Here you go!

You can't really see it, but Scooby has the lion's share of the bed. So much so that Jack's actually half on the floor. But, it's veeeeery important not to disturb Scooby when he's snoozing.

Jack: Mouse lover extraordinaire ??

Jack shared his bed with a mouse on Friday night. I really do have serious misgivings about that dog. It appears that he just curled up around it, gave it a wash, and nighty night (!!!!!!!!).

He's always been like that with his toys - if one of his toys is in his bed, he'll teeter on the edge of it, or even just curl up beside it, before he'll disturb said toy (I have a picture somewhere ... I'll see if I can find it). So, he obviously just lumped the mouse in the toy category.

In all honesty, as much as I can imagine that there's a hilarious blog post to go with this, I'm still too astonished that the blimmin thing made it out alive to put one together. It was shocked, and not a little astonished itself too I imagine, but alive nonetheless. Luckily it was still petrified enough that we were able to take it out and release it in the woodpile outside.

Who'd have dogs?

Spoiled

I do love this pressie business!

I bid thee fond farewell

*sniff sniff*

Not you lot obviously.

I stopped off for my last ever Luscious coffee on my way to work today. I was even late to work, but it was important to have the ceremonial last coffee ... I'm not quite sure how it works in the scheme of things that they were training a new barista and the coffee was crap and the caramel square didn't seem quite right either (perhaps it was the bitter taste of parting ways? just to be a bit dramatic about it), therefore meaning that the moment wasn't the moment it was supposed to be, but I've said my goodbyes.

I've also lined up all my shoes to be polished before I start work on Monday, so it's all quite serious. Of course, my shoes will probably disintegrate on impact, it's been that long since they last saw a buffing brush, but we'll (and by 'we' I mean me and the shoe shops. I'm not entirely sure about Al and my Visa - the mere thought will probably have Al curled on the floor in the foetal position. My Visa will probably self destruct) cope with that eventuality when it happens.


Last day tomorrow!

Ooooooh!! Presents!!

I wasn't even remotely expecting presents, even though I looove them and dream about them at every opportunity, so I was completely bowled.

Then of course, one of the managers threw his hands up in the air and said that he'd been charged with the responsibility of getting me a leaving present and since I'm fussy (me?? Fussy??? I don't know where he gets that idea from), what did I want? He did stipulate that he was thinking of a nice pen. Sooo ...I said a Mont Blanc would be lovely, thanks very much. I don't rate my chances, but at least he knows what to shoot for Technically, I was helping. It was either that, or a Louis Vuitton 'never full' bag, but even I know when I'm just being silly.

Piccie of the pressie below, and with a bit of luck it's out of focus enough that you can't see the cat hair on the tablecloth (I know, vile little monster) or the grubby husband finger prints on the lovely polished stainless steel. I would have taken a picture of it all gorgeous and wrapped, except the guys made me unwrap it at work in case there was food in it. Bless.

(and yay for Nikki telling me how to fix the formatting!)

Ah-choo and other frequently heard exclamations

The husband is sick, poor boy. He has an awful cold, and is currently suffering it out on the couch feeling very displeased with the world in general, and those responsible for sharing the love (so to speak) in particular.

Even the dogs seem miserable that their Dad is feeling too pathetic to torment them. Jess is being generally maudlin, and Jack has decided against trying to crawl on Al's knee and has just dragged his bed over to the general vicinity of the body on the couch, but far enough away to be a safe distance in the advent of further dangerous explosions of sneezing.

Obviously, I am a most dedicated wife, and absolutely sympathetic to the husband's distress ...but if he gives me the damn cold, I'll strangle him. Though, having said that, the thought of ringing in sick for my last couple of days at work gives me a warm fuzzy happy feeling.

3 days to go!!

I've been a tad remiss...

I completely forgot to tell you that I have a new job! There are any number of things we can blame that on though (aside from my lack of attention to detail), so I only feel a bit embarrassed.

