If anyone is wondering - no, I for one am not getting excited about the latest opinion polls and their predictions for a Government loss at da next election. Been burnt before, etc etc.

But, has anyone else noticed a theme emerging from government MPs when answering media questions on this issue? The current government is pretty good at staying 'on message', so you don't have to watch too many doorstop interviews or read too many guest 'op-ed' pieces from MPs to work out what the message du jour is.

The theme I've noticed is that Government MPs have been quick to point out to the Australian public that if they vote in accordance with their current intentions (as reflected in polling) there will be a change in Government.

What!? No! That' can't be right? Voting for a change in government will result in a change in government? Gee, we voters sure are dumb.

Tony Abbott (just a warning, say that name 3 times in front of the mirror and the feral b*stard jumps up behind you and hacks you to pieces with a big rusty cleaver) has been particularly strong on this one:

"Just imagine replacing Howard, Costello and Downer with Rudd, Swan and McClelland. That's the fate in store for Australia if polls don't change."

Australia's Tony Abbott gets fitted with a special device which will simulate a heartbeat

Gee, thanks Uncy Tony! I would never have worked that one out for myself. You know, maybe you are right about me not being able to make decisions about my own body and reproductive health too!

And another thing

On Saturday night, the LovelyWife and I dragged ourselves away from our usual Saturday night activities of knitting and complaining about young people (old ladies, us) to see Missy Higgins at the AIS arena.

I could make this post about how bizarre it is to watch a live performance in a converted basketball stadium, lined with rickety temporary seating, in the middle of nowhere, but this is Canberra and that is a given.

I could make this a post about people who sit at a concert watching the performance through their mobile phone while recording the whole thing for later (way to miss out on the real impact of the performance). But people are idiots, and that is a given.

Or I could make this a post about how obnoxious young people appear to have become (stop talking during the concert – I don’t give a sh*t about your planned camping trip to Splendour in the Grass, and could you please stop spilling your UDLs all over my jacket). But, as noted above, I am an old lady, and that is a given.

Instead, my chosen gripe is uptight, late-30s, overly made-up, tight-jeans and pointy boot wearing, McMansion-inhabiting women, giving me the tell-tale ‘gasp! A lesbian! Right here in River City!’ stare, all over the place.

Fuck off you skanky trolls! The looks we were getting, anyone would think we were at a Hillsong meeting, instead of a concert by a singer of noted ambiguous sexuality.

Gee, heading off to a Missy Higgins concert… Hmmm, never considered the possibility there might be just a couple of lesbians there?

In this case, as it happens, I am convinced that each and every lesbian in Canberra was in attendance. Judging by the looks on their faces, I think they were having a similar experience to me – ‘You mean their are other lesbians in Canberra?', etc etc.

But anyway, back to the ranting - there were evil stares coming my way in the carpark, the foyer, the bar queue, the toilet queue and the merchandising queue.

Of most amusement however, was the skanky troll giving me and the wife homophobic leers whilst we were in the bar queue.

As it happened, the wife had arranged by text message to meet up with a work colleague in the bar area. Upon collecting our outrageously priced tinnies, we wandered over to discover that the above noted skanky troll was at the concert with the wife’s work colleague.

Work colleague made obligatory introductions, leading to skanky troll being forced to actually speak with lesbians. Hah! Suck on that.

But then, she awkwardly excused herself, saying she wanted to go in and take her seat… TWO HOURS before the main act was to commence!

Gee, I hope that 2 hours of sitting in that shitty, back-breaking chair listening to the world’s pokiest support act was more tolerable than talking to us uber-dykes.

Pfff.

Straight people. Crazy.

Spot the difference

So, recently I noticed that this new picture of David Hicks is being used by news outlets.

As soon as I saw it, I knew it reminded me of someone, but who?!



Yeah, well.

If only it was Bernard Fanning locked up in a small room in Cuba for 5 years.

There's your injustice, right there.

Don't you wish your employees were hot like mine?

So...this afternoon I met with a soon-to-be member of my caliphate team, in my capacity as David Brent manager.

