The engagement ring...

So, I'm working at a temp job at the moment. It involves liaising with members of the public for a week and a bit and there is a hell of a lot of walking involved. I have another person as my partner on this chatting-walking gig. Never met her before today but she made it very clear to me that she, let's call her, er, Charlene was doing the job to scope out 'talent' to find her future husband. She wants to get married, she already has an engagement ring - her Prince Charming does not have to fork out for this - and she WILL get married. There is no maybe in this. Charlene is a woman possessed. I found her intense need to hog-tie a man to her for marital-there-is-no-way-we-will-ever-divorce-wedded bliss fascinating and scary. On one hand she knows what she wants - man, wedding ring and to become Mrs Charlene X. On the other, in my opinion, she's scary obsessed to the point of not being realistic. I get that some women would like to be a 'couple' but there is also the fact that not everyone marries. Sometimes fate just doesn't make it so. I did point that out to her. Charlene's thoughts on this are because too many women get involved with ' losers' and give up on marriage and 'fate' is stupid. I personally think women like Charlene, who are so marriage obsessed, scare men away. What man wants to be driven to marriage? And to have your own engagement ring to expedite the proceedings? Scary much? It begs the question what happens to the Charlene's of the world if they do not marry?

In the state of what-the-fuckery...

 

So life has been very weird, complex, difficult, different and sporadic for a while. But that happens. It's probably all to do with the tides, the moon, what colour undies you're wearing, what fruit is in season, the job market and complex stuff like that. It's been trying. But I also keep trying purely because as annoying as life can be, I can be more so.

 

Jobs have been weirdly sporadic and since being made redundant last year, I've done a lot of diverse things. I'm flexible like that. You wanna pay me? Sure I'll turn up. No, I'm not much fussed what I do for the money because I'm sure I'll be able to do it because like any hired gun flexibility is the key and hell, longevity is not an issue. Like Darth McVader above. Give me a moment and I'm sure I can take a crack at the unicycle thing. As for bagpipes? How hard can they be? 

I got a call from the temp agency today to do some work this week and next. It's essentially telling people where to go. You know - directions - go left, go right, go to the far queue. I said - sure, no worries. One day I may get a real job but due to this cycle of what-the-fuckery that I find myself in, I can be a temporary person once more. Pay me and it shall be.

 

Er, no...

 

So, I just came back from the hairdresser. I like going there as I can read all the trashy magazines, especially the old ones from last year. I like to read over the horoscopes to see if anything that was predicted in 2013 actually happened.  I'm a Scorpio. It was predicted the following would happen to Scorps...

- You will find the great love of your life - er, no.

- You will marry - see above.

- Great wealth will come your way - er, no.

- You will want for nothing as the universe will answer your every call - I may have been asleep and missed that call. Was a message left?

- Your dream job will come to you in an unexpected way - negatory.

- The end of 2013 and the start of 2014 is your year Scorpio. I will be golden - it's actually been pretty puce bordering on blech.

- You will experience great periods of happiness -  thank god for chocolate.

- You and your partner could expect a bundle of joy - hmmm, if I could find this partner I would ask him where this ' bundle' is and what's my share.

- Your inquisitive mind will lead you down paths that will see you accumulating great knowledge - er, no.

- You will be spiritually enlightened -  no, unless the spirits were alcohol based.

- You will want for nothing - uh huh. 

I like reading my horoscope but on the whole, it's pretty much a load of bullocks. The love of your life? You find him or you don't and the world still turns. Great wealth? Never known money to come to you without hard work. Dream jobs? Ain't no such thing. Happiness? You have to be happy with yourself or at least give yourself a break and accept you can equally stuff up or star. Horoscopes. Enjoy them but believe them? Believe only in yourself.

Jeez Louise...

I changed the route on my run this morning and ran through the city. Only problem with this is you can see your reflection in the shop windows when you run. Yeesh. While the fact you can run without dying is a good thing, you don't want to be looking at yourself when you do it. Scary stuff. It'd put you off exercise for life. Exercise. Don't look - don't see - just do it.

"Exercise is done against one’s wishes and maintained only because the alternative is worse." - unknown

The dreaded 'I love you' thing...

So, I was reading this magazine article on why you should never ever, ever be the first person in a relationship to say “I love you.” Why? Well, there are lots of reasons, said the magazine writer, that indicate those three words lead to doom and doom is bad. 

Why do we need to contemplate the perplexing who says “I love you” first situation? Well, according to the article you apparently don’t want to say it and not have it said back because it can be awkward. There’s also the issue of “I love you too” when its said too fast after your declaration of love. They say this can be bad because the fast "I love you too" can indicate panic from the other person. Panic is akin to doom, it seems. To counter this it appears you have to wait for the perfect “I love you” moment and even if this serendipitous moment does occurs, you can’t be sure that the object of your affection loves you back because apparently they could just be trying to make you happy by saying what they think you want to hear. See above. The after the fact “I love you” is a minefield that must be negotiated carefully due to the need to please factor. 

