Project Pandora Update: Day 23
This morning I hopped in the scales. 88.3kg.
I've officially lost 10 kgs this year.
Yippee! Ten down, twenty to go. Though we don't look at it like that. Next goal is 83 kgs - I'm doing this in 5 kg increments. It's far easier to manage the expectations and lifestyle.
Still, it's an acheivement. I now have a waist and cheekbones and collarbones that are visible. I'm starting to run again. My knee isn't hurting as much. I made it up the 1000 Steps in just under 27 minutes yesterday - it took me nearer 35 at the start of the year. Yesterday's trek only had one minor break, in January that was four or five breaks.
My pump squat weight is now 20 kilograms, 12.5 for the chest, 15 for the back track. Pinochet had me leg pressing 110 kgs last week - that's more than I weight now. Like cool!
I'm doing a fun run on Saturday (Reindert's 40th birthday, have to celebrate appropriately) This is my first sponsored run in over six months.
I snack on raspberries and yoghurt, the odd muesli bar - no chips or chocolate. There's next to no junk in my diet any more. I'l pinch a chip off Glen Waverley tomorrow at lunch. That will be my treat.
Despite being on a very low calorie diet, I feel GREAT! Plenty of energy, rarely hungry and feel fine about the next nine weeks of this plan.
It's been a real journey - but sooooo worth it.
Happy Pand xxx
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Random Lyric Long Weekend
I tried a small social experiment this long weekend.
In my facebook status, I inserted random lyrics and watched what happened - not that I was expecting anything at all. All lyrics were preceded with the leader, "Random Lyric Long Weekend:" This was so that people wouldn't be even more confused. Why were these random tidbits being placed in my status? Well why not. It was a random long weekend (Victorian Labour Day) it gave me something other than exercise to think about.
Some songs gained a few comments. Some people added next lines or views on the songs. Some lyrics just sat there like lemmings on a clifftop - innocuous and bare.
I really can't explain why some of the lyrics were chosen. Some just seemed a good thing at the time. The thing is, I'm the worst one for getting lines of songs stuck in my head to which my old workmates will attest. I'm dreadful for singing stupid songs, like "Dr Worm" or "Ma Nah Mah Na" (the latter, still being one of the funniest things I've ever seen, even 35 years on). Some of these songs are of a little better calibre so I've gone a small way to get back a little of my street cred back.
Just random lyrics for a random public holiday.
So here is the good, the bad and the ugly in order. Links to all songs have been provided so for those with an interest can see what I'm on about.
Saturday 11.26 am "Eight, eight, I forget what eight is for...."
Saturday 7.38 pm "This will go down on your PERMANENT record....."
The Violent Femmes - The Kiss Off
This was on in the car on the way back from meditation and both lyrics come from the one song. Got lots of good associations with the Violent Femmes. This song gets in your head. Actually, the vocal stylings of Gordon Gano get into your head and stay there a while. This is off their superlative album, The Blind Leading the Naked.
I think
I love the Violent Femmes because you can sing along to them and not worry about the fact that you're out of tune. Perfect car music.
Saturday 9.42 pm: "And his penis has diseases from the Schumach tribe...."
Buffy the Musical - "I'll Never Tell"
Okay, I'm a Buffy nerd. I possess every episode on either tape or DVD. I can sing the musical episode like all good Buffy fanatics. Thing is, Anya and Xander aren't my favorite characters. Give me Spike any day (Phwoar, be still my blushing girlie bits). Other stupid thing is, off all the songs in the whole fifty minute episode, this song is the one song that gets in your head. And this line in particular... Well, what can I say - you sorta have to be up on Buffy to know what's going on. Fun song, however. (5 comments - a couple from fellow Buffy nerds, and one thinking that the line was a bit disturbing - ah well, can't win 'em all)
Sunday 12.36 pm "Like Scott in the Antarctic, base camp to far away, a Russian sub beneath the Arctic, Burke and Wills and camels, initials in the tree...."
Australian Crawl - "Reckless"
This is my favorite song on the planet. Produced in 1983, so that puts me in Year 10. Though many complain that James Reyne's vocals are incoherent, I still LOVE this song. There's a great acoustic version on YouTube which is almost better than the original. I know one friend who though that he was singing about "Dead Canada Beavers" (She don't like that kind of behaviour - go figure) Seems two others of my age appreciated this, they filled in more of the lyrics in the comments.
The thing about James Reyne and Australian Crawl - for as mumbly as they come across here, Andrew Denton did a series of cover versions a few years back - James Reyne sang Kate Bush's just as impenetrable "Wuthering Heights". Stupid thing - you can understand EVERY WORD!
Sunday 2.05 pm: I wish a doctor, could take your picture, so I could look at your from inside as well ..."
The Vapours, "Turning Japanese"
Lots of comments on this one. Again, a few people filling in the lyrics, but I did have to ask, was I the only one who it took twenty years to work out that this was a song about masturbation? One of the best one hit wonders of the eighties, along with a Flock of Seagulls, "I Ran" and The Buggles, "Video Killed the Radio Star". Mind you this came out when I was about twelve. How was I to know what that was all about then? I just remember dancing along to it at the Year Seven dance as if nothing was wrong.