We met in a nearby cafe - it's an establishment that doesn't offer table service but charges the same as those that do 'order your coffee at the counter and take a seat' kinda place.

ANYWAY, said soon-to-be minion receives her coffee first.

Said coffee has "single?" marked into the froth.

(Soon-to-be minion being a not-altogether-unattractive young thing of a female persuasion with trendy glasses and a confident manner. Barista being of a similar description, substituting 'piercings' for 'glasses' and 'male' for 'female'.)

I wasn't really sure how to react to it, so I went with a combination of:

1) WTF?!?!?
2) Why don't I get propositions included in my coffee? Oh, that's right, the butchness.

and

3) WTF?!?!?

I don't know quite why, but this incident, and my reaction to it, makes me feel really old and uncool.

That's alright, I'll just take out these frustrations on the soon-to-be minion when she starts work in a couple of weeks.

That would be the mature, middle-management type thing to do.

Hey, I got a new friend

Fact 1: Australia has a pretty piss-poor rate of conversion to digital telly.

Fact 2: We could easily fix this by widely advertising the fact that the ABC2 digital-only service is currently running the first (and best) season of Degrassi Junior High in PRIME TIME!!!

The fashions! The teen-angst! The theme song! The quotes!

"C'mon Wheels, it's the '80s!!"

or

"Ceeetlun's a lushbeeyun"

(translated from the Canadian dialect as "Caitlin's a lesbian" - zomg, teenage personal-awakening moment relived!)

If the gummint got onto this brilliant strategy, we'd no doubt be able to bring analogue switch-off forward to, well, next month!

Well, despite my premonitions of an awful interview, I have recently been successful in getting my filthy homosexual mitts on a management position.

Oh. My. Lord. Yes. All you people out there in taxpayer-land should be quaking in your boots. I will actually have responsibility for stuff. Scary, huh.

Anyway, I feel I have some way to go before properly qualifying as public service middle management. I mean, I have been working on my evil laugh, but so far, all I have got is a malevolent guffaw. I will also have to work on being petty, oppressed and reactionary. But, I’m still young, there’s time for me yet.

Give me 3 months and I reckon I’ll be there.

Rather than focussing on the monumental (and, just between you and me, freakishly terrifying) challenges that the job poses, I have, of course, been focussing on more important things.

Such as the fact that I shall be getting an office – yes, a 3m x 3m fish bowl domain to call my own. *Malevolent guffaw*.

And then there's my inconsolable fear of turning into David Brent. It’s gotten to the stage where I’m worried that if at any stage I do anything that might intentionally result in the people in my team liking me I’ll sprout a pot-belly, a grotesque goatee and creepy overbite.




In the interests of working on my pettiness, I’ve also been compiling a list of nasty things that my previous managers have done to me, for the purposes of taking revenge by acting them out on my fresh, new minions.

If someone pops their head into ‘my office’ (spew, I already feel like a wanker) to say goodbye at the end of the day, my response will be to not to look up from my work and to just make some form of dismissive grunt, such as “uhh” or “nnn”. Definitely no eye-contact or actual words.

If I have some papers or work for my staff to do I’ll just throw it at them on my way past without stopping or saying anything.

If caught out being late on a deadline in front of a senior manager, I’ll just lie and say that I’d sent the work to one of my staff who has failed to do it – in front of that staff member!

If I have staff that do an earlier set of hours than me (ie, get in at 8, leave at 5), I’ll saunter in at 9.45 and then big-note myself for staying later than everyone when I stay back, just to do my hours. I’ll also make sure to drop hints and comments to my staff suggesting they are slackers for leaving at 5, regardless of how early they got in.

Everything will be below me, including reading basic instructions and circulars – instead I’ll just bellow loudly to my team asking them really stoopid questions that I could answer myself if I bothered to scroll down all the way through an email.

I’ll take 3-hour lunches during busy periods, just because I can.

I’ll spend 2 hours each morning joking around lamely with my team trying desperately to get them to like me, while back in my office are 15 urgent things I need to look at – then, at the end of the day, when the poo hits the fan, I’ll get my team to stay back late to help me get those 15 urgent things done in time.

