Its the smiling on the package, its the faces in the sand....

Oh yeah. I am feeling pretty good.
Not like over-the-top peeing my pants good, but a fuck of a lot better than I did a couple of hours ago.
You see, I went to a chiropractor.
I've had a headache, on and off, for about ten years, and its caused by my sore neck (took me a while to figure that out. Not too smart). Sore necks, in fact fucked up necks in general are part of the tribal curse, along with ridiculously long legs, great teeth and being a bit bonkers. So I left it alone, thinking that I'd just have to learn to live with it. Then I realised that was a dumb idea, and that I needed to fix it. I figure, if your necks sore then its probably related to your spine, given that it is, well, your spine.
So I got a referral to a chiropractor, and went to see her today, and after some prodding and bending and poking (not as filthy as it sounds) she concluded that my spine is twisted, both at the top and the bottom.
Which pretty much explains everything that has ever been wrong with me. Physically, that is. It still doesn't explain why I am not Viggo Mortensen's love slave, but we'll just take things one day at a time shall we?

In other news, Spooks was quite sad last night. Zoe got shipped off to Chile cos she got done for killing an undercover cop while on the job, and the government were being all "lets lay the smackdown on MI5" and it was quite sad, especially when Danny had to say goodbye to her, cos hes completely in love with her.
But according to the Spooks site, Danny is about to shuffle off this mortal coil, which is a shame cos hes not to hard to look at.

Anyway, its time to go off to the supermarket now and buy some more tomatoes.
I lead such an interesting life.

My Random ain't so very Random

Hmmm. Sounds a bit like the title of a crap country song. I am in fact referring to dirty ol' Windows Media Player, that on this wee blue friend (my 'pooter) contains a little over one thousand songs, yet seems to play the same one hundred songs. Over and over. So the other day I spent about half an hour skipping forward to the next song. Do you think it helped? Ok, maybe a little bit, but not a whole bunch.

I don't really have too much to blog about.
It could be that I'm just really dull. Lets test this theory. What did I do this weekend?
Well I tidied my bedroom, and mounted some of my photos on some nice black card, and went to my mum's 60th birthday party and was all responsible and sober, and went to my nephews cricket game (auntie of the fucking century, pardon the cricket pun) and yes, I am an old nana.
In my defence, I did go out and get quite drunk on Friday night, and then when I got home from cricket on Saturday I had a wee puke thanks to my hangover. But then, I cleaned the toilet. Dull, but necessary.
Thats a sure-fire way to check the cleanliness of your toilet, to have a ralph in it. And there has been a lot of vomiting in our toilet in the last while, what with drunkeness and hangovers and nasty pukey stomach bugs.
Fascinating, a blog about puke.

I was going to write a list of things that I can do, but I'm a little absentminded recently, so perhaps this can be the first installment in a continuing saga...

Things Claire Can Do.
1) Put my toes in my mouth, should the need arise.
2) Tie a knot in a cherry stalk with my tongue.
3) Cook. I am awesome in the kitchen.
4) Drink scotch
5) Quote entire poems from memory
6) Read ridiculously fast

The flipside being...

Things Claire Can't Do
1) Keep secrets. Most of the time.
2) Shut up.
3) Drink gin.
4) Do number stuff. Like count. Or mathematics.
5) Read music
6) Maintain a solitary train of thought for more than a few minutes.

Stay tuned for updates as they come to hand...

Sorry.

On this day in 1995....

Ten years. I really can't believe it.
Ten years ago today, the most perfect little boy was born. His name was Alexander (funny, still is) and he is my bright beautiful nephew.
So, happy birthday to you Fred, and may your days each be better than the one before.

I would also like to bring to your attention that I am a freaking legend.
Last night Miche came over (albeit an hour or so late) and there was drinking, and gossiping, and mocking, and needless to say, the dirty old Poacher made an appearance. You've really got to love 24 hour pubs, don't you. Theres nothing quite like getting thoroughly boozy on a Monday night, getting to bed at 2.30am, getting up again at 8 and actually MAKING IT TO WORK!!! Hence me being a legend.
It is currently 5.23pm, I am still going strong, and am about to join the whanau for a slap-up dinner in honour of angel-boy's birthday, and today I have taken a class, done buckets of stuff and not thrown up. Not once.
This is a big thing for me, not that I am in the habit of puking, but I really do get the worst hangovers. Back when I was a lass I could drink all night and be fine, and now its payback time. How rude.

