job in Perth. Unfortunately Mr Howard's fortnightly payments do not allow such luxuries as medical insurance. So I rang these guys, with whom I am insured heavily, to reactivate said insurance. My membership was still there. But because it had lain idle for so long it was going to cost me $900-odd just to get it up-to-date. AS IF, said I, and whistled dixie to the poor nameless dude at the other end of the phone who was about to cop it from Grumpy Jen. Then he felt sorry for me, because I tried The Sob Story Angle, instead of getting persnicketty, and off he went and talked to his supervisor. I waited, listened to the company propoganda while I was on hold, then snapped to attention when the guy came back on to the phone. And he had fixed it so I don't have to pay a penny! Not until my next fortnightly premium is due, which is Monday!

So, a big HURRAH (a big HUZZAH, even) to Bheeraj at the Victorian branch call centre for helping me out. I owe him a tsunami of chocolate.

God bless large American multinational pharmaceutical companies

My sanity medicine is finally kicking in. That'll teach me for ignoring my pills.

Harumph.

*ahem*

Chinese Whispers 101

Or, boy, am I pissed this morning

Or, don't mess with me people. See above. And below.

I am not a gossip-mongerer, unlike other people that I know. So I get mighty pissed off when I hear things about myself - untrue things about myself - through other people who don't even know me or who have met me just the once. This really fucking rankles me because I respect others' right to privacy and to not be judged by me - or anyone, for that matter - for their actions or morals, so (however foolishly it may seem) I expect the same from others towards me. And - rightly so, I reckon - I get angry and upset when this quid pro quo does not occur. Not much to ask, I don't think. You just don't talk about other people's stuff, particularly if you don't know them. End of story.

What I will say is that there are certain people living in Melbourne that need to keep their ridiculously over-inflated ego in check and their big, fucking stupid mouths shut, before they start destroying more than my levels of patience. 'Nuff said.

I look so incredibly hot, stylish and super-intelligent today

I do. Really. I think I've finally become what people generally call "classy". I'm all in black - Mod Squad inspired pants and jacket; wool knit blend ribbed cross over "Asian style" (that's what they call it in the shops, I swear) complete with funky black furry boots. Plus scarf. It's cold today, and I have some faint marks on my neck (*ahem*) left there on the weekend by an over-enthusiastic ericmonkey. Not that I'm complaining about that. Bring it on, I say. Like I've mentioned before, you'll hear about it if I aint gettin' no lovin'. A woman of my age (*ahem*) has needs, you know.

But back to me. Yes. I look classy, stylish, funky and fit to take on just about anything. So, I'm going home to watch Temptation Island and clean up my room. Heh.

I am a willing pupil

I am finally starting to learn more stuff, now that deadline for April has passed. Yesterday my boss sat me down and showed me how to calculate the number of editions required for each state publication and for the national one. Pretty easy - just some basic addition off the number of office copies, number of members in that state who are financial and thus deserve to receive a copy of our esteemed publication via snail mail (even though they can access all the different state editions on the website, but anyhoo), etc etc. Who would've thought Monkey Maths IV could ever have come in handy? There seems to be this over-riding opinion here that I should just be eased into things, very gradually, as they don't want to overload me with too much at once - lest I become overwhelmed. To which I say, PLEASE. Give me more things to do. Teach me more things. I want to learn.

Perhaps I should just scream louder.

A new look, another day

It's Tuesday. I do believe there are only another two days of work after this one ends. I'm off to some strange event this weekend called Comfest, and I have no idea what it's about. I just hope there won't be too many hippies, because as we all know, I don't particularly like hippies, so the idea of spending three or four days with 4000 of them does not appeal in the slightest.

*yawn*

Weeeeeeaaaaaarrrrrrryy me. Weeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrryyyyyyy me.

Toilet politics 101

I hate using public or shared toilets. They really gross me out. I think part of it is the dissolution of your personal boundaries once you make it into the cubicle. I don't like listening to my workmates pooping, farting and god knows what else into the toilet bowl less than a metre away from me. I just hate it. And I hate the thought that they can hear all my personal waste movements and activities too. There's just no privacy in a stall, I tell you, and I. Don't. Like. It. At. All. Plus there is the whole smell factor but I just won't even attempt to go there.

The other aspect of sharing toilet cubicles with others is the potential for germ-swapping. There is so much room for this to occur. Have you ever wondered, as you sat perched and pantless over the toilet cubicle, why the seat was still warm when you sat on it and what could be already sitting on it before you got there? I do. Can't help it. Grosses me out completely. Thankfully - the one small saving grace in my workplace toilets - is that we now have toilet seat wipers, which, according to the photocopied sign in each cubicle, are NOT to be flushed down the loo because they clog the plumbing. They're completely harmless to the environment, of course, but heaven help us if they funk up the pipes.

