Soo... rather than going out (because I am v sleepy) I finished off the least of the "theoretically, this is Neal from White Collar" picture.

( art spam )


XPers? I'm sorry, guys - just haven't been able to brain at all this week. Tomorrow, okay?

I worked one day in my final pay period before having the extreme satisfaction of going "So... won't be in Friday. Bye!" (The awesome thing about this is that I have since worked seven days as a temp at the new job so hahaha, fuck you, Replay.)

Because I didn't have all that many hours, my two weeks' notice translated to four days work. I had 5.36 days annual leave accrued.

You can imagine the extreme fucking rage I experienced this morning when I noticed that I'd been paid a grand total of $156. (Incidentally, they overtaxed me for that one day's work. Whatever.) In other words, where the fuck was the 10 hours and 50 minutes of annual leave they owed me?

So I called my dad, got him to log into my email and check the copy of the leave register I'd screencapped and emailed myself before quitting. (the internet has taught me that you can never email yourself too many screencaps.)

And then I called Ed. His first response was to tell me that 'well, I hadn't actually filled in my timesheet on Monday the 7th' and we all know what that means - it means that haha, there's no proof I wasn't taking unpaid leave that day. At which point, I became that lady: the one standing in a cafe shouting "Don't you fucking dare try to pull that shit. I'm owed my 10 hours 52 of annual leave and I'm going to jobwatch if you don't pay it" into her mobile before hanging up on her ex-boss.

I got a call back later saying that, of course they'd pay my damn leave as soon as they'd examined the leave register for any and all discrepancies etc. Thing is, though, if I hadn't called up asking about it, they wouldn't be paying it.


(What's worse? I'd copied my timesheets and all the rest in preparation for leaving but didn't take them home with me on the Monday. But I do have a pre-prepared copy of my group certificate and all my payslips.)

I was roadtripping across America with my two non-existent brothers and my parents (My family actually looked a lot like the one from Malcolm in the Middle.) and my trusty companions, the telepathic voice of Elrond (who spoke, in my head, in fancy, scrolly Tolkeinesque elf scrip and who was very upset at the idea that we'd use magic portals to travel anywhere. "The point is to see the places between", he kept saying) and my second trusty companion, a book that was supposed to stand in for a copy of Stephen King's The Dark Tower*. (I knew that, if I read it, all would be explained.)

One day, we reached a school and my dad (who is, for the purpose of this story, called Hal, because that's what he looked like) and my mother (who was, of course, looking a lot like Lois) began to believe she'd run over our brother, not!Dewey. Not!Reece and I, however, both new that he was in fact hiding in the back of the station wagon.

We were, however, still wracked with grief because he was hiding in the back of the car. And so we stayed at the school (which also seemed to have bedrooms) and the death of my not!brother, not!Dewey was just a plot device, really.

With him dead, I found myself reading my book all the time while the people who ran the school tried to learn the secrets of making magic portals to Avalon. (The telepathic voice of Elrond, meanwhile, insisted, in his scrolly elf-text, that the point is to see the places in between. So I wasn't allowed to tell them.)

And then I woke up. Now I have to know: did the people who ran the school find out the secret of getting to Avalon? What was in the book? What happened to Dewey? Did he just stay in the car forever and ever? Did telepathic Elrond ever do more than speak to me?


*For what it's worth, I've never read the book while I'm actually awake.

So the new job is
-- so fucking exhausiting. I'm falling asleep in the afternoons and just not braining. Also, struggling to read by mid afternoon.
-- very boring (I did equally boring things at my last two jobs but I had more variety about what I did there.)

-- I am sold on Wicked energy drink because it's the prettiest one out there and they all taste similar.

-- I have new clumpy mary janes. The weather is wrong for docs and Im so not walking through the glass factory to the toilet in open-toed shoes, even if the other admin ladies do that.

-- I need a new mp3 player. I'm thinking of a Sansa Fuze?

So, I was going to leave off on posting this for a week or so but, fuck it - I haven't put my actual cards in the mail yet (when some of you get cards in mid-June? Remember: it's the thought that counts and Christmas in July really is a viable alternative and the roast is at least seasonally appropriate by then.) so, for a given value of dead Santas, this will do for all those of you who do the Christmas thing between now and whenever I get around to going to the post office.

<3







In case you didn't know, I love you all.

to my new job (so far. I am cautiously withholding judgment till later) is actually the radio.

I like radio. I will happily listen to JJJ for hours. (Turning it off every so often when the ratio of drivel to music goes the wrong way or they're playing house music.) I am not-so-secretly an old lady so I'll also happily listen to a lot of Radio National programming. (But not the radio plays, poetry, music show, life matters or Australia talks.) I will happily sit in my car for another thirty minutes after I get wherever I'm going because there's this dude who studies ants talking about invasive species on Fraser Island. I listen to more News Radio than I'm supposed to (often loudly, with the windows down so I get odd looks at traffic lights because instead of chair dancing to music, I'm listening to a Radio Netherlands documentary about EU politics.)