So, the new job...

It's an old job!

Sort of.

I'm going back to legal, working for the solicitor I was working for before I moved to my current job. But, the plan is that the job will have a different focus. I'll be getting to play with the things that I love especially about that type of work. Oooohh ... and it's part time too! Very lazy of me, but kind of necessary. My endo is becoming an increasing pain in the ... huh. Uterus.

There are two slight drawbacks in that I won't be able to blog during the day because two of my old/new workmates read it (Hi guys!), and will know that I'm not working (bollocks), and I won't be able to winge about work. Same reason (plus, in case the boss gets curious too). Bollocks again.

Plus, I'm still not entirely sure about the genius of heading back into a legal office in time for the Christmas rush ...

But, having said that, there are no forklifts there, or idiot storemen that can't count (do you have any idea how I'm looking forward to working in a solidly intelligent environment again? *blissful sigh*), and I had to get some new clothes, which balances everything out pretty well. At this stage.

Anywho, consider yourselves up to date. And, just remember, don't talk about them! They read the blog!!

I'd like an extra big medal please!

I weeded my gardens today.

Enough said.

Weeell... maybe not quite enough.

I hate gardening. Absolutely hate it. Firstly, I'm sure that my weeds grow a lot faster than everyone elses, which is completely unfair. Secondly, it's a complete nark that my fruit trees look a bit sick, my grasses have died, the herb situation is tear-worthy, and yet, yet, the weeds manage to grow beautiful, lush and in abundance. What's with that?

Despicable.

It's also very sad that, despite my prayers to the contrary, the weather this morning was absolutely beautiful and there wasn't an excuse in the world for not getting stuck in and doing it. Apparently the Almighty thought it was about time I dealt to the weeds as well.

There was one good giggle to be had (2 actually, if you count that it started raining about 10 seconds after I finished yon heinous task) ... the elderly lady next door (very nice lady) sidled over to say hello while I was cursing and swearing over my trowel, and promptly, but very tactfully, pointed out to me that the awful bulby grassy things that seem to spring up all over the place in my garden, are weeds. I have a funny feeling that she thought that I thought that they were plants, such was their grandeur prior to their being yanked out ... but even better is, I wonder how long she's been looking at my garden and wondering whether to mention it? Hehe.

On another topic altogether, the husband and I went out for a date last night. We saw a movie, and then went to a local Thai restaurant. We had an absolutely gorgeous dinner, and I learned a very valuable lesson about choosing movies.

If FHM magazine gives it five stars, be very, very wary (it's called Superbad for a reason it seems).

On the other hand, for those amongst you of the boy gender, apparently it's hilarious.

I don't like it ... nope.

I'm a creature of habit. Rather odd habits most of the time, but habits nonetheless.

And yet, I find myself in a position where I must change my bloggy habits, and I don't like change. There is now, in theory, now someone sitting permanently at my desk at work, and it's not me, so I can't blog when I get to work as I would usually, which is a bit tragic all things considered. It's not so much the sitting down and blogging in the evening, as the not getting paid to do it. That's definitely tragic. Plus, usually come night time, I'm half way to sleep, and it's really hard to type when your head keeps landing on the keyboard.

Still, I won't leave you in the lurch on this particular evening ...

I'm going to cheat and suggest you go and visit Nikki who is always good value. If nothing else you must go and squiz at the pic of Hanny kid on her blog header which is probably one of my favourite kid-pics of all time. Obviously, I'd love to steal this child away (she's a ginger, so she'd fit in no sweat)... but judging by the attitude she's got going on pre-3, I'd be giving her back well before 16.

And, on that note, have a fabulous weekend!

(P.S. Second to last Friday at this job! I finish next week!)

Don't panic! Do. Not. Panic!

I'm here! Over here!

*waves hand madly*

See? It's just seems like I've abandoned you, but I haven't. Not really. Just temporarily tardy. Plus, it's not even my fault.

