I should be much too smart for this, I know it gets the better of me

OK, so hes not a bastard (yet), he called. I missed the call, of course, cos I was in the spa, but I texted him back explaining this fact, and all things going to plan I will meet him in the next couple of days. We have to leave Wanaka tomorrow, stupid smelly work, but thats probably a good thing, given my intolerance of anybody's company for any length of time, even my best mates. Oh dear, this boy has his work cut out for him, really, doesn't he.
This morning I got up and given the brief break in the rain, I decided to go for a bike ride, triathalon training and all that. I had great ambitions to bike up the Cardrona Valley for a bit, but once I'd got into the village up and down all the hills you don't notice in your car, and through to the other side of the village, where it starts to get to be countryside again, I was completely knackered and realising that I still had all those hills to get up and down on my way back to the house, I decided to turn back. Its hard to bike when your legs are shaking. But having done lots of exercise, I'm feeling suitably virtuous, and glad that I went to all the trouble of bringing my bike all the way down here.

I spent a goodly amount of time reading the news articles about the Asian Tsunami. I don't think I can really compute the extent of what went down, and BBC world coming up with estimates of the dead climbing above 100 000 just makes it seem not real. I have no comprehension of it. I am reminded of what Kurt Vonnegut said about the firebombing of Dresden, that it was just too horrific to comprehend, and that if he had to try and understand it, the sheer horror would destroy him. Thats why he wrote Slaughterhouse Five as a black comedy, cos it was the only way he could begin to understand.
I get that now.

Counting my blessings, as we speak.

You are the best thing thats happened to me, since I fell on my face on Tuesday

Well I did something the other day that I've never done before.
I texted someone I've never met, well not in the real world anyway.
You see, my friend Andrew is happily married, and wants all his friends to be just as sickeningly blissful as he is. Andrew knows this guy through his work, and swears that he is truly awesome, and that me and him would be just perfect for each other.
And, as some of my nearest and dearest, and a few thousand others know, my recent forays into LoveLand have been interesting at best.
So, Andrew supplies this chap's web journal of a trip he took a couple of years ago (on a motorbike, from Argentina to Alaska, thats pretty cool) which includes a few photos, and convinces me to take a look. So, of course I do, and to cut a long story short, I end up texting this chap. Something along the lines of "Hi, I'm the girl Andrew is trying to set you up with, I've been reading your journal, sounds very interesting, now you have my number" (subtlety having never been a strong point of mine).
So, now I'm waiting for him to text back.
Hmmmm. Dum de dum. Doodle doo. FUCKING TEXT ME BACK YOU CUNTING BASTARD!!!!
No, not crippingly insecure at all!
Don't know what you're talking about!

In other news, I am in Wanaka with my best friend Sarah and quite possibly too much sauvignon blanc ( Joking. Like that could happen).
Just waiting for the spa to heat up, so I can dissolve myself in it.
Distract my attention and all that.
Apparently Andrew told this bloke I look like Marilyn Monroe.
I really don't.
Not remotely.
No, not even if you're really pissed.

Thinking about other stuff, tum tee tum....

Have a super New Year and all that crap, won't you.

People are Strange.

No really, people are incredibly weird. I can go through days and days without that fact presenting itself to me, and its not that I forget that people are weird, its just that sometimes one is confronted by some nut cases out there.
Heres a way to lose a goodly amount of time: Click on the "Next blog" thing at the top right of the page there, and all sorts of stuff comes up. Predominately American blogs, as I discovered, but some people are just a bit funny. There was this one blog that was going on about Jesus, there was one about knitting (not nearly as interesting as it sounds), some teenaged girl was posting pictures of her kitten and over indulging in exclamation marks, and the real clincher was someone claiming to be an agoraphobic (sp?) and waffling on about Kevin Spacey in "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil".
Although that may have been two separate blogs, and for ease of storage, my brain has stuck them together as one.
Who knows.
Pot paging kettle, yes Tim, I beat you to it.
Am preparing myself for becoming the next ship-mate on The Bounty this weekend. Although, given Saturday night being work staff party, I might not move until Monday.
I have been doing loads of research, and have come to some important conclusions; namely 1) I have no idea how anybody got any decent research done in their lifetimes without LexisNexis, Keesings archives or Google; and 2) we should all be thanking our lucky stars that we don't live in the Philippines, cos its pretty rough there. Unless, of course you do live in the Philippines, in which case, I'm very sorry, and hope you know how to fix it.
In unrelated news, I have new hair, and it is fabulous.

(In manner of heq or similar) Song of the day: "Shitlist", by L7.
Toodle-doo.

I can't pretend I don't need to defend a part of me from you...

Has anybody noticed that song lyrics are starting to appear with increasing regularity as blog titles?
If anybody can name the artists of the last two plus this one, they'll get a special prize. And no, it won't be a voucher for an hour of Claire Love.

Today has been remarkably productive, especially compared to the last few days.
I've finished another two applications for graduate school, I started doing another one, but they went and changed the deadline, so now its not due until January 4th. So I think I'll take the rest of the day off. Yay. Might clean up my office, cos it does appear that a bomb has gone off in here. Then I'm off home for an action packed evening of reacquainting my arse with the big blue recliner chair, and catching up on some telly watching, at which I have recently been slack. I've got the last two episodes of Angels in America, plus last night's NY-LON, plus Sunday's NCIS (really fit bloke in that one). I think a Chicken Makhani and a garlic naan is called for.
In other news, I am having a holiday. I KNOW!!!! How am I going to cope with the shock!! Christmas eve is my last day at work, and I don't have to be back until NY eve. So, guess where I'll be? I wonder if a person can dissolve? I'm going to find out when I sit in the spa for four days. All in the name of science, of course.
Six glorious days of no work, I am just so chuffed.
Other things... I still haven't bought any Christmas presents. My dad is particularly difficult to buy for. (Caution: cliche approaching) What do you buy the man who has everything? I mean, everything. He has a plane, for fucks sake. And a tractor, and a ride-on mower. (I threatened to give him a copy of my thesis for his birthday, and he said theres no point, he wouldn't understand it, and would probably give it back. Fair enough, I don't understand it, and I wrote it.)
Suggestions in the box, as per usual.

And just like that, shes gone.

Its not going to stop, till you wise up.

I've finished and submitted four applications for graduate school in the US. Thats four down, five to go. I have to do two more tomorrow. I also have four days to finish the final list for the project. I haven't done any Christmas shopping yet. I have a cold. I still haven't seen Garden State, or the last two weeks of Angels in America. I'm moving house on Sunday. I haven't finished my thesis. My office is a mess. The magic 8 ball refuses to give me any straight answers. I haven't been training for the triathalon. My socks are itchy.
Time for work now.

Every day is like Sunday...

I'm having some issues here. (warning: major geek fest approaching)
The dataset I'm supposed to be doing, that the project will be based on, and which I thought was complete some weeks ago, is undergoing some "reimagining". Turns out the government goons that are funding the whole thing think that there needs to be more Pacific conflict in the dataset, and therefore I must include Fiji, Vanuatu, New Caledonia and the Solomon Islands. Fine, they've experienced conflict in various forms, and nobody has collected any information on them, so its up to me.
So thats all well and good.
But.
In order to include these countries, I have to change a few rules, so that the dataset has definable criteria for inclusion. Like, lowering the threshold of battle deaths from 25 to 10. Fine, theres Fiji taken care of. Removing the rule that Side A of each conflict must be the government. Cool, there goes the Solomons in the dataset. Change the definition from civil war to internal violent conflict, that way we can include the hostage incident in New Caledonia, and now they're in. Yay.
So now that we've got new rules for the set, I'm going to have to go back through the original set and code every incident in the other nine countries that qualifies as internal violent conflict, which now includes incidences of riots, coups and insurgencies resulting in ten battle deaths or more. Fine.
I also have to recode the conflicts themselves, because the identification codes we took from the PRIO set don't include IDs for the Pacific countries, because they use the 25 battle deaths threshold, and the involvement of the government as criteria. I'm stealing, sorry, borrowing, country codes from Correlates of War, and adding a specific code for each conflict that I'm making up.
Plus a whole bunch of other codes, like subID, type and incompatibility will need fixing, because each new conflict, being that by inclusion is no longer necessarily a civil war, will need to be coded as war, violent conflict, insurgency, coup, riots etc, and will also need to be defined as ethnic, territorial, political or other. Super fantastic.
However, no matter how much I try and bend the rules, I'm absolutely buggered if I can find a way to include Vanuatu in the dataset, given that in each incidence of conflict as far as I can find out, only one person died. If it was, say, 9, then I could just assume that whoever counts these things missed one person, and then I could include them. But the difference between nine dead people and one dead person is pretty significant. (not that I wished more people had died!)
There is also a problem with Fiji. (in that I'm stuck in rainy Christchurch and am not there lounging on a beach with Joey Rokocoko rubbing my feet and feeding me mangoes).
The 1987 coup is highly significant regionally, in that it demonstrated deepseated ethnic tensions, a hangover from colonial times. Nobody died though to the best of my knowledge, which yay is good, but it means that it can't be included in the project, implying that Fiji has no problems, aside from the 2000 coup and subsequent mutiny. Which it clearly does. (One of which being that I'm not there!!)
Thats the problem with this social science business. You can't just include something cos you think it should be there, not like the good old subjective humanities. No matter how much you want to, cos then other people who know more about this than me are going to do all sorts of flash statistical shit on it, and if it all goes pearshaped, then I'm in the poo. Plus there is the chance that the people who make the policy on this stuff are going to use the results of all our research, and I can't have them blaming the next Fiji coup or the failure of the New Caledonian independence movement on me, a lowly researcher.
I know I can fix all these problems, and if I got my shit together I could even have the complete dataset by Christmas. The thing is, I have a meeting at 10am tomorrow to clear this up, and the powers that be want a complete set by then. Its currently 5.20pm, I start work at the restaurant at 6pm, and I'm still in my dressing gown, having spent the whole bloody day trying to finish the dataset.
I was supposed to spend this weekend sorting out my life! Oh well, its waited 28 years to be sorted out, I'm sure one more week won't hurt.
Normal programming will resume....um....eventually.
Poo is a funny word.

