Baby Radar

What inescapable law of nature is it, do you suppose, that dictates that any child on any flight will cry at ear splitting decibels for almost the entire length of the journey and inevitably stop and fall asleep ten minutes prior to landing? Its the equivalent of a human egg timer for any one using laptops, gameboys and mp3 players on a plane.

1. Uninterrupted wailing for four hours.

2. Absence of screaming for thirty seconds

3. Announcement: At this time, please turn off all portable electronics and return all trays and seats to their up right locked positions.

Do babies have some undiscovered psychic link to air traffic control? Its uncanny.

Solace in the Arms of Three Lions

Despite a miserable week and depressing outlook on life at the moment, there is hope. That hope is the World Cup. Specifically England in the World Cup. 

We played our last two international friendlies this week beating Hungary 3-1 and this morning, I got up early to watch us play Jamaica. We just won 6-0.
Good things are coming. It's been exactly 40 years since we won the world cup. We've got our retro kits this year. I'm sporting my own England jersey with my Corona boxers this morning. Sexy!

So, here's my disclaimer: the next four weeks are all World Cup. I shall be distracted and potentially uncommunicative. So it'll be just like now only I'll be mumbling to myself out loud about football instead of the usual annoyances. How sweet it is.

Good luck out there to rest of you one billion viewers supporting your national teams but make way, the three lions are coming through!

[Editor's note: should all communication cease abruptly prior to the World Cup Final on 9th July, please check team standings and obituaries.]

Operation: Unpack. Status:Complete-ish

I've been living here for 5 1/2 months now and unofficially, I've officially finished unpacking. Sad, isn't it? 

No place is complete until you get something on the walls. Or a couple of somethings. I've been staring at blank walls for almost half a year now and finally I could stand it no more. So I've hung things on the wall. 

Well, I say "hung"... I mean, they're here ready to be hung but presently they're sitting on the floor. I'm about to hang them. Really! Well, not in a Basil Fawlty "I'm doing it, I'm DOING it!" sort of way, more in an "eh, I'll get to it later" sort of way. 

They're in the process of being hung and that's what counts really. They are in the vicinity of hung-ness. Approaching completion. Who am I kidding? They'll probably sit on the floor for another two weeks while I walk by them and think "I'm so happy my pictures are finally done" even though if you want to get really technical, they are in fact not done. 

The point is the damn things aren't packed away anymore. They are close to their final destination and it's only taken 5 1/2 months...of course, I've only got a 7 month lease and it's pretty likely I'll move to a different town in the area once it's up.......which means I'll be moving, in theory, in about six weeks. So I suppose I'll have to pack everything up again....

::silence:: ::crickets::

RIGHT! Hurry up!  ::sound of boxes being pulled out::
Put it all back the box!

Thank You Note

Dear Dave,
You're a c*ck sucker. I hate you. Best wishes for a speedy demise.
Sincerely,
SP
________________________________________________________

After numerous queries as to Dave's crime, the following elaboration has been offered.

I put in a request to have my clothes dryer repaired at the end of December.  Dave is the d*****bag who was supposed to fix my dryer on the 2nd January. And the 6th January. And the 11th January. Have I mentioned the 16th January yet? No, I must have overlooked it as I was, oh so, excited to hear that he'd fix it by the 20th January. This is the same Dave the d*****bag who rumour had it would definitely fix my dryer on the 21st. 

The Management office had a good feeling about the 23rd, apparently on that day Dave's chakras were supposed to align so he'd be able to DO HIS JOB. On the 27th, they promised he'd be here on Monday the 30th. 

On Tuesday, I had to use my angry voice from work and my colleague very nearly had to take the phone away from me. Today, which I might add is now February, I called FOUR times from work. By some miracle that shall never be repeated in my lifetime, DAVE managed to SQUEEZE my dryer into his busy schedule. 

He left me a note, saying he'd fixed it. I thought I should send him a thank you card. I hate you Dave. I hope you fall into a ditch. Failing that I hope a bird pecks your eye out.

Brain Damage

I have brain damage. I think I caught it at work. I’ve been working a lot of extra hours this week. I have 397 emails in my inbox at the moment…68 are urgent and require my immediate attention…how do you give immediate attention to 68 different things?…my brain is reaching capacity. 

