Not least amused that somehow I end up regretting almost every single occasion on which I didn't listen to my parents, I decided that the pros of taking a Mandarin course outweighs salvaging whatever little dignity I have left from refusing to swallow a half-decade long grudge against Chinese school.
At the moment I'm looking at Mandarin Level 4 for $315 over ten weeks. I'm not entirely sure whether Jez was serious when he expressed interest in joining me, but if he is, the good news is that being currently enrolled in a USyd course isn't a prerequisite.
Description of Level 4 is as follows:
"Level 4: This level assumes you have completed approximately 95 hours of prior study with us or done the equivalent study elsewhere. While this is not a fluency class by any means it assumes you have good basic conversational skills. Students should be able to use present, past and future tenses and make coherent simple conversation about basic topics. You should be able to express feelings, opinions and be able to get around reasonably confidently in the country of language origin - still making mistakes and asking people to repeat themselves occasionally. The teaching method is still structured around grammar and on expanding your vocabulary."
I think it's safe to say that us background speakers are okay with the above.
Awaiting comment from the boy, who is probably busy smashing up a few windows in frustration of having a bad PVP week.
3.31.2008
Drink triple, see double, act single
My conscious is telling me that I should probably stay away from Jez.
Saturday as planned: short sleep-in, then seeing as we have the entire day free, study.
Saturday as it happened: sleep-in till 11 am, study (on his behalf) for about an hour. Sex. Study (on his behalf) for about 30 minutes. Sex. Sleep. Leave for dinner at my house.
Sunday as planned: I come over after work and study.
Sunday as it happened: I come over. Sex. Sleep. Dinner.
Monday as planned: I meet Jez at UNSW after work for lecture, where he'll be listening intently and I'll be writing notes on Parkinson's Disease.
Monday as it happened: I skip work, come over planning to study. Sex. Sleep. Eat. Home.
I suspect that if completely free from obligations, our lives would simplify into three activities. Try and guess what they are.
Saturday as planned: short sleep-in, then seeing as we have the entire day free, study.
Saturday as it happened: sleep-in till 11 am, study (on his behalf) for about an hour. Sex. Study (on his behalf) for about 30 minutes. Sex. Sleep. Leave for dinner at my house.
Sunday as planned: I come over after work and study.
Sunday as it happened: I come over. Sex. Sleep. Dinner.
Monday as planned: I meet Jez at UNSW after work for lecture, where he'll be listening intently and I'll be writing notes on Parkinson's Disease.
Monday as it happened: I skip work, come over planning to study. Sex. Sleep. Eat. Home.
I suspect that if completely free from obligations, our lives would simplify into three activities. Try and guess what they are.
3.30.2008
Wintery
So, Summer's over. I find myself spending increasing amounts of time shivering.
Changing seasons always makes me nostalgic. When Winter begins I reminisce about every Winter for as long as I can remember, from the fleecy school pants I wore in year 3 to the sanctuary that was Jez's electric blanket in the room that froze in Winter and baked in Summer.
In Winter during first year ar uni, I kept wearing this pink-and-brown jumper I found at the markets for $5 with straight-leg jeans from China, and wore my hair short and increasingly orange.
Urgh.
Changing seasons always makes me nostalgic. When Winter begins I reminisce about every Winter for as long as I can remember, from the fleecy school pants I wore in year 3 to the sanctuary that was Jez's electric blanket in the room that froze in Winter and baked in Summer.
In Winter during first year ar uni, I kept wearing this pink-and-brown jumper I found at the markets for $5 with straight-leg jeans from China, and wore my hair short and increasingly orange.
Urgh.
Dippity Dip
Grill platter for two ... $28.90
Bread and dips ... $23.90
We could have bought two bowls of ramen; or two 2-piece feeds from KFC; or two mains and drinks from Pepper Lunch; or a George's seafood mix grill; or like 50 Puffies; or 9 plates of sushi on sushi-Tuesday for the price of just the dips.
You're lucky you're so hot in bed.
Bread and dips ... $23.90
We could have bought two bowls of ramen; or two 2-piece feeds from KFC; or two mains and drinks from Pepper Lunch; or a George's seafood mix grill; or like 50 Puffies; or 9 plates of sushi on sushi-Tuesday for the price of just the dips.
You're lucky you're so hot in bed.
3.29.2008
Bleeding Love
I'm way behind the times - I've just discovered Leona Lewis. Frig sent me one of her songs awhile ago and I thought it was quite good, except I was like "who the hell is she?" and now I realise she's the girl who sings Bleeding Love.
We went home early last night but Craig's incessant calling dragged our tired arses back out to the city. I wish Jez's friends would, for just one occasion, drink somewhere other than Maloney's. I suppose value overrides ambience, because the latter Maloney's has none.
There are also several Maloney's-related memories I'd rather not retain:
We went home early last night but Craig's incessant calling dragged our tired arses back out to the city. I wish Jez's friends would, for just one occasion, drink somewhere other than Maloney's. I suppose value overrides ambience, because the latter Maloney's has none.
There are also several Maloney's-related memories I'd rather not retain:
- Dropping my then-new phone into the toilet
- Getting kicked out for being too loud
- Standing at the bar behind a couple of guys who got into a fight, one of them painfully stomping on my foot. My Tony Biancos retain evidence of damage
- Losing spectacularly in pool, although this doesn't bother me as much as the above, and I can't recall the identities of my opponents or partner
Maloney's also has a dero crowd. We spotted a few glitzy-dress-clad boulders last night, one of them asking Lillu to join their table. How could he say no?
Oh, and a couple of younger Fortians that didn't look a day over 13; a random man with a dirty long ratty who I think tried to get us to go to Space but I could be wrong because he was rather incoherent; a girl whose short dress exposed her vagina to the world; an eerily familiar-looking dude who I suspect I may have met at a club; a guy who was expelled from Fort Street for sexually assaulting a Japanese exchange student; my ex who tried to fuck me on the first date; and a bunch of older dero Fortians.
DID I MENTION THERE WERE BOULDERS?
There was also a guy who bore an uncanny resemblance to Joe Nguyen, but that's just for interest.
On our way home a mentally-unstable elderly serenaded us on the bus.
Jez kept saying I'm good to him for putting up with nights like these, but I had fun out of being amused. And I suppose Jez's friends are pretty awesome. My friends are just as awesome if not better, but Jez thinks he's above us.
Anyway, to their amusement I spent the whole night chewing glasses of ice. I asked Jez to fetch me some lemons too but he refused. I asked Philip too, but I don't think he understood me, because he just waved his arms around and started singing Ne-yo.
Jez came over tonight to cook for my parents. We picked shepherd's pie and I picked berry custard, which had a fancy name but I forget. Unfortunately the shepherd's pie recipe assumed that we had lamb leftovers and gravy from the previous day's roast. Obviously lamb roast could not have been a product of sitting in a seedy bar gawking at fat chicks, so throwing together dill, thyme, bay leaf, salt and olive oil, I bumrushed the faux-leftover lamb. It was spectacular. The pie, however, tasted too much of barbeque sauce (which superseeded Worchestershire, since my hubby is a picky prat). My parents liked it though.
After pouring the first attempt of custard down the toilet, we gave it another shot. The mixture burnt much too easily that even on low heat and constant mixing, we couldn't avoid a layer of scorched sugar on the bottom, which unfortunately after further beating was folded into the otherwise smooth custard. Jez didn't have dessert but I tried a few spoonfuls. It wasn't as good as I expected.
Lessons to be learnt:
- Burnt milk is extremely clingy on all surfaces
- When you have a punnet of raspberries, just eat them
- Stairs are fun
3.27.2008
Spit
Beijing etiquette experts are making a huge fuss over unacceptable social behaviour displayed by the community, mainly spitting. "I think Beijing is actually much more progressive than other cities in China, where you can still almost drown in spit." - says Alex Pearson, a British expat who has lived in the city since '92.
This might be hard to believe, but on my last visit to Beijing, the amount of public spitting fell short of leaving any impressions. Neither was I close to drowning in saliva in Jinan, a much smaller and less metropolitan city than Beijing.
To prepare the city for the '08 Olympics, the government is actually actively handing out etiquette flyers and distributing posters discouraging the community to spit in public. How do they kid themselves that they can break the habits of 15 million people in less than 12 months?
It's not a spitting problem. It's a population problem. Just as many people spit in Sydney. Walk the length of George St and pay close attention to the area opposite Town Hall. What do you find? A lot of spit. In fact I've actually be spat on. We're just as dirty.