Normalcy returns ... to an extent

It's Monday, I'm back at work and the fallout from the last edition begins. The politicking in this place is incredible. Last week three different people took me aside and told me not to trust other people in the organisation or to be careful what I said to someone else ... I'm just keeping my head down and being Nice As Pie to everybody.

I have appalling DTs today, I presume from partying too hard on the weekend, not getting enough sleep and drinking too much coffee. I was chatting with my boss this morning and had to lift my glass of water with two hands, because my right hand was shaking too much. She looked at me like I was insane.

Okay, okay already: the friday five

1. What is your favorite time of year? I love autumn, the season in which I was born. Followed by winter, spring and then summer comes way, way last.

2. What is it about your favorite season that, well, makes it your favorite season? One of my earliest happy memories from childhood is stomping through huge piles of brown and rusty coloured leaves in a park in Canberra. One of few times I remember being truly happy as a child - so the memory remains. Autumn also signals the approach of winter, which means I can start airing out all of my favourite cardigans (I'm such a nana, I know) and my vintage coats, which I've been collecting for years.

3. What is your least favorite time of year? Why? I just aint a heat gal. Hate being too hot - so summer is my least favourite season.

4. Do you do anything to celebrate or recognise the changing of seasons? I always try to find a pub that sells the best Guinness in town then make a date with myself and herald the arrival of winter with the first pint of the year.

5. What's your favorite thing to do outside? Walking. Especially along the beach, which is nigh on impossible in Melbourne, seeing as there's not really any beaches per se of which I can take advantage.

And in other news ...

Deadline for April is finally, thankfully well and truly over. The editions are off to the printer as we speak: we made corrections after corrections and got approvals in record time, which means that this edition will go out. ON TIME. Hence the lack of posting today. Way, way too busy. Fridays always seem to be, probably because I have class in the mornings so I don't get to work until lunch time.

So, that's about it for me, folks, the weekend is nigh and there is much partying and frivolity to be had, mostly surrounding moi's birthday, which by some miracle of God is still continuing. Lucky, lucky, lucky me has received a present in the post or by person every day since Saturday. How great is that?

Thanks for the shot glasses, Lizzy - chez groovy and tres ready to be used to full advantage this weekend. I'll send you the photos!

See all you Melbourne-based readers at The Laundry tomorrow arvo between 4-7pm. I'll get around to posting some photos from said festivities next week sometime. Heh. The chaste photos deserve an airing, at least. Heh.

How spooky is this: perhaps my thirties might not turn out so bad after all

Today's horrorscope for Pisces:

Your image could do with an overhaul, and the possibilities are endless. Choosing a new look could change the whole trajectory of your life (my dad gave me a suit for my birthday, my mum gave me perfume, makeup, associated girlie stuff, and part of my inheritance - nan's engagement ring, Simona gives me undies, and my housemate, SuperAnge, informed me last night she's taking me clothes shopping on Saturday before my party for a present). You've been given many gifts, and it's only natural that you want to test all of them out (I've been partying like it's 1999 for days, lookin' mighty fine in my new gear and smelling all purdy-like ... and intend to stretch out my 30th for as long as possible: see you all at The Laundry on Johnston Street, Fitzroy, this Saturday arvo between 4-7pm. Fear not - I am bringing a carry bag or six to lug home all my gifts. Heh.). The next four weeks will be favourable for making money from your creative skills. (Dunno about this, but hey - two outta three predictions in any horrorscope isn't bad, eh? But I ask again, as I always ask whenever anyone reads my horrorscope - when am I gonna get some? I only have *so much* patience.)

Your esteemed and adored author returns: tired and grumpy and - yes, it's true - 30 years of age

Okay so I'm back in town and pretty damn grumpy about being back at work, natch. Of course, the ubiquitous shit has begun to hit the obligatory fan in my absence and as branches have received their first editions of their newsletters edited by moi. It's going to make for an interesting day.

I'm thoroughly exhausted, thanks to the three-hour time difference between The Hole and Melbourne. Plus my housemate was up veryveryvery late last night playing giggly-flirty-girly with a boy. This was depressing because MY ericmonkey was lying ill and alone at his house, unable to visit me. I didn't get no lovin' last night, folks, and I'm not happy about this any more than you might be.