Other than that, I got nothing.
Except that you all must run out and purchase the following CDs.
The Veils: "The Runaway Found"
Steve Burns: "Songs for Dustmites"
The Killers: "Hot Fuss"
Interpol: "Turn on the Bright Lights" (and indeed, "Antics")
The Pixies: "Doolittle"
Rammstein: "Sehnsucht" (Ok its old, but fuck its good)

And just like that, shes gone.

And if you're feeling lucky... come and take me home

I bought these kick-arse headphones today, and if you crank up the Deftones it sounds FUCKING AWESOME. Wait, so does the Chemical Brothers! And Shihad! Hmmm. I wonder....

So, what have I been up to?
Gracie, you'll be pleased to know that I did get off the sofa before Wednesday, unfortunately it was to be a bit sick on Tuesday and Wednesday, but I'm much better now. Although I do still have slightly sore stomach muscles.

I have moved offices. Now that I am technically no longer a student I have been banished from the student end of the building and now I get to play with the big kids. Yep, I'm officially staff now, my office is with all the other staff, and even my new ID card says so. Yay for me. Unfortunately, this new status doesn't come with obscene amounts of money, but you can't have everything. Much as you might want everything.

Anna, I will be in Brisbane from March 31st to April 4th. I'll be busy doing conference stuff from 1st-3rd, but as of the end of Sunday (3rd) I am all yours. Also, I think I might need a place to stay that night, so if you know anyone... The university will only book my hotel for the time the conference is on. How rude.
I fly out at 6pm on Monday 4th, so we can hang out and do stuff that day. Are there big parks in Brisbane? Like, Dreamworld styles? Cos that could be cool. Although I see on my itinerary that I have to check in at the airport 2 & 1/2 hours before my flight. TWO AND A HALF HOURS!! Who are they kidding. Thats valuable Anna-catch-up-time they're busting in to. Bastards.

Apparently The Bounty is to be invaded tonight by well-meaning friends armed with booze. So, I must away and prepare our humble home for its guests. A quiet night has been decreed, but we'll have to let you know how that goes.
*ignores sideline shouts of "QUIET NIGHT MY ARSE!!"*

Wizzo, and indeed, Bing bing bang a bang a bang bing bong bing a bing bang a bong Binga bing a bang a bong bong bing bong bing banga bong*

*Prize for who guesses the lyric? No way, too fucking easy.
**Last night, both Luke and Owen Wilson were in my dream. Oh yeah.
***Bowie's Aladdin Sane is a truly mental song. Not quite Laughing Gnome mental, but still. I know you're hearing me.

TTFN

Days like this are sweet...

(I think I may have already used that for a post title, but really, who cares?)

Things I have to do today:

...........

ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING!!!!!!!!!!!

Last night was the completion of a three year stint at one of the busiest and maddest restaurants in Christchurch, and an eleven year career in hospitality. Phew.
I had grand plans to get horribly drunk and pass out in a pool of my own vomit, but sheer exhaustion limited me to reasonably pissed, and home in bed by 4am. Not too bad, considering how out of practice I am.

This week has been mad.
Finished thesis, people having brain surgery, me finishing work.

The best of all possible outcomes regarding the second, will have to wait for a few months regarding outcome of the first, and I think the third went pretty well, considering.
My ex-boss, the restaurant owner, often used to put on drinks for staff leaving, usually he'd put on $100 and the staff would share it out amongst themselves. Nice, cos it was a way of saying thanks for loyalty, hard work etc.
After three years, what do I get? A handshake, and "thanks Claire, good luck". Perhaps I should wait until I have a reference in my hand before I go dissing people, but still. Thats a bit fucking average.
However, my awesome friends there all got together and bought me a cool present and a beautiful card that says "Smile, you're amongst friends". They got me a really flash bottle of wine, and two beautiful crystal wine glasses, and a shiny silver wine cooler thing. They all wrote on the wooden box the wine and glasses came in, really nice things like "We'll miss you" and "keep in touch" and "get fucked". Wizzo.
So that makes up for the other. Yay for my friends, they rule.

So today, I'm doing as little as possible. I might go and get a bunch of movies and make a Claire shaped indentation in the sofa. I might go and buy some coke to replace Tim's coke that I'm currently drinking. I might have a nap. Who knows?
The most awesome thing is, I don't have to be anywhere or do anything. I am conditioned to think that I have to work tonight, and I have this wee niggle in my brain that I have to run off to work at 6 o'clock, and I'm loving the fact that I'm continually going "Ha! I don't have to go!".
I'm like the goldfish that swims around its tank and goes "Hey look! A plastic castle! Cool!" and then two minutes later swims around again: "Hey look! A plastic castle! Cool!"