And that’s just the stuff I didn’t have to have repressed memory therapy for.

The best part is that now the LovelyWife and I are both filthy, stinking bourgeois middle-management! How good is that. Come the revolution, we'll be first up to the gallows, no doubt.

Better yet, we'll both now have staff to whinge about to each other..."and then, I made her cry again when I told her I was going to fire her tomorrow if she didn't alphabetise my paperclips - hahahahahahaha!"

I say we should fight them and see who wins.

Although, my money would be on her mob – by the sounds of it, a couple of her team could easily be characters on My Name is Earl, whereas I think my team are more likely to be characters from, well, The Office.

And people doubted me when I said I was moving to Canberra to join the public service. Just look at what I have achieved...

Reality TV posts/stories whose titles are puns on 'Reality Bites', bite

Wow! Did we not watch Big Brother last night, or what!

So we were definitely not blown away by any surprises that may have been announced.

We did not have any strong feelings towards any of the housemates.

And we certainly were not amused/appalled/bemused by Gretel’s outfit.

Hey, looks like not watching Big Brother is exactly the same as watching Big Brother!

Random crap from my camera-phone pt 2

Because blogging has taught me that if I don't have anything bad to say, I shouldn't say anything at all.

Eat sh*t and die play

Hot new trend in children’s toys – eating sh*t.

For realz.



Even from this most crappy youtoob movie (I can't believe it isn't more widely available, it is freakin' hilarious) you can see the hours of fun your chidlers will have feeding the doggy, pumping his tail and collecting his little chocolate tic tacs plastic poos.

Indeed.

Why go to the park and play with your real dog, when you can stay in and pretend to live your life.

However, a bit more investigating reveals this toy only comes with one kind of brown pellet.


The set doesn’t come with separate food and poo pellets - they are the same freaking pellets.

So essentially we are teaching children to feed dogs their own poo.

I haven’t been this disturbed since the unfortunate Joe Hockey + speedos incident.

Notes to, and forming part of, the financial statements

Today, we are going to look at some accounting basics – I share them with you in the hope they will prevent you from suffering the same losses I have.

I take as my example, the film Friends with money.



First of all, I would like to make clear some of the basic assumptions underlying my calculations.

Namely, that despite their inherent value:

1 x Joan Cusack

PLUS

1 x Frances McDormand

WILL NEVER offset the negative equity of

1 x Jennifer Aniston

Let’s look more closely at the correct treatment of Jennifer Aniston, shall we? You may think that, being a completely empty vessel, incapable of conveying any complexity of character, would mean that she attracts, as an ‘asset’, a neutral value, at worst. Further, you might assume that this asset might attain maturity over time.

Don’t feel bad if you got caught out here, it is a common error.

You have to keep in mind the Cusack/McDormand matrix set out above.

Inclusion of Jennifer Aniston in your balance sheet will ALWAYS result in an operating loss, no matter how strongly your other current and non-current assets may be appreciating in value and no matter how robust your risk management plan is.

I stress, Jennifer Aniston must always be classed as a contingent liability, or, if you like to push the accounting boundaries, as an impaired intangible.

Now, I know there is an ongoing dialogue about the merits of moving away from cash-based accounting towards accrual accounting.

I think in this particular instance, we can plainly see the value of accrual accounting in providing a more accurate and holistic representation of the fiscal position that a viewer of this film finds themselves in on completion of the reporting period.

For instance, whilst in cash accounting terms, we only lost $5.95 (being the expense of leasing the film), when we use the principles of accrual accounting (calculating all forms of loss, whether cash-based or otherwise), we can see that there are additional costs associated with depreciation of enjoyment of life, including:

Loss of 88 perfectly good minutes of a human life

AND

Loss of approximately 17 other minutes spent recalling how appallingly stinky this movie was.

When expensed in real terms, all adds up to one big stinking pile of sh*t.

Let’s not forget that there are no revenues (or indeed, any positive in-flows) to offset these massive losses.

So, looking at the bottom line, we don’t even have enough petty snipes cash to launch legal proceedings for mistake of fact against Margaret Pomeranz for giving this movie 4 stars.