Mmmm. Conference.

I've just been looking about on the interweb, actually doing some work for a change, and I came across a conference that is right up my alley, so to speak. Its called "Pacific Challenges: Questioning concepts, rethinking conflicts", and dagnamit, I want to go!!
The fact that its being held in Marseille is entirely inconsequential, of course...
Theres a whole session on political conflicts in the Pacific, and it will fit in nicely with both my thesis stuff and work stuff. Intricacies of intellectual property aside, I think I can impress them with all the fabulous and innovative work I am doing on coding conflicts in the Pacific.
Now all I need to do is find someone to pay for it.
Donations gratefully accepted, c/o Department of Political Science, University of Canterbury.
Cheers, people.

My Lungs are Raw

It really is quite obscene, how unfit I am. Normally my exercise consists of running up the stairs to my office (4th floor, not exactly a workout), after which I require a cup of tea and a lie down. However, all that is about to change, as I have gone and committed myself to competing as part of a team in a triathalon in February.
After a couple of wines the other night after work, P & J asked if I was keen to join their team, and of course, not realising what I was getting myself into, said yes. So now I've got until Waitangi day to be able to bike 10 kms, remarkably fast, because of course we have to win.
This morning I biked from my house to university in less than 20mins, and its nearly 7 kms. Not exactly a record breaker, but given that its my first day of training, I'm not too worried. When I got off my bike though, my legs were all wobbly, which was kind of funny, and a strange feeling. I was going as fast as I could, and got remarkably puffed, which I believe is a good sign, especially if the amount of puffed-ness decreases over the next couple of months.
Not being an expert on physical fitness, I'm kind of bluffing my way through this, but I figure if I bike 10kms a few times a week, and try and get faster each time, then I'm doing ok. Oh, and possibly lay off the nachos a bit too, which might be tricky.
Damn, now I want nachos.

Feel Good Hit of the Summer

I've been flicking through Windows Media Player and its 1069 songs, looking for a good blog title. This just happened to be the next song up, but its given me an opportunity to tell a story further revealing to the reader (cos I know theres only one, hi Grace) what a dork I am.
Heres a scene; the bar of the Crown Plaza, Central Auckland (where the Orcs are from), 2003, night before the Big Day Out. Me, Tam and a bunch of other people we drove to Auckland with are having a few drinks, and hanging out with such noted celebrities as Chino from The Deftones and PJ Harvey. Fun. So this tall guy comes over, and I bum a cigarette off him (back when I used to smoke) and we get talking. I notice hes American, so I ask if hes here for the BDO. Yeah, kind of he replies. So are you in a band, or are you crew. I'm in a band, he says. What band? asks Claire innocently. I'm the singer in Queens of the Stone Age, my names Josh Homme. Oh, cool. I really like your new tune (Claire proceeds to sing "No One Knows" to him). I guess thats not particularly cool of me to not recognise you, is it. No, don't worry about it, can I buy you a beer? Go on then, Josh, that'd be grand.
They were one of the headline bands, their videos were all over the telly, and still I had no idea.
Nice bloke though.

But back to the topic at hand. Hang on, we didn't have one yet.
What did I want to talk about today?

Last night I went to see Shaun of the Dead. Funny. Especially the fact that it takes Shaun quite some time to realise that everyones a zombie. I also made a decidedly scrummy lamb salad for my friend, cos I am an awesomely good cook.

I went to the Fetish Ball on Saturday. A bit of a diversion from one's usual Saturday night activities, but dressing up is fun. I have to admit, I was a little shocked at some of it. There were things there that I felt I really should not have been seeing, but I think that was the point, what with voyeurism being a fetish in itself. There was a bondage area that was a little disturbing, people standing around watching other people getting off on being physically hurt. Takes all sorts, I suppose. There was a guy wearing a leather outfit from head to toe that had spikes sticking out of it, there was a woman wearing a catwoman outfit that had a hole cut in it in a most unseemly spot, presumably to show off the piercings she had there. Ouch. I wonder what her gynacologist would say about that?
There were also three harem girls accompanied by a blue genie, my friends, who should have won some sort of costume prize, I think. I also think I should have got a prize for cleaning all the blue body paint off my bathroom the next day, but I did invite everybody over to get ready together, so I can't complain. In my knee-high boots, black Cleopatra wig, short skirt and top, I was remarkably conservatively dressed compared to some other punters, especially the guy that was stark naked.
Its a whole other world, which was fun to visit for a night, but I sure as hell wouldn't want to live there. Kind of freaky.
So to compensate for Saturday night, on Sunday I went to my sisters house, read bedtime stories to the children and played with the kittens. Ask a two-year-old what she wants to name her kitten, and its usually going to be an interesting response, so now Rosie has a kitten called Neow. Yes, a meow sound. This is from the family who previously had a cat called Dude. I guess the fact that they share a little DNA with me is going to surface eventually.

Anyway, I've started the applications for grad school. Argh. One has been sent off already, and another two are nearly ready. The problem is, I can't remember what schools I put down on my GRE form to recieve my scores, and I called the number this morning to find out what my scores were (they said to call after the 27th) and they're not ready! Fuck. I had got all psyched up for it, and then nothing. Arse.
I'm also supposed to rewrite the dataset for the project, the same dataset I believe I've finished about five times already! What sucks about this is that it won't be my intellectual property, even though I'm doing all the work.
And all I really want to do is sleep, cos I had a completely bollocks sleep last night. But I have to do some work on the dataset, and then get myself to work by 4.30, so that I can work until midnight! Fun fun.

Maybe I'll have a wee nap. Bollocks to The Man, he can just bloody well wait for his dataset.

Hypothetically speaking...

If one was to have a piercing many years ago, and subsequently remove the jewellery concerned, and leave said piercing until it had shrunk so small that one would possibly fit a hair fibre through the space where the jewellery had once been, and then one was to have a sudden rush of blood to the head and decide that one needed to return jewellery to the original piercing site, and instead of starting small with a fine piece of jewellery one decided that a full size piercing ring would be a really good idea; my advice would be to have a cup of tea and spend a few minutes recalling the pain of body piercing before one began on this venture.

Just a thought.

This Blog, Part One

Things that are awesome.
1) Interpol. I've just listened to my Interpol cd and liked it so much, I'm listening to it again.
2) Having a big ol' house in the hills all to oneself, and being able to sit out on the deck and look out over this beautiful city and laugh at the poor people living on the flat. Ha.
3) Slippers.
4) Tea and toast with Marmite. The Marmite goes on the toast, not in the tea. Although...
5) Orange Martinis last night at Di Lusso, although they had apparently run out of oranges so the nice barman couldn't put caramelised orange zest on the top. They were still yum.
6) Texting. I am constantly amazed that we managed to attain this level of civilisation without cell phones.
7) Garage sales. Whilst getting picked up by my sister at 6.30 am to go to her in-laws for our joint garage sale was a bit of a struggle, especially when one had got home from work at 1am, its pretty nice to have people give you money for crap that you would have thrown away otherwise.
8) Having a job where after a busy night, one can crack open a Corona to make clean up and cash up that much more enjoyable. Then clocking out and having a few more Coronas with ones very cool workmates.
9) My thesis. It both kicks arse and takes names. In an academic kind of way.

This Blog, Part Two.

(after some ice-breaking conversation in a group of friends)
Me: I'm still mad at you, by the way.
Lying Bastard: Yeah, thats fair enough. I'm sorry.
Me: I saw her, your new girl.
LB: Oh yeah?
Me: The fact that you would choose her over me tells me all I need to know about you.
LB: ......
Me: (feeling all empowered and awesome) Nighty night then!
LB: (looking like he'd lost lost the winning lottery ticket) Yeah, bye.
Me: (inwardly) Go Claire!!!

This Blog, Part Three.

I'm at that point of the day where its time for the standard Sunday mission into town to recover my car (see above note re: Coronas), but its got all windy and I've had five hours sleep and I really can't be shagged getting on my bike, going all the way into town in a head wind to get the bloody thing, when I could just bus to work tonight. Ooooooo. Bus! Public transport!! How novel.

I got home at 5.30 this morning, which is fine, cos having a big sleep was top of my list of things-to-do-on-Sunday. But then 10.30 came around, and I was wide awake. Go figure. I see a nana nap in my near future.

Last night at work was a record breaker. Previously 299 was the maximum number of diners, and we'd done that several times, but last night we made 314.
Thats over 314 meals, because people are inclined to have several courses. I can't even comprehend that. Imagine cooking 300 meals. Especially given that everything is made from scratch, and that those meals were all done over the space of about 4 hours. Say 4 1/2 hours. Thats 270 minutes. Thats over a meal a minute. Phew. I'm tired just thinking about it.

I have to go now and start my US graduate school applications. Part of it involves writing a personal statement, which is a bit harder than it sounds. How do you tell academics that you are far more awesome than your academic record suggests, without sounding like a complete dork. The fact that I am a complete dork is an additional handicap.

Dork is a funny word.

Help.

Random Shit

I am watching the brilliant and beautiful and heartbreaking and traumatic and terrible and wonderful Angels in America, which I first saw at the Court Theatre about ten years ago, and which has haunted me since. You should all be watching this. I don't pretend to be any sort of theatre critic, but I did spend a significant amount of my academic career studying literature, and the levels on which this play is superb are continually amazing.
It is as good as Equus.