I mean okay, I don't condone spitting, but what Beijing's attempting to do in preparation for the Olympics is laughably unrealistic.
Why doesn't China have any backbone? Even if spit was more plentiful than it actually is, why can't they stand up and say "welcome ... to the country of SPIT"? Why does preparing for the arrival of foreigners have to involve inflicting pain upon the locals? Training girls in etiquette schools to smile by forcing them to hold chopsticks between their teeth for hours and issuing $8 fines for spitting in public seems a tad sycophantic and OTT. One of the girls training for presenting medals said "I'll feel very proud to represent my country in front of the whole world". No honey, the bloke on whose neck hangs the medal you've just handled is representing his country. You're the anonymous little Chinese volunteer that nobody will pay any attention to or remember save your parents who would have taped that moment and watched it a thousand times over without knowing who the athlete was or what event he or she had participated in because the centre of attention is their pride and joy donning ugly pink flight-attendant-esque uniform smiling like she has chopsticks between her teeth.
Chillax, and fire whoever designed the uniforms.
Obviously I have a lot of anger tonight.
This might be hard to believe, but on my last visit to Beijing, the amount of public spitting fell short of leaving any impressions. Neither was I close to drowning in saliva in Jinan, a much smaller and less metropolitan city than Beijing.
To prepare the city for the '08 Olympics, the government is actually actively handing out etiquette flyers and distributing posters discouraging the community to spit in public. How do they kid themselves that they can break the habits of 15 million people in less than 12 months?
It's not a spitting problem. It's a population problem. Just as many people spit in Sydney. Walk the length of George St and pay close attention to the area opposite Town Hall. What do you find? A lot of spit. In fact I've actually be spat on. We're just as dirty.
I mean okay, I don't condone spitting, but what Beijing's attempting to do in preparation for the Olympics is laughably unrealistic.
Why doesn't China have any backbone? Even if spit was more plentiful than it actually is, why can't they stand up and say "welcome ... to the country of SPIT"? Why does preparing for the arrival of foreigners have to involve inflicting pain upon the locals? Training girls in etiquette schools to smile by forcing them to hold chopsticks between their teeth for hours and issuing $8 fines for spitting in public seems a tad sycophantic and OTT. One of the girls training for presenting medals said "I'll feel very proud to represent my country in front of the whole world". No honey, the bloke on whose neck hangs the medal you've just handled is representing his country. You're the anonymous little Chinese volunteer that nobody will pay any attention to or remember save your parents who would have taped that moment and watched it a thousand times over without knowing who the athlete was or what event he or she had participated in because the centre of attention is their pride and joy donning ugly pink flight-attendant-esque uniform smiling like she has chopsticks between her teeth.
Chillax, and fire whoever designed the uniforms.
Obviously I have a lot of anger tonight.
3.26.2008
Home Bittersweet Home
Well it looks like I'll be saved the hassle of fabricating torchlit bushwalks and rafting adventures that never were.
I think I'll keep mum about the details.
The point is, I'm home.
Shouted conversation between girl #1 and Mirjana this morning:
girl #1: Last Thursday the pharmacist here gave me these eyedrops (Visine for Red Eyes) for my sore eyes, but these aren't actually for sore eyes. They're for red eyes and mine weren't red at all.
Mirjana: I'm afraid you'll have to come back on Thursday and speak to Jim about that.
girl #1: Can't you help me with it?
Mirjana: Unfortunately not, because I wasn't here when he gave it out so it's best that you come back to speak with Jim. [1]
girl #1: Is that how you run things here?
Mirjana: says something along the lines of [1]
girl #1: So you're saying it's my fault?
Mirjana: No I'm not saying that at all. says something along the lines of [1]
girl #1: So what, you can't make any decisions, is that right?
Mirjana: says something along the lines of [1]
girl #1: I don't want to come back on Thursday! snake shoots out of girl's mouth and bites everyone in the eyeballs
I stood on the side debating silently whether I should intervene and suggest that we give the girl something for her sore eyes in the meantime, but decided against it.
Then it got me thinking - how would I run a pharmacy? Jim, John, Mirjana and Harsha are constantly at loggerheads with each other over orders and layout and whatnot. I admit my retail management knowledge is laughably limited, but from what I've picked up at work during the last six months I have some ideas I might want to implement when and if I own my very own little pharmacy.
Depending on demographics, multilingual pharmacy assistants will be preferred, although it's essential that they are fluent in English. I'm okay with accents, as long as it doesn't impact their coherence. I won't be picky about whether or not they're pharmacy students, because as the pharmacist, dispensing and paperwork are my responsibilities and nobody else's. That being said it could be true that pharmacy students are more dedicated because they have more incentive. Anyway, neither will I be picky about gender. A little workplace flirting could make things interesting.
I won't stock the following items:
- Shoe-laces
- Miniature key for easy removal of earrings
- Pansy bath items from Innoxa that pretend to be sophisticated gift sets. I've never seen anyone buy them
- Shoe-shine
- Cheap-looking, badly coloured plastic travel cases for soaps, toothbrushes, etc. I'm sure I can find better quality equivalents
- Ombrello hair accessories
- Lingerie of bad taste. See Greenwood
I will, however, follow Greenwood's footsteps in keeping:
- L'Occitane
- Jurlique
- L'Oreal
- Covergirl
- Natio
- Maxfactor
- Propoline by Apivita (though this is just for the novelty factor)
And perhaps add:
- Napoleon
- Bloom
- Clinique
- I wish I could add MAC but I don't think they do pharmacies
I'll make sure that there is a storage room large enough for all excess stock. I won't have any spares sitting on the top- or bottom-most shelf cluttering up the place. If storage size is insufficient, I'd either cut down size of shopfront or reduce number of lines. In terms of layout, the one thing I must have is products lined neatly along the shelves - no turning boxes on their side to conserve space, no displaying different products in front of or behind each other, no items on the floor or the edges of gondolas where they shouldn't be.
Like Greenwood, registers will be spacious and have those gutter slot things for candy and gum and pocket tissue and whatever other impulse-buys people impulsively buy. However, the countertop will remain free from all objects other than monitor, keyboard, EFTPOS machine and printer. I'll also glue the sign-pad on so it doesn't shift all over the place.
There will be a single notebook in which people will write down details such as customers and staff owing payment, contact numbers to call when special orders come in, etc. There will also be a lost-and-found box for credit cards, keys, repeat forms and others. At the moment we're sticking all of these along the wall in the form of hundreds of bits of paper for the world to see. It's disgraceful. A notice-board might be cute, but definitely only in private view of staff in the dispensary or storage room. And this isn't even a notice-board! I should make that suggestion next time I'm at work.
I'm still undecided about the floor. Tiles give a toilet-esque look I'd rather avoid and carpets dirty too easily. So I'm thinking timber. I bet nobody has timber floors in their pharmacy. I also bet it's hella expensive.
Let's move to the dispensary. First of all I'd like it to be in the vicinity of the cash registers. This would save us from the hassle of calling people back because they've received their medications from the former and walked out without pausing to pay at the latter. I'm quite happy with the maximum-surface-area shelves we've got going at the moment, although more space would definitely be welcome.
Assuming that I'm successful in hiring workers who are computer-literate, all contact details of staff, reps, delivery, orders, etc will be stored electronically. A printed copy will probably be available in case of erm, blackout. There won't be, however, any Harsha-ish cluttering of business cards and scrap bits of paper with random phone number scrawled and crossed out and scrawled again.
One shelf will be dedicated to handbooks, manuals, TI (if I fancy keeping the volumes at work) and other paperwork such as credit books, profitunities books, planograms, invoice records, etc.
Storage, not cardboard, boxes will be used for old scripts and receipts.
A large filing cabinet will be needed for statements and invoices. Somebody (possibly me) will be in charge of ensuring that all papers are filed under the correct alphabet (i.e. DHL deliveries does not, under any circumstances, go under C. I don't care if the D folder is glued shut. Pry it open).
LOTS will be the dispensing program.
The following kitchen utilities will be available to staff:
- Refrigerator separate from the medical refrigerator (which by the way will accomodate medications arranged neatly in alphabetical order)
- Freezer
- Microwave
- Kettle
- Jaffle-maker
- Coffee machine
- Toaster
- Blender's going a bit far, no? Okay, scrap blender
- Chopping board
There will most definitely be a uniform. Only the pharmacist, i.e. me, is allowed white blouses. Therefore under no circumstances are any of you allowed to wear white. However, if I wanted to dress in a colour other than white, I may do so but I will advise you beforehand in case the colour of my choice coincides with your uniform, in which case you'll wear a different colour. Capice?