Blame my replacement. She started work this morning (obviously in my chair, behind my desk, in front of my computer) and so I haven't been able to get near yon blog to post. The thing is that she was supposed to come in at 8.30am so I thought I'd have time to post before she arrived. Buuuutttt, unusually for temp staff, she was inexplicably on time. In fact, she was early. She was here before I was! Odd.

She also seems to be onto it, funny, precise AND articulate. I'm not sure at ALL about this strange creature they have provided me with ...

Go figure.

Have a fab Thursday, and if anyone knows what tapas are, let me know?

xo

Life's little provokers

Why is it that socks are such a pain in the ass?

And, when I say socks, I mean pairs of socks. As in, why the devil are the stupid things so hard to keep in pairs. AND, if you do actually, by some miracle, manage to keep them in pairs between wearing, washing (seriously, what the hell goes on in a washing machine that 2 socks go in, and one comes out?? Where does the other one go? Fine, I can accept that it ends up in a sock happy place, but how does it get there??), folding and putting away until the next wear, the whole damn pair disappears. Honest to ... ARGH!

This especially annoys me when it is my favourite socks that I can't find.


I actually bought, several weeks, three pairs of brand new socks because I was getting so incensed by the great sock insanity-provocation. Except, now I only have one left. And by one, I mean one sock. Singular. Not pair. Oh, no no no.

And the other thing is that you only seem to become fully aware of the sock situation when you're ten minutes late leaving for work, and your only options seem to be bare feet, or socks that only match if you close your eyes really, really tight, so you can't see anything.

I would really, really like to know where the hell my socks are.

Soggy Doggy

Jack has the habit of a morn of trotting outside, watering the plants, defacing the lawn and then jumping on the spa pool cover to survey his territory, before heading back inside to look all mournful until I give him his breakfast.

Imagine my delight this morning though, at 6am, when I let him outside as usual, then headed back into the kitchen, only to hear mere seconds later ...

Splash! SPLASH SPLASH SPLASH SPLASH SPLASH!!!!!!!!!!

THUD.

Shake! SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE!!!!!!!!!!

Yes indeed.

One's husband filled the spa pool overnight, and one's dog didn't realise that there wasn't a cover on it, and that it was full of water, until he'd leaped over the side already.

So, barely awake, there I was chasing a particularly sodden dog around the house while he distributed approximately half the water from the spa (perhaps I'm exaggerating ever so slightly, but that dog holds a lot of water in his coat when he's wet) throughout the house.

Needless to say, the husband got a semi-abusive phone call.

Once I'd stopped laughing.

Al & Jack: Mouse hunters extraordinaire

Deep joy, we've been sharing our house with a mouse for the last couple of weeks (I imagine this is somehow karmically related to my feeding the mouse at work).

Our little guest arrived courtesy of the cat, who thinks it's a fabulous game to bring little creatures inside the house, let them go, and then stalk them. Mostly, she catches them again, amidst varying degrees of chaos. In this instance, however, the mouse seems to have outwitted the cat. And, from the evidence below, the husband and the dog.


At the point the pictures were taken, Al had set up a glass with peanut butter in (mice loooove peanut butter apparently) by the grate under the fireplace, which was the last known location of the mouse. By last known, I mean that for about twenty minutes prior to Al putting the glass down, the little bugger had been popping his head in and out of the grate, watching us watching him, so we had his hang-out fairly well nailed. Anywho, we'd watched the mouse zip in and out of the glass, munching away on peanut butter for about 15 minutes, when Al decided to catch him. The plan was to take up camp by the fireplace and catch him by carefully placing a scrabble pad behind the glass where he'd be able to seal it off with the mouse in it, with the ultimate plan being to release it back outside in the woodpile (probably so it could come back in again to where the peanut butter lives, but there you go).


Except, by the time Al and Jack took their positions, the mouse was full. The only thing Al caught was a lick in the face from Jack, and I'm pretty sure Jack was just trying to work out the best way to get to the peanut butter. Still, they're so cute.