And thats saying something.

My weekend was fairly good, aside from the having to clean up after the former flatmates who quite obviously did sweet FA in regards to cleaning up our former residence. But me and Dave laid the smackdown on the filth, and it ran in terror, and the landlord agreed to give us back our bond. Yay. We rule.
Went to Charlie's party on Saturday night, and I think I might have scared Nic. He was looking all scruffy and stubbly, and quite frankly looked really hot. So, of course being the mistress of subtlety, I told him so, and so kept having Mugatu moments with the whole "Hes so hot right now" thing.
It was all a bit amusing really.

I had a night off work on Sunday, and so spent a goodly amount of time just chilling out at home, which I don't do nearly enough.
I got an interesting phonecall today. You see, as faithful readers may know, I have been trying to find a way in which to get full time work at university so that I can leave the restaurant, cos quite frankly, I'm over it. The restaurant manager called me today and asked me to come in half an hour early today, cos she wanted to "talk to me". My immediate response was "am I in trouble?" and spent the rest of the afternoon wondering if I had inadvertently done something horribly wrong in the last few days to merit a talking to. However, it appears that management had heard the rumour that I was intending to leave, and so they offered me a better job and more money. They love me, really. So thats nice. So now I have a lot of work, and will be earning arseloads of money for the rest of the year. One is very conscious of the fact that in one and a half years one will be turning 30, and would very much like to have a few thousand dollars stashed away somewhere. I'm getting to be OK with turning 30 soon, but I think that a significant factor in my being OK with it may involve the fact that Sarah, Bridget, Bianca, Hester, Chizuru and Faine will all be 30 before me. So as it turns out, there are advantages to being the youngest in your class at school.
Anyway, I'm starting to talk shit now, so I think I'll be off, perhaps some sleep might be in order.
I did intend to mention the fact however, that these are some cool lyrics, and I think that the line
"I was walking around the flower show like a leper
Coming down with some kind of nervous hysteria"
is up there on the coolest lyric of all time list.

Theres my two cents.
Good night.

PS. I saw the new girlfriend of someone formerly known as Good Thing (now known as Lying Bastard), and quite frankly, woof.
Ha ha ha.
One is reminded of a classic Pacey quote from Dawson's Creek, and I'm just gagging to say it to the chap in question.

Not that I ever watched Dawson's Creek.
Never.
It was complete arse.
Really.
I just watched it once.
Honestly.

Step one is admitting you are powerless over your addiction.

Go to bed Claire!!

Conspiracy Update #47.

I predict that before four years is up, Monkey-Boy is exposed and he is turfed out of the White House on his right-wing intolerant Islamaphobic arse.
It has already begun

Who wants to make a bet with me?

I can't let this go unsaid

I'd just like to extend an open invitation to all Americans who are clever and sensible and aware of the world and not bigoted and believe in peace and democracy and who abhor notions of imperialism and retaliation and hatred.
You can all come to NZ and stay at my house for the next four years.
Cos I really feel bad for you guys. I know that the entire free world is affected by the actions of your president, including our wee piece of paradise here at the bottom of the world, but at least we will not be judged by his actions. You poor fucks, I mean, I can really see a massive trade in t-shirts saying "Don't blame me! I didn't vote for him!".
I send out my heartfelt apologies to all intelligent decent Americans, that you have to live with monkey-boy there as your leader for another four years.
Our PM isn't exactly perfect, but hell, my nine-year old nephew has a more comprehensive understanding of international issues than Dufus W. And I'd bet my boots that hes better read.

Insert evil super-villain laugh here....

Hello my babies.
I'm not feeling particularly super-villain-ish today, but I do love the laugh.
Its official. I am over working in a restaurant. I have been working in hospo for ten years now, and have run out of nice. Hard to believe that I did actually have some nice to begin with, but now its all gone completely, and work is no longer fun. It is time to get the fuck out of there, and with that in mind, I am constructing a proposal to the department to sign me up for some serious fixed-term contract loving, complete with salary, because wages suck. Given my tendancy to work all the time, I'd much rather work here all day, get paid a bit more than I do now, and have my evenings to myself. There are few things that suck more than working here all day, knowing that you have to go and work in a ridiculously busy restaurant for several hours at night as well. Then while all your work mates from the restaurant go out after work and do fun stuff, you have to go home, because you have to do a days work here the next day.
Bollocks to that I say, its time to get the university to give me more money. The guy I work for said that he wanted me to leave the restaurant so I could work for him full-time. However, his idea of full-time work is 30 hours a week, whereas mine is 45 hours a week. So as soon as he gets back from wherever he is, he will find himself confronted by yours truly and a list of all the reasons I should get more money.
Right. Best go write that list then. Suggestions welcome, although those involving the phrase "righteous red fury" may not make it onto the final list. Those, however, involving the phrase "smackdown, Punisher styles" very well may.

Days like this are sweet....

Actually, I have had a fairly sweet weekend.
Its getting to be all summertime, and one has been getting stuck into some summer styles action.
After dressing up as Kate Sheppard on Thursday, and hopefully not causing the great lady to roll too many times in her grave, especially by making a pre-speech chardonnay toast to the Women's Christian Temperance Union, there was a bit of boozing done. Nice work, Claire and Bridget. So, one's GRE study on Friday was a little, shall we say, hampered.
Then I had the gruelling exam on Saturday morning, at one point I was completely prepared to chew my own foot off for a cup of tea. Once that was over however, there was Rosie's birthday party, followed by one of the definate high points of my weekend, fish and chips on Sumner beach with Charlie and Dave. Its awesome to just sit with people, and shoot the shit. Those are some good blokes, those two.
Then it was Simon and Anna's last night at work, and so I went to meet them. Nike was horrendously drunk, and most amusing.
Sunday involved a most smashing picnic at Victoria Park with Sarah and another Bridget, and then I put my mum on a plane to Europe. Bye mummy.
I'm having one of those phases where life is really not that bad. You know that mood where it looks like it might be all ok. Yeah.
Ok, I'm going now. Before I start rabbiting on.
Right. Carry on then.

Happy Happy Joy Joy

Oh yeah.
I am writing this from my new bedroom, in my Mum's house, far from the madness. My Mum is off to Europe on Sunday for 6 & 1/2 weeks, and I will have this whole house to myself. Joy of joys. No more will I have to endure the shrieking, the sighing, the inane babble, the "how do you feel about that" bull of my Former Flatmates.
I am so happy I could just dance. Actually, yesterday I did do the dance of joy, its just unfortunate that I did the dance at work while several customers were looking in my direction, thereby becomg very embarrassed, but not enough to take the edge off the motivations for the dance of joy.
But now I am ridiculously tired, and have but 3 days left to study for the Big Scary GRE exam on Saturday morning.
8.30 am, do you mind? On a Saturday as well. I mean, everyone knows theres no oxygen before 10am, especially on the weekend.

In comedy news, my 9 year old nephew is about to be introduced to the world of Monty Python. I can't wait.

Also, lest it be thought otherwise, I am really Not Going To The University Of Alabama, unless I can help it: ie unless I get rejected by Yale, Stanford, NYU, Columbia, Princeton, Michigan, Penn State, Duke, Cornell, MIT and Berkeley. OK, so it might happen, but I'm hoping that the law of averages will apply, or one of them falls over and hits their head.

Give Quiche a Chance

I've been schmoozing, conference styles. No really, I have, and now one of the most important figures in conflict resolution not only knows my name, but laughed at my (lame) joke, joined me in mocking the guy I work for, and is working on the same project as me. Admittedly I am a lowly research assistant, and he is the external examiner of possibly the biggest social science research project in the country, but still. I was trying to explain to my dear sister just how famous and cool this guy was, so given her love of all things rugby, I told her that if this was the All Blacks, he would be at least Sean Fitzpatrick, if not Colin Meads. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head.
What a geek I am. Oh yes, embrace the geek within.
Tell you what though, there are some severe aesthetic crimes going on in the academic world. Maybe its my dysmorphobia (yes, its a real thing) rearing its ugly head, but really. Its not that hard to brush the dandruff off your jacket, get a haircut and some glasses that don't make you look like a serial killer, and not pull your pants up to your armpits. Its bloody lucky that I'm here in my cool shoes and pretty skirt, to balance everything out. Ha. This from she who turns up to university on a regular basis in her trackies!! Pot paging kettle.
But conferences are fun, I have discovered, and so far this weekend has suceeded in reaffirming that this is what I want to do. Also, I recieved an offer to attend the University of Alabama. Hmm.
Anyway, got some more schmoozing to be done.

Priorities

A couple of famous people died. One was famous for his brilliant mind, who challenged accepted wisdom and changed the interpretation of texts, be they literature, art or thought. The other was famous for dressing up in tights.
Now don't get me wrong, its horribly sad when someone dies, especially someone who has a family, like Christopher Reeve. But the media are wetting themselves over his death, it was on the front page of the newspaper today, and it appears that the poor chap was famous for falling off his horse and becoming paralysed. They talk about courage, and strength of spirit, all of which I'm sure he possessed in piles, but they ignore the other stuff he also possessed in piles. Money.
You can bet that a painter who falls off his ladder and becomes similarly paralysed, but without the financial benefits of being Superman would take issue with the media wank about Reeve's courage in the face of adversity. I'm sure that with the ability to pay for round-the-clock nursing, to fix up your home for wheelchairs, to buy the best technology available for the physically impaired, and never having to worry about how your wife and kids are going to be fed certainly affects one's ability to remain strong and brave in the face of difficult circumstances.
I don't have a problem with the man himself, never did. I think its very sad what happened to him, and sad that he should die relatively young, especially given that he had a family.
The problem I have is with the media getting its pink frillies in a big knot and painting him as some sort of hero, when the guy had some serious resources at this disposal, while ignoring the real heroes.
Jacques Derrida is dead, and that barely gets a mention. Superman dies, and its on the front page of a newspaper across the other side of the world.
When Allen Ginsberg died a few years ago, it got a brief writeup in the international section of the same paper. Maybe about ten lines. Ginsberg was without a doubt one of the most important poets of the 20th century, for fucks sake, this is the man who wrote "Howl".