I'm thinking a nice, Tiffany blue paired with grey bottoms. Preferably high-waisted pencil skirts. Black pointed flats, black stockings. It's been a long battle, but I've finally accepted the fact that nobody working in a pharmacy can wear heels on a long-term basis. Boys will wear pretty much the same stuff - blue shirt, grey pinstriped pants (see Jez's sexy grey work pants) because solid grey is too school-uniform, black shoes. If you dare turn up in black sneakers, I'll acetylcholinesterase your coffee.
Everyone will wear name-badges. Not the blank-card-with-plastic-clip-ons. Proper, metal, engraved-and-inked badges. If your name is ugly I'll give you a new one.
That's all for now!
P.S. Jez obviously wrote the last entry. And for the record, he tried to video me while I was blindfolded but his phone was low on batteries. He told me this later. Sheepishly.
I think I'll keep mum about the details.
The point is, I'm home.
Shouted conversation between girl #1 and Mirjana this morning:
girl #1: Last Thursday the pharmacist here gave me these eyedrops (Visine for Red Eyes) for my sore eyes, but these aren't actually for sore eyes. They're for red eyes and mine weren't red at all.
Mirjana: I'm afraid you'll have to come back on Thursday and speak to Jim about that.
girl #1: Can't you help me with it?
Mirjana: Unfortunately not, because I wasn't here when he gave it out so it's best that you come back to speak with Jim. [1]
girl #1: Is that how you run things here?
Mirjana: says something along the lines of [1]
girl #1: So you're saying it's my fault?
Mirjana: No I'm not saying that at all. says something along the lines of [1]
girl #1: So what, you can't make any decisions, is that right?
Mirjana: says something along the lines of [1]
girl #1: I don't want to come back on Thursday! snake shoots out of girl's mouth and bites everyone in the eyeballs
I stood on the side debating silently whether I should intervene and suggest that we give the girl something for her sore eyes in the meantime, but decided against it.
Then it got me thinking - how would I run a pharmacy? Jim, John, Mirjana and Harsha are constantly at loggerheads with each other over orders and layout and whatnot. I admit my retail management knowledge is laughably limited, but from what I've picked up at work during the last six months I have some ideas I might want to implement when and if I own my very own little pharmacy.
Depending on demographics, multilingual pharmacy assistants will be preferred, although it's essential that they are fluent in English. I'm okay with accents, as long as it doesn't impact their coherence. I won't be picky about whether or not they're pharmacy students, because as the pharmacist, dispensing and paperwork are my responsibilities and nobody else's. That being said it could be true that pharmacy students are more dedicated because they have more incentive. Anyway, neither will I be picky about gender. A little workplace flirting could make things interesting.
I won't stock the following items:
- Shoe-laces
- Miniature key for easy removal of earrings
- Pansy bath items from Innoxa that pretend to be sophisticated gift sets. I've never seen anyone buy them
- Shoe-shine
- Cheap-looking, badly coloured plastic travel cases for soaps, toothbrushes, etc. I'm sure I can find better quality equivalents
- Ombrello hair accessories
- Lingerie of bad taste. See Greenwood
I will, however, follow Greenwood's footsteps in keeping:
- L'Occitane
- Jurlique
- L'Oreal
- Covergirl
- Natio
- Maxfactor
- Propoline by Apivita (though this is just for the novelty factor)
And perhaps add:
- Napoleon
- Bloom
- Clinique
- I wish I could add MAC but I don't think they do pharmacies
I'll make sure that there is a storage room large enough for all excess stock. I won't have any spares sitting on the top- or bottom-most shelf cluttering up the place. If storage size is insufficient, I'd either cut down size of shopfront or reduce number of lines. In terms of layout, the one thing I must have is products lined neatly along the shelves - no turning boxes on their side to conserve space, no displaying different products in front of or behind each other, no items on the floor or the edges of gondolas where they shouldn't be.
Like Greenwood, registers will be spacious and have those gutter slot things for candy and gum and pocket tissue and whatever other impulse-buys people impulsively buy. However, the countertop will remain free from all objects other than monitor, keyboard, EFTPOS machine and printer. I'll also glue the sign-pad on so it doesn't shift all over the place.
There will be a single notebook in which people will write down details such as customers and staff owing payment, contact numbers to call when special orders come in, etc. There will also be a lost-and-found box for credit cards, keys, repeat forms and others. At the moment we're sticking all of these along the wall in the form of hundreds of bits of paper for the world to see. It's disgraceful. A notice-board might be cute, but definitely only in private view of staff in the dispensary or storage room. And this isn't even a notice-board! I should make that suggestion next time I'm at work.
I'm still undecided about the floor. Tiles give a toilet-esque look I'd rather avoid and carpets dirty too easily. So I'm thinking timber. I bet nobody has timber floors in their pharmacy. I also bet it's hella expensive.
Let's move to the dispensary. First of all I'd like it to be in the vicinity of the cash registers. This would save us from the hassle of calling people back because they've received their medications from the former and walked out without pausing to pay at the latter. I'm quite happy with the maximum-surface-area shelves we've got going at the moment, although more space would definitely be welcome.
Assuming that I'm successful in hiring workers who are computer-literate, all contact details of staff, reps, delivery, orders, etc will be stored electronically. A printed copy will probably be available in case of erm, blackout. There won't be, however, any Harsha-ish cluttering of business cards and scrap bits of paper with random phone number scrawled and crossed out and scrawled again.
One shelf will be dedicated to handbooks, manuals, TI (if I fancy keeping the volumes at work) and other paperwork such as credit books, profitunities books, planograms, invoice records, etc.
Storage, not cardboard, boxes will be used for old scripts and receipts.
A large filing cabinet will be needed for statements and invoices. Somebody (possibly me) will be in charge of ensuring that all papers are filed under the correct alphabet (i.e. DHL deliveries does not, under any circumstances, go under C. I don't care if the D folder is glued shut. Pry it open).
LOTS will be the dispensing program.
The following kitchen utilities will be available to staff:
- Refrigerator separate from the medical refrigerator (which by the way will accomodate medications arranged neatly in alphabetical order)
- Freezer
- Microwave
- Kettle
- Jaffle-maker
- Coffee machine
- Toaster
- Blender's going a bit far, no? Okay, scrap blender
- Chopping board
There will most definitely be a uniform. Only the pharmacist, i.e. me, is allowed white blouses. Therefore under no circumstances are any of you allowed to wear white. However, if I wanted to dress in a colour other than white, I may do so but I will advise you beforehand in case the colour of my choice coincides with your uniform, in which case you'll wear a different colour. Capice?
I'm thinking a nice, Tiffany blue paired with grey bottoms. Preferably high-waisted pencil skirts. Black pointed flats, black stockings. It's been a long battle, but I've finally accepted the fact that nobody working in a pharmacy can wear heels on a long-term basis. Boys will wear pretty much the same stuff - blue shirt, grey pinstriped pants (see Jez's sexy grey work pants) because solid grey is too school-uniform, black shoes. If you dare turn up in black sneakers, I'll acetylcholinesterase your coffee.
Everyone will wear name-badges. Not the blank-card-with-plastic-clip-ons. Proper, metal, engraved-and-inked badges. If your name is ugly I'll give you a new one.
That's all for now!
P.S. Jez obviously wrote the last entry. And for the record, he tried to video me while I was blindfolded but his phone was low on batteries. He told me this later. Sheepishly.
3.25.2008
Twitchy Rabbit.
So, my wife is sitting on my huge thunder thighs at the moment, flattening them until they are like low-fat pancakes, except - they're not low fat. They're high in saturated fat. Stop correcting me.
Oh ps, Shes naked.
I also took Video Clips of her whilst we were having sex.
PST for copies.
Oh ps, Shes naked.
I also took Video Clips of her whilst we were having sex.
PST for copies.
3.24.2008
Sleepy Update
Fifth day at Jez's house. Due to some extremely unfortunate events camping is no longer possible for me, and there are still two days more to go.
It's mid-afternoon and Jez is sleeping. That boy can never sleep enough. I still remember when we'd sleep until my head eats itself, but these days I can't bring myself to oblige. Maybe it has something to do with becoming too comfortable around each other.
What we're doing isn't quite comparable to actually living together due to some gaping differences - living together does not equate to spending every waking and sleeping moment within arm's length, for example. Maybe if you knew that for the next sixty years you'll be coming home to the same person you won't cling so desperately to that one week you stay over at their house.
