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It’s a Trap!

Admin’s Log: July 15

It has been 5 weeks since Telstra pulled the copper lines out of the street where I work leaving us with no phone or internet service until we could hook up to the NBN. As it stands we have no phone lines out, calls have been diverted to my mobile so there is no real ‘knock off time’ for me, no network connectivity so emails and intranet are down, cannot network to the printer. Shredder still works but am expecting that to change soon. Slowly going crazy. IT guy attending site to fix the issues. Am not planning to let him leave until all is fixed. Will set a subtle, yet 100% effective trap to ensure his capture.

Seriously, 5 weeks since Telstra took our phone lines down and we’re still struggling to get everything back on track.  Needless to say I was super excited to hear that our IT guy was coming to my office to fix our problems.  And after doing our printing at home after hours, using my phone tethered to my laptop as my work desktop is essentially a giant word processor and using my mobile for a work phone, there was no way on this green earth I was letting him leave until it was all fixed.  But how to ensure he stays here until it was  done? <strokes chin thoughtfully>

I present to you the Acme Trevor Trap:

trevor_trap_v1

Complete with kibble and something to drink, all I need to do is put paper down for him to sleep on so he doesn’t make a mess.

What’s that I hear you say?  My trap is cunning and subtle and completely 100% foolproof.  Why thank you, I was pretty impressed with myself, and every client that stepped through the door thought it was brilliant.

The Trevor I was trying to trap?  Walked through the green door RIGHT NEXT TO IT and didn’t see it!  I should have made it larger and more obvious.  Up until now I hadn’t thought that subtlety was my strong point, but *clearly* I was wrong.

His excuse is that he is smarter than the average IT guy (points awarded for the Yogi Bear reference).
I think he is less observant than the av-er-age Bear.

In fairness, I think I’m right.  Because, well, I’m always right for starters.  Also, because – I’m always right.

Next time I’m going to dig a big hole in front of the office entry and cover it with leaves and twigs.  If he didn’t see the trap, there’s no way he will notice that.

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PMS is the Path to the Dark Side

We all know that your teenage years are the best years of  your life complete and utter hell on wheels half the time. Any adult who tries to tell you that they are the best years of your life is not to be trusted with important decisions like whether brussel sprouts are a vegetable or a tiny ball of fart.  (It’s the second one, trust me.  I know things.  I’m the kind of grown up who has never told a child that high school is the best years of their lives.)

Ash: “My uterus is trying to kill me.”

Me: “There is a distinct possibility that your uterus is trying to claw its way out of your stomach and strangle you.”

Ash: “I think it’s trying to take me to the dark side.”

Me: “Don’t do it.  They don’t really have cookies.”

Ash: “They probably do.  But they’d be the ones with sultanas and other nasty things.”

I’m pretty sure that Star Wars would have been a completely different movie if Anakin had been smart enough to realise the cookies were laced with raisin traps *before* going to the dark side.

“Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to cookies. Cookies lead to raisins. Raisins lead to disappointment.”

The lesson here is that my daughter is more suited to being a Jedi than a Skywalker is.  And that raisins and sultanas are tools employed by the dark side to break the youngling’s spirit.

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Important Work Phone Call

I called my friend in another office to ask her a very important grammar question, because you don’t want internal emails to Head Office to go out without proofing them first.  That’s just unprofessional, People!  And I’m all about looking professional.  That’s why I’m the boss.  No really.

“Okay.  Important Question.  You know what a stickler I am for grammar rules.  Do you think prostitutey has an E in it or just a Y?”

“Ummmm… That’s one of those words I have to see written down.  Gimme a sec. <scribes silently>  It definitely has an E in it.”

“Yeah, cause you only drop the E when you add ING, not when you add Y.”

“Yeah.  And IE just looks funny. <starts giggling>  You need to write that down.  Look at Prostitutie with an IE written down.  Are you doing it?”

“Yeah?  It looks wrong.  Its definitely an EY.”

“No but with an IE it looks all cute.  Like it might be a lip gloss flavour.”

“Eewww Noone wants lip gloss that salty and white.”

“Nooooo.  Like Lip Smackers Prostitutie Fruity.  I’d buy that.  It sounds delicious and  fun.”

<disolves into laughter>

And while I’m sure that prostitutes and flavour derivatives thereof are both delicious* and fun, I am not so sure that it is time for them to be on the supermarket shelves.

*in a completely non-cannibalistic way.  Please don’t eat people. Well, do.  But only in the behind-closed-doors kind of way.  But now I think about it, cannibals probably don’t leave the front door open when they are cooking dinner.  No one wants to see you adding paprika to your great Aunt Ruth who ended up in your favourite goulash recipe because she gave you yet another ugly christmas sweater.  I think I’ve put too much thought in to this already.  So in summation:  Eating people is only for sexy times.  Not for dinner times.  This is an explicit disclaimer to absolve myself of any involvement or responsibility in your freaky and completely illegal canabal parties.

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Classic Literature is Not to be Trusted with your Children

The other day (and in the words of the amazing Ed Byrne “when I say the other day that really means between now and…. ever”) I was having a conversation with my 20 year old son who is currently reading The Divine Comedy by Dante, more specifically, he is reading Dante’s Inferno. And let me tell you, that is some pretty messed up stuff. Human Centipede, Teeth, Saw? Nope, the people that imagined those sick and twisted plots lack the nauseating and warped imagery that Dante sprang forth from his dark and perverse imaginarium. Seriously, there is essentially what is a rape tornado in this book. Did you get that?   A tornado full of raping. Yeah, that happened.

What’s worse is the dentist’s office style waiting that is one circle of hell.

Me: “Your soul is important to us. Your afterlife may be recorded for training purposes.”

Me:“Thank you for waiting. Your deity of choice will be with you as shortly as possible.”