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix

He wrote "America"

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.

OK, so now I'm having a "Ginsberg was The Man" moment, but I'm hoping you see my point.
We're far more interested in the death of a famous-ish actor, who leaves behind some comic-book movies, than in the death of a philosopher who challenged the way we think and read, by inventing deconstructionism, without which we would not have half the films/books/architecture/poetry/philosophy we have now.
Rest in peace, Professor Derrida.

And Ginsberg was so The Man.

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after nightwith dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping towards poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo

Read it out loud. No, do, its supposed to be heard, theres all sorts of alliteration and consonance and assonance that you miss when reading.
How very deconstructionist!

By the way...

Did I tell you that THE FUCKING BEASTIE BOYS ARE PLAYING THE BIG DAY OUT AND ITS ONLY 105 SLEEPS TO GO!!!!!!!!!

No? I already mentioned it? Twice, you say?

Silly me.

Oh well.

Also...

Did I happen to mention that the FUCKING BEASTIE BOYS ARE PLAYING THE BIG DAY OUT?!?!?!?!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I did?
Just checking.

Happiest of Happy News

Oh, I am one very happy girl right about now.
I heard the first announcement for Big Day Out Acts, and I am SOOOOOOOOO going.
Two words.
FUCKING BEASTIE BOYS!!!!!
Ok, so thats three, but I think I've made my point. Tickets are on sale next Friday, airfare will be less than $200, anybody who wants to go on an Auckland mission with me is more than welcome to join the Claire Train. (I've already got Nike on board).
Also playing: Chemical Brothers (choice), Shihad (double choice), Misfits of Science, Trinity Roots, Concorde Dawn, John Butler Trio, System of a Down, The Donnas, and theres a new announcement at the start of November.
By which time I will already have my Big Day Out and airplane tickets in my hot wee hands.
Also, two months subsequent, the mighty REM are playing here in Chc, so yay, bring the good concert season. Strangely enough, REM are playing only in Chc and Palmerston North of all places, which is a nice way to stick it to Auckland and Wellington who always get the good gigs.
Oooooooh. I'm so excited about this!! I think maybe my head will fly right off my neck.
I hope not, cos I have an awful lot of work to do.
Also good news that it brightening my day up, fishboy is coming by at 4 o'clock for a catch-up, going to the uni bar for a beer for old times sake, then off to the Staff Club for a seminar on NY cops and the Republican National Convention, a couple of chaps from the university went there and shot some footage, and are talking about protests and politics, could be very interesting. Also, there will be beer. And the fishy one has promised delivery of a bottle of scrummy vodka goodness.
And the sun is shining, and the tunes are good (am listening to Aphex Twin), and life is super smashing.
And its only 106 sleeps until I see the FUCKING BEASTIE BOYS!!!!!!
Yay.

Like there was ever any doubt

I AM 18% WHITE TRASH! I, my friend, have class. I am so not white trash. . I am more than likely Democrat, and my place is neat, and there is a good chance I may never drink wine from a box. Take the WHITE TRASH test at Fuali.com

Although, I do like Aerosmith, and would love to own a Kingswood. Theres that 18%

Theres no 'I' in team, but theres a 'U' in cunt

1.10am. Oh dear.
I'm still at the office, having just sent some revised recurrence coding stuff to America via the wonders of the interweb.
11 days until the conference, which also means 11 days until Stein. Yeah. Bring the noise. Where all the post-grads sit around in the sun, completely chopped, and laugh at the even-more-chopped first years leaping around in the mud and snogging each other.
Actually last year a couple of the post-grads got busted snogging each other.
So thats the first day of the conference taken care of, nobody will be there cos the stein's on. And on the second day, Claire has to be there at some ungodly hour to be a general nuisance, I mean assist. 9am on a Saturday, how fucking rude.
I think I might be a little stressed. Stress is a funny thing, especially for me, cos I don't really feel happy unless I'm a little stressed. Or it could be cos I'm a gigantic geek, and love doing all this stuff, and when I'm stressed it means I'm doing lots of work and have to do lots more. Or it could be that I need a bit of purpose in my life.
Now the last remaining honours students have just gone home, so maybe its time for me to do the same.
Am listening to Skunk Anansie. Is good.
OK, really time to go home, cos am losing ability to use those wee words that glue all the big ones together. I've forgotten what they're called.
Nighty night.

Rainbows and Butterflies and Kittens

A funny thing happened at work last night. See, I was hungover to the max, having been completely boozed on Saturday night, had 4 1/2 hours sleep on a sofa, and got up at some ungodly hour to go to the Riccarton Markets with my sister and the baby. So by the time I got to work, I was a little tired, add to that the fact that I was on the busiest section in the whole place, all my tables had sat at once, and a couple of the chefs were having a 'mare; not all was running completely smoothly, and one could feel ones fuse shortening rapidly.
But then, I went into the bar and spied a friend sitting on a table there with his workmates. Now when I'm at work, I'm all hair-tied-up and black shirt, and looking almost respectable in my glasses and tidy clothes, and its understandable that someone who mostly sees me at parties in my natural (read: boozed and scruffy) state might not immediately recognise me. So I bowled up, and he did a bit of a double take, and then it was all hellos and happiness etc.
Funny thing was, that he and his workmates had seen me prior to me recognising my friend, and they had been sitting around discussing what a fine arse that red-haired waitress had. Yes, my friend had not recognised me, and was checking out my arse.
And yes, I am vain enough for that to make my night.
To top it off, after I had my dinner Waz gave me a wee chocolate cake with icecream, cos he had been experimenting with desserts. And my night was complete. Well, almost, but we'll just be happy with what we've got.

OOOOOOOOOOOH PISS!!!

I have just submitted my online application for a Fulbright Scholarship. Argh. Fuck. Shit.
I'm hoping that once they've picked themselves up from the floor, and managed to stop laughing long enough to actually read my application, they might all sit round, smoke a gigantic cone, and decide that it would be a really good idea this year, instead of selecting people on academic records, their criteria will consist of candidates ability to sing all the words to REM's "Its the end of the world as we know it", whip up an authentic Greek meal, fit as many original swear words into a sentence as possible, do the patented Claire booty-shake dance, have the most puking hangover, and have the longest arms in the room. If that were the case, I may well have a proverbial's chance in hell. Otherwise, I've just wasted three days. Oh well.
Last night I went to cheer on the mighty Aqua Marine Plastic Cups soccer team, who were kicking arse and taking names. I could never be a cheerleader though. One presumes that cheerleaders require, well, cheer. I'm not so much with the cheer. I would, however, be a remarkable booleader. Like "Hey you! Other team! You blow goats! Get off the court and let some soccer be played. And you've all got fat arses! Piss off!"
I received and email this morning from a chap at Stanford that impressed me mightily. You see, I'm not normally one who's impressed by fame. Not the TV kind of fame we get in these parts, anyway. But being the gigantic geek that I am however, receiving personal emails from people whos work I have studied, who have been cited in my thesis, and who I generally think are pretty cool, impresses me. I get all starstruck. Like when that guy from Yale emailed me to say I could use his graph in my thesis, the guy who runs the World Bank's Economics of Civil War project, I nearly peed myself.
This mornings email was regarding one I had sent yesterday, asking a professor of political science at Stanford how I could improve my chances of being accepted in his school. He sent one straight back, saying that it sounded like I was able to write a decent statement of intent, which was really important in an application, and wished me good luck!! I think I actually shrieked. And I'm not a big shrieker.
But he also suggested that I apply for about a dozen schools. Given that each application costs $70-100 US, I was originally intending to apply for about 5. So if you all want to give me hideous amounts of money, it improves my chances of going to America, and thereby leaving you all alone. Actually no, cos I'll still bug you all in blogspace. But its a start.
And with that, I'm off to do some real work. Heehee.
24 sleeps to go.
15 days until conference.
Shit.

Very cool word for the day: Macademized.
Listening to Bomb the Bass is educational.

It Never Fucking Ends

Now this I really can't believe.
Just remember that theres only three and a half weeks until I can move out of that fucking nightmare of a flat.
25 sleeps.
Yes, I'm counting.

I'd just like to say...

Thanks for being sweet.
Also, my flatmate Dave is not as bad as I make out. He bought me a kingsize bar of chocolate to cheer me up after I got dumped. Yay for Dave.
So heres the story: Theres someone that I get on with fabulously with, and that I trust (big thing for Claire) and am not intimidated by, and I don't think he is intimidated by me (another big thing for Claire), and who has the loveliest chocolate coloured eyes, and there was a bit of vodka involved and we kind of told each other how we felt, and everything was wonderful and yay and so on. Then all of a sudden (OK, a few days later), he comes over all thoroughly decent, and says that although he really wants to be with me he doesn't think hes completely over his ex, although he doesn't want to get back together with her hes not ready to be with me.
I mean, he could at least have been a complete arsehole and then I would have been able to sit here and diss him and have the comfort of knowing that I'm better off cos hes a complete twat.
But no, I'm stuck here, thinking that hes honest and decent and considerate of my feelings. Fuck.
Rereading that you may think that I was on the recieving end of a big scam, and he just doesn't want to be with me cos I'm a nutjob, and you may think that I'm kidding myself here, but I do actually believe him. Well, 98% of me does. The other 2% is convinced that hes already out on a hunt for a new girl.
That paranoia I talked about? Unfortunately it doesn't switch off.
I'm off now to stake out his house.
*cough*bunnyboiler*cough*

I've heard this song before...