Furthermore, living together involves responsibilities we currently lack. But I haven't much to elaborate on such responsibilities not least because I really can't think of more than doing the laundry, but it's sort of our week off and there isn't a whole lot of errands to run.
I've worked both days of the weekend so Jez had some time alone to browse porn or play WoW or whatever the heck he does when I'm not around. But a large fraction of our time together was spent picking what we should do out of sleeping, eating, having sex or playing the DS. Not a lot of choice.
I've said before that staying in one room for an extended length of time can induce head-throbbing claustrophobia. But aside from Jez's room there isn't another place in the house in which I could make myself at home. I suppose there is a major difference between the present and when we're living on our own where I've distributed my share of crap around the house. At the moment, neither Jez's dad nor I am the type to be watching Taiwanese TV with each other. So I stay in the hottest room of the house, unfortunately in the literal sense.
Perhaps some of these negative feelings are related to the fact that I'm not supposed to be here in the first place. I'm supposed to be at camp, which thanks to plan A being booked out over the Easter break, has gone out the window. I can't say I'm looking forward to recounting to my parents a week's worth of camping activities I didn't participate in.
We went to the Easter Show yesterday afternoon. It was mainly for the rides, which sadly were as expensive as ever, and more sadly we handed over our $55 without batting an eyelash. While clinging onto my seat for dear life and involuntarily and continuously imagining my splattery death if my harness happened to come loose on the crazy spinning claw machine with Jez next to me swearing at the top of his lungs, I wondered why we pay for this kind of thing.
The sun is blazing through the window onto my arms and I don't feel like continuing. Jez is still snoozing away and looks very cute.
I just realised that he isn't wearing any pants.
His arse is really round.
It's mid-afternoon and Jez is sleeping. That boy can never sleep enough. I still remember when we'd sleep until my head eats itself, but these days I can't bring myself to oblige. Maybe it has something to do with becoming too comfortable around each other.
What we're doing isn't quite comparable to actually living together due to some gaping differences - living together does not equate to spending every waking and sleeping moment within arm's length, for example. Maybe if you knew that for the next sixty years you'll be coming home to the same person you won't cling so desperately to that one week you stay over at their house.
Furthermore, living together involves responsibilities we currently lack. But I haven't much to elaborate on such responsibilities not least because I really can't think of more than doing the laundry, but it's sort of our week off and there isn't a whole lot of errands to run.
I've worked both days of the weekend so Jez had some time alone to browse porn or play WoW or whatever the heck he does when I'm not around. But a large fraction of our time together was spent picking what we should do out of sleeping, eating, having sex or playing the DS. Not a lot of choice.
I've said before that staying in one room for an extended length of time can induce head-throbbing claustrophobia. But aside from Jez's room there isn't another place in the house in which I could make myself at home. I suppose there is a major difference between the present and when we're living on our own where I've distributed my share of crap around the house. At the moment, neither Jez's dad nor I am the type to be watching Taiwanese TV with each other. So I stay in the hottest room of the house, unfortunately in the literal sense.
Perhaps some of these negative feelings are related to the fact that I'm not supposed to be here in the first place. I'm supposed to be at camp, which thanks to plan A being booked out over the Easter break, has gone out the window. I can't say I'm looking forward to recounting to my parents a week's worth of camping activities I didn't participate in.
We went to the Easter Show yesterday afternoon. It was mainly for the rides, which sadly were as expensive as ever, and more sadly we handed over our $55 without batting an eyelash. While clinging onto my seat for dear life and involuntarily and continuously imagining my splattery death if my harness happened to come loose on the crazy spinning claw machine with Jez next to me swearing at the top of his lungs, I wondered why we pay for this kind of thing.
The sun is blazing through the window onto my arms and I don't feel like continuing. Jez is still snoozing away and looks very cute.
I just realised that he isn't wearing any pants.
His arse is really round.
3.19.2008
Excitedness
Okay, this is a little embarrassing but the reason I haven't been wearing my indigo Bettina Lianos for the past half a year is because I have repeatedly failed to button them up over my ever-increasing hips.
Tonight I thought I'd give it another shot. On my last attempt a fortnight ago, I strained my arms trying to make the hems meet. This time, however, I buttoned them up with moderate ease. They've always been skin-tight, but now that I've got them on they feel a shade tighter. At least I'm progressing.
You probably can't tell, but I'm really happy. I've been crying on the inside contemplating selling them on ebay with the description "pre-loved, cannot accomodate my explosive hip growth, $50 or highest bid".
Surprisingly I never grew out of my black canvas Bettinas. They're one size up from the indigo and I absolutely hate them. Why I didn't pick the vintage skinnies I'll never know.
Tonight I thought I'd give it another shot. On my last attempt a fortnight ago, I strained my arms trying to make the hems meet. This time, however, I buttoned them up with moderate ease. They've always been skin-tight, but now that I've got them on they feel a shade tighter. At least I'm progressing.
You probably can't tell, but I'm really happy. I've been crying on the inside contemplating selling them on ebay with the description "pre-loved, cannot accomodate my explosive hip growth, $50 or highest bid".
Surprisingly I never grew out of my black canvas Bettinas. They're one size up from the indigo and I absolutely hate them. Why I didn't pick the vintage skinnies I'll never know.
3.17.2008
Billy Thompson
I couldn't believe my eyes. I was dispensing fluticasone and salbutamol for Billy Thompson - an eleven-year-old ... cat.
The fancy script was emblazoned with a logo of the veterinary clinic and had listed on the side available practices, including oncology, cardiology, physiotherapy and ophthalmology.
If that wasn't surprising enough, Billy Thompson has in fact been processing his scripts at our pharmacy since '02.
I dispensed his medications. 1 puff bd using Aerokat mask. Yes. They make nebulisers for kitty cats now. Because kitty cats get asthma. Didn't you know? You're not the only one in need of β2-agonists, you selfish discriminating prat, you.
Poor Billy, sighed Mirjana, while I wondered whether the owner cared more for the feline Thompson than their human children.
On a lighter and more increasingly sexual note, our resident brain-damaged regular (let's call him Luigi for the sake of being discreet) has been pushing the limits.
I have no recollections of meeting Luigi. My memory goes as far as him visiting Mirjana and stopping by the register to greet me with "An-nee, you are so pre-tee". Kisses on both cheeks included.
Then it was "An-nee, you make my heart skip a beat". Kisses on cheeks. Friendly hug.
Then "An-nee, I better leave before I get too fris-kee". Extended kisses on cheeks. Would have landed on lips had I not turned my head to offer his mouth a less inappropriate destination. Big hugs.
Then finally he pecks me on the neck today and tries to stroke my thigh. Mirjana shooed him away.
Jez often jokes that I'd leave him for Luigi. I often swallow my own vomit at the thought.
Falling asleep in lectures, we pulled out the old "who would you rather bang if you, undesirable #1 and undesirable #2 were the only humans left on earth" hypothetical. I gave Bao a choice of Gladys or Derek. Jenny pointed out that Derek would probably make a more attractive female than Gladys ever could.
I held my tongue, but privately thought that sans penis, Jez might just be the prettiest girl I know.
The fancy script was emblazoned with a logo of the veterinary clinic and had listed on the side available practices, including oncology, cardiology, physiotherapy and ophthalmology.
If that wasn't surprising enough, Billy Thompson has in fact been processing his scripts at our pharmacy since '02.
I dispensed his medications. 1 puff bd using Aerokat mask. Yes. They make nebulisers for kitty cats now. Because kitty cats get asthma. Didn't you know? You're not the only one in need of β2-agonists, you selfish discriminating prat, you.
Poor Billy, sighed Mirjana, while I wondered whether the owner cared more for the feline Thompson than their human children.
On a lighter and more increasingly sexual note, our resident brain-damaged regular (let's call him Luigi for the sake of being discreet) has been pushing the limits.
I have no recollections of meeting Luigi. My memory goes as far as him visiting Mirjana and stopping by the register to greet me with "An-nee, you are so pre-tee". Kisses on both cheeks included.
Then it was "An-nee, you make my heart skip a beat". Kisses on cheeks. Friendly hug.
Then "An-nee, I better leave before I get too fris-kee". Extended kisses on cheeks. Would have landed on lips had I not turned my head to offer his mouth a less inappropriate destination. Big hugs.
Then finally he pecks me on the neck today and tries to stroke my thigh. Mirjana shooed him away.
Jez often jokes that I'd leave him for Luigi. I often swallow my own vomit at the thought.
