Sunday, January 30, 2005

If you could fix me up, we'll go a long way

Well, I did it.

To: My Bosses
(insert name of popular Christchurch restaurant here)
Dear Boss 1 and Boss 2
Please accept this as my letter of resignation, effective as of March 4th. I am giving you five weeks notice in consideration of Boss 2 going into hospital and getting all the titanium rods removed from her leg where she completely fucked it by breaking it in 7 places, and of the respect and appreciation I have received from this establishment over the last three years. I thank you both for the opportunities I have received and hope to encounter the same level of professionalism and kindness in future employment.
Big Smoochies

Ok so the original didn't actually say "fucked", but the rest of it is right. Except for the smoochies.
And now I have four and a half weeks until I am FREE!!!!!! MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!!!!!!
I'm actually a little apprehensive. I've been working every day and every night for as long as I can remember, and I'm really not sure what people do when they're not at work. I asked my flatmate, and she said people have hobbies, and actually see their friends, which would be nice. And they read, and go for walks, and watch movies, and cook.
Which all sounds jolly nice.

In other news; He Who Must Not Be Named in a Public Forum, hereafter known as My Friend (out of consideration for finger fatigue) has left.
He has upped and gone and moved out of town for his new job.
Now I know that most people who know him think hes a complete bastard, but I am really going to miss My Friend. Sure, he can come across as rude, and yes hes arrogant, and can be a little prickly, but hes also incredibly sweet (well, to me anyway) and fiercely loyal and generous and honest and funny and he doesn't suffer fools or hypocrites and he has no hidden agenda. Which are qualities to be respected. He is also the ONLY man I have met in positively AGES who I am comfortable with and who doesn't seem to mind that I'm a bit mad.
Oh well.
I don't want this blog to turn into a navel-gazing exposition on failings of the modern man, or "the reasons Claire is single" cos quite frankly thats a) really boring and b) there are many other things I could be doing with my time c) modern men are a lot better than popular culture/advertising would have us believe and d) its really not a priority, despite the content of recent blogs. I just tend to write about whats in my mind, and recently, its been about men, most likely because circumstances have conspired to put them at the forefront of my mind. Especially with the departure of My Friend.
And of my friends, a significant number of them are men, and they are awesome.
You can go now.

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

Nuff said....

For boys, there is a 35% increase in the likelihood of marriage for each 16-point rise in IQ. For girls, there is a 40% drop for each 16-point increase. (Pinched from a Green Fairy link)

My IQ has been tested at various levels, the average of which is about 130.
Which means that there is an approximate 80% drop (from what?) in the likelihood of me getting married. So science has spoken, and I'm never getting hitched.
Personally, the only marriage I can see myself being a part of involves Viggo Mortensen (or possibly Goran Visnjisc), an Elvis impersonator as celebrant, and a Vegas chapel. I think the chances of that are fairly slim, in fact about equal to the chances of me becoming Pope or perhaps the Queen of Egypt.
But its nice to know that I have science on my side.
Yay for science.