I really am a slow learner.
If something seems just that little bit too good to be true, then it is.
Lesson is learnt, OK? Change the fucking record, please, universe.

Its cryptic blog entry time

So something pretty interesting happened last night.
Its a good thing, a very good thing in fact, but me being me am totally over-analysing every aspect of it, and am so insecure about the whole thing that I'm terrified that it will all turn horrible and the good thing will decide I'm not worth all the trouble and I'll be back to square one again but this time with the knowledge of what I had a taste of, when maybe the best thing would have been to never have gone there in the first place. But its done now, whats said is said, and I am extremely paranoid!! Argh!!!
OK, more later.
Maybe.

Oh Yeah!!

I am one very happy chicken right about now.
Given my inclination to work in my office, instead of out in the computer room where all the plebs reside, I have been working on my laptop for quite some time now.
Anyone who has worked for any length of time on a laptop will be aware of the repercussions for ones physical well-being; ie you're hunched over a screen, your ergonomics are all wrong and you end up finishing the day with a sore neck, wrists and hands from the silly mouse thing and not having the screen raised.
Well, those days are over!
I just called Campus Computers to enquire about the cost of a USB keyboard, given that the keyboard I had liberated from a colleague's office wouldn't work on my laptop, and I was expecting it to cost anywhere from $50 to $100.

Claire: How much is a USB keyboard?
Campus Computer Guy: $15.
Claire: No, I want to buy one.
CCG: $15
Claire: No, I mean to keep, so that when I leave university I can take it with me.
CCG: $15.
Claire: Are you taking the piss?
CCG: No.

So off I hopped to Campus Computers, where I purchased a brand-spanking new keyboard, a brand-spanking new USB mousie, and a bunch of blank CDs, and I still only spent less than $70.
Yay for me, I love a bargain.
I have the laptop on a pile of file boxes in front of me, and a proper mouse (with a cool red light on it that flashes sometimes), and a RSI preventing keyboard (with some cool yellow lights on it).
Now I have my work station all set up and have no more excuses for being slack.
Oh dear.
I have to go now and think of some more excuses for being slack.

Here comes a storm in the form of a girl, shes the finest, sweetest thing in the world.


Me and Samantha went to see Shark Tale last night. Pretty funny, but certainly no Monsters Inc. Renee Zellweger is kind of annoying, even in fish form, but I adore Will Smith. The fish are funny looking though, and I found that difficult to get over. There's jokes for grownups as well as kids, which certainly puts it a league ahead of Garfield, which I took Alexander to last week. It kind of sucked, which is a shame, cos a Garfield movie has so much potential.
I really need to see a grownups movie.

I'm beginning to worry that I'm losing my need to blog. Or maybe, I'm just losing my inspiration. Ha! Like there was any real inspiration to begin with.
Anyhoo.
Whats been going on?
How have you been?
And the family?
Glad to hear it.

I believe I have come to a decision regarding statistics. Not the concept, or the field of study, but the stupid stats paper I'm doing, because I don't really have enough to stress about with a thesis to finish, the GRE exam next month in which I must score over 87.5%, the conference next month for which I still have obscene amounts of work to do, graduate school applications to complete, people to suck up to so they'll let me into their schools with my crap GPA, and work five nights (six, recently) as well.
But stats is soon to be gone. I have plenty of time to learn statistics, and now is really not that time. So this afternoon I'm off to Registry to withdraw from the course.
And the minute I made that decision, I physically felt a huge weight lift off me, and I got about five years younger. All of a sudden, life is sunny and warm. Yay.
(runs off to make refreshing life-saving cup of tea)
However, I was informed yesterday that all the data I've been working on for the project is apparently no good; something to do with the coding rules and variation in conflict intensity. I think, however, that it won't take too much for me to fix it so that we can still use it, especially given the amount of time and energy I have expended already. I got an email from one of the guys I'm working for in America which said "All the data are stuffed, and its my fault". Oh dear.
I think I can fix it though.
And I'm still not sure of which schools I'm going to apply for. They charge you for applications, so I can really only afford five or six. Hopefully one of them will be fool enough to accept me. Who knows. Cross your fingers, aye?
Smoochies.

Oh, The Horror

Something awful happened a couple of weeks ago.
It was so awful, in fact, that it has taken me a couple of weeks to come to terms with it sufficiently to be able to talk about it.
But some time has passed now, and I am really trying to accept the reality of the situation. Sometimes bad things happen to good people.
Theres no sense in this crazy world of ours.
Here we go.

At the tender age of 28 years, 3 months and 15 days, I found a grey hair (sob).
Yes, there was a grey hair growing on my formerly youthful head, trying to hang out there with all the normal coloured ones, trying to blend in, and hoping he wouldn't be noticed. Needless to say, I opened a can of whup-ass on the little fucker, and now he is but a memory.
So now I am excruciatingly aware that I am officially OLD, and am paying far too much attention to my hair. Next I'll be lamenting the state of today's youth and drinking sherry.

So last night, in a fit of whobloodyknows, I dyed my hair, and now it is RED. Not just red, mind you, but FUCKING RED!!!! Not so much fire-engine red, more like tamarillo red, with some streaky bits of the original strawberry blonde left on top, for a bit of variety. I also succeeded in dyeing my fingernails and scalp red, hopefully the red bits on my face will wear off before work tonight. Am off to the hairdresser in a few minutes to get the left-out bits lightened a wee bit, so they look less like an accident, and more like intentional streaks. And also to remove any trace of grey that may have slipped through.
Oh dear.
Its all such an effort, really.
If only I wasn't so vain, then I could just live with the grey.
But no.
Shit.

Icky Germs

I am in bed, and I have the flu. Usually I am the first to mock sick people (actually, any people, but stay on topic) because when theres nasty flu type bugs about, those around me are dropping like flies, and I get a 2 day cold. However, it appears the flu gods have caught on to my ways, and are thereby punishing me for my previously sturdy immune system.
My sister's girls have had a nasty flu, and Sami has been off school for a week, which sucks, because what I remember of school when I was six was that it was awesome fun. I have now been in bed for three days, and what really blows is that I missed my stats test on Saturday morning. I went to the doc on Friday afternoon to get an impaired performance thing, and he said I have the flu and gave me some pills to stop my cough at night so that I could sleep, and then when I woke up on Saturday morning to go to my test, I sat up and everything went black. So I tried that again a few times, with no improvements, before coming to the realisation that if I couldn't sit up, I couldn't get to uni, and sure as shit couldn't sit a test. Hopefully my aegrotat application will be accepted.
So the last few days have involved a lot of sitting in bed watching movies (am loving having tv, vcr and dvd in my bedroom, and I think they may stay here) and sleeping and chilling out, which is probably good for me mentally as well as physically.
I have to go back to work tonight, which may be interesting, cos I'm all wobbly, and when I try and walk end up crashing into doorframes etc, cos I can't go straight. So no doubt someone tonight will end up wearing someone elses dinner. Fun.
I'm guessing I have to go back to uni and do some work tomorrow, the conference in October is drawing steadily closer, and the project is nowhere near finished. Also, all the numbers I have to do on recurrence comparisons have been neglected in favour of quality snoozing and telly time in an attempt to rid myself of these flu germs.
The thing is, when you get sick you've got to strike a balance somewhere, between taking time out to get better, and keeping on doing what you need to do. If you're one of these tough guys "Takes more than a wee flu to stop me" types, then you end up screwing yourself, cos if you don't take time out to get better, then you'll end up being sick for longer, or get worse. Then of course, if you drop everything and climb into bed for a week, all your work gets neglected completely, and you're screwing yourself another way. So I'm figuring three days is a happy medium, and hopefully tomorrow I'll be back at my desk.
In other news, last night I watched "Unfaithful". Diane Lane is one classy bird, and I am extremely jealous of her, cos shes got to snog Viggo Mortensen ("A Walk on the Moon") AND Olivier Martinez, who, once he leaves that skanky ho Kylie "I have very little musical talent so am relying on selling my arse to make money" Minogue, will be mine, I tell you, MINE!!!!!
Hmmm. (The doctor said I might get a little delusional)
But really, who on earth would choose Richard Gere (short, middle-aged, funny-looking) over Mr Tall, Dark, Handsome and Foreign? He's French!!! What more could you want!!!!
Have a smashing day, won't you.

Heres a scene...

Claire is staying at her Mum's house, looking after it while her mum is away. Its Monday night, and Claire has finished work, come home and is relaxing in front of the telly. Its half past midnight, and then, the phone rings. Claire's heart stops, and her blood runs cold. Given that the phone only rings in the middle of the night when extremely bad news is coming, Claire begins to anticipate who is on the other end. Could is be her sister, whose baby had a high temperature that day? Claire remembers back a few years to when the baby's older brother was in hospital with meningitis, and all were convinced that he was not going to make it. Or, she thinks, it could be her Dad, recalling a couple of years back when a good friend of her Dad's died very suddenly of a heart attack. That afternoon, Claire had dropped her mother off at the airport, to catch a flight to Sydney that was connecting to Perth later that day. It could be the airline, saying that the plane had gone missing over the desert.
Because people don't call at half past midnight unless its an extreme emergency. Its just not done. So, imagining all sorts of horrors, Claire answers the phone. And guess what. Its not a fucking emergency at all. Its someone who shares Claire's house, who wants to discuss a fucking bill or something. Not even remotely an emergency, no matter how you look at it.

The surprising thing is, the flatmate was actually genuinely surprised when Claire went nuts at her.
Go figure.

