Stupid Stuff

I just noticed this retarded report on stuff.co.nz and couldn't help but put in my two cents...

A man who took a machete into a South Auckland gun shop today is in hospital, after he was shot in the stomach.
27 July 2006

The man was thought to have been shot by someone in the shop about 10am.
[No grassy knoll nearby then?]

Police said they were not told about the incident until after the shooting.
[The psychics at the 'pre-crime lab' until really dropped the ball there huh?]

Police spokeswoman, Noreen Hegarty said details of the shooting were still vague and she could not say what the precursor to him being shot was.
[I'm no detective but I suspect it could have been related to the machete he was wielding?]

"It would be reasonable to question why he went into the shop with a machete."
[While a somewhat flawed plan, I suspect to steal a gun maybe?]

It was not known what type of weapon was used.
[Hmm...what sort of weapon would leave a gun shot wound and would be available in a gun store...think Meredith, think!]

Cripes.

On Your Marks...Get Ready.......Wait.

As the first week of my new job is nearly up I thought an update was required. In the spirit of the highly efficient Project Manager I need to become lookie here at my bullet points:

Haves....

• Office (my own little sunless cave called '5A24')
• Desk (now clean of gross miscellaneous grime and dead insects)
• Stationery (shiny and new and handpicked by me)
• Chair (mostly not broken)
• Mobile drawers (great for holding all my stationery)
• Landline (plastic phone circa 1986)
• Voicemail (I don't know how to tell when I have a new message)
• Swipecard (into the mailroom and swanky staffroom)
• Colour printer (unopened at home)
• 1 minute walk to real coffee (oh yeaaaah)
• An understanding of what I am supposed to be doing
• My sanity*

Have Nots...

• Laptop
• Cellphone
• PDA
• Email address
• Network login
• Internet access
• Staff ID card
• Staff parking permit
• The extra 20 years all the other staff at Massey have on me
• A whole lot of discipline about working at home in the meantime

* May be temporary category listing

Fancy. Pants.

So as promised here is me in a dress. Sigh. None of these pics are especially flattering but you get the drift. The picture on the top left has captured me with my hair sitting strangely like I have one mutton chop, the pic on the top right has me with a weird double chin thing going on, and the picture on the bottom would be great had my eyes been open. It looks like I am wearing flat shoes, but they really are pretty high heeled girly wear. I gotta learn to pose. Fierce like Tara.

Anywho, there you have it. I have ankles, knees and as the pic on the bottom shows, one helluva cleavage.

The awards night was a whole bunch of fun even if we didn't win our category. The organisation that did win were finalists in two other categories (including Best Overall IT Project) and they got a clean sweep so at least we got bent over by the best. Unfortunately our category was announced in the first 30 minutes of the evening so all that was left for us to do was eat, drink and....drink some more. I valiently did the one glass of wine, 1 glass of water thing but to no effect.

The five of us were pretty messed up by the end of the night. At one point I overheard my as-of-4-hours-earlier-ex-boss waxing lyrical to PL about how much he was going to miss me and how I had been his 'go to guy'. Talk about laugh. More like his 'go to abuse guy'.

I was so well gone that I even found Frankie Steven's musical interlude vaguely entertaining... although I do recall his impressions of Tom Jones, Elvis and Dave Dobbyn being all strangely alike. I am not going to put that down to the booze.

The most important thing to note about Friday night is that I will never ever again drink wine. I was so very not well on Saturday morning that inbetween the 'vommies' I was actually looking around the hotel room searching for possible ways to end myself. I guess it was lucky that I'd had already taken all my pain killers and the kettle cord was ridiculously short otherwise I might have been late for my first day on the new job....

So Long And Thanks For The Mammaries

Today's blog posting is brought to you by the feeling 'numb', the word 'ohmygod' and the number 56...

I left my job of 5 years on Friday. While it is sad to say goodbye to some it is a relief to say goodbye to a number of others. Onwards, upwards and hopefully not outwards I go.

I had a farewell afternoon tea on Thursday which had a pretty disappointing turn-out numbers wise although most of those who came were the people I really wanted to say goodbye and give a big hug to. There were a couple of surprise cameos, for instance 2 people who have been arch-nemesis in the past. Maybe they were there to report back to others "Ding dong the witch is dead".

There was this one guy who showed up whom I had never ever met. I guess he was new and there to make friends but that didn't stop him from hoeing into the spread. It was all I could do to stop myself from sidling up to him and whispering in a conspiracy laced voice "Hey....so do you know which one is Meredith?"

One amusing thing was that my team had given express instructions to the organiser to not to get me anything chocolate (it gives me uber migraines). So other than the (most awesome) 2 bottles of bourbon I got some lollies and...ummm...well....a hot cocoa kit - including drinking cocoa, marshmallows and a chocolate coloured cup with pictures of chocolate and the words 'cocoa' painted on it. At the risk of sounding ungrateful I suspect that the cocoa kit was slipped in on the sly as the final middle finger from the people I've pissed off over the past 5 years. The sort of people that resent being told that the internet isn't a passing phase and yes etutoring will be required by you as an academic before you retire so lets talk about why you don't seem have a ticket for the Modern Teaching Skills Train.

