ms crankypants

I said yes to doing someone else’s job for a while to be seen doing the right thing and to put something useful on my resume. I updated my resume a few weeks ago and had no achievements for the past 18 months which indicates staleness and inability to bullshit adequately. After my application was accepted I was then told my position wouldn’t be backfilled and I’d have to do two jobs. Goes against the general guidelines for professional development and not setting people up for failure, but hey, if I complain more than I already have I’ll never be given a chance again. (And I have an interview elsewhere next week at the same level so it’s nice leverage to say I’m already competent at that level — “already competent” being cranky-speak for I’ve hidden the carcases very carefully and nothing will be found until *after* reference checking if I get that far.)

Someone in my team is away soon for a few weeks and she’s currently doing two jobs; she got the “this is a great opportunity” spiel and was obliged to accept the challenge without backfill for her job. The workplace is very, very tough on women at times and we both took the sacrificial but selfish perspective that it’s all about our resumes. I think that means I’m going to be doing four jobs. Even now paperwork is coming back with my handwriting on it that I don’t even remember seeing … interesting times. Haven’t told the boss I need a day off next week for the interview *giggles maniacally*.

Crank-o-meter: ZZZZZ Z Z Z z z z z z z z z z z

April 29th, 2009 | Tags: work | Category: work | Comments (6)

I sometimes understate the non-stop level of excitement in my life for fear of inciting incurable jealousy, however, this time I have to brag. A few weeks ago *I* went to an occupational health and safety expo. Settle, settle, there’ll be another one next year and you can cheer yourselves silly at the forklift handling championships.

Last time I scabbed some brochures for hazardous substance bunding, a pair of fluoro orange ear plugs and a small bottle of anti-bacterial hand wash.

This year proved a little less fruitful in the thievery stakes. I took some brochures for liquid absorption mats, a wash cloth and a cup of water. I had nothing to put my stash in and had to pretend to flirt with an exhibitor to score this big yellow bag — sexy, hey? I was the hottest thing on two legs lugging that oversized tote around Melbourne afterwards.

I didn’t realise until I got home that the big sexy yellow bag contained this season’s trend in safety gear: the high-vis cat.

I wish the furry little trip hazard would stop stepping under my feet when I’m sneaking to the pantry in the dark looking for chocolate — distinctly unsafe.

Crank-o-meter: purring

April 21st, 2009 | Tags: animals are fun | Category: animals are fun | Comments (10)

Chocolate fudge cake batter

I love you ardently and sweetly

Brown gooeyness of tummy-thumping love

Lumping my swooning arteries

Oh, mysterious, alchemical batter

How much can I eat and still pretend
your afterbits will form a cake?

Meh, burn to crumbs in the oven for all I care

Without batter, it is nothing

(No photo, the leftovers are still cookin’)

Crank-o-meter: *sugar crashing*

April 19th, 2009 | Tags: food | Category: food | Comments (4)

My web hosting expires today and the system won’t allow me to renew. I tried to force a new order for hosting and it said I already had an order (must be invisible) and I needed to contact the sales team. The sales team rep said he coudn’t help me, but if I’d like to spend the rest of my day off on hold, someone from tech support would help. Someone from tech support said the billing system was on the fritz and to try later. He couldn’t see if my other attempts to pay had gone through so I don’t know if I’ve paid for no hosting or three lots of hosting. I will be back.

April 14th, 2009 | Category: Uncategorized | Comments (5)

Did you realise at the end of this year the 1980s will be *more than* two decades ago?

Gen Xers, that’s between 20 and 30 years ago of the era of ‘Choose Life’ t-shirts, stone-washed denim, slouch boots, pre-Madonna going all Botoxy, surely George Michael wasn’t gay, sparkly hair spray, Glugs and Razzes, the greasy coconut smell of Reef Tan while sunbaking for hours on end (although I time travelled on a whiff of that on someone walking past the other day who must’ve raided her mother’s old cosmetics stashes).

This must be how the 1960s teenagers must’ve felt hitting the late 1980s and realising *their* decade had been relegated by popular culture to bellbottom jeans, tie-dye, hallucinogenics, Beatlemania and Barbarella.