First things though, I'd better go and retrieve my car from town.
Right.
Bye now.

Let the madness begin

Well its been 24 hours, and I'm not missing The Precious too much.

One thesis finished, bound, submitted.

I haven't had time yet to really process it, what with other stuff and things going on. Like, I had my first tutorial today. They didn't run screaming from the room in horror, so I guess thats a good start.

I have 4 days left at Helga's House of Pain, after which I shall get very very very very drunk, throw up, and then sleep for two days. Anyone who will be in Christchurch on Friday is most welcome to join me. Or you could just get drunk wherever you are.

So as of Friday I will have no thesis, no job, no stress. No money either, but I'm fairly used to that.

Have to go to work now, so that I only have 3 days left.

Its all a bit odd. I would love to take Ben's advice and do nothing for a very long time, but I have some um.... what are they called again? Thats right, responsibilities, so I may steal James' advice to Dave and embark on a thesis detox programme.
Any ideas?

I would be doing the happy dance if I had anything left in me.

Right.
Done.
All thats left to do tomorrow is print out a graph in colour, and then take that bitch to the bindery.

Oh.
I feel a bit hollow now.

12.18am.

And happy.

I'm not really sure.

Maybe its time for a wee nooze.
Haven't slept properly for a few weeks now.
I'll probably lie awake all night worrying about the Precious.
And also worrying that I've left someone out of the acknowledgements.
How about an apology in advance if I have?

Am going home to nyes now.

Nighty night.

What am I going to do with myself now?.....

*sings* I just don't know what to do with myself, don't know just what to do with myself. I'm so used to doing everything with you, planning everything for two, and now that we're through....

Smack my Bitch Up

OK. Its 10.20 pm I have just returned to my desk after a wee stint at work (five shifts to go, bizzo). I am armed with a big bowl of gnocchi, a bottle of the evil black cola, a bottle of riesling (can you say "booze hag"?) and some serious determination.
I will have the bitch finished by bed time tonight. I don't care if bed time tonight is 10 am tomorrow, my thesis will be all corrected, acknowledged, appendiced, bibliographied, title-paged, table-of-contentsed, graphed and printed.
This wine is shit.
I cannot promise further blogs tonight, but we'll see how circumstances transpire.

*inhale, grit teeth, and go*

Eighteen and a half hours to go.

Oh yeah.

Bring it.

We gon' fight, we gon' charge, we gon' stomp, we gon' march through the swamp, we gon' mosh through the marsh, take us right to the doors....


Theres this guy at work, and hes a bit of a dick. Hes from a country and religion thats not reknowned for its liberal attitudes towards women, and has a few problems with manners. He calls women "darling", and I've told him MANY times that I don't like it, I find it offensive, and could he please not do that to me.
Last night he was using the coffee machine, and I needed to use it.
Me: Hey when you've finished with the machine can you give me a yell cos I need to use it. Cheers.
Him: Sure.
....a little time passes....I return to the machine, and hes not using it.
Me: Hey are you finished? Can I use the coffee machine?
Him: Darling you just go and use it.
Me: Please don't call me darling, I've asked you loads of times, I find it offensive
Him: (insert psychotic break here) you must be fucking stupid whats wrong with you just use the fucking machine you stupid woman why do you have to fucking ask me just fucking use it
Me: (Ummmm what?...) Well I don't know, I was trying to be courteous. I understand its a bit of a foreign concept for you, but I didn't want to barge in front of you and use it when you weren't finished. Its called being considerate.
Him: you are a fucking stupid woman why the fuck do you have to be such a fucking bitch all the time what the fuck is wrong with you just use the fucking machine just fucking leave me alone you fucking bitch
Me: (this could go either way. As in either I punch him in the face, or really fuck him off by making him the butt of a funny story. I chose b)* (also thinking; if you think thats me being a bitch, you haven't seen anything you sorry little man)

So I tell the chefs, the owner, the manager and almost all the other staff, and we all have a good giggle at his expense.

Only six shifts left until I am free from the madness.

*admittedly I did go up to him later and very quietly tell him that if he ever spoke to me or any other staff member like that again I would make an official complaint and not only plead psychological abuse but sexual harrassment because every day he crosses the line at least ten times. I am tempted to do so anyway. You do not fuck with The Claire.