One very not amusing thing was that my mother (who happens to work there) posted all around the room, multiple colour copies of a rather embarrassing picture of me from several years ago. Lets not get caught up in details but lets just say I went through a Xena phase a long while ago and entered a competition that had a prize that was worth the costume rental. One of my favourite people from the OP asked me quietly whether it was real. When I replied, yes, the picture that the CEO of the organisation is currently viewing with a disturbing level of scrutiny was in fact real, he replied: Heh. Awesome...

Quite.

Barely There, Beige or Natural?

As I stood perplexed by the sizing and variety of products available in the pantyhose section of the supermarket last night, I began to wonder if I had perhaps missed out my copy of the "Girly Girl Guide to Being a Girl" when they were being handed out amongst my peers.

Granted my interest in sugar and spice and all things nice and pink and flowery ended about 3 weeks after my bedroom had been redecorated according to my (very pink) instructions but how do other chicks know about this stuff? Is there some sort of handbook that explains the whole deal or are there classes available from some secret society that sent out the invites while I was watching Xena?

If there are these classes I suspect they would be structured as follows:

FEM101: Basic Hair Removal Techniques (Individual Assessment)
FEM102: Advanced Hair Removal (Small Team-Based)
FEM103: High Heeled Shoe Kinetics
FEM202: Accessorising: Handbags and Jewellery
FEM203: Jimmy Who?: Shoe Variety Indentification
FEM301: Hair Colouring: Options, Processes and Disaster Recovery
FEM302: Advanced Cosmetics and Sadomasochistic Beautifying Procedures

I wonder if there are post graduate qualifications?

Yesterday I Cried...

I have a black tie event to go to on Friday and I have been angsting about what to wear for the past fortnight. I had originally thought I would wear a snappy tailored suit with an open white shirt and a tie but then realised that suits aren't actually black tie so my options were really a tux or a dress. I figured I'd look slightly less of a dork in a dress and made the decision to go shopping yesterday.

Time for a little background...

I haven't worn a dress since my 7th form ball, at which my blind date (it seems I was so hideous I couldn't get a proper date) took one look at me, spilled his drink on my dress and ran away, never to be seen again during the event. I felt ever so slightly stung at this as I had paid for the tickets, sat through the hair appointment and my mother had spent hours making me an amazing dress. The real kicker was the fact that the exact same thing had happened to me the year before, but when I had told the 7th form Dean I had no intention of going through the same expensive humiliating process as I had the previous year, she threatened to not give me my Higher School Certificate. I wish I had known at the time that was complete crap, flipped her the bird and told her to stick her HSC up her crazy spinster arse.
Ahem...Me?....Bitter?

Anywho. Safe to say that the whole dress wearing thing to me has a very strong connotation of gut renching, confidence crushing, uber suck. Then taking into account the stress I'm feeling about the handover of the old job, the scary new job and the shoulder thing, as the person who dried my tears last night pointed out to me - I really didn't have a sh*t show.

So yeah, yesterday I cried in public. Not cool.

On the bright side two things dawned on me while attempting to shop in fashionable boutiques. They don't put size labels on their clothes for 2 reasons:

1. To make not-skinny girls feel bad about themselves
2. Because if you have to ask, it won't fit you

In the end I found an ok dress from a mainstream store and today I got some ridiculously girly shoes. I have this strange feeling of anticipation about my colleagues seeing me all femed up. I have this dread it is going to be like an Extreme Makeover big reveal. Urgh. There will be cameras.

Wanted: Crazy Wench

As I announced my resignation to a group of colleagues this morning and the question of my replacement was raised, someone made the standard joke about how I could never truly be replaced. The thought of the job ad for my 'true' replacement amused me greatly and kept me looking animated for the remainder of the meeting.

I believe it would go a little something like this....

Loud, opinionated, freckly young woman required for Wellington based role. Must have a tendency towards smuttiness and an irrational hatred of skinny girls who say they can eat anything they want.

Must enjoy bourbon frequently enough to have mother and friends make nervous jokes about alcoholism.

Ideally, you will have at least 5 years experience in a similar role within an organisation that changes with the frequency and vigour of continental drift.

The successful candidate will feel confident in moving from quiet snickering to a full belly laugh about the terminal stupidity amongst both colleagues and customers.

The ability to clearly say "cry me a river" or "stiff sh*t" to retarded or outrageous system development requests is essential.

Personal attributes

• At least two tertiary level qualifications completely unrelated to this job
• Excellent joke communication skills
• Appropriate and frequent use of the words uber, sweetas and f&ckbag

Desired

• An understanding of the Harry Potter reference of "She who must not be named" with regard to horse muscle relaxant colleague
• Knowledge of the international one line per word standard of "Bring It On" and "Oh My God"
• A keen sense of when to use George to tell people stuff

Must be avid blogger.