Sunday Funday

Hello.
I wrote a huge big rant the other day because the whole me-being-Dorian-Gray thing prompted me to explain my shameful secret. But Blogger ate it. Bad Blogger. Anyway, here we go.
The thing is, I don't really know what the word is to describe what I am. I have a prejudice.
I have tried to overcome it; searched for childhood traumas that may have prompted it; attempted to confront it face-to-face; but I know I still have a long way to go. The thing is, I don't like ugly people. My secret is out!!!! I am an Aestheticist (the best word I have come up with so far to explain it, Ugliest insinuates a completely different problem).
At work I find it quite an issue. I am forced, by the nature of my job, to be nice to people whose physical appearance offends my delicate sensibilities. Its probably quite helpful in terms of overcoming my wee problem, but sometimes its just painful. Cos some people are really fucking ugly.
And the thing is, I don't really put too much effort into my own appearance either. Most of the time I'm in jeans and t-shirt or equivalent, the other day I was working in my office in my exceptionally stunning red trackies. I wear make-up about six or seven times a year, skirt and heels about the same. Occasionally I have been known to get out the flash hair-do thingy and straighten my hair all pretty, but I really can't be fucked most of the time. Thats why we have hair-ties. If I was one of these girls that spent hours a day on their appearance then one could understand this prejudice I have, but if I was one of those girls then I would be in dire need of some more work to do. Or a stern talking to about priorities. I digress.
I realise that my arguments regarding this matter are thin at best, which is why I need help. Help me overcome my ugly-phobia!! Allow me to see the inner beauty in people, no matter how hard they try to hide it with their awful hair and ill-fitting clothes and sour expressions.
Actually, I know that there are some people who are completely without beauty in any form, and they should be taken out back and shot, but thats just me.

In other news, my mood has improved somewhat.
The Bourne Supremacy is good, although quite hard to watch at some points cos it goes all jumpy. I love that Kiwi actors are turning up everywhere. Taking over the world, one movie sequel at a time.
The GRE is going to be mind-bendingly difficult, especially given that I need to score over 700 to be taken seriously by these schools I'm applying for. Thats 87.5%. UhOh.
Good new tunes, in no particular order: "Run" by Snow Patrol; "The Rat" by The Walkmen; "In a Cage on Prozac" by My Red Cell (also wins "coolest song title" prize). I have also recently reacquired a copy of the sublimely beautiful "Papua New Guinea" by the Future Sound of London. On my top five songs of all time list, thats how good it is!! Fucking awesome.
I've also been listening to Bomb the Bass (cool) and Interpol (cool), which I recommend.
While we're discussing music, heres a funny way to pass a rainy Sunday. You will need a male friend, and his girlfriend. Go up to the girlfriend and put your hand on her shoulder. Double over with mirth as the male friend sings "Get your hands off my woman, motherfucker" in his best falsetto Justin-from-The-Darkness impersonation. Hours of fun to be had.
That is all. You can go now.

More Quiz Fun and Ugly-Phobia


Oscar Wilde: The Portrait of Dorian Gray. You are a
horror novel from the world of dandies, rich
pretty boys, art and aesthetics, and
intellectual debates between ethical people and
decadent pleasure-seekers. You value beauty and
pleasure but realize their dangers, as well.

Which literature classic are you?
brought to you by

Movie Geeks Take Note!!!

Yay. Dear old Empire magazine has found yet another way for us to waste hideous amounts of time, I mean, use all that knowledge we gained from watching movies. Yes, its Son of Quote Quiz. And I am a lowly mountain goat.
In other news, Eminem is the shizzle, my nizzles. Especially "Drugs Are Bad" with the South Park kids.
That is all, you can go now.

Things that improve your day:

1- Back massages at the rec. centre and subsequent unknotted back and shoulders.
2- Nachos.
3- Hot water bottles.
4- People that sort stuff out with very little effort from me.
5- Warm woolly scarves.

I'm still working on this list.

Things that pants up your day:

1- Having to get out of bed.
2- Cold bathrooms.
3- Idiotic landlords.
4- Idiotic landlords that keep coming around when you have clearly told them that they are not allowed to, and it is in fact against the law for them to turn up unannounced.
5- People.
6- People who won't shut up.
7- People who perpetuate banality.
8- People who ask things like "how was your day?"
9- People who thrive on melodrama.
10- Christians.
11- Unceasing neck pain.
12- RSI, or whatever the fuck its called these days. Sore wrists and hands from working at a computer all day, thats what its fucking called.
13- Deadlines that just keep coming, no matter how much you ignore them.
14- Disobedient hair.
15- Not living alone, therefore not being able to play Rammstein and Ministry at maximum volume first thing in the morning in an attempt to compensate for waking up in an extremely foul mood.
16- People that don't email you back when you ask for their advice.
17- Filling in forms.
18- Fake enthusiasm.
19- People who pretend to be cleverer and funnier than they actually are.
20- Bad puns and old jokes.
21- The over sensitive and idiosyncratic mousepad on my laptop that has a mind of its own. No, I don't want to navigate away from this page, if I did, I would have fucking told you, arsehole.
22- The need to have a sensible round number of things for this list. Fuck it, I'm going to stop there. Angerball.

In Which Claire Throws Up. Lots.

As has been stated in this very forum previously, I used to be immune to the hangover. But now, holyflamingarseholesbatman. These days I'm not really one for going out on a regular basis, but when I do go, I go well.
I started off at my sister's house, where it was a rather belated happy birthday dinner for her husband. I know that folks with children don't really get much of an opportunity to get pissed, but I've seen these people a few times on the chop, and wow. They can certainly drink. Much wine was consumed, and my brother-in-law's bottle of peach schnapps mysteriously evaporated. So once we'd cleaned up the booze, my sister says: "Claire, can you make coffee? I'm too pissed." Needless to say, nobody got their coffee.
After a wee snooze on the couch (completely unintended, btw), my cell phone rings about 3am, and its the people from work I was meant to meet up with, as it was Carra's going away party. So I get a taxi, and start over again. We were supposed to be going to a strip club, for some reason Carra is keen on drinking there, but as soon as we got there we realised it was crap, so quickly made our way to Mansions, and Simon's cocktail expertise. Mmmmm. Cocktails. I'm pretty sure I had more than a couple of vodka & oranges too, but its all a blur.
I'm also having visions of attempting to chase Nike through city mall, which may explain the very sore legs I had yesterday. I was in heels. Always a good combination, cocktails, high heels and chasing cheeky Germans through town.
Also interesting, one of my workmates confessed his Feelings For Me. Its always nice when someone fancies you, even if you don't reciprocate. Its also a bit suck, cos everyone knows what its like to like someone who doesn't feel the same, so its like "Um, sorry." But I must give him credit, I was pretty pissed and he didn't once try and pull the moves or be a sleazy bastard, so thats nice.
But on to Sunday. Oh Dear. I was actually intending to blog my hangover throughout the day (Live updates from the toilet bowl), but surprise surprise, was too hungover.
I eventually got home about 8.30 am, and thats when the fun really began. I lost count of how many times I threw up, but I remember trying to drink water so that I'd have something in my stomach, but even that wouldn't stay down. The back of my throat, where it meets the nose, was burning all last night because of all the stomach acids. Also, my head was pounding like a motherfucker, but do you think that aspirin would stay in my stomach long enough to work? Not bloody likely. I did the classic hangover shower, where one crawls into the shower, turns it on hot, and sits in the bottom of the shower, hugging ones knees and moaning softly to oneself, earnestly promising the gods one will never drink alcohol again just makeitstoppleaseiwanttodie. After about three quarters of an hour of that, I had to get out of the shower and throw up again, then back to bed for a bit more sleep, before the next round of puking. Thats the worst kind of puking too, cos theres nothing in your stomach to throw up, so you don't even feel any better.
I was supposed to start work at 5.30, so J rang at 5.30 to see if I was still alive. I was still in bed, but managed to get myself together to leave the house about twenty to six, and got to work just in time to throw up again, and start work at 6. And when I say "start work", I mean I clocked in and managed to drink a glass of flat lemonade and munch on a few chips for about half an hour, before I was composed enough to actually talk to customers. Although I didn't throw up again. Yay.
So my toilet has had some good hugs in the last day, my naughty liver has had some severe punishment, and I have been thoroughly reminded of why I really am getting a bit old for this sort of carry on.
However....there is a bus trip in a couple of weeks, and you can bet your boots that I will go and get completely arseholed, and you lovely readers will have another exciting post to read then. Yay, I hear you cry.
Must go and eat some veges now, before my internal organs stage a mass walkout and go and live with someone who doesn't punish them.
My kidneys actually hurt. Not a good sign.