So the moral of the story is a) never get involved in a land war in Asia and b) if you think I'm crazy, just remember that theres people out there that make me look like (insert name of very sane person here. I don't know any).

This is a low...

I tried to write a blog earlier, cos a couple of my friends were bugging me about not having anything to read. So I told them they were very sad creatures who needed to get lives.

But I couldn't do it. It was just rubbish.

Theres all these things going on, and I can't bring myself to blog them, cos it doesn't seem right. Maybe once its all over, or enough time has passed, or whatever, but not now. Too much.
Suffice to say that in the next few days I have to finish and submit my thesis, plan, write and conduct my first tutorial and finish an eleven year career in hospitality, none of which is important right now, cos everythings pretty fucked up.

See, there I go, having a rather obscure whinge about stuff. Most people would just shut the fuck up about it, but I have so many things in my head that if I kept them all in I would go mad. Ok, madder. More mad? Anyway.

Dave, in all his smashingness, has asked for people to send good karma my way. Thank you possum, but its not me that needs it. You know where to send it. OK, some of you don't. Those who do, please send it. Or you could send it to me and I'll pass it on.

Right then.

Thank you.

Wagner: Not as bad as it sounds*

Last night at work:

Corey: If you need me to help you just give me a yell.
Claire: You know Corey, you're not nearly as much of a bastard as you make out you are.
Corey: Thanks Claire. And you're much prettier than you look.....no wait...that came out wrong.......
Claire: *on floor in fits of laughter*


* Mr Clements.**
** A prize*** for telling us Mr Clements' more famous nom de plume
***The word "prize" is used here in its loosest possible definition. As in, not really a prize. More like a feeling of being clever****. Or smug.
****Although its not really that hard*****
*****Or perhaps now I'm being smug******
******But I can cos its my blog*******
*******So bollocks to that.

Bye now.

Some people want it all...

I have awesome friends.
I really do. They are just fantastic. Due to recent stuff and things I have been a little upset at work, and the other day I turned up and Nike and Tarsh had bought me a huge bunch of beautiful happy yellow and pink flowers and a card that said "Kia Kaha" and a packet of little heart-shaped belgian biscuits. It was truly thoughtful and thoroughly touching and just too sweet for words. So yay for Nike and Tarsh.

I made a bit of a dick of myself last night, just for a change.
There was this GORGEOUS guy in the restaurant, and he came into the bar for a drink. I asked what his table was booked under, so I could put the drink on his account, and he said "Jane", presumably his girlfriend's name. So I said, "thats obviously not you then" and he said all jokingly "how do you know, don't be discriminating" (in a lovely English accent) so I gave him his drink and said "there you go Jane", and then got one for his girlfriend (who was really nice so I couldn't bring myself to hate her, even though I was in love with her boyfriend). Anyway, they went to their table and were sitting so that he was facing out so we could all see how scrummy he was, and his girlfriend had her back to us all. So, needless to say all the female staff were staring at him and nearly crashing into things, distracted as we were by his complete deliciousness. Then, halfway through the meal, they swapped seats. I reackon it was because he got all freaked out by us staring at him, so I went over and said "Hi Jane, everything all right here?" He said yes, and all went well. Then later, he got up to go to the bathroom, and I went over to clear the table. I said to his girlfriend (the real Jane, I presume) that I'd noticed that they'd swapped seats. She said that it was because she was getting the draught where she was and he gallantly offered to swap seats with her so she wouldn't be cold. So, of course, I opened my big mouth and said "Ok, I thought it might have been cos all the staff were staring at your boyfriend cos we all think hes utterly gorgeous".
It didn't seem to bother her much. I guess shes used to it. She would have to be, having a bloke like that.

In other news, my six-year old niece is coming aboard the Bounty for a night. I informed the flatties, and Tim's response was "What games does it play?"

"It?"

This may be a learning experience for them both.

Fucking patronising bastards

I am currently on hold with Microsoft. Apparently my call is important to them, and so I must keep waiting on hold. I've got Mos Def up loud in an attempt to drown out the tinny sounds of "Mrs Robinson" assaulting my delicate eardrums. This annoying recorded cow keeps bloody apologising for the delay in my call being answered. I wouldn't mind waiting so much if she didn't keep apologising.
I'm having major issues with Excel. I want the cell to say 49. Not 49%, $49, 49 mice, nothing like that, a simple 49 would please me no end. But no. Fucking Excel keeps changing it to 4900%. Which is not even a real thing. How can 4900% of children under 12 be immunized against measles?
I've tried fixing the AutoCorrect options, and about a thousand other things.....call is being answered......OK.
The fucking thing has decided of its own accord to change the category number of the cell from general to percentage. And to add another couple of zeroes. I reckon my computer is possessed. But now I know how to fix it. Ha.
Claire 1, computer nil.