I Tawt I Taw A Pudgy Tat

I'm not entirely sure why, but both my cats are...well...kinda fat. I feed them the expensive 'Hills Science Lite' food - all carefully measured out. Bella is a dedicated huntress and brings me in live surprises almost every week and Sam moves in a slow canter between his sister (in order to crash tackle her to the ground and beat her up) and his food bowl. He can also pick up a fair amount of speed when he is having his typical attack of "screw that...I'm outta here" stranger danger regarding any visitors to my place.

I have two theories...either someone else is feeding them (maybe even deliberately...heh) or with living across the road from a primary school, they are picking off the slow moving after-school care kids.

I think I might have found a way to get them on an exercise programme that doesn't require me to run around the house with a newspaper bow tied to a bit of string..... I've noticed that whenever the phone rings and I run to get it before the answer phone picks it up, one or both of my cats seem to magically appear with the sole purpose of moving between my legs in order to trip me up.

If my thinking is correct, all I have to do is sit down with my cellphone and prank call my landline a couple of times every night. I won't even need to put down my drink!

Ooops...I Mooted My Pants

I'm pleased to report that the conference went off pretty much without a hitch. There were a few minor hiccups caused by a handful of people who I wanted to kick in the head repeatedly but generally it went really well. A couple of my favourite geeks were there keeping me happy and sane (big squishy thanks to PL, DM, ML, GS and MD).

I include MD (the keynote speaker and jet set creator of the software we were conferencing over) not just because he is an interesting and all round nice guy, but mainly because of our conversation at the conference dinner.

I had selected dessert items on the buffet menu that I couldn't eat (chocolate) or didn't like (pavlova) because I knew they would be popular with the delegates.

After dinner I was looking at the sweet line up with dismay and the restaurant manager asked me whether there was a problem. I explained my situation so she rushes off and comes back with a plate of ice cream. A scoop of vanilla bean and a scoop of black doris plum. Most awesome.

I happened to be seated next to MD and as I was moaning quietly with pleasure about my icecream he asked me what flavours I had there. I explained and suggested he try the black doris plum. He tried a bit and then said to me with a grin:

MD: "Yeah, that's pretty good, but you know what's better?"
Me: "What's that?"
MD: "Gelato..........in Rome"
Me: "You can f*ck off"
[brief awkward silence]
MD and Me: Baahahahaahahaaa

How cool is that? Heh.

Moot Is An Ancient English Meeting

The conference I've been organising starts tomorrow and I think it bodes well that I am not at the office right now. I do have a stack of name cards to cut out and stuff into slips this afternoon and I was there until 8pm on Friday, but I still think I'm doing ok considering.

Organising this conference has been tough. The hardest part has been not responding to all the emails, faxes and phone calls from people asking seriously retarded questions with: "I'm sorry, you are too stupid to attend this conference. Please don't try and contact me again."

The only thing that stopped me from committing murder on Friday afternoon was the hilarious lame ass excuses people gave me as to why they were registering last minute.

I kept hearing "I only just found out about the conference today". Ummm...bullsh*t? If you had you wouldn't have had time to book your flights and accommodation and rearrange your working week in order to get up here. You would have thought "Oh bums, I missed it. It'll be too late now. Oh well, there is always next year...sigh."

Finance and HR departments have also been served a big helping of Scape al la Goat from conference delegate wannabes.

My two favourite excuses would have to be:

1. "We have a really rigid firewall here at XXX and I had a tough time registering as a result". (Wha....? What kind of uber prophylactic firewall do you have?!)

2. "I kept getting a stack of emails from you about the conference so I figured I was registered." (Ah hello? They were reminders to send in your registration form and payment! The last one was titled "This is your last chance!")

Heh. I was just waiting to hear about someone's dogs eating the form.

Another bright spot has been the thought of the Conference drinks and dinner at the end of Day 1. Even better than the free booze will be the company I have to share the meal with. I have unashamedly put myself at the 'A' table. Screw it. I deserve it.

Just before he left for the day I reminded my boss of the stupid tradition of the organiser(s) getting a (we are pretending to be) surprised gift at the end of the conference. I told him screw flowers... I want something I can use and won't give me hayfever. Nothing says we appreciate your hard work more than bourbon.....C.O.U...(are you getting this?)..G.A.R bourbon.

The Bi-Polar Express

This morning I was meeting a friend for brunch in town and as I boarded my train some crazy looking old guy got on ahead of me. Taking note of the clearly insane way in which he was clutching his bag and the way his eyes was dancing around in his head, I decided to sit a far distance behind him.

Turns out that was a pretty good decision.

Because Wellington was covered in fog for most of the day and visibility along the tracks wasn't the best, the train driver was sounding the horn before every level crossing. Every time he did that the old guy yelled "Yeeeeee..hee..hee..hee...haaaarrrr!!!" at the top of his lungs.

It was so much fun I was highly disappointed when he went to get off only a few stops through the trip.

Just before he stepped off the train I heard him say to the train guard that he was on the way to the pub. While I did judge him a lil' bit given it was 11am I was now fully able understand his excitability.