Falling asleep in lectures, we pulled out the old "who would you rather bang if you, undesirable #1 and undesirable #2 were the only humans left on earth" hypothetical. I gave Bao a choice of Gladys or Derek. Jenny pointed out that Derek would probably make a more attractive female than Gladys ever could.
I held my tongue, but privately thought that sans penis, Jez might just be the prettiest girl I know.
3.16.2008
Literati
Eugene was too lazy to create a Yahoo account so I took liberty. Anyone who wants to log in and verse me may do so with user-ID eugenesmells and password nougategg2008.
3.15.2008
Harrows.
Greetings from my husband's computer. I am eating the Coco Pops now, and i rove it rong time. It is sho tashtees. Nomnomnomnomnomnlookatmegoi'meveneatingthesoggyoneswhichinevereat.
I have work soon, ohnoes, but not to fear at least i didn't get up 8 hours ago thinking that it was the next morning.
Owait.
I did :(.
I have work soon, ohnoes, but not to fear at least i didn't get up 8 hours ago thinking that it was the next morning.
Owait.
I did :(.
3.13.2008
Ignorance
A semi-elderly woman held up two packets of our new product range.
Exhibit A - paper soap. Exhibit B - antibacterial paper soap.
She asked me what the difference was. I obliged by pointing out the bleeding obvious. "This one here's antibacterial." I said.
She scoffed. "They're soap. Anything that gets rid of dirt is antibacterial." Here's someone who can't distinguish between a bit of mud and Staphylococcus aureus.
I explained that antibacterial soaps and washes contain chemicals that kill bacteria.
"Oh, I know what it is." She interrupted. "It's eucalyptus oil. It's a bunch of crap, I tell you."
"Erm ... no, not eucalyptus oil."
"Then what?"
"Triclosan, chlorhexidine, alchohol?"
"What?"
"Never mind."
She looked at me pityingly. "It's a scam. It's all just marketing. Soap's soap, that's all there is."
I took that as my cue to give up and let the lady contract bacterial infections at her own leisure.
Funnier was the American who walked into the pharmacy and in all seriousness ordered a milkshake.
After Glenda explained that contrary to what the name may suggest, there is in fact a difference between a "pharmacy" and a "drug-store", and that we are the former, the man remarked that our country was "strange" and left. Coincidentally, an American girl was queueing behind him, and informed us that U.S. drug-stores have stopped serving milkshakes about half a century ago.
What I find interesting is that someone could be stupid enough to walk into a pharmacy for a milkshake when it's surrounded by two coffee bars, one supermarket, one juice bar and one actual drug-store.
Methinks somebody's neurons are misfiring.
Exhibit A - paper soap. Exhibit B - antibacterial paper soap.
She asked me what the difference was. I obliged by pointing out the bleeding obvious. "This one here's antibacterial." I said.
She scoffed. "They're soap. Anything that gets rid of dirt is antibacterial." Here's someone who can't distinguish between a bit of mud and Staphylococcus aureus.
I explained that antibacterial soaps and washes contain chemicals that kill bacteria.
"Oh, I know what it is." She interrupted. "It's eucalyptus oil. It's a bunch of crap, I tell you."
"Erm ... no, not eucalyptus oil."
"Then what?"
"Triclosan, chlorhexidine, alchohol?"
"What?"
"Never mind."
She looked at me pityingly. "It's a scam. It's all just marketing. Soap's soap, that's all there is."
I took that as my cue to give up and let the lady contract bacterial infections at her own leisure.
Funnier was the American who walked into the pharmacy and in all seriousness ordered a milkshake.
After Glenda explained that contrary to what the name may suggest, there is in fact a difference between a "pharmacy" and a "drug-store", and that we are the former, the man remarked that our country was "strange" and left. Coincidentally, an American girl was queueing behind him, and informed us that U.S. drug-stores have stopped serving milkshakes about half a century ago.
What I find interesting is that someone could be stupid enough to walk into a pharmacy for a milkshake when it's surrounded by two coffee bars, one supermarket, one juice bar and one actual drug-store.
Methinks somebody's neurons are misfiring.
3.10.2008
Bootay Moosik!
Somehow Jez and I managed the impossible. During the holidays we spared only weekends for each other, but now that the semester has begun, we found that it was actually very possible to spend time together everyday, usually hours' worth, too.
I joined him in accounting this evening. Much as I hate to admit it, especially to Jez, the UNSW lecture theatres are absofuckinglutely awesome.
So there we sit, in one of the front rows, Jez is listening intently and scribbling incomprehensible doodles into his notepad, and I had my nose buried in pharmacology.
I stretch my neck and glance at the lecturer. He's looking at me. He points at me and tells me to answer the question on the slide that made less sense to me than a formulation of guaiphenesin and dextromethorphan. Uh oh. I look behind me at a random dude and hope he'll come to my rescue. He does. "Me?" He asks. Unfortunately nothing was going to stop the lecturer from questioning the only person in the room studying gout.
I look at the slide. He waits. I turn around and ask for help. Jez tells me the answer. I yelled out "yes and yes". Twice. It felt kind of stupid. The lecturer said "lucky guess".
Anyway, I loved it. Sitting in the same lecture as Jez, that is. It was very high-school.
I joined him in accounting this evening. Much as I hate to admit it, especially to Jez, the UNSW lecture theatres are absofuckinglutely awesome.
So there we sit, in one of the front rows, Jez is listening intently and scribbling incomprehensible doodles into his notepad, and I had my nose buried in pharmacology.
I stretch my neck and glance at the lecturer. He's looking at me. He points at me and tells me to answer the question on the slide that made less sense to me than a formulation of guaiphenesin and dextromethorphan. Uh oh. I look behind me at a random dude and hope he'll come to my rescue. He does. "Me?" He asks. Unfortunately nothing was going to stop the lecturer from questioning the only person in the room studying gout.
I look at the slide. He waits. I turn around and ask for help. Jez tells me the answer. I yelled out "yes and yes". Twice. It felt kind of stupid. The lecturer said "lucky guess".
Anyway, I loved it. Sitting in the same lecture as Jez, that is. It was very high-school.
3.09.2008
Scared
Despite making desperate bids to be left home alone during my parents' trip to China last year, I confess that I'm scared shitless of finding myself in a deserted house at night.
After dinner, Jez drove me home to find that my parents hadn't returned from my mum's new office in Kogarah. Our house is rather big. Its front side features four large windows - two on the first floor and two on the second. When the interior lights aren't lit, they stare eerily at you, daring you to imagine what horrors you might encounter within.
Eventually Jez took the hint that I wanted him to escort me in. He walked behind me like a bodyguard as I flicked every light. Then left.
And I'm alone. I thought of showering but quickly disposed of the thought as I still have icky feelings related possibly to the clichéd horror movie scenes where some naked girl with wet hair gets attacked while scrubbing her armpits.
Anyway, the point is, there are a number of rather stupid fears I still retain. Said showers, for one. Here are some more:
● Hesitate to look into the bathroom mirror after bending over to rinse my face in fear of seeing bloody Mary standing behind me
● Routinely shut curtains before sleeping in case I wake up, glance at the window and see a face staring back
● Retract all limbs from the edges of the mattress while sleeping to prevent being dragged under the bed by the inhabitants below
● Keep the closet firmly closed during the night as it being open mildly suggests passage into and out of the room
● Train myself to look away from dark objects on midnight toilet trips (e.g. computer monitor, rooms with open doors, etc) as the hollow darkness scares me witless
● Avoid the first-floor hallway when there are no lights, because there are too many doors from too many directions to keep my eyes on them
It's illogical fear, I'm aware of it. Being scared of the dark is being scared of nothingness, of the unknown. But I suppose this is why people are so frightened of death. Well, I am.
After dinner, Jez drove me home to find that my parents hadn't returned from my mum's new office in Kogarah. Our house is rather big. Its front side features four large windows - two on the first floor and two on the second. When the interior lights aren't lit, they stare eerily at you, daring you to imagine what horrors you might encounter within.
Eventually Jez took the hint that I wanted him to escort me in. He walked behind me like a bodyguard as I flicked every light. Then left.
And I'm alone. I thought of showering but quickly disposed of the thought as I still have icky feelings related possibly to the clichéd horror movie scenes where some naked girl with wet hair gets attacked while scrubbing her armpits.