Moving to less disconcerting news, I’m seeing Daniel Kitson tonight. However, I had a dream last night that he stepped on my gout-ridden gammy foot on the way to the stage and I slapped his face so hard he fell over. The crowd took umbrage to their hero being bitch-slapped and they dragged me outside and stomped all over me, including turning the gammy foot to mangled pulp. Thankfully most of my dreams don’t come true.

Crank-o-meter: Eeeeeeeeeeep

April 13th, 2009 | Tags: general delusions | Category: general delusions | Comments (8)

April is now International Complaining About Ageing Month so deal with it. Today’s topic is music.

I had a great time for a while at a friend’s thirty-somethingth birthday dinner last year. All went smashingly and we linked arms and sang along with an acoustic duo belting out classic Generation X songs by bands such as Pearl Jam and Nirvana. They cranked into a rousing version of ‘Living on a Prayer’ and most of the younger crew suddenly shook their heads and became silent.

I asked why they weren’t singing along to Bon Jovi.

They said, “Never heard of them.”

I felt very, very old.

The culture shock worsened last week. I overheard a couple of people discussing ‘desert island discs’ and one hadn’t heard of the concept. What? Is this a joke sent to make me pre-pay a bed at the Happy Valley Retirement Village? Seriously, the one, three, five or however many CDs you’d take to a deserted island? No.

I know my Billy Thorpe from my Easybeats but some of the current crop don’t know one of the classic hair bands or their desert island discs. I am going to sentence the little ignoramuses to watch School of Rock and write five thousand words on the cultural and stylistic influences of Def Leppard and Whitesnake on Nickelback. And, if I’m not pleased, an additional two thousand words will be required debating ‘Kings of Leon: Evolution or Sell-out’? (Hint, young people, high distinctions are guaranteed for arguing in the latter.)

Anyway, I got my list down to five albums, which isn’t bad considering my portable music machine has 14,000 songs on it (all legit and I can now pass out from shock calculating how much income I have sitting in a little silver box with a slidey wheel on the front).

Hoodoo Gurus ~ Stoneage Romeos. The first album I owned (I won it at a blue light disco — try explaining that to the youth of today) and also the first CD I bought. I got the album signed at the back of Festival Hall in 1990-something when I yelled, “Dave!” to the singer to get his attention and he walked into a pole. He was very kind about having his nose bruised and had the cover signed by the rest of the band.

Red Hot Chili Peppers ~ Blood Sugar Sex Magik. One of the great records. Anyone who says the album is dead can listen to this until they feel the miracle of the bridge between ‘The Power of Equality’ and ‘If You Have to Ask’ and can sing the words to ‘Sir Psycho Sexy’ from the open windows of a car driving along Chapel Street. Sometimes I find I need to scream waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Augie March ~ Moo, You Bloody Choir. I can’t describe how much I loved the words, songs, arrangements and Glenn Richards’ rolling vowels from the first listen. This is truly redemptive music that helps pull me out of a hole when I’m surrounded by blackness and brings joys to my ears any other time. Every play brings a new subtlety or nuance and I’ll be humming along to this when I’m in bed 327 of the Happy Valley Retirement Village.

Fleet Foxes ~ Fleet Foxes. Like the previous disc, it’s a fairly new release but already I doubt I could go long without the choral harmonies and ethereal soaring of the whole damn thing. I’d love to sit in a snow-covered clearing in a forest and listen until I froze to death with a smile on my face. Check out ‘White Winter Hymnal’ if you haven’t heard the band.

Died Pretty ~ Doughboy Hollow. I first saw Died Pretty play in the early 1990s and Doughboy represents everything about honest, soulful, beautifully-written independent Australian music that will live forever but never top the charts. I didn’t dare buy a ticket to the band’s farewell gig because I knew I’d cry through the whole show.

I wouldn’t go to the island anyway unless I could pack dozens of other albums including INXS, Culture Club (true), AC/DC, KISS, The Grates, Nirvana, some Cuban tunes, Johnny Cash, The Go-betweens, British India’s first album, Rollins Band, the Pre-sets.

Tell me your desert island discs so I don’t feel freaking ancient.

Crank-o-meter: so very old

April 7th, 2009 | Tags: embarrasing stuff, shittypants | Category: embarrassing stuff, shittypants | Comments (13)