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.

Oops.

Not Abba, but Boney M.
My bad.
Both are hideous beyond measure, so my wee mix up is completely understandable.
That is all.

For some reason....

I have Abba's "Ra ra Rasputin, lover of the Russian Queen" in my head. Go figure. Am attempting to drown it out with the dulcet tones of White Zombie, cos hes my boogie man. Yeah.
Anyway, contrary to popular opinion I am not rotting in prison due to choking one of the noisy neighbourhood brats, but I do feel an update is in order.
Hmmm. There has been a lot of sleep going on. Some of which I don't plan on doing, as in setting alarm clock for 9.30 am, and waking up at 12.30 pm, but I figure I must really need it. Either that, or someone is spiking my hot chocolates.
I'm back to working five nights at the restaurant, which is really not as bad as it sounds, cos theres some pretty cool people that work there, and its usually reasonably fun. Of course, there are some complete knobheads as well, but for extra fun I mock them. So its all good. I'm not getting as many hours as I want, but I'm working on wearing them down, and given my tendancy to get what I want, I'm sure things will improve on that front. I'm also doing this research thing, not doing as many hours as I probably should due to the above mentioned sleeping tendancies, but that too is improving. The good thing about research is that theres not really too much brain-power involved, so I can have the tunes cranking while I work. Its always nice when you're getting paid to listen to the Beastie Boys.
As for the Grand Plan, well, its looking ok. I've yet to summon up the wherewithal to email The Guy at Yale that I want to study with, and who potentially has the means to get me into the course, but I've had two Stats classes already, which will hopefully help improve my chances, and am not completely lost. Yet. Give me time though.
Any suggestions on strategy for Operation Get Claire To Yale are most welcome.
I've also been spending a bit of quality time with my sister, for whom I struggle to come up with appropriately positive adjectives. Shes fucking awesome though, as are her children. One remains constantly in awe of her abilities to raise her children and stay sane and do all the other stuff she does as well.
I was going to have a big rant about the Sensible Sentencing Bastards that are all over the radio at the moment, and how the leader of the opposition is a complete twat if he thinks that harsher prison sentences are going to deter criminals, when anybody with half a brain knows that shit don't roll, and that to stop criminals you need to break the cycle of violence and poverty, not lock them up for longer where they'll just learn to be better criminals, but I'm not going to cos I'm in one of those contended type happy moods, and I don't want to get all riled up.
I think the presence of my lovely cosy new red tracky pants have a lot to do with my good mood.
I'd better work now. Have a smashing day.

Grrrrrrrr.

I am officially OVER living in shitty neighbourhoods. Its not the poverty I mind, I'm no moneybags, but really. Those fucking little brat children are enough to make one seriously consider sterilisation. And it seems to me to be confined to crap neighbourhoods too, where the parents are either working and can't afford babysitters or daycare, or they're too busy playing pokies or watching the league to look after their children. These little fuckers spend all day screaming at each other at the park next to my house, using language that I would blush to use, and I'm the original potty-mouth. Then they run up and down the street, screeching, like only badly behaved little brats can, then their parents yell at them for yelling, (der!) then they run screeching back to the park to try and trash it, to get some measure of attention from their seemingly uncaring parents. Of course, the parents spend significant measures of time tinkering with their big loud bogan cars, so maybe thats why they don't have enough time to spend playing with their kids, or looking after them, or teaching them that its NOT OK to scream and yell all day at the park and try to break the swings.
I don't care if I have to live in a garden shed, my next house is going to be in a GOOD neighbourhood.
And no I don't have any children, and I don't care if anyone says I don't know how to look after kids, and yes I am a dreadful snob. Build a bridge.

I Caned That Bitch

And just like that, it was done. Fellas and fellesses, I have finished my thesis. It is being perused by supervisors, and all things going to plan will need only a small amount of touch up work in about a month, then I can send it off to all the important people who are gagging to read it. Ok, so theres not too many of them, but I'm allowed to dream.
Its funny the amount of people who wished me luck. Its sweet, but really a thesis has absolutely nothing to do with luck. Theres a certain amount of luck with essays and exams, in that you want to right questions etc, but theres really only one thing needed for a thesis, and its sure as shit not luck. Its motivation, the ability to get there at 9am and stay until 1am, and just suck it up and work your arse off.
Although big ups to all who wished goodness my way, much appreciated.
And also thanks to people who sent me good wishes upon finishing yesterday.
Today I slept until midday after a night of a wee few wines and videos and trivial pursuit (party hard!!), then my darling mother took me out for lunch and made a really sweet toast to me with some hair-of-the-dog Wither Hills Sav Blanc (yum) and we proceeded to shop!! I got new trousers, a somewhat belated birthday present, and walked the length of the obscenely large Northlands Mall.
Needless to say I'm absolutely exhausted after such a hard day, so having turned down an invitation to go out, I'm all tucked up in bed, like the old nana that I am. I'm saving my energy for tomorrow night's posh frocks and cocktails mission. I will also need a bit of energy tomorrow, cos while I was at uni all that time, some buggers come in and messed up my house. Its a complete shit-tip, crap everywhere, so a part of tomorrows mission is to put everybody's stuff back in their rooms, close the doors, and clean!! Its disturbing how happy the thought of doing that makes me.
I had a thought the other day, what the fuck am I supposed to blog about now that I don't have my thesis? Uhoh!! I'm starting work on the Marsden Project on Monday, so hopefully I can delight you all with the details of that wee ripper.
Yay, I hear you all chorus.
And like that, I'm going nighty-nyes. Cos I can!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!