Anyway, the point is, there are a number of rather stupid fears I still retain. Said showers, for one. Here are some more:
● Hesitate to look into the bathroom mirror after bending over to rinse my face in fear of seeing bloody Mary standing behind me
● Routinely shut curtains before sleeping in case I wake up, glance at the window and see a face staring back
● Retract all limbs from the edges of the mattress while sleeping to prevent being dragged under the bed by the inhabitants below
● Keep the closet firmly closed during the night as it being open mildly suggests passage into and out of the room
● Train myself to look away from dark objects on midnight toilet trips (e.g. computer monitor, rooms with open doors, etc) as the hollow darkness scares me witless
● Avoid the first-floor hallway when there are no lights, because there are too many doors from too many directions to keep my eyes on them
It's illogical fear, I'm aware of it. Being scared of the dark is being scared of nothingness, of the unknown. But I suppose this is why people are so frightened of death. Well, I am.
3.08.2008
Moment of Truth
From Mia Freedman's blog - a segment of the US Fox show called Moment of Truth in which contestants answer frightfully intimate questions truthfully to win $$$.
Link here.
I did some Googling and rumour has it that the show is fake. It does seem suspicious that they just happen to pick only contestants that are filled to the brim with juicy secrets. So either this is fishy business or I'm supposed to believe that the probability of dipping your hand into the population and grabbing a fuck-up is high enough to run a reality show. The notion of the world being chock full of "bad people" doesn't sit well with a 20-year-old. So I'm doubtful about the selection process. But whatever.
Anyway, this woman Lauren Cleri apparently had a choice. I'm not entirely sure how it's supposed to work but it seems safe to assume that choosing not to answer will result in the game ending with however little money she has at the time. Answering truthfully will raise her winnings. If she answers wrongly (according to the lie detector - which raises more suspicions) she loses every cent.
So to cut to the chase, she was asked by her ex-boyfriend "if I wanted to get back together with you, would you leave her husband?" and "do you think I'm the man you should be married to?"; and by the host "have you ever taken off your wedding ring to pretend to be single?" and "have you ever had sexual relations outside of your marriage?". All answers point to divorce.
The poor husband, Frank, sat there and watched it all. If he doesn't dump her trashy NY-hairdresser-assistant-slash-failed-amateur-model ass (yes I've done my research), I think we've found a winner for Most Pussywhipped Man on Earth.
The punchline was that when asked "do you think you're a good person?", Lauren said "yes" and lost the some $20,000 she had already won due to the answer being declared false.
Points and laughs.
Link here.
I did some Googling and rumour has it that the show is fake. It does seem suspicious that they just happen to pick only contestants that are filled to the brim with juicy secrets. So either this is fishy business or I'm supposed to believe that the probability of dipping your hand into the population and grabbing a fuck-up is high enough to run a reality show. The notion of the world being chock full of "bad people" doesn't sit well with a 20-year-old. So I'm doubtful about the selection process. But whatever.
Anyway, this woman Lauren Cleri apparently had a choice. I'm not entirely sure how it's supposed to work but it seems safe to assume that choosing not to answer will result in the game ending with however little money she has at the time. Answering truthfully will raise her winnings. If she answers wrongly (according to the lie detector - which raises more suspicions) she loses every cent.
So to cut to the chase, she was asked by her ex-boyfriend "if I wanted to get back together with you, would you leave her husband?" and "do you think I'm the man you should be married to?"; and by the host "have you ever taken off your wedding ring to pretend to be single?" and "have you ever had sexual relations outside of your marriage?". All answers point to divorce.
The poor husband, Frank, sat there and watched it all. If he doesn't dump her trashy NY-hairdresser-assistant-slash-failed-amateur-model ass (yes I've done my research), I think we've found a winner for Most Pussywhipped Man on Earth.
The punchline was that when asked "do you think you're a good person?", Lauren said "yes" and lost the some $20,000 she had already won due to the answer being declared false.
Points and laughs.
3.04.2008
Uni + Work = DIE
Like the best method of weight-loss being diet and exercise, one of the annoying little truths I'd rather not accept is the amount of effort required to avoid the biannual STUVAC brain-suicide.
It's approaching my nightly Apollo Justice timeslot, but so far I've achieved nothing further than handritten and typed notes for the first two pharmacol lectures. My hand is reaching for the DS on its own accord.
Should I persist?
It's approaching my nightly Apollo Justice timeslot, but so far I've achieved nothing further than handritten and typed notes for the first two pharmacol lectures. My hand is reaching for the DS on its own accord.
Should I persist?
3.03.2008
Autumn Clean
It feels awkward to begin the new semester with my personal space in total disarray.
It's time to unclutter. I'm making a record of the process to remind myself of how tedious it is, so as to serve as a motivator to tidy up regularly.
Start time: 8:00 pm
1. Pick up stray magazines on desk and bedroom floor and move to rightful place on the mini-shelf.
2. Remove all make-up from desk and throw away those I don't use. Put rest in bathroom drawer.
3. Tidy drawer.
4. Remove all rubbish from desk and surroundings, clear all bags.
5. Move clothes and jewellery to bedroom.
6. Put books and stationery in their rightful places.
7. Vacuum desk.
8. Clear all rubbish from bedroom.
Finish time: 9:48 pm
Okay. This is where it gets difficult. Because I'm fucking tired.
Let's call it a night.
It's time to unclutter. I'm making a record of the process to remind myself of how tedious it is, so as to serve as a motivator to tidy up regularly.
Start time: 8:00 pm
1. Pick up stray magazines on desk and bedroom floor and move to rightful place on the mini-shelf.
2. Remove all make-up from desk and throw away those I don't use. Put rest in bathroom drawer.
3. Tidy drawer.
4. Remove all rubbish from desk and surroundings, clear all bags.
5. Move clothes and jewellery to bedroom.
6. Put books and stationery in their rightful places.
7. Vacuum desk.
8. Clear all rubbish from bedroom.
Finish time: 9:48 pm
Okay. This is where it gets difficult. Because I'm fucking tired.
Let's call it a night.
3.02.2008
Little Old Me
It's been awhile since I visited my old blog. I cringe a little, but here are some extracts. I wish I still had access to entries from the entire year to revisit failed relationships and remember trying to coerce myself into falling for someone I knew deep down I had no interest in, but perhaps it's for the best that those long-deleted entries are long-deleted. Otherwise my husband-to-be will be twitching again, won't he? :)
About 50% of the posts were related to difficult customers at work. The frequency of such encounters had decreased significantly since changing jobs but those hair-pullingly frustrating moments provide, at least, feeble conversation starters.
"Exhibit A: Customer contemplates our range of thermometers, points to a forehead thermometer and insists that it's for the ear.
"That's a forehead thermometer." I say.
"A what?"
"A forehead thermometer. You press it to the forehead for a reading."
"What's forehead?"
I don't believe this one requires any further explanation.
Exhibit B: Customer wants Codral 4 Flu, which contains pseudoephedrine.
"I'll need a photo ID with that one." I say.
"I have a pension card!"
"No no, I need something with your photo on it."
"I have a pension card!"
"Your pension card doesn't have a photo. I need some photo ID."
"I have medicare!"
"Medicare isn't photo ID. I need photo ID."
"I have a pension card!"
After that one left, Burak said "I fucking want to kick him in the head"." - 28.o7.o7
I noticed the distinct emoness of my tone during the second half of the year, but nothing came close to crushing my poor little heart like the events that preceded this.
"Mother took me home tonight. I asked her to take a different route but still couldn't suppress the drives home with Ronnie Day and Ben Lee.
She always said there are some mistakes you can't learn from, sometimes you don't get a second chance. But I'm the stupid pidgeon, remember? Second chances still didn't quite cut it for me. Inevitably, it bit me back on the butt. Hard.
I just wanted to say sorry to everyone I'm not replying to.
Karen and Sibs, you better brace yourselves because you're going to be working with the mopiest mope tomorrow night. Don't worry, I won't skimp on the dusting." - 26.o8.o7
For someone who starts another semester of what has been claimed to be the most difficult year of Pharmacy, crazy posts that should have resulted in imprisonment for sarcasm abuse scare the pants off me (if I was wearing any. Hee hee!).
"Hi guys! I'm in PSPC. How awesome is it? There are little vials of urine all around the lab, and after escaping the horrendous fate of being a test subject I've just spent the last fifteen minutes painstakingly drawing a diagram of the distal and proximal tubules of the kidney!
Oh guess what? I have just been pressured into volunteering to collect data! So when the boys come back, I will need them to divulge to me information that I would rather not know, such as just how many miligrams of sodium is present in their urine. Fun fun!
If you can't detect my sarcasm, you deserve to drink the waste bucket." - 31.o8.o7
I miss House. I thought I'd include this because it made water come out of my nose.