Sunday, 8.00 pm "... These were just ghosts that broke my heart before I met you."
Laura Marling, "Ghosts"
I bought last year's Triple J Hot 100 Album. It showcases the best of new, often independent music for the youth of today. I loathed most of the double album. This was a rare treat on what I perceived as a heap of dross. I think I'm getting old. I was also amazed to find out that Laura Marling's only in her early twenties. I had a listen to the rest of her stuff - she's great.
Monday, 2.00 am "... your pubic hair upon my pillow, your stubble rings the sink...."
Do Re Mi, "Man Overboard"
It's 1985. I've had a bad break up. It's 2011. The cat has woken me up by sticking a claw into my big toe.
No idea why this lyric came to my head at 2 am. Thing is, most people of my age only know three lines from this song. The one in my status bar and the catch cry - "What am I expected to do? Shout man overboard!"
Having a listen to this again - superb song! Haven't heard in an age.
Monday, 9.12 am "Some forever, not for better, some have gone and some remain."
The Beatles, "In My Life".
A small note on this song. In the British Library in London is a birthday card of Julian Lennon's. On the front of the card is Noddy and Big Ears and the normal greetings you give to a small child. On the back of the card is John Lennon's scrawl with the lyrics to this song.
An old school friend noted that she liked this. I know she loves the Beatles, but I have a funny feeling that she, like me, have a lot more value placed on this certain song.
Monday, 1.34 pm "Twist, twist, twist, twist, mashed potato, mambo..."
Hairspray, "Miss Baltimore Crabs"
Ah, Michelle Pfeiffer - how wonderful. I'm not really into musicals, but I love this one. It's fun, it's edgy. I wish I had Tracey Turnblad's parents. It's cool. And this song is just too much fun. God Bless Thelma Von Tussle.
Monday, 5.40 pm "Heiroglyphics, let me be specific, I wanna go down in your South Seas...."
The Bloodhound Gang, "Bad Touch"
Another thing to come out of the Netherlands that you have to question - just like slavery, apartheid and Andre Rieu.
Glen Waverley and I have a good giggle over this song. He took me down the Great Ocean Road two years ago for a day trip. Driving through Apollo Bay in his hairdresser car with the top down. He PUMPED THIS SONG UP TO ELEVEN! How embarrassment.
It's a fun song, but you know that this, like the Venga Boys and that awful group that did the "Barbie Girl" song come from the Netherlands. This song can nearly be forgiven. There is no excuse for the Venga Boys.
Monday, 7.23 pm, "And can you tell me doctor why I still can't get to sleep, and why the Channel Seven chopper chills me to my feet..."
Redgum, "I was only Nineteen."
This, along with any version of "The Band Played Waltzing Matilda" are two of the greatest Australian war songs written. These songs have the ability to move me to tears without fail. The only comment received was from a mate who I have a feeling has similar sentiments about this song. It's incredibly powerful.
Monday, 22.08 pm, "And it goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift..."
Leonard Cohen, "Hallelujah"
No, Jeff Buckley didn't do the original, Leonard Cohen did. Though Jeff Buckley's version is far more accessable. Gotta shove something in that isn't trash. I rather like Rufus Wainwright's version as well.
Still a great song. Needed to finish on a strong note.
Oh well, back to job hunting tomorrow. This was a fun exercise. Completely pointless, but fun. There go you, a bit of randomness for a random public holiday.
Pandxx
In my facebook status, I inserted random lyrics and watched what happened - not that I was expecting anything at all. All lyrics were preceded with the leader, "Random Lyric Long Weekend:" This was so that people wouldn't be even more confused. Why were these random tidbits being placed in my status? Well why not. It was a random long weekend (Victorian Labour Day) it gave me something other than exercise to think about.
Some songs gained a few comments. Some people added next lines or views on the songs. Some lyrics just sat there like lemmings on a clifftop - innocuous and bare.
I really can't explain why some of the lyrics were chosen. Some just seemed a good thing at the time. The thing is, I'm the worst one for getting lines of songs stuck in my head to which my old workmates will attest. I'm dreadful for singing stupid songs, like "Dr Worm" or "Ma Nah Mah Na" (the latter, still being one of the funniest things I've ever seen, even 35 years on). Some of these songs are of a little better calibre so I've gone a small way to get back a little of my street cred back.
Just random lyrics for a random public holiday.
So here is the good, the bad and the ugly in order. Links to all songs have been provided so for those with an interest can see what I'm on about.
Saturday 11.26 am "Eight, eight, I forget what eight is for...."
Saturday 7.38 pm "This will go down on your PERMANENT record....."