We use 10% of our brains or something like that (although, I’m pretty sure highly evolved being that I am, I’m pushing the 11.3% boundary), whatever my allotment of brain space may be I’m using 99.7% of it for work to keep all my current information straight and hopefully avoid any major screw ups on my part. Major screw ups on the behalf of others is far preferable reputation-wise despite any cursing and extra work it may cause me indirectly…I digress.  

So with only 0.3% of usable space in my brain left over for mundane day to day items such as cooking, knowing where I left my phone and inconvenient little bits like speaking, I am developing a severe case of brain damage. It is most commonly manifested in my inability to communicate anything not work related.

Well spoken and articulate with all and sundry in the corporate community, I come home and fail to grasp simple words like “laptop” and "fan" leaving my vocal chords to stammer incomprehensibly to people around me about moving the “foldy-machine-thingy” (read: laptop) and turning off the "whirly-bit" (read: ceiling fan).

These aren't isolated incidents. It’s happening all the time. My brother isn’t sure how he knows what I’m talking about some days, I think he just follows my line of vision and assumes what I’m referring to. Anyone who’s known me for years will tell you I can’t write anything, ever, without leaving words out even if I proof read. Most of my friends I’m sure don’t even notice it anymore they just mentally substitute whatever they think I meant without batting an eyelash. But now I’m leaving out entire sentence fragments! And God help me if I’m typing a letter/email at work and someone is talking to me.  

Yesterday I was writing an email to an account trying to explain why a reconciliation was still pending [read: late] and someone started speaking to me about a cup of tea I'd left nearby…subsequent email was very nearly sent with a line that read: “difficulty reconciling the RA deductions as we are currently drinking.” Classy.

Do Over!

The year thus far has been filled with aggravation and sleep deprivation. I've barely slept the last two nights due to a combination of delayed flights and unwanted drama. Therefore, I am taking the following actions to ensure I don't write off 2006 immediately.

Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life...its also 1st January as far as I'm concerned. I'm voiding the last three days. Hence tomorrow, to the rest of the world, will be 5th January but for me it will be 1st of January. Tonight, I am going to leave work on time, and go straight to bed to catch up on sleep. When I wake up...it will be a new year.

I'm sure this transition will accomplish the mental state I require to move forward in life and ask you all to bear in mind when we make plans that I'm now on a different calender (just like the Chinese). 28th February to you, will be 24th February to me. I apologize for the inconvenience of you're having to manage dual calenders but appreciate your dedication to our friendship.

In fact to add some spice, and in keeping with the Chinese, I may change my year also. 2005, for example, will be referred to as "Year of the University Degree"; 2004, "Year of the Hospital"....2006 of course will be "Year of the Do-Over". Happy New Year!

Dirty Little Secret

I don't know why this should be true, yet it is, undeniably, embarrassingly and horrifically even, the truth.

I have decorated my Christmas tree. Standing at 6'5", it is a lean mean green....thingie. It was not, in all fairness, the prettiest tree there but it called to me. Most people would take such a sad little tree home and give it much care and attention and it would thrive, flowering into a beautiful specimen of holiday festiveness.

Alas, this tree was not snatched up by one of those Martha Stewart home maker type of folk. I've spent most of my life involved in some medium of art or another. I have a degree in art, a portfolio of art, and a website of art. I understand colour theory, symmetry, balance and the importance of placement. I have references. Yet with all of this experience and training at my disposal, it remains the fact that at twenty-seven years of age I am still unable to decorate a Christmas tree and should, in all honesty, only be involved with adult supervision.

I couldn't tell you exactly where the problem with my tree lies. My mother could. My father could. My younger brother probably could. In fact a bus full of blind senior citizens, with the aid of their specially trained dogs, would probably have a better chance of understanding what is wrong with my tree. I only know this. My tree is the sort of tree that would go out to bars and other big fir trees would try to pick it up. When she politely refused, they'd call her a tease. She's the sort of tree who goes out wearing hooker red lipstick that makes all the other trees whisper behind her branches. Needless to say, my tree looks better in the dark....

But she's my tree so hopefully she'll forgive me for the way she's dressed.