I am wearing quite a few of my 30th birthday presents today, including a new suit, courtesy of my father (thanks dad), and part of my inheritance, my grandmother's engagement ring, which my mother finally released to me from her vice-like grip (thanks mum, my hand has stopped hurting now). About the suit: it makes me look all corporate, like, but believe me it's all a croc. It's all a front, and I can't wait to play with the interview candidates tomorrow when I'm on the panel. Heh.

And in other birthday, news: best friend #1, Simona, gave me these bushflower essences, one of which is for clarity and focus. Seven drops under the tongue, twice a day. Seems easy enough. Tastes okay, too. She also gave me some Bonds undies - hipsters 100% cotton - and they are the best grundies I've worn in a long time (given that I don't usually wear any, take this accolade as you will). Best friend #2 gave me a life-sized lime green stuffed crocodile. I was very popular on the tram last night. Davey The Croc also provided substance to wrap my arms and legs around as I drifted off to sleep last night, seeing as the fleshandblood who usually shares my bedspace of an eve was home, sick, in bed. But I already told you that (no harping, I promise).

Still weary, weeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrryyyyyyyy me. Off to an art exhibition opening tonight, and was too disorganised this morning to pack my 'groovy' clothes for after work, so I am getting used to the idea that I will stick out like a sore thumb at the gallery in my new suit. Oh well, maybe people will think that I'm an art gallery director or something equally wanky, and think that I might have some influence, or buy some art, or something. You never know your luck in a big city.

The big difference I noticed between The Hole and Melbourne is the pace. The. Hole. Operates. At. About. Ten. Paces. Slower. Than. Melbourne. It's very frustrating, for example, when you are in a cab en route to the airport and your driver is chewing gum and sitting in the right-hand lane ambling along at 45kmh.

And Melbourne has a culture of looking - everyone meets your eyes and usually smiles hello. In The Hole no one does this. People are very conservative and if you are looking at them, people assume you either want to beat them up or shag them. That may be the case here in Melbs, too, but there are usually other reasons for looking as well (gee, love her shoes. Wonder where she got them from?).

And in other, non-birthday news, I've reached the pinnacle of success: I am a link on Shauny's blog. Life's pretty good, I tells ya.

I'm baaaaaaack.

Tired and grumpy, but back where I belong.

Got lots of lovely presents ... more details tomorrow, when I get time to blog properly.

Better than any drama on the telly

Wayne Carey busted getting it on with his vice captain's wife. Well, well, well. Oh how the mighty fall, especially when every single one of your team mates withdraws their support for you.

Under the AFL regulations, Carey cannot play for another club during the 2002 season, and next season, he must either nominate for the draft or ask North Melbourne to trade him off. So, I wonder what he's going to be doing this year? Divorce, anyone?

*mutter-mutter-mutter-farken-farken-mutter-mutter-farken-mutter*

WHAT?

No. I'm damn busy today.

My ass hurts

Not because of anything pervy, you dirty pervs, but because I'm actually working my it off today. Public holiday in Melbourne equals long weekend full of lovely goodies but also equals very packed Tuesday - particularly when one is due to get on a plane in about 50-odd hours to go on holidays to The Hole.

Particularly when one must finish writing, editing and laying out five editions of newsletters - ranging in size from 12 to 32 pages - before one gets on said plane in about 50 hours minus the 20 seconds it took me to just write this.

Phew.

Had a pow-wow lunch today with bigwig manager connected with my department. She's been feeding me a fair bit of gossip and good story leads and comes from a highly esteemed background at the ABC. Good gossip - found out from the horse's mouth that my Ye Olde Schoole Bosse is not well liked at all. At all. She has put a lot of people off with her abrasive manner and forthrightness.

Don't get me wrong, I admire forthrightness in women. I think there should be a damn sight more of it. But I also think it needs to be combined with tact and diplomacy, which are skills in themselves.

Had very odd Japanese trendy-foody-over-pricey type thingie for lunch. Some kind of strange 'burger' that came sitting in a lettuce leaf. What would normally be bread roll was actually crunchy rice, and then there was this nicely placed wedgie of tomato on the side, and this sort of octopussy-dresssingie-salsa-chutney type thingie in the middle with a tiny bit of chicken. Nine dollars later, I realised that I was still hungry and looked around for somewhere to buy me some plain ole hot chips. Plenty of salt and vinegar, thanks.

HE LOVES ME.

SOMEBODY REALLY SPECIAL LOVES ME.

AND I LOVE HIM.

One door closes (Louie's love and presence) and another opens ... for a human's love and presence. Cool, huh?

He loves me.

He said so.

And I said so too. Said that I loved him, that is, not that I love me too.

And all in the last glorious halcyon days of my twenties .... of which only six rmain.

*sigh*.