Learn from my mistakes people, lest you become similarly morally bankrupt.

Supplementary disambiguation

Further to my previous, hard-hitting expose of the office sign, it seems things here have taken a turn for the worse unbelievably whacko.

A new sign has appeared in our diseased heck-hole 'kitchen'.

As you can see, it features a photo of the kitchen, in what I can only presume is the clean and tidy state which the anonymous freak sign-poster thinks is what we should all be aiming for:



I'm tempted to print off and post up a sign suggesting that: "So that we can all enjoy our day at work without feeling like we are being watched at all times, please seek help for your chronic nagging problem and leave us all the f*ck alone."

I don't think I will though as I am worried about clogging up the walls in there what with the other new addition - this hilarious plaque.


Oh dear - my guts have just spilled out all over the floor. Seems my sides have split, yet again.

Better clean it up!

Lock and load

Yes, another Youtube, but seriously, this is the funniest thing I've seen in a long time.


An amputee with a big, eff-0ff machine gun in place of a prosthetic leg? That would certainly brighten up the current US series of Dancing With The Stars, non?

How to ruin a perfectly respectable reputation, by Jon Heder

A religious experience

I've just spent a long-weekend in rural Queensland.

Bananas can be had for $1.49 a kilo. Must be God's country.

There are billboards by the side of the highway which say "You are 9 months older than you think - Protect Life." Must be God's country.

So did I ever mention that I love Canberra? Dear God I love Canberra.

Tell us about a time when you bored yourself to tears

I had a job interview today.

Not much to report there, but of more interest to me was the dire predictability of my brain in pouring out anxiety-dream after anxiety-dream the night before.

So, in the one night, my brain turned out the following:

1. I look at the clock and have 2 hours until my interview, then in a matter of seconds, I actually only have 2 minutes to my interview and I'm not showered or dressed, and for some reason I'm in Sydney, 3 hours from my interview.
2. Then, rushing to do the 3-hour drive to Canberra, my motorbike won't start - someone has loosened the spark plugs. I search for my spark plug tool only to find it missing from my tool box. Once I get the bike fixed, I can't find my helmet.
3. I go to retrieve my suit and ironed shirt (pre-prepared interview outfit) from my locker at work, only to find it has been stolen by my high-school enemy (WTF?!).
4. I somehow get my suit back and go to get changed, only to find the changeroom has suddenly transformed into the Bangkok floating market and there is nowhere private to get changed.

5. I manage to get changed but then can't get to the interview room - It is in a newly constructed building which has no lift and no stairs.

Thanks very much brain. As if I didn't have enough to worry about - now I'm very concerned I have the world's most boring subconscious.

Although, with these kinds of bland stereotypes and predictable denouements floating around upstairs, I might just be in line for a script-writer's gig with Neighbours (boom-tish!).

Lift and jerk

Ok, that’s it.

I’ve feckin had it with those people who don’t let others exit lifts before barging in themselves, elbows first. Over and over again, the lift doors open and there they are, one foot from your face, sighing impatiently at your very existence.

Hey, toolbag! I know I’m ‘in your way’ but I can’t actually feckin dematerialise you know. Maybe we could share the planet?

Let’s think about it for just a second, Mr Impatient Moron – if you are standing there, 3 inches from the doors as they open, blocking people’s exit from the lift, where do you expect them to go? Backwards into all the other people still in the lift?

Or, rather than the person who has limited space to move giving way, maybe you, with all that empty, unbounded space behind you, could step to the side – something that the people still inside the lift can’t physically do.

Oh sorry, I forgot. It’s all about you and your brief case/6-inch heels, isn’t it. Bet you wish you could drive your 4WD around inside and just run people over if they get in your way.

And before you all pipe up with a clever comment about how insignificant my gripes are – there’s plenty of people in this world writing about the significant issues. I’m simply filling a gap in the market.

Drugs are bad, mkay?

As well as having the most convenient opening hours, it just so happens that my local pharmacy has the most suspicious staff in the entire galaxy as well.