Well that was a rather pointless blog wasn't it.

Heres a point.
Jamilla is awesome, and wins Person Of The Week.

On the way life is

Please forgive me if things get a little weird in the next couple of weeks. I can't sit here and publish things that aren't mine to publish, suffice to say that life is a big steaming pile of crap that likes to really fuck things up as much as possible and the truly innocent are the ones that suffer.
I thought about leaving blogging alone for a while, but theres a chance I need to get things out, cos theres already so much that goes on inside my head that if I don't get it out I'll lose it. So, what I'm saying is....actually I really don't know what I'm saying.

Fuck.

One down, six to go...

I got my first P.F.O. letter today. It was in email form, and it was from these bastards. Thats FINE I didn't want to go to your STUPID school anyway this from the people that elected an AUSTRIAN TREE to govern the world's FIFTH LARGEST ECONOMY (if it were to secede). Wankers. Double wankers. Both hands.

In other news today, internet radio is smashing.
One can have a constant soundtrack of jungle, drum and bass, trance or house, streaming live on a gazillion different stations.
Kiwi are streaming live also, and ever since my Mum came into my office and stole her radio back (how rude) that is featuring significantly. There seems to be a wee problem with whatever technology feeds it though, because sometimes it sounds like someones knocked the dial and its a bit scratchy, and you really want to tune it in properly, but can't.
I really like the idea of a 100% New Zealand music station, and big ups to them, but its funny, cos its almost a genre-less station. All the other stations encompass a few related genres, and are aiming for a specific audience, but Kiwi includes rock and hip-hop and pop and electronica and all sorts of stuff, and unfortunately in our fair land, as in all others, there exists crappy pop music that makes one want to chew ones foot off. So theres all different types of music and the only common factor is that its all from Aotearoa. But its truly awesome to turn the radio on in the morning and hear "Down in Splendor" and "Heavenly Pop Hit" and loads of Salmonella Dub and Trinity Roots and Concorde Dawn, and this morning, on my way into work, I was singing along very loudly and out of tune to "Pink Frost". It was a beautiful thing.

Its raining.
Ah, summer in NZ. Its another beautiful thing.

This light is here, to keep you warm...

I'm in the strangest of moods at the moment. No, maybe mood is the wrong word. Everything has taken on somewhat of a surreal character, like someones shifted the furniture and put it all back slightly differently, and changed the lightbulbs so they're a little brighter but not quite enough to make one exclaim "gosh, who changed the lightbulbs, its very bright in here" but just enough for everything to take on a slightly different quality.
I was talking to a friend yesterday who is in a similar position to me at the moment, in that things are really going to change soon, but we're not really in any position to appreciate it. I feel like there are opportunities everywhere at the moment, and things are really starting to roll, but I'm completely up to my eyeballs in work and can't take the time to process it all.
In the next two months I start tutoring first years, present my first conference paper in Brisbane, find out whether I will be going to the South of France to present another paper, submit my thesis, get letters from all the universities I applied to saying either fuck off or please come and study here and heres a big barrel of money for you, and end my 11 year career in hospitality (3 weeks to go). Thats quite a lot of stuff, especially for someone for whom daily life is usually a bit of a challenge anyway.
Don't go thinking I'm not happy about any of this, cos its all so fucking awesome I can barely believe it, I'm just a little intimidated by the magnitude of imminent events. I've worked really hard to get here though, and I haven't stomped on anyone along the way (except those that deserved a good stomping, and a couple of bugses) and its really cool to see things hopefully fingers crossed please turning up.
Sometimes one has those moments where everything is just so good that it seems like its all going to come crashing down in a big twisted torn bloodied brittle vicious avalanche because experience suggests just that. One is having one of those moments now.
Who knows.
Anyway, hopefully next time there'll be a bit less introspection.

In random news, I have Monty Python's song "Never Be Rude To An Arab" running through my head, and have done so since this morning.

*wanders off, humming*

Hmmmm....