Son: “It doesn’t say how he got to hell.”
Me:“Probably took a wrong turn at Albuquerque.”

Son: “Yeah … can you go to hell for us…….(shrugs) Seems legit.”

Son: “Much fire. Very pain. Such ice. Wow.”

Son: “He got lost… and went to hell!”
Me: “Yeah, that happens. I went to Gosford once too.

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Weird Feet

Individual.  Funny. Empathic.

All the things I value highly in a child and my daughter has them all.  I can remember (and it doesn’t feel like very long ago, but in reality it is about 5 years ago) her getting so upset and having me whisper retorts for her to use in the ‘pun wars’ the older kids would have with my husband because she wanted to join in but wasn’t old enough to come up with the jokes.

Its hard to believe now.  She has become the most amazingly funny and quirky individual who has had us in stitches all weekend.

Our fabulous (and quite young compared to us at only 24) friend came to visit last weekend and Ash spent quite a lot of time with her splashing in the ocean on rainy days and failing miserably at navigation and trying on her clothes.  Well, scarves really.  All of them. And mine. All of them. At the same time.

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Me (laughing and leaning in to kiss her): “I love you”

Ash: “I love you too”

Me: “You’re so weird”

Ash:  (looks down, looks back up, looks down forlorn) “Its my feet, isn’t it?”

Whole room erupts in laughter.  It couldn’t be the 12 scarves she was wearing at once making her look like a snowman dressed by small children, must definitely be the perfectly normal feet…

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There is a Shrine to Me – I might be a Deity of Some Kind. Also, it is Ryan Reynold’s Fault I Can’t be Trusted with Your Souls.

Oh my god, you guys!! My daughter came home from school with the BEST story to tell me today.

“So my friends Dad is a teacher at our school and he was wandering around the staff rooms and he found something that was so awesome he had to tell me about it straight away. He came running up and he was all ‘OMG LISTEN’ and he told me about this cork board in the PE teachers area, it has a bunch of stupid excuse notes and it has Every. Single. One. That I handed into the sport teachers. The mutant squid cyborgs and the time dinosaurs ate my sport uniform, everything PLUS a two page letter from my teacher to the head teacher about how I shouldn’t be able to get away with this and how I should make up for the lessons missed.”’

The thing is, I think that physical health is important. But I don’t think that it is important to make children spend hours running around the perimeter of the school in the mud and rain in winter. That’s just stupid. Especially when yoga, indoor cricket, hot chocolate and common sense exist. So I write notes letting my children get out of cross country running when the weather is wet and slushy. And out of competitive sports that they don’t give a damn about. Which is most of them. Except Mario Kart. Mario Kart is a sport, right? Poorly spelled notes like this:

PE Note

Rebekah is excused from PE today due to a particularly vicious & fashion impaired heard of wild dinosaurs attacking the house & stealing her PE uniform, her running shoes & a pot plant. This has caused her untold amounts of stress and physical imparement.   She now, quite curiously, has been able to smell nothing but sauerkraut since the incident. As such, no PE for her on Wed 27/2.

And this:

PE Note #2

All hail the dark overlords.

Rebekah, in accordance with the wishes of our Evil Cyborg Squid Zombie masters is unable and unwilling to participate in Cross Country Running today so as not to anger the ECSZ overlords.
Only indoor sports may be done.
And eating braaaaaiiiins……
Brains mmmmmmm…..
Braaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiins……..

Now I was quite proud of these notes and had written many like them in the past for genuine absenteeism and sport related apathy when the children were at other schools, and it had amused the teachers and excused the children. Not so much with this school. The 2 page letter writing whimsy police sports teacher prompted the head of the department to call me to tell me that I was weird. Not at all offensive. And by not at all, I mean TOTALLY. He went on to tell me that PE was the most important lesson that they have. To which I politely disagreed that running around in a circle would further my daughter’s chances of getting into NIDA as she plans to do, especially as she was making straight A’s in her other classes and I also politely (read firmly but respectfully) informed him that I was her mother and I was comfortable with my decision to excuse her from running around in the rain. To which he quite abruptly informed me that as her mother I had no right to have a say in her education. Cue me hanging up after informing him of the importance of my role in her life and education. And cue a less dinosaur studded letter to the principle to complain about his rudeness.

The next note was every bit as weird.

This was back in 2013. And I haven’t had cause to write too many zombie notes in the past year. On the odd occasion I have filled in medical consent forms and added chocolate as a recommended medication/incentive for laziness or wondered in writing if not being able to find things when looking for them was a medical condition. But all in all, Jurassic housebreakers and undead overlords have been kept to a minimum. (Also, my spell check doesn’t think undead is a word. It is. It knows this now.) And these notes are still on display in the teacher’s lounge nearly a year and a half after I wrote them.

So the take home message from all of this is:

  1. Teachers need something to break the boredom, besides putting vodka in the water cooler. Because I’d become a teacher if they had vodka coolers. I’d be the most drunk fun teacher there if there was a vodka cooler. Also, I’d invite the students I didn’t like into the staff room and give them a drink of ‘water’ from the cooler and then BAM!! I’d have them expelled for drinking on campus.
  2. It was worth it. Mwahahahahaha
  3. There is a shrine to me. This is undeniable proof that I may be a deity of some kind. But not the kind of deity that anyone should trust their soul to willingly. I can’t be trusted with souls. I’d probably lose them in a game of strip poker with a heavily muscled and slightly oiled Demi God. Like Helios, Kevin Sorbo or Chris Hemsworth. Or Ryan Reynolds. And yes, I know Ryan isn’t a real Demi God like Helios, Kevin or Chris, but c’mon – its Ryan Reynolds guys. I’d totally gamble your souls to try and see him up close and personal without his shirt.
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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”