The Violent Femmes - The Kiss Off
This was on in the car on the way back from meditation and both lyrics come from the one song. Got lots of good associations with the Violent Femmes. This song gets in your head. Actually, the vocal stylings of Gordon Gano get into your head and stay there a while. This is off their superlative album, The Blind Leading the Naked.
I think
I love the Violent Femmes because you can sing along to them and not worry about the fact that you're out of tune. Perfect car music.
Saturday 9.42 pm: "And his penis has diseases from the Schumach tribe...."
Buffy the Musical - "I'll Never Tell"
Okay, I'm a Buffy nerd. I possess every episode on either tape or DVD. I can sing the musical episode like all good Buffy fanatics. Thing is, Anya and Xander aren't my favorite characters. Give me Spike any day (Phwoar, be still my blushing girlie bits). Other stupid thing is, off all the songs in the whole fifty minute episode, this song is the one song that gets in your head. And this line in particular... Well, what can I say - you sorta have to be up on Buffy to know what's going on. Fun song, however. (5 comments - a couple from fellow Buffy nerds, and one thinking that the line was a bit disturbing - ah well, can't win 'em all)
Sunday 12.36 pm "Like Scott in the Antarctic, base camp to far away, a Russian sub beneath the Arctic, Burke and Wills and camels, initials in the tree...."
Australian Crawl - "Reckless"
This is my favorite song on the planet. Produced in 1983, so that puts me in Year 10. Though many complain that James Reyne's vocals are incoherent, I still LOVE this song. There's a great acoustic version on YouTube which is almost better than the original. I know one friend who though that he was singing about "Dead Canada Beavers" (She don't like that kind of behaviour - go figure) Seems two others of my age appreciated this, they filled in more of the lyrics in the comments.
The thing about James Reyne and Australian Crawl - for as mumbly as they come across here, Andrew Denton did a series of cover versions a few years back - James Reyne sang Kate Bush's just as impenetrable "Wuthering Heights". Stupid thing - you can understand EVERY WORD!
Sunday 2.05 pm: I wish a doctor, could take your picture, so I could look at your from inside as well ..."
The Vapours, "Turning Japanese"
Lots of comments on this one. Again, a few people filling in the lyrics, but I did have to ask, was I the only one who it took twenty years to work out that this was a song about masturbation? One of the best one hit wonders of the eighties, along with a Flock of Seagulls, "I Ran" and The Buggles, "Video Killed the Radio Star". Mind you this came out when I was about twelve. How was I to know what that was all about then? I just remember dancing along to it at the Year Seven dance as if nothing was wrong.
Sunday, 8.00 pm "... These were just ghosts that broke my heart before I met you."
Laura Marling, "Ghosts"
I bought last year's Triple J Hot 100 Album. It showcases the best of new, often independent music for the youth of today. I loathed most of the double album. This was a rare treat on what I perceived as a heap of dross. I think I'm getting old. I was also amazed to find out that Laura Marling's only in her early twenties. I had a listen to the rest of her stuff - she's great.
Monday, 2.00 am "... your pubic hair upon my pillow, your stubble rings the sink...."
Do Re Mi, "Man Overboard"
It's 1985. I've had a bad break up. It's 2011. The cat has woken me up by sticking a claw into my big toe.
No idea why this lyric came to my head at 2 am. Thing is, most people of my age only know three lines from this song. The one in my status bar and the catch cry - "What am I expected to do? Shout man overboard!"
Having a listen to this again - superb song! Haven't heard in an age.
Monday, 9.12 am "Some forever, not for better, some have gone and some remain."
The Beatles, "In My Life".
A small note on this song. In the British Library in London is a birthday card of Julian Lennon's. On the front of the card is Noddy and Big Ears and the normal greetings you give to a small child. On the back of the card is John Lennon's scrawl with the lyrics to this song.
An old school friend noted that she liked this. I know she loves the Beatles, but I have a funny feeling that she, like me, have a lot more value placed on this certain song.
Monday, 1.34 pm "Twist, twist, twist, twist, mashed potato, mambo..."
Hairspray, "Miss Baltimore Crabs"
Ah, Michelle Pfeiffer - how wonderful. I'm not really into musicals, but I love this one. It's fun, it's edgy. I wish I had Tracey Turnblad's parents. It's cool. And this song is just too much fun. God Bless Thelma Von Tussle.
Monday, 5.40 pm "Heiroglyphics, let me be specific, I wanna go down in your South Seas...."
The Bloodhound Gang, "Bad Touch"
Another thing to come out of the Netherlands that you have to question - just like slavery, apartheid and Andre Rieu.
Glen Waverley and I have a good giggle over this song. He took me down the Great Ocean Road two years ago for a day trip. Driving through Apollo Bay in his hairdresser car with the top down. He PUMPED THIS SONG UP TO ELEVEN! How embarrassment.
It's a fun song, but you know that this, like the Venga Boys and that awful group that did the "Barbie Girl" song come from the Netherlands. This song can nearly be forgiven. There is no excuse for the Venga Boys.