Unfortunately, I haven't listened to a lot of commercial radio recently. Or to Triple M. I am now remembering why. (It's only partly the annoying ad about the Effing beer with the fake German accents.)

The ads. My god. There are so many ads. Bad ads. And Eddy McGuire. And the same three news stories over and fucking over. Ads delievered by the news casters. And the weather and traffic report people. And more ads for credit cards. Or beer. Or maccas. (I'm pretty sure I can recite the McDonald's money ad by now.)


And then, then there's the continual refrain that "Triple M rocks!" And no, no, it doesn't. It might have, back in 1993, when half these songs were approaching current but half this stuff was old in the 90's. They seem to have some kind of rule that (with the exception of the hour of Greenday this afternoon) they're not actually allowed to play more than two songs released in the last ten years per hour. Maybe it'll scare the old people? Instead, they keep dragging out the Accadacca, Kiss, REM (which I kind of like but, still) 90's soft rock and fucking <I>Queen</I>. My trauma was compounded when they brought out the Cold Chisel at one point this morning. I cannot deal with that that early in the day.

Look, I'm liking maybe a quarter of what they're playing. But, seriously, why all the 90's? I'm bored with the 90's.


Wah.


I'm already over this and it's only been three days.


*And yes, I know it could be worse. We could be listening to Gold. Ick.)

after failing every single wii rock band tutorial (no. really. ALL of them.) I possibly have no rhythm.

(Meanwhile, the housemates were saying things were saying things like "But you can hear when the notes are coming!" and no, no you can't. They just ... appear and then they're gone again way before you click the right button. Then the tutorial fails you. Again. Because it's smug and sadistic and seems to expect that you can reliably demonstrate something that could maybe approximate rhythm. Hah!)



(In other words they just bought the coolest toy ever.)

( memeage )

Also, new job seems good, if dull - with few exceptions, I'll be drawing up invoices from the glazier's job chitties. There is a girl there who really reminds me of Anna (not Oxford Anna but Chris' friend Anna-Anna.) What's better is that after my leave is paid out from Replay in lieu of notice, I should still be paid for 20 hours there this fortnight. And no pay cut for accepting the job.


Finally, I've now completely finished Honours, having gotten a 79 for my essay on The Kelvin Club (aka, wow. I have NO sources) and a 71 that I'm actually happy with because I expected far worse for the Print and Manuscripts subject. Rather unfortunately, this means that I only got an average of about 76 for Honours so... yeah. That kind of sucks. (at least in terms of that vague, silly dream of getting a scholarship for a masters because Art History? Is only offered at Melbourne in Victoria and that just won't get me one. Oh well.)

(Seriously, I was doing many things something very wrong because I only got one H1 during Honours and I used to get them far more often than that.)

Uni's only been over for the last two and a half weeks and I'm already bored.

I'm only working two days a week and that was fine during uni and essays but argh.

I'm bored. I'm really, really bored.

I was driving down Punt Road just now (by which I mean, an hour ago) and this van just ...stops. In the middle lane, a bit before Bridge Road and puts its hazard lights on.

The driver just ... got out and walked away. And didn't come back.


Who does that? Who decides, half way down Punt Road that they can't be bothered driving a van anymore and then doesn't even bother pulling into the left lane before walking away?

Poll #1494208
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 20

Decapitated Santa Christmas cards

I tried black pudding on Monday. And, wow. If it wasn't for the fact that it will kill me, I'd live off that stuff.


Seriously, I was the world's crappest vegeterain. I'm so glad I saw the error of my ways all those years ago.

kitty_ryan invited me up to Hepburn Springs for a Kate Miller-Heidke gig on Sunday. (Everyone is right. She is really awesome live.)

We went to Blackwood (where I proved that I really am from Melbourne as my reaction to roads that slope or bend goes something along the lines of "We're going to DIE!") to collect mineral water and then went horse riding yesterday. (I say horse riding. What I mean is 'sit on horse that placidly ignore its rider and quietly walk behind the other horses'.) The other four people on the ride were absolutely hilarious - the two guys squished their balls and whinged about it and the two girls wanted (during the after-ride drinks) "sweet red wine".


Today, there was a spa.

This was the first holiday that involved something other than staying at a friend's house in ages. I need to do it more often. :)


PS, Ballan is a hole. No, I lie. The hole took a look at Ballan and decided that, actually, it was too good for Ballan and left a gaping void in the town where the hole should have been.

You have let me down.

I know, I know for a fact that some of you have been watching White Collar.

You know how I know this? Because a whole lot of you are all over police procedurals with gorgeous casts, the FBI, eye fucking and unresolved issues between the protagonists like... like cats over a tin of tuna.

Add in the premise (An FBI agent! And the con artist he spent three years hunting! Fight Crime! Together!) and I have to wonder. Why did you guys not tell me about this?

I am so disappointed in you all.

Love,

Me.