If by now, you’re still thinking – “Bugger it, I still want to say  ‘I love you’" to someone, I say go for it you crazy fool you but remember there’s the theory you’re not to say it until you’ve been on 5 dates and then it’s better for the man to say it first because…well, I’m not sure. The article just reckons its better that way as it gives the man the edge and feeling of control. But I gotta say if he says it and she doesn’t or she runs screaming away then I’m thinking there’s not a lot of control going on there.  

Then there’s always the right way to say “I love you” apparently. You have to create ‘a moment’ and never ever say it when you’re drunk. Yep, I’d have to go along with this because drunks love everyone and sincerity isn’t their strong point. You should also never apologise for saying "I love you" even when he or she doesn’t love you back. I think you’re supposed to smile, be all stoic like and make light of pouring out your deepest feelings and pretend your heart isn’t  stomped on by an uncaring sod as you go off to get stinking drunk enough to say “I love you” to complete strangers who will smile and pity you but it doesn't matter because you won’t remember saying those three words to them. And for god sake, if you do say those possibly three doom ridden words, the article says don’t answer for the other person. I’m not sure how that goes unless Bob says, “I love you, Mary and I know you love me so it’s a done deal. You’re in this for life with me so don’t even think of arguing with me because no man will ever love you as I do.” In this case I would say step away from Bob, no matter how much he loves you. Bob is a problem.  

All in all, my personal opinion is it’s probably best if you just slug someone in the arm and forgo the ‘I love you’ thing. I’ve said those words and I’ve done the slugging someone in the arm thing. Go with the arm.     

Totally foccaccia'd....

So, my computer has been at death's door for a while with it's flickering, coughing, stuttering and flat out disinterest in any command I gave it. I was nursing it along - ok, yelling at it - when it kept doing the dying swan routine. Today, it carked it (died). It was, in Amarinda terms, foccaccia'd. Bugger. But then, I thought to myself, you have a back up laptop, you smart, practical hoarder you. I hauled out this ancient specimen thinking this will solve all problems. It didn't. I turned it on, it spluttered, burped, groaned and then died. Another foccaccia'd moment. I sighed.  

A friend rang me a bit later and I told her what happened and she said 'What next for you? Were you cursed by an evil goblin? Your life is going to hell in a handbag.' Yep, life has been a tad trying of late and stuff has happened that I could have lived without dealing with. But, all things considered, two foccaccia'd computers purely means that I should expect two good things to come out of said foccaccia-er-ing. Believe it and it will be.  No, I'm not on drugs. I'm a Scorpio. We always regenerate.

The penis lover...

I was driving home last night after the basketball – which the home team won – amazing, Grace – and I was thinking about life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, men and all that male-dom encompasses, the battle I’m fighting and questions like did I have enough petrol to get home? When did I eat last? Lordy, I’m tired, tired, tired. How much money do I have in my purse? And then, for some reason a person I used to work with, maybe 10 years ago, came to mind. Why? I dunno. Her name was er, let’s say Odette…yes, Odette. As I drove in the dark, I recalled the first time I met her. I was working at Telstra – pukeable telecommunication company – and I moved desks – they did that a lot at Telstra – think Titanic and the deck chairs - to sit next to her. As I dumped my crap on the desk, she turned and said to me ‘”I like penis – a lot and I’m very loud and I’ll drive you crazy.” My response to that was  “I’m happy you like penises. I have no personal objection to them. However considering your ‘very loud’, I’d prefer you don’t bring a penis to the desk and get all excited 'cause I will have to tell you to shut up.” We got on well, me and Odette, the penis lover. I’m not sure what happened to her in the end. There were lots of stories about Odette. I do know the very last time I saw her she had come stomping into work, a plastic bag in her hand and the charred remnants of her work uniform inside. “I set it alight last night,” She said to me in a casual who-gives-a-crap-tone. “Good one,” I responded, because I always enjoy decisive action. She then marched up to management, handed them the scraps of uniform and then left the building, head held high and undoubtedly thinking about the pursuit of penises.

So, what does that all mean in the scheme of things and of me, driving home in the dark, contemplating life? I think it is supposed to mean that it’s okay to set things alight to in order to move on and that sometimes you have to declare your intentions and your desires – be they penises or not – and just get on with who you are as a person without thinking about petrol, food, the arseholes you battle or tiredness because you only get so many chances to burn bridges and to right wrongs. It’s all just about declaring who you are, defying those who don't like that  and then keep moving regardless of what's ahead.