Well. Welly welly well. I am blushing outrageously after all of that jumping to my defence business. I would buy each and every one of you a sparkling gift of some description, but I am severely broke after Chrimbo and the subsequent sales, so here are a million of my thanks, and a few nervous giggles for good measure.

There seems to have been no response from the content nicker, and I suspect that it will remain that way, or that she will disappear entirely. The slightly horrible thing is that I discovered her blog when she sent me an e-mail saying that she really liked mine. She included a copy of this meme, suggesting that I do it as well, which included a couple of her images. Being a nosy sod, I scouted out the source of the pictures and hey presto. "Oh, what a nice e-mail, really complimentary HEY HOLD ON A COTTON-PICKING MINUTE." Etc.

To move right along:

Christmas was quite fab, thank you. I now own every single Blackadder DVD ever made. There were many other things, including garden frog gnomes, and top notch guitar strings, which proved to be excellent encouragement for changing the bastards for the first time in far too long. And books, glorious books! Can I ask for anything more?

John and I went shopping a couple of days afterward, because we have hired a car for our week of holidays and have to make the most of it, even if making the most of it involves repeatedly driving to shops that are within walking distance.

Besides the shops/bottle-o within walking distance, we went to IKEA. Jesus, IKEA! Thou hast taken over all of olde Logan towne! We spent a ridiculously long time navigating the Rwanda-sized carpark and commented that it had probably taken longer to find a park than it would to actually buy what we needed.

WRONG.

IKEA is a strange beast, in that you go in there thinking you need to buy two bowls to make up for the ones that have been broken and come out with a new set of wine glasses, a clothes horse, a lamp, some spice jars, storage containers, and a stuffed giraffe and snake.



And because I know how to make holidays fun, I then went to the doctor and had three needles. Two in the left arm, one in the right. Yes, that's right, I finally decided to protect myself from the various diseases that South America has to offer, since that whole overseas trip thing is only SEVEN WEEKS away. Yeeehaaaaaa.

Is your self-esteem too high? Do you think you're immensely attractive, and is it getting out of control? Visit Noosa! The Land of the Insanely Beautiful Tourists! And you too can feel like a Big Fatso Whale with a face like a sackful of spanners.



Tonight is part deux of the traditional Christmas dinner, in which the dessert portion is to be consumed, along with perhaps one million beers. Yes! Indeed.

[The above actually occurred last night, along with the composition of the rest of this post, but the son of a bitch did not publish. Curse you, Blogger.]

Ok, I was going to blog all about the Christmas Cheer and the Merriness and the Good Will, blah, etc., blah, but THEN. That girl who is stealing my life HAS NOT STOPPED. She has, in fact, stolen part of the post that is two below this one, concerning my musical tastes. MY musical tastes! The word to take notice of in this case being 'MY.'

So I am going to post the link. And if you would like to take a look, gasp indignantly and go about your business, then that will be fine. If you would like to comment there and recommend she go and find her own life, that will be fine also. If you would like to comment here, or privately e-mail me, saying 'As IF anyone would copy you, you boring gasbag,' then that will be... well, not very pleasant, but I think I can bear it.

If you don't give a shit, then hey. Hey! That's ok.

Naughty!

And your Christmas, was it merry?

It is a widely-held view that government workers are notorious slackers, and I can now confirm that it is 100% accurate. Two hour lunches, mammoth team 'meetings' involving arts and crafts, early finishes, THE WORKS.

(Or, quite ironically, the lack thereof.)

This is all very foreign to me, coming from the land of "You were three minutes late today, is everything ok?" I actually asked if I had to go to the arts and crafts session and was looked at in a way that suggested I was Quite Mad.

So while the e-mails were mounting, I was in charge of the icing sugar.

The government is also quite cliquey. There are Giggly Girls, there are Older People, there are Boy Gangs, and I am yet to find any Crap Joke Crackers like me. There does seem to be a number of Dishy Chaps about the place though, which is also a shock to the system after coming from a workplace full of laydeez and gay men.

I am finishing up at 1pm tomorrow, and then all hell breaks loose for the Christmas period. It seems to me like it will be ridiculously busy, but in true Christmas fashion, I suspect I will discover that I really didn't have that much to do and spend a lot of my time in front of the telly, watching DVD's and eating Happy Hippos.

What would you do if you discovered that somebody was copying your blog posts, and pasting them into their blog as their own? Would you mention it in one of your rambling posts, and hope that it would subtly tell them that you were onto them? Or publicly NAME AND SHAME?

Hey! It's MY boring life! MINE!

I have recently been drawing myself out of my Queen and David Bowie reverie and attempting to reacquaint myself with Modern Day Music. And I can only conclude that in the couple of years I have avoided the radio, not much has changed, except that Nelly Furtado is no longer so much like a bird as she is like a pouty-faced tart.