Monday, 7.23 pm, "And can you tell me doctor why I still can't get to sleep, and why the Channel Seven chopper chills me to my feet..."
Redgum, "I was only Nineteen."
This, along with any version of "The Band Played Waltzing Matilda" are two of the greatest Australian war songs written. These songs have the ability to move me to tears without fail. The only comment received was from a mate who I have a feeling has similar sentiments about this song. It's incredibly powerful.
Monday, 22.08 pm, "And it goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift..."
Leonard Cohen, "Hallelujah"
No, Jeff Buckley didn't do the original, Leonard Cohen did. Though Jeff Buckley's version is far more accessable. Gotta shove something in that isn't trash. I rather like Rufus Wainwright's version as well.
Still a great song. Needed to finish on a strong note.
Oh well, back to job hunting tomorrow. This was a fun exercise. Completely pointless, but fun. There go you, a bit of randomness for a random public holiday.
Pandxx
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Pandora's Guide to Subsets
Subset [suhb-set] – noun
1. a set that is a part of a larger set.
2. Mathematics . a set consisting of elements of a given set that can be the same as the given set or smaller.
Why is it that subsets plague me? I look around and there are all these little groups of people who walk the planet who are a part of the community who do some very strange things. These people, who do these very strange things, are part of a subset.
People who belong to these subsets tend to be ridiculed for their inclusion in these groups. Often they have no idea why they're being ridiculed. Sometimes, we have no idea why we put these groups up to jest. It's never malicious - more a gentle taking of the piss. I mean, if you're into medieval recreations, decoupage or Dungeons and Dragons - WHAT THE HELL DO YOU EXPECT?
People who are part of subsets will sometimes laugh along at the knowledge that they're part of one of these groups. Some people might be a part of one or more subset - take Popeye, my old boss. A ginger, left-handed engineer. Three subsets there, and he's proud to a member of all of these groups. Sad bastard. Some people would bea little offended if they knew.
I mean no harm here.
Also, there are some subsets that aren't subsets. Some things just are just life and they are to be accepted. Like people who don't like tennis aren't a subset - we're just sensible. People who don't like chocolate - now that could technically be a subset, but there are more people than you know who don't give a damn about the sweet brown stuff. Same as those who like oysters. It's a choice, not an inclusion into a group that makes you a bit strange.
The thing about subsets - you don't mean to judge these people - you just do. My friend Gerry is king of the subsets - forever pigeonholing people, but happily a member of a few subsets himself. He knows me as his ambidextrous, witchy, running , neo-leftist, Croweater mate of his wife. To me he's a volleyball playing, suburban, career public servant, country boy. We accept each other as is. Bless.
So, with bated breath, Pandora's Guide to Subsets who give her most amusement and joy, knowing that there are many more - and knowing full well that I'm going to get in trouble.
1) Engineers
I do love engineers, but they really are a subset. Engineers appear to be what has evolved from the spotty guy in your science class that wouldn't say boo to a goose and got the best marks. Smart, not particularly trendy with a penchant for looking at their feet and either mumbling or talking too loud. They've grown up to be capable, handy though not particularly social - and they rely a bit too much on beer. They marry capable women who they know can look after themselves - though they make a pretty good effort at taking care of the people they like and love. Somewhere between university and work they discovered personal hygeine - for the most part. Odds on, they were affectionate little boys until they fell in love with their Commodore 64.
Engineers are great when you need something fixed - and they normally do a good job of it. Payment with a batch of biscuits and a few "Oh, you're so clever, I could never do that..." with your head tilted on the side will make them come back to do more odd jobs.
Gotta love engineers.
2) People who don't have a mobile phone
There are these people about - but I'm not sure I know of anybody who doesn't have a mobile. I have a lot of friends in the subset who either leave their mobile off or leave it at home a lot, but I can't think of anybody who doesn't have one.
Part of me ponders that people who don't have a mobile are really quite sensible. Many of these people are over the age of sixty or under the age of ten. Some don't have the funds to support a mobile. That's fine. But not having a mobile. Hmmm. For the better part of three years I had two of the buggers.
Mind you, there used to be a subset of people who didn't have a land line - that is a group that grows by the day.
3) People who work down St Kilda Road
I've always been a city dweller, working within the 3000 postcode for work. St Kilda Road may as well be another country. A lot of disparate people appear to work down that way by the looks of the people on the trams. Second tier companies, women in slacks and jumpers, call centres... It's a place that a lot of people work, but why? Why would you WANT to work in a place it will take a train AND a tram to get there? Plus, there are next to no shops, sandwich bars, watering holes and other amenities. It's not a bad place for runners to work as it's very near Albert Park Lake and the Tan - but that's all I see going for it.
Okay, there are some pretty cool companies down that way - I just don't get why they aren't located somewhere easier to get to.
4) Runners
A subset to which I'm proud to belong.