I am gobsmacked (which doesn't happen very often, so listen up)

Phone call received on mobile phone about 15 minutes ago, transcribed as follows:

Him: Is that Jen? Who's lost her dog?
Me: OH MY GOD yes, yes, yes it is … have you found Louie?
Him: (offhandedly) Oh, no, no … nothing like that. Look, I run a pets newsletter and give out lots of tips about how to find your dog when they're lost. I could give you some tips over the phone, I suppose, but if you give me your address, I'm quite happy to send you a copy.
Me: [ … ]
Him: Hello? Are you still there? It's a great newsletter - I give out all sorts of tips for finding your dog, like the numbers of all the radio stations and how to negotiate the animal shelters, things like that.
Me: HOW DID YOU GET MY NUMBER?
Him: Off the flyer in the deli.
Me: Oh. (Thinking: drat. That's legitimate).
Him: Look can I just say, you'll never find Louie with just a mobile number on your flyers. People are sick to death of phoning mobiles and they just won't do it any more. Do you have a home phone number? Will you give it to me?
Me: [ … ]
Him: What about if I give you my number and you can call me later, if you want to talk about finding your dog and the newsletter?
Me: I suppose. (do not pick up pen)
Him: It's 9488-5661 (that's a fake number, folks, I didn't write it down). Okay? Will I talk to you later?
Me: I guess.
Him: Well, take care. I do wish you the very best of luck.
Me: [ … ] ... (Throw phone at wall in frustration).

I cannot believe I just got cold-called by some sleazy freak trying to get me on his mailing list for a pets newsletter!!!!!! Has he no soul???? I'm so cross at myself for not writing down his number so I could broadcast it willynilly all over the internet and pass it out to all my big, hairy, leather-clad mates on Harley Davidsons. That BASTARD.

I'm so angry right now. I'm off to drink beer.

MY BEAUTIFUL BEAST! COME HOME, BUG, COME HOME.

Movin' on up

I get to be on the interview panel to help select the new national media liaison person. Cool! I've never been on the other side of an interview panel before.

When I got interviewed for this job, I was massively, painfully hungover and must've reeked of booze. I was also nearly ten minutes late and there was a stain of some kind on my new cream suit (yes, I know, I know). My hair was wet and I didn't bring any samples of my work with me, either. And yet I still managed to become gainfully (*ahem*) employed. I wonder what that says about me … or about them for choosing me!

Only 11 days left of my twenties. The countdown is on. My housemate SuperAnge pulled out a beautiful cliché last night when I mentioned that my twenties were rapidly disappearing down the toilet. She said, "Well, you're only as young as the man you feel". Which makes me 24. So technically I still have six years left of my twenties. I can run with that.

Spoke with DaveyB (talented Perth jazz muso and best friend of moi) last night and the plans for my triumphant and oh-so-deliciously-brief return to The Hole (Perth) are all on track. Saturday night is the big partay, which I am having with my friend Mel, who is celebrating her departure from Perth and commiserating her move to Canberra at the same time. We decided to have a joint thing because - and this is very, very typical of Perth - we have a lot of friends in common, even though we have only really been friends with each other for about five years.

I've started telling people in Perth about Louie disappearing and that has been a bit upsetting. He was/is a very popular dog. My old housemate got very upset and said that people still asked after Louie, seven months after he'd left.

My beast! I miss him more than words can ever say. Come home, bug, come home now.

Sigh.

Any takers? Could be good!

Oh my God

I only have 12 days left of my twenties, people. Only 12 days.

Please feel free to buy me presents. Heh.

Just as I always suspected


Indeed.

Holy shit. Normally I try to ignore the continuing Middle East Crisis, and my excuse is that it's so far along, and so damn confusing, that I'll never make any sense of what's happened in the past, but it would appear things actually are really, really bad this time. Don't get me wrong, I would like to be more informed about the situation but I want context before I can comment informedly on what is happenning at present - can someone point me towards a good, concise and accurate synopsis of the middle east conflict covering the past 20-odd years? Not too much of an ask, is it? Heh.

Heh. C'mon, baby, you know you wanna. Generate me some serious bullshit today.

Points of note

A) It's hump day. One day closer to a long weekend.

B) I had curry last night (good, although not as good as the almighty Singh's on Nicholson Street in North Fitzroy), so the door to my office is staying shut today, in the name of public health and decency.

C) Thirdly, I do believe I have made another e-buddy. That's 'e' as in, internet, you drug fiends, not as in anything else. He's linked to me, so here's a link to him, up on the left there. Gifted writer living in the US addicted to a girl called Shannon. Go Scott!