I watched Video Hits, which was featuring The Top 100. 'The Top 100 WHAT?' I wondered, as Wheatus's 'Teenage Dirtbag' caused me to become temporarily deaf. The Top 100 songs that have ranked somewhere in the Top 40 over the past few years? The Top 100 randomly-selected songs that MAY have been played on the radio at some point? But no. This was, according to the website, the Top 100 Songs of ALL TIME.

Gee whiz. That Oirish bloke who won that talent show has done well for himself, hasn't he? Straight to the Top 100!

I am going to film myself wailing while I strum my guitar and belch simultaneously and I expect to see myself on next week's show. Ok?

Friday: The Christmas party was Quite Ace, and so very large that it was hosted by a (GASP) prominent radio personality. Oh yes, I go to ALL the big parties. Brushing shoulders, practically. I met a girl who was an incredible nutter, and proved this when her boyfriend handed her a handful of the plastic, sparkly stars that had been scattered on each table, by EATING THEM. She washed them down with her champagne.

How marvellous.

Saturday: A pre-Christmas Dinner of the highest order was hosted, with John playing Chef Extraordinaire and me playing Crap Joke-Cracking, Beer-Swilling Wench. A veritable MOUNTAIN of food was piled onto each plate and it was all very successful, as noone projectile vomited or exploded from Too Much Eating. Hurrah!

And now to face my second week of the new job, and perhaps actually work. Indeed!

I am yet to do any work whatsoever. After being shown six different places by six different people and being told that each of them is where I would be sitting, I was ushered off to a three-day training course which so far seems to be teaching me how to eat chocolate and make a twit of myself in front of others.

I also get to do this whilst being given sandwiches and dressing like a bum.

Hurrah!

This is all good.

The Christmas party on Tuesday was a bit of a flop, as John and I were paying for our alcohol until it was subtly revealed that it was all actually FREE (it was held at a pub, we were told to go to the bar for drinks, and the staff asked us for money. So we're not that silly, are we?), and my very grown-up efforts to be a good girl who doesn't get shitfaced on a school night were completely in vain, because EVERYONE piked out by 8pm. Since when did people become so terribly sensible? For shame!

On this Christmas party subject, tomorrow night is the night of John's official work party, which will most likely be Quite Big and Possibly Posh. I must go to act the part of Girlfriend and will be badgered by people who like to talk about IT and engineering. BOR-INGGGG.

Ahem.

Champagne and whore-durrrves will be my Saviour.

Aside from this, well, there is nothing aside from this.

"And see? This is your e-mail inbox. In. Box."

"Yes," I replied, wondering if I was giving off Ditzy Wench vibes.

"Now, sometimes," the trainer continued, "you might receive an invite to a meeting or an event. Look, there's one!"

The trainer opens an invitation to pre-Christmas drinks, which had been sent to everyone in the department.

"So what you do is click here, and then click Accept. Like that. See?"

"Yes," I replied, realising that I had just accepted an invitation to a piss-up with people I don't actually know.

A short while later, the man who originally interviewed me, who was also the original sender of the invite, walked past.

"Ahoy, GBE! Well done on accepting the drinks invite before you'd even been with the company for two hours! YEAHHHH! Hahaha."

Yes. Thank you. Good ol' me, coming across like a complete pisshead on my first bloody day. "It wasn't me," I said feebly, but he had already gone.

'Twas not a bad day, all in all. Induction is thoroughly shit, to be quite honest, what with the reading and Code of Conduct and the rules and regulations and all that jazz, but I am keeping my eye on the big picture, which is altogether prettier. I think I must give out vibes that destroy air conditioners, though, because this is the second (consecutive) time that I have turned up at a new job to discover that there is no cooling whatsoever, and consequently sweated like a pig in the sun.

Me = evident pisshead who is very bright red, huffing and sweaty.

Tomorrow, John and I are going to a Christmas party, hosted by the agency who sorted his visa. A party on a Tuesday night? Looks like somebody waited too long to book their venue, methinks.

These are the rules:

• Each pint must be followed by a pint of water.
• Pints must contain light beer, or a copious amount of mixer.
• Peer pressure is to be ignored, or sneered at, in a superior "you're just jealous because YOU wish that YOU had a big glass of water, too" kind of way.
• We must not remain past 10pm, lest we turn into glass slippers, or ugly step-sisters, or whatever.
  

And I figure I should be ok for Wednesday. Hopefully?

The Good

* Today, because it is another Bludgy Day Off, I have had a lamington for breakfast. And pot noodles for lunch. I am sincerely in love with pot noodles. Somehow, I think my bodier is happier with me when I am on my normal working person diet.

* I have not mentioned the Fitness Farce bollocks for quite a while, because they had my membership on hold and they weren't taking any money off me and everything was hunky-dory but then! Then, they decided to take it off hold and start sucking at my money again, and I came up with a plan so cunning you could brush your teeth with it. All will be revealed in due course, and I cannot say too much because there have been a few suspicious google searches that make me think that they are WATCHING ME. Suffice it to say, those suckers are going DOWN. Muahahaaaaaa!