Runners, by definition, are nutters. There are also subsets of runners - short distance, weekend, long distance, freaky ultra-marathoning-over-big-mountain runners for example. Runners nearly didn't make the list - but I have to put them down. We are a bit freaky. Most of us are in some sort of pain some of the time. You get injured every so often. People shout at you as you pound down the road at whatever time of the day or night. But you love it, and you do it. There is no competition except the one you have with yourself. It's a form of fitness training and meditation all rolled into one. And you can never be an ex-runner. You're either a runner, or your not. And once you're a runner, you're always a runner. You may not have run for months or years - you're still a runner.
We know we're a bit odd. But we also tend to know when to shut up. We'll talk distance, times, farklets, hill sprints and events among ourselves.
5) Lefthanders
Strangely, a lot of engineers fall into this subset.
It used to be beaten out of people - no wonder lefthanders get a bit defensive.
Rather than use this one as a form of ridicule, it's subset of people I always find surprising - and a little interesting - I mean, have you ever watched a lefthander write? It can, but not always, look awkward - and you want to ask why they don't use their other hand.
I won't make too much of this one as I'm ambidextrous - so I'm halfway there. My mother is lefthanded. Don't get me to use scissors with my right hand - I can't. But it is interesting that almost double the number of Geminis are lefthanded than any other star sign. I also can't get over how many left handed doctors, engineers and scientists I know.
6) People who don't feel the cold
These people are very often English football supporters. You see them in the stands at Manchester United games. It's snowing. They're wearing a t-shirt.
People who don't feel the cold are a subset. Thongs in winter. They never have a coat or a cardigan with them. They rarely have their heating on in winter. The windows are open year round. And they will never go on a tropical holiday. Others get very mad at them when they say "It's not cold, get a grip." They're often told top "Put some bloody clothes on and shut that window while you're at it."
Weirdos.
Ooops - I've just described myself and half my family.
7) Men who wear short-sleeved business shirts
Unless you work in the tropics, the airlines or the post office, there is NO excuse for short-sleeved business shirts. Often the domain of men over 45 named Darren, Trevor or Wayne, these men often like to wear their short-sleeved business shirts with long shorts, long socks and sandals, these icons of style appear only to be available in poly-cotton, or polyester blends.
Best worn with a tie, these men have a few things in common - often they're ex-forces, often they're over 45 and all of them think they're very stylish.
Love 'em. They just look WRONG.
8) People who talk to people they don't know on the tram/train/bus
Without exception, people who talk to people they don't know on the tram/train/bus (for more than a "Where is the next stop?", or "Do you have the time?" type questions) come into two distinct groups.
a) Those who are on drugs
b) People from the country.
The second group are much more lucid and far more pleasant. (And often , if they're not from the country, they're from Adelaide)
9) Grunty-boy body builders
I don't get grunty-boy body builders. I get people who do weights. I don't get those who bulk up to the max and model themselves on Arnold Schwartzenegger. Those strange, large, hulking masses of men who exclusively smell of tuna, ketones, sweat and stale protein shake.
Seriously, I get what it is to have good muscle definition. I even get what it must be to have chest muscles and defined abs, legs, arms and a butt. I'm talking about those who LIVE at the gym, grunt a lot and can't get shirts to fit - and often if you look at these blokes, they often neglect their legs and they're all out of proportion.
The biggest reason I don't get grunty-boy body builders - why would they want to make their muscles so big? Wouldn't that make their willies look tiny?
10) Career Public Servants
Public servants are a breed apart. They talk their own language. It may as well be Swahili. They get rostered days off, extra superannuation contributions, leaves for all sorts of strange things and NOBODY really knows what they do. I'm not sure some of them know what they do. As somebody who's only worked in corporates, I don't get this breed of people who talk of pay grades, government movement, ministerial papers, politicians and privileges. Especially when they don't seem to be that privileged at all - they also tend to work every hour God gives them and do a lot of flying about the place.
The public servants know are lovely peple - I just don't have a clue what they do at work - or how they go about their days. It all seems to be very heavily controlled by the PC police. Mind you, they don't get me and my corporate Australia views, the fact that I ran a beer club - without getting in trouble, or the fact that I say jump and shit happens.
The nearest I got to the Public Service was a six months stint at the Public Trustees. There were lots of people in cardigans who hung out for tea break at 10.30....
Hmmm.
Wonder how much trouble I'll see?
Pandora smiles.
Pandxx
1. a set that is a part of a larger set.
2. Mathematics . a set consisting of elements of a given set that can be the same as the given set or smaller.
Why is it that subsets plague me? I look around and there are all these little groups of people who walk the planet who are a part of the community who do some very strange things. These people, who do these very strange things, are part of a subset.
People who belong to these subsets tend to be ridiculed for their inclusion in these groups. Often they have no idea why they're being ridiculed. Sometimes, we have no idea why we put these groups up to jest. It's never malicious - more a gentle taking of the piss. I mean, if you're into medieval recreations, decoupage or Dungeons and Dragons - WHAT THE HELL DO YOU EXPECT?