Conspiracy Theory Update

I may well be the last person in this city to see "Gloomy Sunday", but I am no longer the last to have read "The Da Vinci Code". I started it on Saturday, and finished it on Sunday, cos it was SO FUCKING GOOD I could barely put it down. READ THIS BOOK!!! DO IT!!!
I really couldn't give a flying fuck about these American style conspiracy theories about aliens and government coverups and all that crap, the conspiracy theories I'm fascinated by are much older than that, and usually are based in France, for some reason. "Foucault's Pendulum" is the one that really got me started, and then the movie "Pi", and now "The Da Vinci Code". The premise of the book is that Jesus and Mary Magdalene were married, and when he died, she was pregnant. Because the nasty Roman powers that be were chasing after all those associated with Jesus, she was in danger, so some of the remaining apostles helped her escape to France, where she gave birth to a daughter named Sarah, who's descendants continued the blood line of Jesus and Mary up until the present day. The Big Bad Catholic church knew about all this carry on, and were determined to destroy all evidence of Mary's child's line, so a secret society (and heres where my interest really got caught!) was formed by a bunch of important people to protect the family line, and the documentation proving their ancestry. Their reason for doing this was because a conference in Nicea in the 4th century hosted by the emperor Constantine had agreed that Christ was the Son of God. Note, this was 300 or so years after the fact. It was decided by a narrow margin that the nature of Jesus was divine, therefore he could not have had earthly relations, therefore any evidence of Mary Magdalene and her child must be destroyed. This is where the Magdalene smear campaign comes in, making out that she was a prostitute, coming up with the story of Eve and the original sin and all that crap that has made women secondary citizens for thousands of years. According to the documentation behind "The Da Vinci Code", its all a big pile of steaming turd, established years after Jesus died to keep quiet all the pesky "pagans", ie those who didn't hate and fear women, and who respected and cared for the earth.
A lot of the stuff in the book is based on historical documentation, and the book opens with a note that all descriptions of secret societies, rituals and documentation is completely accurate, which really gets the old brain ticking over. I'm intrigued by religion, really. I think its fascinating that people can accept what they're told, and base their lives around it, and in some cases, give their lives for it.
The book is loaded with symbolism, the main character is an expert at this sort of thing, and there are some interesting alternatives to popular interpretations of the Star of David, the devil's horns, the Mona Lisa, the stripes that armies use to denote rank, the Last Supper (the painting, not the dinner party) and my particular favourite, sex. Thats right, nookie itself recieves a mention. I really despise the traditional Church take on sex, that it is inherently evil and a sin. WTF? At its most base level, the purpose of sex is to make babies, so how that can be evil is beyond me, really. Someone said to me a while ago that when she was married she was "pure", ie a virgin. Thats fine, if thats what you want to do, personally I believe that being with a person physically is an important part of a relationship, but thats just me. Also, try before you buy, but what ever makes you happy, thats fine. But the notion that never having had sex makes you "pure", more so that a person that has, really gets my goat. It implies that there is something inherently dirty and defiling about sex, that by physically expressing your love for your partner you are reducing your own value.
Look, I think I've made my point, but here is the Reader's Digest Version, cos its after 2am and I'm tired.
Read "The Da Vinci Code", for it is good.
Sex is not a bad thing, and does not reduce your resale value.
Question everything.
You can never trust an organisation that has as much blood on its hands as the Christian Church.

I really didn't intend for that to be a big rant, but I'm tired, and given that I have had a whole glass of wine (you party animal!!), am feeling unable to edit what comes out of brain and through fingers and onto page.
Also, while I'm dishing out advice; plant more trees, use suncream, always check the oil in your car, get a smear test, don't smoke, teach your children about dogs, don't hide from the rain, read "Foucault's Pendulum" by Umberto Eco, drink lots of water, save half of what you earn, eat breakfast, stay away from nasty cheap wine, wear clothes that fit you as you are not as you want to be, and don't stay up all night blogging when you should be sleeping cos you have an appointment in the morning and then have to go and do lots of work!!!
Note to self: Follow own advice.

Reasons Why We Love Zach Braff

1) Scrubs is funny.
2) He blogs.
3) Hes Jewish.
4) He thinks Ali G is a comic genius.
5) Hes taller than me.
6) Did I mention that Scrubs is funny?

In other news....
Last night was a reasonably good telly night. I watched "I'm With Her", which was fairly mindless and funny, and "Crossing Jordan", which I think is really quite good. Jordan has all the qualities I admire in a person; brains, irreverence, stroppiness, blatant disregard for authority, and a rather scruffy sense of style. Yay for putting interesting and clever women on television!! I think Jordan might have the potential to be up there with CJ from the West Wing and Michelle Dessler from 24, although I hear Michelle won't be back for the next season. Oh well, we'll always have CJ, although I'm not quite sure whats happened to the West Wing. I haven't watched telly for such a long time, its nice to just sit down and be entertained for a bit. Mind you, most telly is complete and utter shite, so its a rare night when one can watch a couple of hours worth without one's brain liquifying and trickling out ones ear, or putting ones foot through the TV screen. I have a couple of flatmates who are complete telly addicts, and they watch all sorts of shite, you wouldn't believe! Every night they're watching one thing and taping another to watch later, shit that normal folk would recoil in horror from. Surprising really, given that neither of them is an idiot. Contrary to evidence from last night's laundry flooding incident.....Kidding!!! Best be nice, cos they may read this and I'll get home to find my shoes full of water and my bed apple-pied if I mock them too much.
Ah fuckit, everythings funny. Well, most things are.
Except perhaps the fact that I really have to pull finger and get stuck into this Marsden Project stuff, given that I have to have it done by October. Uh Oh!!
Less blog Claire, and more work.

What to do?

I have a night off work tonight, and I have no plans, no family dinners to go to, no homework to do, no movies to attend, no functions to be at, and I'm really not quite sure what to do with myself.
While I was writing my thesis I composed a huge list of Things To Do Once Finished, but its just so huge that I really don't quite know where to start. Perhaps if I go home and try to fix my sewing machine I can get started on a few things. Or I could go and get geekishly ahead on my statistics work. Or spend the evening working on my research?
I think maybe I purposely overload myself with work so that I'm not forced to make these decisions!! Maybe I'll bake. Maybe I'll work on my plan for world domination. Maybe I'll try and get through the practice GRE exam I have. I have developed an inability to waste time, when perhaps occasionally it is good for one to waste time.
I could try that.
And after ten minutes, I'll find some work to do.
Yay, Fishboy is returning soon!!! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

Sad Old Cow

No really, I've had a whole 330ml bottle of Steinlager, and am several sips into my second one, and am feeling a bit pizzled. Oh dear. I remember the days when I could drink half a bottle of vodka, party through the night, and be at work at 9am the next day. Now I'm a one-can-wonder, a Cadbury special as it were. Glass and a half. Am showing my age. UhOh. Time to start lying about it I think.
Its Sunday night and I'm chilling out after work, giving serious consideration to going to bed, and half watching Alien Resurrection while catching up on blog-reading. Brad Dourif is one freaky dude. And the bloke that plays the captain of the ship that brings the prisoner bodies to the alien experimenter guys has a really sexy voice. Plus theres the added bonus of that really hot bloke from CSI, and Sigourney Weaver, cos shes really cool. So all in all, a lot better than people say.
Went to see Hellboy on Friday night, I thought it was pretty cool. Mind you, I think I'm pretty easily pleased when it comes to movies, so you'd expect that.
Am giving some consideration to buying a house. The thing is, I want to live by myself, given that I'm the only person I'm capable of living with (extremely low annoyance tolerance and unwillingness to spend any time improving it), but in this city, if I want to be doing that, it will cost at least $150 a week for a liveable place. And if I'm spending that much every week, I may as well be paying back a house, rather than lining the pockets of some fat bastard landlord. And if I do end up going to live in the Great Satan for five or six years while I do a Phd, that is if someone will give me a fat scholarship and entrance into one of those flash graduate schools, I can get tenants in the house, and I can become one of those fat bastard landlords whose pockets get lined!!! But then there is the whole coming up with the money thing, and just for a change, thats where my plan falls flat.
Sexy voice guy has just been munched by the alien. Bugger. Oh yay, heres Ripley, come to save the day in manner of Mighty Mouse or similar. Time for bed now I think, 1.15am, and have to go to work in the morning. Hey, 11 o'clock is still technically morning, cos thats about when I'll be arriving at the office!
A gazillion things to do this week, and about 50 hours work is included in that. Bizzo.

Saving the World, in 3 easy steps

If only...
Thanks to Sanchia's informative informational skills, I am applying for the Vodafone World Of Difference Grant, so that I can go to Afghanistan and teach women to read. Providing, of course, that they want to read English, cos I don't know a single word of Pashto or Farsi (I had to Google that!!). But hey, you've got to start somewhere. And so, I will be volunteering at the Refugee and Migrant Centre, and we'll be adding that to my two jobs, a statistics course and the completion of my MA, and whats that other thing I like to do.....ummm....Oh yeah. Sleep. Theres not a hell of a lot of that going on at the moment.

I am the only person in my house who has a job. Hows that? And there are those among the jobless in my house that I do at least twice as much as in terms of household contributions, and who sleep twice as much as me. Theres only so much nagging one can do really, before it starts to get beyond a joke. Actually we left the joke component behind in about February, so keep an eye out for the headlines: Lazy slob student disembowelled by angry flatmates, judge rules it completely justified, praises flatmates for contributing to the earth's future.

See, now I'm even angry thinking about it. Let it go Claire.....

In other news, I still haven't heard from the chap at Yale who I want to study with, which is really not a good sign. Uhoh. Maybe hes off plotting ways to get me into Graduate School without having to reveal my awful GPA. Or maybe hes hoping that if he ignores me long enough I'll go away. Fat Chance, mate. Thats been tried many a time, with a perfect record of failure every time.

Anyway, must dash now and finish my stats assignment. I wonder if it takes anyone else in the class all afternoon to do.......

Hands up whos read a Thursday Next book?
Well, you'll find this funny then, I think.
Am off to dinner now with Mr Wallace, who is leaving us very soon for the Orient. So, in keeping with the theme, I am wearing my special kimono-inspired top with cranes on it. Crane in Japanese is Chizuru, well so Chizuru told me. And who says you can't learn from blogs!! Well, nobody has to me yet, but we'll call that a pre-emptive strike.
I'm even wearing my nice black skirt and the shoes that make my legs look record-breakingly long. Really a bit pointless though, given that I'll be sitting at the dinner table, and nobody will see. Nevermind. I don't know that theres anybody there that I really need to impress with my legs anyway.
Yes I know, its a sad state of affairs, but welcome to my life....
Actually I take that back, my life is awesome. I may be the last single woman in town over 25 whos not hideously ugly or clinically obese, but fuck it. Far more important things to worry about than boyfriends. I can't stand those women who are defined by their relationships. OK, if you've got a nice man, then good on you. Yay. But designing your life around it? Nah, fuck that for a joke, design your life around what you want, and if someone else wants to come along for the ride, then you're just a lucky wee bean.
You'll never find happiness in another person. You must find your own happiness, then find someone to share it with.