I mean, I completely understand the need to take due care in handing over medication without a prescription. No one wants to go home with the wrong flavour cough medicine – a horrible tragedy just waiting to happen if it weren’t for the diligence of pharmacists.

That’s fine. But the behaviour of some pharmacists would make you think that society is barely holding back the tidal wave of a non-prescription drug addiction epidemic (“Police today warned teenagers against the terrifying side-effects of laxative abuse” etc, etc).

Another victim of hayfever medication abuse prepares for the tortuous months of rehab which lie ahead of her

As an example, I’ve previously attempted to purchase some higher-end over the counter pain medication for ‘me gammy back’ (as recommended by my GP). I’m only exaggerating the teensiest bit when I tell you this resulted in a bright light in the face, a sly assessment of the redness of my eyes and an onslaught of wickedly ingenious questioning designed to trap unwary drug addicts disguised as middle-of-the-road public servants with lumbago.

The questions started off fairly innocuously, along the lines of “do you have any allergies?” and “are you on any other medication”, and were clearly designed to lull me into a false sense of security and then BANG! In with the trick question - “which is better, a metal or ceramic crack pipe?” obviously seeking to catch me off guard with an unintentionally honest answer of “Uh, ceramic – oh no! The charade is over! I am addicted to naprogesic and you have sprung me! Sob!”

Despite this history of Guantanamo Bay style interrogation, I honestly thought I’d be able to get some simple, run of the mill cold medication relatively easily. I mean, I’ve bought and used this stuff a zillion times before with no questions asked. Plus, I thought the dripping nose, red eyes and general foggy aura would lend an air of genuineness to my quest for paracetamol-based relief.

Ha.

Me: “Hi, I’d like a 12-pack of codrals please”

ColumboPharmacist: “No. That is not allowed. The only ones that come in 12s are the prescription only super-strength ones and I can’t sell those to you as you don’t have a prescription and they are a restricted medicine.”

Me: “Uh. Ok. Then I’ll take the 24-pack of the medication I asked for.”

Pharmacist: “Ok, but you do realise that you are not allowed to buy the version that has pseudoephedrine in them?”

Me: “That’s fine. Can I buy these codrals?” *shaking the packet*

Pharmacist: “You can, but you can’t buy the ones with pseudoephedrine in them because you don’t have a prescription.”

Me: “I don’t want the ones with pseudoephedrine in them. I want these ones I’m holding.” *shaking the packet again*

Pharmacist: “That’s fine. But in future you’ll need a prescription for the pseudoephedrine ones.”

Me: “Can I buy these codrals now?”

Pharmacist: “Yes, you can. For now. Now, are these for you or someone else?”

Me: “Me.”

Pharmacist: “Do you have any allergies, respiratory problems or heart complaints?”

Me: “No.”

Pharmacist: “Are you on anti-depressants?”

Me: “No.” But I might want some soon if this keeps up.

Pharmacist: “How is your thyroid?”

Me: “My what?”

Pharmacist: “How is your thyroid?”

Me: “Um. I don’t know. It seems fine to me but how could I know for sure?”

Pharmacist: “Well if you do have thyroid problems talk to your doctor because this medication can affect some kinds of older thyroid medication in a small number of cases when taken in high dosages.”

Me: “Can I have the codrals please?”

Pharmacist: “Ok. Now, do you want the day/night formula?”

Me: “No, just the regular ones please. These ones I am holding.”

Pharmacist: “Ooo. Hmmm. I guess. But you do know these can affect your sleep patterns which can affect your chances of a speedy recovery…”

Me: “Can I please just have this 24-pack of plain, regular codrals?”

Pharmacist: “Fine.”

Fools. I’m going to sell them on the street to kids. I'm going to make a fortune.

Last Saturday

Well here we go, only 5 days later and I've managed to get myself together enough to upload my MG parade photos.

I reckon they speak for themselves most of the time but I will note they are mainly from the marshalling areas during the hours upon hours of tedious pre-parade wait.

My photos from the actual parade turned out 100% blurry (probably because I was waving my arms around like a maniac) and make me a bit sea-sick to look at, so I won't inflict them on you.