A wee note on the dead pool

Of course, you all know I'm completely offended by this. Absolutely. Not amused in the slightest. Nope.

Anyway, the thing is, I know it's easy to be an armchair critic and all that, but seriously? How could no one have had Pavarotti on their list?

OK, so it's not as many points as Anna Nicole Smith, but still.

Tragic.


And, with that, if you are not Al, Stu, Dave or closely allied to one of those three , you want to stop reading here.

I mean it.

Now boys, while we're at it on the offensive stuff, let's just have a chat about the Aristocrats.

Aside from the minor issue that it is the most disturbing joke on the face of the planet, and I'm yet to sit through an entire version of it (word from the wise here - if you didn't do as I said, have kept reading, and you don't know it, don't go looking for it. You won't thank me for it. I'll guarantee it.), I've heard the beginnings of a number of different tellings.

The thing is though, that I've been mulling on this since I heard (slash watched) (part of) the Aladdin version a wee while ago (thanks Dave). Obviously, I was suitably horrifed and I don't think my children will ever own Aladdin, just because ... but what continues to disturb me most about it, is that the very worst version I have ever heard, by a country mile and then some, continues to be Bob Saget's.

It's just wrong. Very, very wrong.

I could tell you how my day went

But I doubt you'd believe me. Seriously. And no, I'm not being dramatic.

Well, I am, but it's perfectly justified.

Lucky, there exists a wonderful thing called pizza and somehow the thought of merrily smothering my sorrows in campylobacter-waiting-to-happen makes me feel sooo much better. It's just a shame that there is no wine in the house, or I'd encourage certain illness by washing it down with copious quantities of that also.

Still, yay for pizza!

And, by now, my replacement should have received a call from the recruitment agency telling her that she is unsuitable for the position and that'll be the end of that.

It seems harsh, but, unfortunately, that's what happens when one's General Manager hires someone on the say so of a recruitment agency (*cough* run by his brother in law *cough*), no one within the company actually interviews her first, and said agency fails to mention that she has only been in the country 2 months and doesn't understand our language particuarly well.

You know, as a general rule.

Too .......... tired ......... to .........blog

It was a tad pre-emptive of me yesterday to assume impending amusement in relation to my successor starting work.

I'm sure I will be. Amused that is. Eventually. In hindsight. At the moment though? Not so much.

It was a veeerrryyy long day. Eight excruitiating hours.

For example ...

Her: "The customer wants 2 of [product]. How do I write it on the docket?"

Me: "He wants 2 only, so the unit is 'each'. Just write 'EA' which means 'each' on the docket, so that the storeman knows that he wants 2 only, not, say, 2 cartons."

Her: Blank look.

Me: Pointing to docket "Write EA there"

Her: Blank look.

Me: Reiterating "EA means 'each' for 2 single ones."

Her: Blank look.

Me: "EEE. AAA."

Her: Blank look.

Me: " EA - 'E' for egg, 'A' for apple. Short for 'each'"

Her: Writes AA.

Me: Well, you can probably imagine.

Oooo errr!

My replacement starts at work tomorrow.

!!

Based on the information I have so far, I have a warm fuzzy feeling that this is going to be amusing.

Uh oh ...

I've found a stockist for Sabre cutlery and utensils in New Zealand (there was Art de Vivre in Newmarket, but they closed down, damn them).

Sabre, of ladle fame.

I went looking for something in particular for someone in particular (I'm not naming anything or anyone in case said person reads yon bloggie) and turned up the linky.

Ooooohhhhh boy.

I solemnly do swear, at least temporarily, to be a very good Ginger when the catalogue arrives though, and lust from afar.

Huh.

I read something at the weekend that made me stop and think. Not in a 'the word's going to end in a hundred years because you can't recycle chocolate wrappers' kind of way, more in a 'Ye gads, he's right' kind of way.