People who are part of subsets will sometimes laugh along at the knowledge that they're part of one of these groups. Some people might be a part of one or more subset - take Popeye, my old boss. A ginger, left-handed engineer. Three subsets there, and he's proud to a member of all of these groups. Sad bastard. Some people would bea little offended if they knew.
I mean no harm here.
Also, there are some subsets that aren't subsets. Some things just are just life and they are to be accepted. Like people who don't like tennis aren't a subset - we're just sensible. People who don't like chocolate - now that could technically be a subset, but there are more people than you know who don't give a damn about the sweet brown stuff. Same as those who like oysters. It's a choice, not an inclusion into a group that makes you a bit strange.
The thing about subsets - you don't mean to judge these people - you just do. My friend Gerry is king of the subsets - forever pigeonholing people, but happily a member of a few subsets himself. He knows me as his ambidextrous, witchy, running , neo-leftist, Croweater mate of his wife. To me he's a volleyball playing, suburban, career public servant, country boy. We accept each other as is. Bless.
So, with bated breath, Pandora's Guide to Subsets who give her most amusement and joy, knowing that there are many more - and knowing full well that I'm going to get in trouble.
1) Engineers
I do love engineers, but they really are a subset. Engineers appear to be what has evolved from the spotty guy in your science class that wouldn't say boo to a goose and got the best marks. Smart, not particularly trendy with a penchant for looking at their feet and either mumbling or talking too loud. They've grown up to be capable, handy though not particularly social - and they rely a bit too much on beer. They marry capable women who they know can look after themselves - though they make a pretty good effort at taking care of the people they like and love. Somewhere between university and work they discovered personal hygeine - for the most part. Odds on, they were affectionate little boys until they fell in love with their Commodore 64.
Engineers are great when you need something fixed - and they normally do a good job of it. Payment with a batch of biscuits and a few "Oh, you're so clever, I could never do that..." with your head tilted on the side will make them come back to do more odd jobs.
Gotta love engineers.
2) People who don't have a mobile phone
There are these people about - but I'm not sure I know of anybody who doesn't have a mobile. I have a lot of friends in the subset who either leave their mobile off or leave it at home a lot, but I can't think of anybody who doesn't have one.
Part of me ponders that people who don't have a mobile are really quite sensible. Many of these people are over the age of sixty or under the age of ten. Some don't have the funds to support a mobile. That's fine. But not having a mobile. Hmmm. For the better part of three years I had two of the buggers.
Mind you, there used to be a subset of people who didn't have a land line - that is a group that grows by the day.
3) People who work down St Kilda Road
I've always been a city dweller, working within the 3000 postcode for work. St Kilda Road may as well be another country. A lot of disparate people appear to work down that way by the looks of the people on the trams. Second tier companies, women in slacks and jumpers, call centres... It's a place that a lot of people work, but why? Why would you WANT to work in a place it will take a train AND a tram to get there? Plus, there are next to no shops, sandwich bars, watering holes and other amenities. It's not a bad place for runners to work as it's very near Albert Park Lake and the Tan - but that's all I see going for it.
Okay, there are some pretty cool companies down that way - I just don't get why they aren't located somewhere easier to get to.
4) Runners
A subset to which I'm proud to belong.
Runners, by definition, are nutters. There are also subsets of runners - short distance, weekend, long distance, freaky ultra-marathoning-over-big-mountain runners for example. Runners nearly didn't make the list - but I have to put them down. We are a bit freaky. Most of us are in some sort of pain some of the time. You get injured every so often. People shout at you as you pound down the road at whatever time of the day or night. But you love it, and you do it. There is no competition except the one you have with yourself. It's a form of fitness training and meditation all rolled into one. And you can never be an ex-runner. You're either a runner, or your not. And once you're a runner, you're always a runner. You may not have run for months or years - you're still a runner.
We know we're a bit odd. But we also tend to know when to shut up. We'll talk distance, times, farklets, hill sprints and events among ourselves.
5) Lefthanders
Strangely, a lot of engineers fall into this subset.
It used to be beaten out of people - no wonder lefthanders get a bit defensive.
Rather than use this one as a form of ridicule, it's subset of people I always find surprising - and a little interesting - I mean, have you ever watched a lefthander write? It can, but not always, look awkward - and you want to ask why they don't use their other hand.
I won't make too much of this one as I'm ambidextrous - so I'm halfway there. My mother is lefthanded. Don't get me to use scissors with my right hand - I can't. But it is interesting that almost double the number of Geminis are lefthanded than any other star sign. I also can't get over how many left handed doctors, engineers and scientists I know.
6) People who don't feel the cold
These people are very often English football supporters. You see them in the stands at Manchester United games. It's snowing. They're wearing a t-shirt.
People who don't feel the cold are a subset. Thongs in winter. They never have a coat or a cardigan with them. They rarely have their heating on in winter. The windows are open year round. And they will never go on a tropical holiday. Others get very mad at them when they say "It's not cold, get a grip." They're often told top "Put some bloody clothes on and shut that window while you're at it."
Weirdos.