The Bad

* I cannot read books and then watch the movies based on them. I do not know why I repeatedly subject myself to such torture. The movie, Bram Stoker's Dracula, is WRONG. I would like to sit back and calmly watch the movie, but NO, that DIDN'T HAPPEN, you're MAKING IT UP. I could bear Keanu's attempt at a British accent if the movie followed the book, but no, UNBEARABLE. (Though Mr. Hopkins makes an excellent nutty Van Helsing.)

* My extremely successful shopping day was worsened somewhat when I arrived home to discover that I was missing one of my bags of shopping. Fortunately, it only contained one top, but unfortunately, it was the Best Top Ever. It was sort of teal-coloured and when I put it on, it practically screamed "Look at how competent and clever I am! Yes, I can use all sorts of big words and complete difficult tasks!" All is not lost, however, as there is a very slight chance that I left it on the bus, and that it might have been handed in. Yes, I know, FAT CHANCE and all that, but it's worth a shot.

The Distinctly Unattractive

* Last night, at my last dance class of the year, I forgot to put on proper grown-up shoes and accidentally turned up in my PLUGGERS. As if this wasn't bad enough, the instructor decided to introduce a very spinnyturny move. Aside from constantly near-stacking it, I very nearly took out three blokes with my projectile shoes, as they flew off my feet, left, right, and centre. Oh yes, ALL the boys want to dance with me. If I'm not repulsing them with my delightful garlic fragrance, I'm issuing concussions to anyone who looks at me squint, with some bonus foot odour for added pleasure.

* I have been in a cleaning frenzy today, and when it came to the bathroom I decided to brave the bog of eternal stench and scrub the toilet. Which was going along swimmingly until my vigorous scrubbing led to the toilet brush SPLASHING PONGING TOILET WATER INTO MY FACE.

Words. Cannot. Describe.

I don't really know what to say about my last day at Shitty Insurance Shithole.

I think I managed to offend just about everybody when they asked "Are you sad?" and I replied "Relieved, actually. Oh! And, um, sad." I will genuinely miss a few of the people, and absolutely delight in not ever seeing a couple of them again.

I stammered and stuttered when it came to farewelling my own team, and managed to say "Thank you for being a supervisor. I hope my new job will be better," to my own leader. WELL DONE ME. Thank you for being A SUPERVISOR? I should've just had a massive piss-up with them all and then I could've drunkenly told them that I loved them. Much easier. Traditional.

I did zero work. I cleaned my desk until it was spotless. I went to an Exit Interview and told the interviewing wench the brutal truth. She wanted to know why I was leaving, so I was all 'here is a list of what's wrong with this place. Here is a list of what's right - oh wait, DOESN'T EXIST.' Not that it'll make a difference, because as long as they can keep hiring these new flocks of lambs for the slaughter, they're happy. Who gives a toss about retaining the staff who have put in some sort of effort - let's just buy some new monkeys to train.

Various other animal-related analogies here.

I said goodbye to Best Work Mate and his eyes went watery, he hugged me several times, waved and yelled, "ROCK ON!" I forgot to say, "Thank you for single-handedly keeping me sane. Thank you for being lovely. I will miss you most of all." Because I am RUBBISH. I will speak to him later.

ANYHOO! It's over, hurrah! I can stop stressing about that place, and start stressing about the new place. Making the right impression, trying not to come across as too much of an introvert, trying to avoid scaring people with my crap jokes, trying to tame my crap hair, trying not to giggle, trying to sound clever, etc. Plenty of things to stress about, yes?

And because it is a day off, I have eaten custard for breakfast and am trying to plan the bludgiest day ever. At some point I will have to venture outside to make a few purchases, because, quite frankly, I dressed like a slob at my old work. And also, it is time to bin the grandpa vests, because they have those little furry balls all over them and it is also a MILLION degrees these days. Except for today. But other days, yes. And furry ball vests do not go well with a million degrees - not even for grandpas. Least of all for grandpas, I'd say.

But!

That's all I've got, really.

Over the last week, my supervisor rushed home from work due to her grandmother suddenly dying. The girl who sits opposite me was off work from the day after, due to her grandmother dying also. The supervisor who manages the team next to mine went home ill, and apparently won't be back for quite a while, as it has just been announced that he has a brain tumour.

And a very Merry Christmas indeed.

I had my one year anniversary, and they gave the six of us remaining from our original training group a Special Morning Tea. I handed in my notice on the same day. I went home ill.

I stayed off the next day, also ill. Except I wasn't so much ill as completely freaked out. Overwhelmed, or something. I returned to discover that the bitchy man is no longer sitting near me, and I am pleased that my final days there will be relatively peaceful. I also discovered that my Best Work Friend has been moved away also, though, which has upset me a little.

My co-workers dressed up and flounced about at the Christmas party on Saturday, and I spent the night with my head over a toilet bowl, emptying out some disagreeable mud cake.

I just cannot wait for my time there to be over, but there is some sort of impending dread brewing at the same time, and I'm not sure why.

Dracula is the first book to make me feel physically ill and in need of a lie down. I can only take so many open blood transfusions, you know.