"I love Cuddy.
Cuddy: You killed Foreman's job interview.Wilson: Why would I—
Cuddy: Somebody did. Wasn't me and it wasn't House, which means it has to be somebody who thought he was protecting House, which means it has to be somebody who actually likes House, which means it's either you or the weird night janitor who wears his pants backwards."" - 21.o9.o7
Final days at Alpha. In comparison, Greenwood is a dream job beyond dreams. I hold no grudges against Alpha staff, mainly because on reflection, the manner in which I handled the resignation was unprofessional and barely excusable. Nevertheless I reminisce about the year I spent there and grin uncontrollably upon realising I shall visit it no more. Strangely, I briefly contemplated paying Yasser and David a visit, for old time's sake. Then I read a post in which I described being appointed (by Yasser) the scapegoat for all of Sevil's mistakes. I threw the idea down the toilet.
"This is remarkably similar to the stage of a break-up where every conscious thought follows the pattern of "I'll never ___insert action___ again". I think of the scruffy carpet, the overflowing bins, the dusting roster, the Caramello Koala wrapper that always finds its way to the floor in front of the back register. The incessant beeping of the entry buzzer as non-English-speaker after non-English speaker flock in asking for discounts and checking expiry dates. No more. The thought gives me immense pleasure." - 31.1o.o7
"As I made my way out of the pharmacy for what I sincerely hoped would be the last time, the prissy little bitch turned up her nose. Joke's on you, honey. Have fun being an Alpha girl until your breasts sag over your name badge." - 30.1o.o7
My first meeting with Eugene at Kirribilli. For the record, he is 26 and hardly "recently registered". It also appears as though he has given up on guitar and devotes his Sunday shift watching Jack Johnson covers on Youtube.
"The Sunday pharmacist is a young, recently registered guy by the name of Eugene. He remarked that I was overdressed and upon seeing me tend to the cough section as soon as I walked into the pharmacy informed me that meticulous straightening of shelf-products was quite unnecessary here. A few things before I start. Sundays are quiet, best to bring a book or DS to kill time (or a guitar, as Eugene prefers), the shopfront is immaculately organised hence dusting is rarely required, knock yourself out with the internet. Do I dare believe what I'm hearing?" - 28.10.o7
Jez babe? Was this the last time you were sick?
"Jez has been sick since last night. We don't know what triggered it but coloured sputum and moderate fever are indicative of bacterial infection and there seems to be no thermometer or amoxycillin in the house. He doesn't seem intent on visiting the doctor and I really don't have the heart to poke him awake again." - 27.1o.o7
Leading up to something sinister was this ... Probably one of the more depressing conversations we've shared. The gloomy prospect of "working for the relationship" didn't hold for long, thankfully.
"We had a talk last night. Realised that we've moved on from the honeymoon, and some degree of effort is now necessary to make things work. Admittedly I was completely put out by the fact that my idealistic little romance bubble had finally burst. But it isn't unexpected. Just reality. No it can't always be kisses hugs and beautiful words. I heart Ne-yo. I know Jez does too. Admit it. Deep on the inside you love those dero claps." - 26.11.o7
Apart from yelling out "PEGGET!" when handing out medicine belonging to Peggy Burnett, I remember this particular blunder and snorted.
"A rather embarrassing mistake was made when Rita was on her way out. Rita is a amiable 50-year-old woman who happens to be quite obese. As she said goodbye to John he wished her a happy Christmas and "don't eat too much chocolate". During the week, the staff at the pharmacy managed to polish off three large gift boxes of chocolate sea shells.
I spoke without thinking. "Haha, too late!"
I immediately facepalmed myself. Neither John nor Rita looked amused." - 21.12.o7
Why do I insinuate sick thoughts like these?
"She kept calling and calling. I refused to pick up and was prepared to face two erupting volcanoes when I walked into the house this afternoon, but to my surprise they were happily preparing for my dad's work dinner tonight and laughing as he showed me magic tricks he had picked up while in China. I'm thinking volcanoes of another kind might have been erupting while I was away." - 15.12.o7
Feels like it was just last week. Possibly the monotony of full-time work has compromised my concept of time. In another way it's also distant. So much has happened yet I feel as if for years and years I've been the same as I am now - a tired, smitten girl who wakes up for work at 6:00, 6:30, 7:00 and 7:30 every morning.
About 50% of the posts were related to difficult customers at work. The frequency of such encounters had decreased significantly since changing jobs but those hair-pullingly frustrating moments provide, at least, feeble conversation starters.
"Exhibit A: Customer contemplates our range of thermometers, points to a forehead thermometer and insists that it's for the ear.
"That's a forehead thermometer." I say.
"A what?"
"A forehead thermometer. You press it to the forehead for a reading."
"What's forehead?"
I don't believe this one requires any further explanation.
Exhibit B: Customer wants Codral 4 Flu, which contains pseudoephedrine.
"I'll need a photo ID with that one." I say.
"I have a pension card!"
"No no, I need something with your photo on it."
"I have a pension card!"
"Your pension card doesn't have a photo. I need some photo ID."
"I have medicare!"
"Medicare isn't photo ID. I need photo ID."
"I have a pension card!"
After that one left, Burak said "I fucking want to kick him in the head"." - 28.o7.o7
I noticed the distinct emoness of my tone during the second half of the year, but nothing came close to crushing my poor little heart like the events that preceded this.
"Mother took me home tonight. I asked her to take a different route but still couldn't suppress the drives home with Ronnie Day and Ben Lee.
She always said there are some mistakes you can't learn from, sometimes you don't get a second chance. But I'm the stupid pidgeon, remember? Second chances still didn't quite cut it for me. Inevitably, it bit me back on the butt. Hard.
I just wanted to say sorry to everyone I'm not replying to.
Karen and Sibs, you better brace yourselves because you're going to be working with the mopiest mope tomorrow night. Don't worry, I won't skimp on the dusting." - 26.o8.o7
For someone who starts another semester of what has been claimed to be the most difficult year of Pharmacy, crazy posts that should have resulted in imprisonment for sarcasm abuse scare the pants off me (if I was wearing any. Hee hee!).
"Hi guys! I'm in PSPC. How awesome is it? There are little vials of urine all around the lab, and after escaping the horrendous fate of being a test subject I've just spent the last fifteen minutes painstakingly drawing a diagram of the distal and proximal tubules of the kidney!
Oh guess what? I have just been pressured into volunteering to collect data! So when the boys come back, I will need them to divulge to me information that I would rather not know, such as just how many miligrams of sodium is present in their urine. Fun fun!
If you can't detect my sarcasm, you deserve to drink the waste bucket." - 31.o8.o7
I miss House. I thought I'd include this because it made water come out of my nose.
"I love Cuddy.
Cuddy: You killed Foreman's job interview.Wilson: Why would I—
Cuddy: Somebody did. Wasn't me and it wasn't House, which means it has to be somebody who thought he was protecting House, which means it has to be somebody who actually likes House, which means it's either you or the weird night janitor who wears his pants backwards."" - 21.o9.o7
Final days at Alpha. In comparison, Greenwood is a dream job beyond dreams. I hold no grudges against Alpha staff, mainly because on reflection, the manner in which I handled the resignation was unprofessional and barely excusable. Nevertheless I reminisce about the year I spent there and grin uncontrollably upon realising I shall visit it no more. Strangely, I briefly contemplated paying Yasser and David a visit, for old time's sake. Then I read a post in which I described being appointed (by Yasser) the scapegoat for all of Sevil's mistakes. I threw the idea down the toilet.
"This is remarkably similar to the stage of a break-up where every conscious thought follows the pattern of "I'll never ___insert action___ again". I think of the scruffy carpet, the overflowing bins, the dusting roster, the Caramello Koala wrapper that always finds its way to the floor in front of the back register. The incessant beeping of the entry buzzer as non-English-speaker after non-English speaker flock in asking for discounts and checking expiry dates. No more. The thought gives me immense pleasure." - 31.1o.o7
"As I made my way out of the pharmacy for what I sincerely hoped would be the last time, the prissy little bitch turned up her nose. Joke's on you, honey. Have fun being an Alpha girl until your breasts sag over your name badge." - 30.1o.o7
My first meeting with Eugene at Kirribilli. For the record, he is 26 and hardly "recently registered". It also appears as though he has given up on guitar and devotes his Sunday shift watching Jack Johnson covers on Youtube.