I was reading the latest (British) Vogue magazine, and there were a number of articles on jewellery. I'm not really a jewellery person - I have a couple of things (my wedding and engagement rings, a watch, a necklace, a pair of earrings and a string of pearls) but very little. The importance of jewellery as a thing to collect just isn't there for me.

Still, it was Sunday morning, and I needed something to read while I drank my morning coffee, so the jewellery articles it was.

It was a point made by the writer of one of said articles that left me mulling. He said, "However unimportant jewellery may be in many respects, it's the last thing left of most civilisations."

Kind of pulls you up a bit, doesn't it?

I suggested to Al that based on that, I really should go and buy some more. Preservation of culture, and my little salute to historical study for future generations and all that.

He just gave me that look of his.

Perhaps not then.

Do I need more hobbies, do you think?

I have been obsessed for weeks with the song 'Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing' by Chris Isaac (of Pulp Fiction fame. I think).

On a daily basis, my daily trips into work pass in a haze of me singing ( ... screeching ... tomaeto, tomarto) rather loudly (it's got to be loud, or it's just not the same) along to whatever songs/CD grabs my fancy. Its one of those things that always gives me an injection of cheerful ... I just tone it down a little as I drive past animal control, in case they nab me.

The only hint I'd give you is that my battle cry is Linkin Park, so if you ever hear that coming from my car you know to run. But, aside from that, I'm all about the cheerful.

Anywho ... I normally pick songs up pretty quick, but Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing has been driving me up the wall. Seriously. You listen to it and try to pick up the timing of the first verse and sing along to it. It's that one line that's the killer

You ever love someone so much you thought your little heart was gonna break in two?

Be-arch.

But, this morning, I finally nailed it. Ha HA!!

It's all about dedication to the cause.

Marvellous way to start a Friday.

Have a good weekend!! (8 hours to go)

The hidden perils of job seeking

I flicked my resume off a few days ago for an admin position at Air New Zealand with MOC (Maintenance Operations Centre).

Imagine my surprise (slash horror) when I received an email in response from HR last night thanking me for my application to join their cabin crew. Apparently they're thrilled I'm considering joining their team.

Uummmmmm ....

Suuure?

(What the???)


Would that mean I'd have to do my hair in the mornings? because that's a bit of a deal breaker for me.


(and before anyone goes calling me a spaz for applying for the wrong job - I did not. The HR email actually came with the subject line MOC Administration, they just sent the wrong standard response with it. Dopey buggers. Gave me a quick heart attack though. I hate flying. And having to be pleasant to people on a regular basis. I hate that more than flying.)

What to talk about on an icky wet Wednesday

Any ideas? I'm all out.


Perhaps a fluff piece to keep you going in the meantime?

We have a mouse at work (which I absolutely have not been feeding. No sireee. No feeding the cute little grey field mouse). I think the thing that amazes all of us about this mouse, is how extremely brave it is. You know how normally if there is a mouse in the house you might get a glimpse of it, and that's about all? Not this mouse. The day before yesterday, we were having lunch and it was just cruising around the floor nibbling on the crumbs.

Go mousey.

The only trouble with the mouse being so brave is that I've known it's been living in the office for ages, but now the guys know too, and although they think he deserves to stay simply because he is so brave, methinks I'm going to be spending the rest of my time in this job sabotaging mouse traps.

Poop.

Wanna see? Do ya?

Of course you do!!

Okay then!

(You can tell my arm is twisted right up my back eh? Not)

Woop woop!

I've just realised that it is my very last 1st working day of the month in this job. Even better, it's almost half over.

Plus, in the interests of successful hand-over (but mostly due to can't be arsedness) leading up to my impending departure, I am not lifting a finger in the warehouse this month.

I feel quite cheerful about things all in all.

Just so long as I don't think too much about the whole unemployed-in-three-and-a-half-weeks business, it's all looking rosy.

Ooooo ... and I have piccies of my niece and she's such a pretty wee dot. I am such a lucky aunty.