Woah. That was a bit philosophical for a Thursday!! Time for a beer, I think.

Hello, my Pretties....

I'm not sure I really have anything interesting to say, its just I feel like blogging. Well, its just gone 5pm, and theres no point leaving the office now, cos the traffic will be arse, and I'll end up sitting in the car getting cross, so I'll hang out here for a wee bit, and then when I get around to getting in the car, the traffic will be bearable, and Claire will be happy. Well, less angry.
Had a wee do at the Green Room on Saturday night, nice to see people, even those who call my arse fat (its phat), and especially good to mock flatmates about their "are they or aren't they" relationships. It does appear however, that I am the last single person in Christchurch. Weeeeee!!!!!!!!! Then there was some serious Whanau time on Sunday, then work, which was noticeably absent the usual Arsehole contingent. Maybe the seasons coming to an end, the Arsehole season I mean. I did nearly lose my voice though, but thanks to the healing power of fresh lemons, honey and smashed up ginger root, steeped in boiling water then drunk (rinse and repeat) it came back. Yay. Am still feeling a bit bollocks though, and will definately have to write a letter of protest if I get this bitch of a cold thats going around.
Piles of work to do, lots of Marsden project stuff, plus I really should get started on some thesis corrections and appendices etc, so I can hand the bloody thing in. I also have my first stats assignment to hand in on Wednesday, which I haven't done.
One thing I have learned from stats so far is how to get Excel to take a load of figures and turn them into pretty graphs and pie charts, so I'm thinking I'll add a touch of dazzle to my thesis. Print it in colour and all that, and really impress the readers!! (provided of course that they are five year olds who are impressed by pretty colours...)
Anyway, its been real, have a smashing day!!!

I take it all back
 
Saturday night's Arsehole was Prince Fucking Charming in comparison to last night's contender. (hurriedly checks blog archives to confirm absence of links to employer's website)
Apparently the way I walk is offensive. Hmm. Thats a new development.
So this arse comes in, and hes the owner of a whole bunch of Nasty (intentional capitalisation to demonstrate degree of nastiness) fast food "restaurants" (in the loosest possible definition of that word) and he brings with him a bunch of his managers. One of these managers comes up to the bar to buy a drink, and as shes getting her passport out of her handbag to demonstrate that she is in fact 18 (and has been for a whole five minutes) I spy one of our pepper shakers in her bag. Note, our pepper shakers are neither gold nor diamond encrusted, they are not rare antiques, nor do they do a little dance while they give you pepper, they are simple, functional, and really nothing to write home about. So I bust her, and say that while shes there she could give us the shaker back, and we have a wee laugh, she looks really embarrassed and apologises and says it was just a joke, and gives it back. I mean, its a pepper shaker, not the fucking till. Problem solved. Or so I thought.
Later in the night, I pass by the table, and one of the salt shakers is missing. People constantly amaze me with their ability to delve new depths of stupidity, and this silly child was another example. I'd already busted you stealing stuff, you daft cow, so if something else is missing, where am I going to look? I don't want to embarrass her in front of her workmates and bosses however, cos thats not cricket, so I slip through to the restaurant to have a word to the manager, and ask her what I should do. I know what I want to do, but given that I'm not in charge, its not my place, and with something like this, one wants to be as delicate as possible. I am not reknowned for my delicacy. So my esteemed colleague goes through and has a wee word to the table, that I've already busted one of their party trying to steal stuff, and that theres something missing off the table again, and if it could be returned before they left, all would be well.
And thats when the excrement began to hit the airconditioning. The boss guy, herein known as Fucknuts, proceeds to take great offense that someone would accuse one of his employers of stealing (um, actually you great dunce, I already caught her. Redfuckinghanded. And its on camera for your viewing pleasure). It takes him about 20 seconds to give me the "I'm very well known in this town, I employ a lot of people, I have a lot of respect in the business community, I have loads of influence blahblahblah". Mate, I've heard it all before. I don't care if you're the Queen of Fucking England, you don't get to steal stuff or bring people in who do so. Besides, don't get all hoity-toity with me, you own some fast food joints that are an international joke, and by the way, I can smell new money ten miles off, and you stink of it!
So hes going nuts at me about being accused of stealing, and says he wants to speak to the manager again, so I go to get her, and as I'm walking out, he yells "Don't you stick your nose up in the air at me young lady". Actually, I'll stick my nose up at any body I feel like, and especially at you, because you are behaving like trash, I don't care how much money you have. Unlike a lot of tall girls, I refuse to hunch over and hide my height, I am proud of being tall, and was raised to stand up straight. Anyway, enough of my offensive posture. His silly cow wife, a total Merivale Matron with the hair and the glasses and the fucking attitude starts having a go at me as well. The manager comes back through, and then Fucknuts starts to talk to her like she works for him, and shes trying to keep her cool and not tell him to fuck off, and manages to tell him that she will take her advice under consideration, while his wife's telling her that its difficult when you're so young etc, and generally being a patronising cow.
Then Fucknuts has the audacity to claim that essentially we are in the same business, the only difference being that we sell alcohol, and they have more customers. Interesting. Your business is a culinary and social joke, and we are one of the most popular restaurants in town, known for service, quality food and great atmosphere. Bit of a stretch there, mate. He claims that hes never been so appallingly treated in a restaurant in his entire life and that we will be hearing from him soon about the matter. Yippee, we say.
Then the manager is on the phone with the owner, upset that she may have handled the situation wrong, and of course he says to her, you did the right thing, that guys got another think coming if he thinks I'm going to bend over backwards to appease him, I can't wait for him to call so I can tell him what I think of people that try to steal from me and then get ratty with my staff. Yay. Top bloke.
Its really quite amusing what you can tell about people, theres a certain type of person you encounter, and it takes them a matter of seconds to tell you that either they know the owner (response: really? So do I, isn't that funny), or that they are very important and influential in this town and know a lot of people (well in that case you'll have heard our reputation, or have heard of the owner and what other positions he holds that are potentially damaging to the reputations of people that piss him off)
So if you catch someone stealing stuff, even a lowly pepper shaker, and then more stuff goes missing, and you ask for it to be returned, without singling someone out in front of their peers, then apparently that is inexcusable behaviour.
Personally I thought it was verging on rational and sensible, with a dash of not wanting a fuss over such a small thing, but as it turns out, if you have a lot of money and employ a bunch of minimum wage spotty school children, then you are exempt from normal rules, and you must have your arse kissed on an hourly basis.
What do we say kids? We say BOLLOCKS TO THAT!!!!! You can kiss my arse, and my good posture while you're at it, fucking fucknuts. And I refuse to eat the stuff you serve and call food, cos ITS CRAP!!!! BK so kicks your arse.

Its Shitty Customer Update Time Again
 
Yes people, we have another contender for Cunt of the Year, and he was in at my work on Saturday night, demonstrating what arseholes people can be.
I was working in the bar, where we have a wee telly up in the corner, and the rugby was on. We are very much not a sports bar however, and this is blindingly obvious to anybody who has ever been there. Or so I thought....
So Arsehole comes in and says, can I turn the sound up on the telly? I say no, cos the bar is full of diners who are happily eating their dinner, listening to the music and talking to each other, and who presumably made the choice to not dine in a rowdy sports bar. So then I go through to the restaurant to do something very important, like make a hot chocolate for myself, or give the chefs shit, I can't remember, and when I get back in the bar, Arsehole has turned the sound up on the telly, and the bar now resounds with rugby commentary. I say, as nicely as possible, Hey Fucknuts, I said no, turn the sound down, this ain't no sports bar and theres a whole bunch of other people here besides you, you inconsiderate knob-rash. Of course he responds with the standard I'm a paying customer, I'm bringing business in for you, you should be as nice as possible to be and when I behave like a complete arsemuncher you should just bend over and take it cos you are a mere restaurant worker and I'm out with my very important friends and am therefore a vastly superior person to you because you work in a bar and are worth no more than the dog crap I wiped off my boots this morning.
So Claire puts on her bestest fake smile, and says listen mate, don't do me any favours, we've got plenty of customers who don't want to listen to rugby, the rules of this bar are no sound on the telly, if you don't want me to kick you out, then turn the fucking volume off.
Arsehole then wants to "talk to the manager", and while I'm tempted to say "you're talking to her already and she says fuck off", I go and tell her that Arsehole wants to talk to her. But instead, the owner wants to bring the smackdown, so of course I have to go through and listen to this. Now my boss is a great bloke, hes a real charmer, and manages to tell Arsehole and his arsehole mates to turn the telly down, leave me alone, and be nice, and hes been running this restaurant for 14 years and what he says goes, and leaves them smiling! Now thats a gift.
So now I'm back in the bar, and Arsehole turns round and says to me "you really gave us some shit there, and I'm really not interested in being your mate tonight" (first direct quote so far in this blog). Tempted as I am to respond with "hey I'm sorry, you've mistaken me for someone who gives a flying fuck about your opinion, I would be ashamed to be your mate, even for one day" I put my best sickliest sweet smile on and say "You know what, I've got all the friends I need, I think I'll survive". (direct quote number 2)
So not only did Arsehole embarrass himself by being shitty to a mere bartender (whos ten times smarter than him) in front of his friends, he proved that some people suck, and that when the smackdown needs to be brought I've got the boss on my side.
So what have we learned? Be very nice to people who serve you in bars and restaurants. They have the power.