Claire: Hello, thesis supervisor fellow and generally nice chap
TS: Hello Claire. Listen, how badly do you want to get into Penn State or NYU?
Claire: Um, quite a lot. Like a bad bad donkey. Why?
TS: Cos my mentor is Very Important at Penn State and I also Know Some People in The Right Places at NYU. I'll make some calls.
Claire: Um... cool. Cheers. *wanders off, not quite sure what just happened*

Light up, light up, as if you have a choice

My blog had a birthday the other day and I didn't even notice.
Surprising really, given the fuss I make about my own birthday (103 sleeps).
Anyway last Friday was my one year anniversary as a blogger, and so to celebrate, I feel I should post something momentous and meaningful.
But I won't.
Instead I'm going to tell you about my foot.
Last night I was sitting on the floor, with my legs folded up under me, so basically I was sitting on my feet. All of a sudden there was a pinging sensation (ouch) and a significant amount of pain went through the top of my foot, in that no-mans land between foot and ankle. So I said a bad word, and rubbed my foot, and the pain went away.
For a while.
I was woken FOUR, yes, count em, 1, 2, 3, FOUR times in the night by a shooting pain in my foot, and then this morning I was hobbling around the house, and then it was fine, and then it was sore again, and now its fine. Although getting a bit sore now.

But this is the cool thing about blogs, one gets to waffle on about all sorts of shit thats in one's head that needs to get out of one's head cos theres no room for anything else in there its all a bit crowded.
And occasionally someone else will even read it. And even comment.
I think its good for one's psychological welfare. Especially my own, which should really be renamed "psychological doing-ok-for-the-time-being-but-my-goodness-its-a-delicate-balance-isn't-it-and-we've-had-some-interesting-times-haven't-we-thank-heavens-for-the-nice-men-in-the-white-coats-the-pink-pills-are-my-favourite-don't-mislead-people-by-implying-well-in-welfare".
But thats a bit of a mouthful.

But if you think I'm crazy, check out Zach Braff's New Year's Resolutions.

Forgo all exercise (including walking),
Learn to smoke (something thin like Capri's),
Take my loved one's for granted,
Stop washing my hands after twosies,
Laugh at babies who are late walkers,
Pull leaves off trees that appear to be flourishing,
Name the yet to be named voices in my head (something tough like Carl or Kyle)
Be less kind to bunnies,
Floss everything but my teeth,
Travel (but only around my yard and with a light carry-on)
Stop and smell the Rosens. (They're a wonderful family and absolutely compulsive about showering.)

One is compelled to add a couple of one's own.

-Stop going to the 'Westerns' section of the video store to fart, and just let rip in the 'New Releases'.
-Resort more often to the 'one-finger' school of driving etiquette.
-Aim for the bunnies when driving in the country.
-Say the first thing that pops into my head, especially when it is along the lines of "shut up cunt face you don't know shit go back to wasting precious oxygen you are living proof God has a sense of humour, knob-rash".
-Punch people who begin sentences with "I'm not really one to comment, but...."
-Break fingers of men who grab my bottom/boobs etc. No, its actually not funny. Now die, pus features.
-Call more people "pus features".

OK, now its just getting silly.

Inspired by Anna, I am currently compiling a list of "things I can do".
Watch this space.
No, please do.
It will be good, and not at all filthy.
OK, it might be a little filthy. Just the right amount of filth.

Ouch, my foot....

It took a life spent with no cell mate.....

Chicky chicky BOW!!!!! (this is me channelling Charlie. I miss Charlie.)

I'm going to Brisbane. Its official, as soon as the department puts its approval of paying for me to go on paper. I'm presenting a paper here, which will be a first for me.
Oh dear.
I am a terrible public speaker. I talk too fast, and have a tendancy to get off topic, and get easily flustered. Also, theres no student forum at this conference, so I'll be with all the professors and practioners which will be kind of intimidating.
I think I'll have to wear my short black skirt and nice black heels so they won't notice that I'm talking shit.
Must remember not to swear.
Perhaps if I get all Powerpoint-ed up with lots of pretty backdrops and photos and shit.
OK, a little too early to be stressed. Suppose I'd better write the paper first. They've got an abstract so at least they know what I'm supposed to talk about.
Next topic, after scamming a way into here, I'm working on a plan so cunning and all that (well really not that cunning, but I do have an angle...) to get myself a place here.
I really think that a conference about the Pacific needs some actual Pacific people there, so with NZ being the most southern of South Pacific nations, I am more than happy to represent my country. The fact that its in the South of France does not influence my willingness to go, not one bit. No siree. Not at all.
Hang on, isn't that where he lives?............

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
Claire

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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

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.