P.S. Channel 10, Wednesday, 9:30. It's worth it.

P.P.S. Seriously.

I need to learn to program my car radio properly.

Because, seriously, I mostly resemble an old lady with my radio listening habits but let's just run with it.

They go Radio National (except when Life Matters, a book reading, the music show or Australia talks is on), News Radio (unless I've heard that particular half hour of rolling news enough times that I'm recognising it or they've parliament on again), then Triple J (Unless I just don't like the song that's on) and finally, as a last a resort before driving in silence, ABC Melbourne.

But the only one of these stations I've got programmed in is Triple J.

I need to learn how to fix this.

+ It looks like the bond situation has finally been sorted out at Kent Street. We should be getting our money soon.

- It's taken three weeks and they've been continually trying to screw us out of it, lying to us and fucking us around. (For example, refusing to give us a bond claim form for three weeks. For example: trying to convince me to cede over my overpaid rent once they passed the period in which they could claim our bond. For example: trying to force us to rehang a door that sticks because the house has settled.)

- We handed in our tenant transfer forms in December, right? And the bond change forms. Well, it turns out that Chris and Penny were still on the bond. Helen and Scott weren't. This would be the result of the time they lost all our paperwork and refused to give us new copies. And then told us that no, "everything was fine" when they "found" the paperwork just before an inspection.

+ But Run promise that they've fixed that now - we have copies of the bond amendment, taking Chris and Penny off and putting Helen and Scott on.

- Run couldn't find a copy of the lease with either Helen or Scott on it.

+ I shouted at them since they'd been telling us for months that Chris and Penny were off the lease, called them a pack of fucking liars, and went on and on at them. And then a not very nice man came out and told me to please stop shouting and swearing at everyone.

+ Run "discovered" a lease addendum showing that Penny and Chris had moved out.

- But they couldn't give us a copy. (Yeah. Explain that one.)

- I'm still waiting for the rent I overpaid during a moment of brain fail to be paid back to me. This is another saga in its own right and they're stuffing me around: for something that they "assure me has been paid" it's sure taking a long time to clear. Also: See above re: trying to force me to cede it over to them to pay for removal of the tyers someone else, before we moved in, left in the second shed.

+ I got to shout at them about that, too. And there is a nasty letter in their future if I don't get my money soon.

I think I needed that:

The only things I've done all day were make bread (and bread rolls), play de blob on the housemate's wii (dude! How did I not know that a wii was that much fun? Seriously? I am getting my own. I am moving on from my playstation. (OR! I could just buy a second game for the playstation. That would make it more fun)) and sleep. Lots of sleep. There was also a brief consideration of the merits of 10,000 steps before I decided that that could be a bad plan, given how my feet/legs/upper back take large amounts of walking most of the time.

Oh, and get rid of what was left of the one bird in the universe dumb enough to go into the cats' enclosure. But that involved minimal effort, since the bird's remains were kindly deposited on my bed for me to wake up to. (On the plus side, Jack-kitten has a nearly unbroken record with birds: all but that one honeyeater were ferals. Today's was a starling. Go Jack! Keep getting the feral animals and I'll keep loving you despite the whole 'dead animal next to my face' thing.)

Briefly, because I'm not supposed to lj at work:

My show. How much do I love it? Even though Chris O'Donnell can't act his way out of a wet paper bag. It's okay, because he's emo and traumatised and is, in fact so traumatised that he lost the ability to make facial expressions when he was 5.

How much do I love that somone told the writers that they want a mallet-sized parcel of emo and man-pain and the writers said "Sure!" and no-one cares that if it's subtle, or believable. Because hey, emo man-pain.

It doesn't matter that the plots don't really make sense. After all, they're secondary to the man-pain, the emo mallet and the cast being pretty. I am sure that they're writing this show for the slashers. Seriously. It makes Merlin look restrained there.

Incidentally, how much do I love that they've realised that what I want in tv, what I really, really want is a silly American police procedural, with a half arssed plot, GIANT HAMMERS OF EMO, banter, explosions, buddy cops and a team of awesome? Making LL Cool J drink tea out of a wee little floral tea cup is just the icing on the cake here.

Seriously, it's like they've written this show just for me.

- I have now finished all my essays. Ever. Which means that, assuming I pass, I'll have the (hons) part of a BA (hons).

- Cats are adorable when you give them a couple of reduced for quick sale prawns complete with the whiskery bits, legs and eyes to play with. They're just not sure what to do with them. (And yes, I know: on the one hand, prawns and, on the other, prawns reduced for quick sale and I just spent 40 minutes driving home in a madly hot car.


- I have had this stuck in my head for the last two days:



For the love of god, will someone please put me out of my misery?

- I wish to thank V for the continuing, positive and ongoing support it has made to my life over the last two weeks.

- Finally, have you all heard about this? How much do I want to go?


- There are cherries and stone fruit and (australian) grapes in the shops. This, more than the last couple of hot days mean that it's really, officially summer.