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“I’m Looking at You D”

A post I have regurgitated from another site from 2011:

As I set off today and indeed when I got home I was thinking that I would have nothing to blog about today.  I spent the day at a training course being all professionally developed.  I feel way more professional now. All properly named for the day (I was student D) and already being an advanced student inasmuch as I can turn the computer on and off again without being told to when trouble shooting, I was expecting boredom as we waited for the less computer literate people in the class to catch up to where we, the more computer literate people in the class were.  Now I’m not saying that I’m smarter than everyone else in the class, I don’t need to.  The facts speak for themselves, people.  Lets just say that due to my short attention span and penchant for thinking about monkeys and unicorns when not properly amused, I got what I expected.  Boredom.  Well, I would have if my boss weren’t sitting next to me being more distracted and bored than I was.  How is it that I always manage to find the biggest ratbag in the class to sit next to?

Just lucky I guess.

We were learning the new Specialised Homelessness Services data collection platform and the online reporting system, using a dummy training platform.  A sandbox, if you will.  We had entered in the data necessary and I was playing around making notes on why our ‘client’ had not been offered service.  In a completely non-judgmental and strengths based fashion I wrote “ugly shoes” as the reason for service refused and moved onto finalising the report.  Completely forgetting about what I had written and having no idea how the data was displayed in reports, I pretended to pay attention to the lecturer.

I would like to inform you that I now know that notes written in an Unassisted Person’s record are not private and show up to the whole class on the projector,  turns out that dissing a homeless person’s footwear in class will brand you as the class troublemaker.  And have you singled out…………

“I’m looking at YOU ‘D’.”

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“It Fits Perfect!”

Boys are weird.

That statement really stands alone now I come to think about it.

I came across a picture of my best friend’s daughter today and I thought it was adorable.  Not that I’m biased or anything…  She was holding a picture of her mother’s x-rays showing the massive spot on her lung from the pneumonia that almost killed her landed her in hospital a while back.   I showed it to my husband and he was all like “Oh my god, that’s a big spot”.  And that is the difference between my husband and I.

He sees a trivial by comparison spot on a lung and I see a beautiful little girl that has grown too much since I last saw her, wearing a Flint Lockwood style lab coat, pretending to be a doctor by pointing to an x-ray with a chopstick.

Boys are weird.

But that’s okay.  I love you anyway.  You’re welcome.

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Elmo, a leg rash and arson

Regurgitated post from 2011 from another site:

So I saw on Facebook yesterday that my best friend had been taken to hospital.  Before you judge me for finding out via Social Media that my best friend was dying of an unnamed disease, I’m not sure what, possibly testicular cancer or hemorrhoids, I would like to point out that a) I moved interstate a couple of years ago and can totally be excused from knowing what is happening half way across the country and b) she is even more obstinate than me (as hard to believe as that is) and never lets on when she needs help.
So, there you have it.
I’m totally blameless in all of this.

Stop judging me.

Having her in hospital all the way over there made me think about the last time I was in hospital and she came and brought me a care package. I don’t usually like to tell people how I ended up in hospital, I like to call it a clumsy moment.  But really is was a Coordination Failure of the Highest Order.

Here’s the thing.
I was in the middle of trying to get a restraining order against my ex-husband so I had paperwork spread out all over the living room floor, at the same time I was mopping the kitchen and chatting online to my, then, boyfriend.  My boyfriend said something that was grossly offensive that I can’t exactly remember (I can’t be expected to do all the work, people!) like No, Ryan Reynolds is NOT the sexiest man alive or I see your point and it has validity, but we’ll have to agree to disagree this time, My Darling and I got justifiably upset, turned around as I let out a curse word or two into the empty room….

This post is interrupted to bring you the “Tip of the Day”
Curse at your partner behind their back.  That way they never have the right of reply and you will always win whatever disagreement you are having – either real or imagined.  After all – Winning is what matters in a marriage.
You may now return to your regularly scheduled blog.

stormed into the living roomWherein I promptly tripped over the bin that I had moved in there in order to mop the kitchen floor, skidded on some paperwork and impaled myself between the toes on a 2 ringed binder quite deeply and convincingly.  To cut a long story only a little bit long – the ensuing infection spread up as far as my knee before I was admitted to hospital.