"The Sunday pharmacist is a young, recently registered guy by the name of Eugene. He remarked that I was overdressed and upon seeing me tend to the cough section as soon as I walked into the pharmacy informed me that meticulous straightening of shelf-products was quite unnecessary here. A few things before I start. Sundays are quiet, best to bring a book or DS to kill time (or a guitar, as Eugene prefers), the shopfront is immaculately organised hence dusting is rarely required, knock yourself out with the internet. Do I dare believe what I'm hearing?" - 28.10.o7
Jez babe? Was this the last time you were sick?
"Jez has been sick since last night. We don't know what triggered it but coloured sputum and moderate fever are indicative of bacterial infection and there seems to be no thermometer or amoxycillin in the house. He doesn't seem intent on visiting the doctor and I really don't have the heart to poke him awake again." - 27.1o.o7
Leading up to something sinister was this ... Probably one of the more depressing conversations we've shared. The gloomy prospect of "working for the relationship" didn't hold for long, thankfully.
"We had a talk last night. Realised that we've moved on from the honeymoon, and some degree of effort is now necessary to make things work. Admittedly I was completely put out by the fact that my idealistic little romance bubble had finally burst. But it isn't unexpected. Just reality. No it can't always be kisses hugs and beautiful words. I heart Ne-yo. I know Jez does too. Admit it. Deep on the inside you love those dero claps." - 26.11.o7
Apart from yelling out "PEGGET!" when handing out medicine belonging to Peggy Burnett, I remember this particular blunder and snorted.
"A rather embarrassing mistake was made when Rita was on her way out. Rita is a amiable 50-year-old woman who happens to be quite obese. As she said goodbye to John he wished her a happy Christmas and "don't eat too much chocolate". During the week, the staff at the pharmacy managed to polish off three large gift boxes of chocolate sea shells.
I spoke without thinking. "Haha, too late!"
I immediately facepalmed myself. Neither John nor Rita looked amused." - 21.12.o7
Why do I insinuate sick thoughts like these?
"She kept calling and calling. I refused to pick up and was prepared to face two erupting volcanoes when I walked into the house this afternoon, but to my surprise they were happily preparing for my dad's work dinner tonight and laughing as he showed me magic tricks he had picked up while in China. I'm thinking volcanoes of another kind might have been erupting while I was away." - 15.12.o7
Feels like it was just last week. Possibly the monotony of full-time work has compromised my concept of time. In another way it's also distant. So much has happened yet I feel as if for years and years I've been the same as I am now - a tired, smitten girl who wakes up for work at 6:00, 6:30, 7:00 and 7:30 every morning.
Food Blog
Pumpkin Soupreé
Rich pumpkiny flavour. Too viscuous to be soup. Could probably make it with our eyes closed.
1 kg butternut pumpkin
4 cups water
Salt and pepper, to taste
Peel and chop pumpkin into small cubes. Boil in water for 40 minutes or until soft. Poke at it with chopsticks to check. Drain. Place cubes in food processor. Add approximately 4 cups water, or adjust according to viscosity preference. Crank it up. Sprinkle cracked pepper and salt liberally and stir through. Serve.
As usual, we grossly overestimated our abdominal capacity. Between us we managed one bowl. An unfortunate boy is going to have leftover soupreé for breakfast.
Veal mushroom and fried calamari at George's Café for dinner. I've had the veal mushroom several times before - usually polishing off the plate single-handedly, but tonight it wasn't as good as I remembered it. Jez ordered the fried calamari, which despite being listed as a starter was pretty much the same size as the main. It was delicious. The same could be said about the iced chocolate. The best I've ever had. I probably would have been quite happy to swap one of our dishes for another glass. Without whipped cream, please.
In need for change for train tickets, we broke a note at the convenience store near the station on two sour Zombie Chews. Remember those dodgy looking candy bars you couldn't keep your mouth off during primary school? Yeah. I bought the strawberry flavour and Jez the blue raspberry. Mine was sour. His was not.
Rich pumpkiny flavour. Too viscuous to be soup. Could probably make it with our eyes closed.
1 kg butternut pumpkin
4 cups water
Salt and pepper, to taste
Peel and chop pumpkin into small cubes. Boil in water for 40 minutes or until soft. Poke at it with chopsticks to check. Drain. Place cubes in food processor. Add approximately 4 cups water, or adjust according to viscosity preference. Crank it up. Sprinkle cracked pepper and salt liberally and stir through. Serve.
As usual, we grossly overestimated our abdominal capacity. Between us we managed one bowl. An unfortunate boy is going to have leftover soupreé for breakfast.
Veal mushroom and fried calamari at George's Café for dinner. I've had the veal mushroom several times before - usually polishing off the plate single-handedly, but tonight it wasn't as good as I remembered it. Jez ordered the fried calamari, which despite being listed as a starter was pretty much the same size as the main. It was delicious. The same could be said about the iced chocolate. The best I've ever had. I probably would have been quite happy to swap one of our dishes for another glass. Without whipped cream, please.
In need for change for train tickets, we broke a note at the convenience store near the station on two sour Zombie Chews. Remember those dodgy looking candy bars you couldn't keep your mouth off during primary school? Yeah. I bought the strawberry flavour and Jez the blue raspberry. Mine was sour. His was not.
3.01.2008
Groan
Two body myths that I suspect are true:
1. Shaving makes hair grow back coarser
2. Eating little or not at all causes the stomach to shrink
Myth 1. I've experienced often back in my shaving days. I'm sure you have too, at some stage, skinned a boyfriend's palms with your sandpaper legs.
The stomach, on the other hand, I feel has actually decreased in capacity. It was only recently that Jez and I realised we could never eat nearly as much as we once did with ease. I'm amused that we're experiencing this simultaneously. It could be the couple-effect. Like Couvade syndrome.
Anyway, this is a list we compiled of amounts of food we once consumed (individually) on an usual basis.
One large pan-based pizza*
Two Hungry Jack's burger meals
A plateful of dumplings equivalent to roughly 1 kg
One seafood mix grill from George's Cafe plus iced chocolate and dessert*
One main and one serving of pancakes from Pancakes on the Rocks*
One bowl of Ramen Kan ramen**
One large Easy Way drink*
(* me, ** both, rest are just Jez)
Now ... I managed to force three slices (sans crust) of a crispy medium-sized pizza from The Mad Italian a few weeks ago; the Hungry Jack's meals Jez used to eat alone are shared between the two of us, as is the mix grill; half a bowl of ramen is more than enough for my appetite; Easy Way drinks are also always shared; it has now become impossible to eat both dinner and dessert (hence last night we skipped the former and went for the latter); not to mention we somehow both filled up on one can of soup.
Whereas belly-bulging satiety was satisfying in the past, I find now that overeating by even two bites results in groany-moany gastrointestinal discomfort. I hate the feeling of being full, which usually sits just fine with my little anorexic mindframe but at times when I'm ravenous enough to eat my own head, filling up on a sushi roll somehow fails to hit the spot.
1. Shaving makes hair grow back coarser
2. Eating little or not at all causes the stomach to shrink
Myth 1. I've experienced often back in my shaving days. I'm sure you have too, at some stage, skinned a boyfriend's palms with your sandpaper legs.
The stomach, on the other hand, I feel has actually decreased in capacity. It was only recently that Jez and I realised we could never eat nearly as much as we once did with ease. I'm amused that we're experiencing this simultaneously. It could be the couple-effect. Like Couvade syndrome.
Anyway, this is a list we compiled of amounts of food we once consumed (individually) on an usual basis.
One large pan-based pizza*
Two Hungry Jack's burger meals
A plateful of dumplings equivalent to roughly 1 kg
One seafood mix grill from George's Cafe plus iced chocolate and dessert*
One main and one serving of pancakes from Pancakes on the Rocks*
One bowl of Ramen Kan ramen**
One large Easy Way drink*
(* me, ** both, rest are just Jez)
Now ... I managed to force three slices (sans crust) of a crispy medium-sized pizza from The Mad Italian a few weeks ago; the Hungry Jack's meals Jez used to eat alone are shared between the two of us, as is the mix grill; half a bowl of ramen is more than enough for my appetite; Easy Way drinks are also always shared; it has now become impossible to eat both dinner and dessert (hence last night we skipped the former and went for the latter); not to mention we somehow both filled up on one can of soup.
Whereas belly-bulging satiety was satisfying in the past, I find now that overeating by even two bites results in groany-moany gastrointestinal discomfort. I hate the feeling of being full, which usually sits just fine with my little anorexic mindframe but at times when I'm ravenous enough to eat my own head, filling up on a sushi roll somehow fails to hit the spot.
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