Sunday, January 23, 2005

Auckland, where the Orcs come from

I have been having a difficult time responding when people ask me "So, how was the Big Day Out?"
Usually its been "Wow" followed by a look of complete disbelief and a shake of the head as if to say "I really can't compute let alone verbalise how truly awesome the Big Day Out was".
But the whole trip was just really cool.
We stayed with the lovely Katy in poncy Parnell the first night, and went out for dinner, as Nike and myself were both craving steak of some description. We had possibly the most annoying French waiter, who thought he was all that and a packet of crisps, but once we'd dealt to him it was cool to just catch up. And the steak was good. We also went shopping in Onehunga's huge DressSmart, and got some bargains. Bargains good.
Thursday was fairly cruisy, involving a late lunch in a cute wee cafe, although again with the good food and crap service. After a trip to the Swiss Butcher where Nike and Sina spent up large on German style sausage and assorted pork products, it was back to Greg's for some serious sofa time. There was beer, there was food, and there was "Super Size Me", which made for a very cool evening which could have probably stayed at just that, but we had the urge to head townwards and mingle with the beautiful people. And that we did, arriving home about 2.30am, putting an interesting spin on our breakfast with Sina's friend at 7.00 the next morning. After fruit salad and pastries in Remuera (living it up with the rich folk, yeah) we took off to Kelly Tarleton's and hung out with the sting rays and penguins and fishies.
Penguins are awesome. I want one.
Then back to Greg's for a huge protein-fix fry up to give us energy to make it through our Big Day, where we arrived at 1pm, just in time to catch the truly Cool The Donna's. Rock and roll.
I was also witness to the John Butler Trio, Powderfinger, System of a Down and The Hives. Scribe and P-Money bought several of their friends: Con-Psy, Savage, Four Corners and Blindspott of all bands, with whom they did an awesome mash up of "Lit Up" vs. "Stand Up". Cool, and very slick. You could tell he was chuffed to be playing the main stage.
Shihad, who thankfully are back to being Shihad again, enough of this Pacifier nonsense, were their usual fucking awesome, but they were plagued a little by technical problems. Not to the scale of 2003, when Queens of the Stone Age had to abandon their set after two songs, but it was noticeable. Jon Toogood is just the best rock star I think I've seen, hes a real pro. He got the audience psyched up before every song, and was striking the poses and playing the guitar like a mad demon. Which of course, he is. They played some stuff off their new record too, which sounds as if it may be vastly superior to the previous one. The whole Pacifier thing was a bad idea, it was a stupid name and the Pacifier album was their weakest yet. So way to be Shihad again, both in name and music. yeah.
And then, there were the Beastie Boys.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
I still think I can't quite compute how utterly awesome that experience was. They were so professional and funky and exhilarating and energetic and loud and iconic and bouncy and shiny and familiar and polished and happy and including the audience and not like some acts that are performing on autopilot. Its fairly safe to say that hour and a half that they played was definately in my top three best gigs of all time. If not number one.
Words cannot do it justice. Its almost like those religious experiences the God-botherers go on about. OK maybe not, but seeing as how I am without religion, I'll have to get it where I can.
And to top it off, once they'd finished, and then came back to do "Intergalactic" and "Sabotage" (which they dedicated to the freshly re-inagurated monkey boy president of their home country. Nice.) I got to head to the Boiler Room and see the Chemical Brothers. And sweat out my own body weight for the third time that day.
It was one of the best days ever.
And then, the next morning Carlos (my sister's Chilean boyfriend) came and picked us up and took us to my sister's house in Leigh, about an hour north of Auckland, and we went snorkelling and saw loads of fish and cool stuff and a big scary sting ray that wanted to bite me, I could just tell. And then Emma cooked us a big feed, and we chilled out and talked about stuff and things, and I slept on a bed for the first time since Tuesday night, and then on Sunday we went back to Auckland and went up the Skytower, which I wanted to jump off, but was ridiculously expensive. $195 for a static line jump, at half the natural speed of falling, not even any decent bungy jump action. So we said bollocks to that, and went to the airport and came home, truly knackered.
As of today I have exactly five weeks before my thesis ABSOLUTELY MUST be handed in, so the next few weeks are going to be interesting. Especially as how I've got loads of project work to be done and will be working loads more at the restaurant because Pip's doctor has decided that he wants to change his holiday time, and he will be taking out the pins and bolts and things out of her broken leg two weeks early which is when Carlie will be in Australia so we'll be two supervisors down which is fairly significant when there's only three full time supervisors. And term starts in three weeks and I'll have to start taking some tutorials as well. Oh yeah, moulding the minds of youth!!
So thats put the kybosh on the triathalon and any decent sleep for the next month.
Speaking of work, thats where I'll be going to now.
Have a super day, and remember that the Beastie Boys do indeed rule.

Monday, January 17, 2005

A letter to you on a cassette, cos we don't write anymore.....

It would appear that all the good ones are taken. And some of the not-so-good.
Save for He Who Must Not Be Named In A Public Forum, they're all bastards, or chickenshit (although many out there believe him to be the former. Hes really not, in so many ways).
It seems strange to me that so many men are afraid of women. (Usually its ugly women who say that as an excuse for not getting any dates, but I'm not particularly ugly. At least not once I've had my morning cuppa. My Mum says I'm pretty.)
In this day and age it does shock me that men still look for women to be that stereotype of our parents' era.
The impression that I get is that I would have to censor myself in some way to be found agreeable. Well bollocks to that. My Dad, who has a quote for every occasion, although its usually from Mark Twain, says the best piece of advice he can give anybody is "To thine own self be true".
OK, so I'm a bit mad. And stroppy and impatient and spoilt and vain.
But I'm not going to sit round and wait. I've got better things to do with my life.
And I refuse to believe that there is something fundamentally wrong with me that expresses itself in my lack of relationships. I have survived far worse things than not haing a boyfriend, and have come out tougher and wiser because of them.
And I have found that there are decent men out there, despite the opinion of those around me on his character, its just that sometimes you can't have them, or they move away, or the timing is all wrong.
But you know what, I've got things in my life that people would kill for.
So fuck it. My life is great. Its a bit mental sometimes, but its my life and I get to do what I love doing, and I won't compromise that for anything. (Except maybe Goran Visnjic. Joking. Partially)
Maybe its because I'm staring down the barrel of thirty, but I remember people saying that as you get older you get a better handle on who you are, and I remember thinking that they were full of shit cos I was in my very early twenties and thought I was all grown up.
But its true. And I am awesome. So bollocks to Mister "I'll call you tomorrow and thats the last I heard from him arsehole". YOU LOSE!!!
Again with the random Pacey quote...