Knowing me as well as she does, my best friend recognised that I was going to get bored very quickly sitting in hospital connected to a drip with no shiny things to distract me or small children to make fun of and brought me a care package.  I’ve heard talk that flowers are the traditional gift in hospital, in this case my hospital gift consisted of:

  • a Mr Potato Head style Elmo toy, complete with elephant outfit and noises
  • Bubble Wrap – thank goodness it wasn’t my thumbs that were injured
  • Maccas Trivial Pursuit – all my pursuits are trivial
  • Coke Zero
  • Grain Waves

Which is why when I found out she wasn’t well, I called the local florist there and convinced her to go and buy a colouring in book and crayons to deliver with the flowers I was sending.  Cause I’m the kind of caring friend that makes sure the hospital staff delivering your gift start to suspect that you’re one of the special kids. You’re welcome!

Quote of the day:
After seeing that a chicken schnitzel was burned
<creepy stare with knife and fork by his face> “Mmmmm Dinner is arson flavoured, tonight”

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I Hope You Don’t Get Flowers and Chocolates

My son is the best boyfriend.

Now stop that. I don’t mean that in a Phil Donahue kind of way. We are not Tasmanian/*insert your country’s backwards, my-brother-is-my-uncle state here.*

I mean that I did done raised my boy right and he understands that it is just as important to show his love on the other 364 days of the year as it is on Valentine’s Day.   And the true measure of love isn’t in the cost of the gift that he gives, it is in the actions he displays even when Hallmark doesn’t tell him to.

(I started this post back in February and probably got distracted by lots of shiny things and fairy floss, but I think the sentiment is still valid even though it is a little late.)

So I am hoping that on Valentine’s Day, you didn’t get roses and chocolates.

Now don’t get me wrong, just because I believe in the over commercialisation of the holidays in order for companies to sell us more things we don’t need, doesn’t mean that I don’t love the holidays like Charlie Sheen loves snorting coke off a hookers arse. And it certainly doesn’t mean that I hope that you end up miserable in a corner, crying because your significant other didn’t think to get you anything on Valentine’s Day.

It means that I think that you are worth way more than standard, no-brainer gifts. I hope that the gifts you receive required thought and/or effort. And here’s where the title of this post becomes a little less ‘call child services’ and a little more ‘give that lady a parenting medal’; my son remembered that months previously he was watching Man Vs Pin with his girlfriend and she had commented on how much she would like to make a ‘Cloud Light’. She hadn’t gotten around to it with all her uni studies and so he made her a cloud light, complete with little hearts raining from it.

cloud

My husband refuses to buy me flowers on Valentine’s Day, he says that he would rather grow me roses than buy me them so that I can have them whenever I want. He believes it is the thought and effort that shows how much he loves me, not the one off flashy gifts. So I often get a nice chai latte in bed on the weekend, or we go out to brunch because he knows that I am part Hobbit and brunch is my favourite meal of the day, or for a drive because he loves indulging my love of seeing new places. And I also get shiny things, but oftentimes we go shopping together after having lunch out so that I can choose the exact piece I want.

And although he doesn’t like Valentine’s Day, he acknowledges it because it makes me happy (in the same way I don’t celebrate his birthday because it makes him happy that I respect that he doesn’t do holidays). So this year, while he was out I built a fort in our room. I dragged the TV to the foot of the bed and used sheets to make a fort for us to watch telly and laugh and giggle like teenagers in. I used post-it notes to make an 8-bit heart on the bed and wrote something I love about him on each one. And I cut roses from the garden that I had been tending because I know he loves rose gardens, they remind him of his grandmother’s house in England. And for the record:

BEST VALENTINE’S DAY EVER!

Fort snuggles and laughter are the best kind of snuggles and laughter.