You get all those kinds of shots on the news and in the papers anyway. So hopefully these photos will provide a glimpse of what you mightn't otherwise see.

But before we get to all that, let me just note there was a bit of pre-ride excitement.

Guess whose bike broke down the night before the big day? Yes! It was me, cleverpants. How did you know?

Lousy hunk of junk! Stupid piece o' crap!

Actually, no, I love my bike. But come on!!! The night before? Sunuvvabeyotch.

So anyway, 3 hours of traipsing up and down to the garage lugging tools, in the 35 degree heat, skinning my knuckles on cylinder heads pretending to know how to fix bikes, swearing like a real dyke and I'd gotten nowhere. Eff.

Plan B involved me wedging myself on the back of the LovelyWife's scooter. Which, on the face of it, sounds fine, doesn't it?

Well, I ride a big beefy bike in a big beefy manner and have even ridden on a race track. So under normal circumstances, I reckon I'm not a complete girly. But eff me dead if I didn't squeal like a woman when I got on the back of the LovelyWife's scooter for the first time! I just couldn't overcome the instinctive feeling that if I didn't put my feet down when we stopped, we'd fall over. And you just can't put your feet down as a pillion.

White knuckles a-plenty.

Oh, and if you are looking for a thrill, look no further than riding a scooter on the freeway - ringing the nuts off it at 110km/h and being tailgated by B-Doubles. Could be considered an adrenalin sport, I guess.

But the LovelyWife was a real trooper and I owe her a zillion for giving me a dink!

I did miss out on deafening the crowd with my very excitingly loud and sexy engine revving, but it still an awesome evening. Some people in the crowd even yelled out that they loved the scooter the best.

Which I can now totally understand.

But anyway, on with the photos. Dial-up? Get a coffee.

Cops everywhere this year.

At least they helped jump-start a few broken-down bikes

Shit. Me too.

Her shirt says 'Proud Nan'

Technically speaking, I don't think this really counts as an 'outing'

Ok, so maybe now I’ll stop getting a zillion hits on this blog from google searches for 'Anthony+Callea+gay'...

“SYDNEY eye in the sky Vic Lorusso has seemingly outed Anthony Callea on radio -not that there's anything wrong with that. He mentioned meeting Callea while discussing an old school mate on The Edge's brekkie show yesterday. "You wouldn't know him. He's a nice guy but his partner, which is Anthony Callea, didn't want to know anything about anybody," he told host Christo. When Christo questioned the comment, Lorusso quickly continued with the traffic report. A spokeswoman for the show claimed Lorusso had not been taking a pot shot at Callea: "Vic had no idea that it wasn't common knowledge.”

That last line is pretty much the most hilarious thing I've heard so far this year.

Random office stuff

To the impatient freak who continues to ruin my printing job – instead of rifling through the pages as the printer spits them out, trying to find your document, why not wait until it has finished printing?

That way, you don’t stuff up the collating process or dog-ear the pages of my document, which I will now have to re-print. If the printer is in the middle of printing my document, I think it is rather unlikely that it will suddenly start printing yours without first finishing mine, don’t you? Freak.

To the impatient freak who saw me walking towards the kitchen with my mug and a tea-bag and then decided to run towards the kitchen to get the tap before me – get a life! Freak.

Also - conversation heard from over the partition, regarding Oscar red-carpet pictures:

Colleague 1: Portia de Rossi looks nice.

Colleague 2: What’s she doing there, has she been in any films lately?

Colleague 1: Well, no but I guess she’s there as Ellen’s date…

Colleague 2: Ellen’s date?

Colleague 1: Yes. Ellen’s date.

Colleague 2: You mean, date date?

Colleague 1: Uh-huh.

[silence]

Colleague 2: Why…what…why would she be Ellen’s date?

Colleague 1: Well, maybe because they are an ‘item’?

Colleague 2: Really? I didn’t know that……really?

[silence]

Colleague 2: But have you seen her in Arrested Development? She’s really good in that.

So there you have it.


Good performance in sitcom = no way can you be gay!