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

And here comes the aftermath...

This here is a good article.
This one here pissed me off no end.
I have a rather simplistic view of the world, I'm sure, it comes from being a simple creature. I have a fairly strong view of what I believe is right and wrong, and all this religious crap just serves to muddy the waters, and offers people ways of justifying their actions to some external power to save them having to justify their actions to themselves. I really have no problem with God, its the religion that really bites.
By definition, the Christian God is omnipotent and benevolent. That is what they would have us believe, and its what we were taught at school in chapel services. So, if God is omnipotent, he would have seen the tsunami coming. If he is benevolent, he would have done something to stop it. So, either the God they would have us believe in saw it coming and did nothing and is therefore not benevolent, or didn't see it coming and is therefore not omnipotent.
I know, its a simple argument, and I'm sure those who have swallowed the lie have ways of explaining this to me.
All I can say is that those affected by this horror don't need your prayers. They need your money. They need vaccinations, fresh water, food, medicines, new houses, new clothes, trauma counselling, doctors, new schoolbooks, nappies, mosquito nets. They also need to rebuild their economies so they can afford tsunami warnings.
This disaster serves to demonstrate the poverty in the Asia Pacific region. They need our help, more than anyone has needed it before. What they don't need is people telling them that its all part of God's plan, and that their loved ones have gone to a better place. They may well have, but you try telling that to the women who watched their children drown, and those who are still watching their children die of disease and hunger in the aftermath.
Perhaps I am overly sceptical, but I'm having a hard time finding any miracles here.

Normal programming will resume eventually.

Addendum: When I was 17 and Emma 20, we always said we were twins, which is why only she had ID in pubs. Here is how we got away with it.

Saturday, January 08, 2005

On the peculiarities of the feline infant.

I'm currently housesitting for my sister and her husband, and am consequently in charge of two kittens and two fish.
The fish really aren't a problem, as long as I remember to feed them every two days and turn the filter on occasionally, they really aren't much of a bother. Its not like they can set the burglar alarm off, or run across the keyboard while one is trying to write a blog. No.
Strawberry is sitting on the table next to my computer, intently watching my fingers as they type, and threatening to attack them at any moment. She also continues to attempt to walk across the keyboard, despite that plan being thwarted EVERY SINGLE TIME. Perhaps shes not too bright. But shit, shes really cute. Strawberry is the more people-orientated of the two, she follows me around the house and (just walked behind the computer instead of attempting to walk across it! We might be learning! wait, no, just trying from another angle) likes to cuddle up and sit on my knee when I'm watching telly or reading.
Hang on, shes just managed to make the task bar at the top of the screen disappear! Fuck!
Neow is more of a loner, she doesn't really give a shit what I'm up to, as long as I feed her, but occasionally she'll sneak up for a wee cuddle, or to bite my ear. The two of them together though, are quite a team. They will pound the crap out of each other for hours on end, and then curl up together and have a sleep with their legs all intertwined. Its pretty cute.
What is not at all cute is the amounts of distress the little fuckers put me through yesterday. Whenever I leave the house, they have to be shut in the bathroom or they'll trigger the alarm. I spent 45 minutes yesterday looking for the little shit-monsters, and after searching the property (fairly substantial, especially in the pissing rain when I had just spent half an hour straightening my hair which subsequently went BOOF) asking the neighbours whether they'd seen the kittens, calling work to say I'd be late cos I'd managed to lose two kittens inside a closed house, searching the house three times (again, fairly substantial task), imagining how I would explain to Samantha that Aunty Claire had lost her kitten after two days; I eventually called my Dad, because thats what I do when I don't know what to do. He said to just go to work and to call me when I got home cos the alarm wouldn't have been on so that if there was a serial killer inside the house then at least I would be on the phone to Dad at the time of my death. Well, something like that.
So I'm on the phone, fairly distressed, talking to Dad, when I hear the familiar jingle of kitten collar bells. Strawberry is sitting at the bottom of the stairs, like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Little fucker.
Turns out they were hiding inside the sofa. INSIDE the fucking sofa. Neow emerged a couple of minutes later, and I said to Dad "excuse me I have to go now and wring some kitten necks". He suggested I stuff them down the toilet and nobody would be the wiser.
But now they're all cute and cuddly again, so we'll see how long that lasts.

Am not going to tempt fate by blogging about boys. You'll just have to wait and see. As will I.
Actually I think that my biggest fault, aside from being self-centred and a bit mad, is impatience. This may prove to be a thing.

I believe this may be my first blog for 2005.
This is also a thing, because (sob) NEXT YEAR I'M THIRTY!!!!!!!

*shot of Claire, on the floor in the corner, hugging knees and rocking, singing quietly to herself "All I want is a room somewhere, far away from the cold night air..." *

fade out