Ooops - I've just described myself and half my family.
7) Men who wear short-sleeved business shirts
Unless you work in the tropics, the airlines or the post office, there is NO excuse for short-sleeved business shirts. Often the domain of men over 45 named Darren, Trevor or Wayne, these men often like to wear their short-sleeved business shirts with long shorts, long socks and sandals, these icons of style appear only to be available in poly-cotton, or polyester blends.
Best worn with a tie, these men have a few things in common - often they're ex-forces, often they're over 45 and all of them think they're very stylish.
Love 'em. They just look WRONG.
8) People who talk to people they don't know on the tram/train/bus
Without exception, people who talk to people they don't know on the tram/train/bus (for more than a "Where is the next stop?", or "Do you have the time?" type questions) come into two distinct groups.
a) Those who are on drugs
b) People from the country.
The second group are much more lucid and far more pleasant. (And often , if they're not from the country, they're from Adelaide)
9) Grunty-boy body builders
I don't get grunty-boy body builders. I get people who do weights. I don't get those who bulk up to the max and model themselves on Arnold Schwartzenegger. Those strange, large, hulking masses of men who exclusively smell of tuna, ketones, sweat and stale protein shake.
Seriously, I get what it is to have good muscle definition. I even get what it must be to have chest muscles and defined abs, legs, arms and a butt. I'm talking about those who LIVE at the gym, grunt a lot and can't get shirts to fit - and often if you look at these blokes, they often neglect their legs and they're all out of proportion.
The biggest reason I don't get grunty-boy body builders - why would they want to make their muscles so big? Wouldn't that make their willies look tiny?
10) Career Public Servants
Public servants are a breed apart. They talk their own language. It may as well be Swahili. They get rostered days off, extra superannuation contributions, leaves for all sorts of strange things and NOBODY really knows what they do. I'm not sure some of them know what they do. As somebody who's only worked in corporates, I don't get this breed of people who talk of pay grades, government movement, ministerial papers, politicians and privileges. Especially when they don't seem to be that privileged at all - they also tend to work every hour God gives them and do a lot of flying about the place.
The public servants know are lovely peple - I just don't have a clue what they do at work - or how they go about their days. It all seems to be very heavily controlled by the PC police. Mind you, they don't get me and my corporate Australia views, the fact that I ran a beer club - without getting in trouble, or the fact that I say jump and shit happens.
The nearest I got to the Public Service was a six months stint at the Public Trustees. There were lots of people in cardigans who hung out for tea break at 10.30....
Hmmm.
Wonder how much trouble I'll see?
Pandora smiles.
Pandxx
Friday, March 11, 2011
The Tower
Oh I wish I could take the world by the collar and give it a good shake!
It was then pointed out that we're doing the Tower in meditation tomorrow and suddenly things start to make a bit of sense. Things don't make sense in a logical way - please don't try to make too much sense of this, but in the Pandoraverse, doing the Tower meditation brings everything into alignment after a while, freshening things up. like a thunderstorm after a few muggy days.
A bit of background. Every second Saturday, I take myself off to meditation. Kabbalistic Meditiation. I'm not going to say much more than that. I'm not a kabbalist, I'm not Jewish, but this ritual of the Saturday morning meditation class is one of the most important parts of each fortnight. It sets up the next fortnight. It gives me some structure to my life. Most importantly, it provides life lessons.
The tower is about change. Quick, painful, necessary change.
Things need to be shaken up in a big way at the moment.
The Tower will do this every time. Maybe it will shake this feeling of dis-ease I've had for the last few days - or weeks - which I will only admit to if I'm feeling honest.
Things have been out of sorts since dream group on Wednesday. As I've said many times before, I can't break the confidence of the circle, but I can say that the discussion went into details of being cared for, being loved, being looked after and being supported. I left feeling a little shaky, but I got home okay. Thursday I was containing the rage, it was well controlled, but I was ready to lash out. Pinochet making me leg press 110 kgs helped get a bit of that out.
Today wasn't much better. The only thing going for me at the moment is that I've got custody of Blarney's cat Maow Maow. He and I tick along very well. He likes to sleep on my stomach while I watch telly. He helps keep me sane. I have a bit of affection in my life for a few weeks.
I digress. Dream group brought up a whole heap of stuff for me which I'm trying to work out how to fix.
This is why I go to dream group. If I'm not given this stuff to look at, how can I even start to fix it? How do I know it's there to fix?
So here I've been, sitting here in the knowledge that I've been unsupported in many ways all of my life. I've had to support myself. Hell, I've been clothing myself since I was fourteen when I got my own job. I've never had anybody to rely on. I don't go places with people. I've never been taken away, even for a weekend. I've paid my own bills, my own rent, my own utilities etc for as long as I remember. I don't comprehend the fact that most people have others in their lives to help pick up the pieces, take the slack, sort them out. I really don't get the fact that I have friends out there who don't work because their partner brings in the money. My poor little pea brain just doesn't get that at all.