D) I stand corrected: that tugboat photo essay I posted yesterday is actually from America, not Indonesia, as I so sneeringly assumed. Damn persnickety housemates. Heh.

Prolific posting returns

Maybe today is just the day for it. Still missing the dog. Trying not to think about it too much.

Surely this has got to be in Indonesia somewhere. And before you say anything about my racist state of mind, I lived in Indon for several years, and this kind of thing would be not out of the ordinary by any means.

Oh dearie, dearie me

I wonder if the storm on the protestors at this East Gippsland blockade this morning had anything to do with the Wilderness Society's advertisement which was broadcast last night during Buffy. I don't really think they are doing their cause much good when their spokesperson in the ad said, and I quote: "It's all about a journey, you know? But not like, you know, travelling?"

Stop wearing tie-dye anything, people. It serves you no good.

A lesson to self in why taking too much cocaine is a bad thing (you mean coke can ever be a bad thing?)

Man dressed only in underpants tries snorting cocaine off cathedral altar

A man has been arrested after entering an Italian church in his underpants and trying to snort cocaine off the altar.

The 40-year-old from Vienna walked into Cremona's cathedral during mass and 'mooned' at churchgoers.

He then took a bag of cocaine from his underpants and spread it on the altar. He reacted aggressively when challenged and was arrested after a violent struggle with police.

Two policemen were slightly injured as the man bit and kicked them.

He was taken to a hospital and is currently under psychiatric surveillance after confessing he regularly used cocaine and had previously been admitted into psychiatric care.He said he owned a butchery in Vienna and was returning from a business trip to Milan when he lost his way and landed in Cremona.

Cremona police say the man is to be charged with possession of drugs, indecent behaviour and resisting arrest.

The lobbying begins

So, Jen, new editor and all (*nudge-nudge*, *wink-wink*) - let me chew your ear for half an hour about what changes we want to our branch newsletter. They're all great ideas. Send it in an email? No, I can't type. I'll just tell you over the phone. I'm sure you're a great communicator and all that but you are new as well so you don't know what kind of politicking has been going on before you got here. So I can really ask you to do anything I want and I reckon you're quite likely to say yes because you don't know enough yet.

WRONG.

Oh no! I shall add this to my pile of stories about famous people and their downward spirals (eg, Kimberley out of Different Strokes ... remember her? She OD'd in a trailer park a couple of years ago, with no cash and no mates, either). I really like Soul II Soul. I started to actually enjoy dancier music after first hearing their stuff. In da house no longer.

Back from the dead

No, dear readers, I don't mean the dog, unfortunately. It's the new season of Buffy! And can I say, having spent a large portion of the summer break sitting in front of the telly watching the first three series of the Buffster, last night's episode was a beauty. They even had biker vampires.

Do not take my ramblings on the Buffster as a sign that I have forgotten Louie or to search for him. I haven't, but I also know from experience that a good way to dull pain is to carry on with daily things, like blogging. So here I am, blogging. Ubiquitous link in the paragraph above, sandwiched between pithy commentary.

I am on deadline again and of course, contributors do not seem to have any concept of what a deadline is, suffice to say that whatever time and date I tell them, they merely add another ten or so days on to it and then turn up with the work and wonder why it won't make it in to the next issue. Sheesh.

Ten days to go until I hit Perth.

I am in at work at an ungodly hour. I have decided to start early rather than finish late, as I have to make up time for taking classes on Friday mornings. Finishing late always sucks, and I'm always knackered by the end of the day, so early to bed, early to rise it is for this little black duck.

And I have a year of grammar and syntax ahead of me. Past participle, anyone?

On far more exciting topics, however, and one which does (I reluctantly admit) bring a smile to my dial: it's my 30th birthday in two weeks. I'll be in sunny Perth on the actual day, but intend to party with the best of 'em here on Saturday, March 23, between 4-7pm. If anyone's around ...

"Recent happenings have humbly reminded me of the fragility of dreams and the brutal reality that no matter how well you might plan something, life will throw in a surprise or two just to show you who's boss. And when that happens, nothing can make you feel smaller, more helpless and at the mercy of the powers that be."

A weary, heartbroken young lass returns to work on Monday

I am slowly, gradually coming to grips with the reality that my beautiful beast is lost to the universe forever, and he won't be coming back to me. I want to be able to just close off that dog-shaped part of my heart, say goodbye properly and grieve. And then eventually, possibly, maybe, face the real world and even contemplate owning another beastie one day. But there is still a little knuckle of hope that won't go just yet, that keeps urging me not to give up, that I should keep looking or at least stay hopeful that Louie will come back to me. While this kernel of hope is still there I can't say goodbye, not just yet.

Still no dog.

No dog.