Exacerbating this, here I am looking for work, with not much joy. Still waiting on a definitive answer on the Hobart job. The market is really strange to say the least. I know I'm fine for a while, but I'd rather be back earning and saving once more. It is very unsettling for me. I'm using the fallback plan at the moment.
The thing is, I know the Tower is great. It's nothing to be scared of - and yes, things can be uncomfortable with it, but it's quick change - not the slow, annoying, deliberate change that you get with other change cards, like Death, or the six of swords.
You look at the card, a large tower is being hit by lightning. Two people, one in red, one in blue, are falling to the earth. The Tower is built on solid foundations. There are twenty two yods (the little yellow dingles) falling from the Tower. The dingles are inspiration and hope. The crown that was on the top of the tower is blown away, signifying the release of thoughts and the allowing in of the new.
It's also symbolic of the Tower of Babel, where man built a tower so high, thinking they were so smart, all speaking the same language. It was a world where everybody could communicate with each other. God, angered by man's pride and audacity struck down the tower and removed the one common language between man. Once the tower fell, man could no longer easily communicate - and the languages of the world came about.
We often forget that the tower is a card of communication. Communicating freely between the intellect and the emotions.
Ah, I'm letting you into Pandora the Tarot Reader's domain.
Personally, I'm rather fond of the Tower card in the Witches Tarot deck. There are lots of tarot decks - I ahve about thirty tucked away in my wardrobe. They're all different - but this Tower, in this deck, is special.
Set on the sphere of the unconsious, the tower is exploding outwards, the sphere of the self at the top, ready to embrace the change, like a cocoon finally breaking to allow the butterfly out. I really do like this interpretation better than the normal "rug pulled from under your feet" interpretation. The Tower is never gentle, but you can see the good in it.
A group of people, meditation on the tarot card of the tower and the hebrew letter Peh can't effect world events. Can they?
My thoughts go out to Japan at this time. Christchurch was dreadful enough. This is a disaster of near apocalyptic proportions.
Pand
________________________________________________________________________________
Project Pandora report Day 19
Losses to date on the plan - 3.1 kgs Weight lost this year: 9.5kgs
Had my first "bad" day today since being on the program. I've been fervent with the calories until today. Thing is, since when is a blowout half a fresh pineapple, a chupa chup and a wrap with some hummus? Seriously, I'm not fretting. Planning a lot of exercise this weekend, I had a necessary rest day today from the exercise. It is okay. It's not like I've done what I've done in the past - McDonalds, a visit to the bread shop on the way down Victoria Street, a large block of chocolate.
It appears my eating habits are changing for the better.
Back on the horse tomorrow.
Eleven weeks Takeaway free.
In the scheme of things - this is not a disaster.
It was then pointed out that we're doing the Tower in meditation tomorrow and suddenly things start to make a bit of sense. Things don't make sense in a logical way - please don't try to make too much sense of this, but in the Pandoraverse, doing the Tower meditation brings everything into alignment after a while, freshening things up. like a thunderstorm after a few muggy days.
A bit of background. Every second Saturday, I take myself off to meditation. Kabbalistic Meditiation. I'm not going to say much more than that. I'm not a kabbalist, I'm not Jewish, but this ritual of the Saturday morning meditation class is one of the most important parts of each fortnight. It sets up the next fortnight. It gives me some structure to my life. Most importantly, it provides life lessons.
The tower is about change. Quick, painful, necessary change.
Things need to be shaken up in a big way at the moment.
The Tower will do this every time. Maybe it will shake this feeling of dis-ease I've had for the last few days - or weeks - which I will only admit to if I'm feeling honest.
Things have been out of sorts since dream group on Wednesday. As I've said many times before, I can't break the confidence of the circle, but I can say that the discussion went into details of being cared for, being loved, being looked after and being supported. I left feeling a little shaky, but I got home okay. Thursday I was containing the rage, it was well controlled, but I was ready to lash out. Pinochet making me leg press 110 kgs helped get a bit of that out.
Today wasn't much better. The only thing going for me at the moment is that I've got custody of Blarney's cat Maow Maow. He and I tick along very well. He likes to sleep on my stomach while I watch telly. He helps keep me sane. I have a bit of affection in my life for a few weeks.
I digress. Dream group brought up a whole heap of stuff for me which I'm trying to work out how to fix.
This is why I go to dream group. If I'm not given this stuff to look at, how can I even start to fix it? How do I know it's there to fix?
So here I've been, sitting here in the knowledge that I've been unsupported in many ways all of my life. I've had to support myself. Hell, I've been clothing myself since I was fourteen when I got my own job. I've never had anybody to rely on. I don't go places with people. I've never been taken away, even for a weekend. I've paid my own bills, my own rent, my own utilities etc for as long as I remember. I don't comprehend the fact that most people have others in their lives to help pick up the pieces, take the slack, sort them out. I really don't get the fact that I have friends out there who don't work because their partner brings in the money. My poor little pea brain just doesn't get that at all.
Exacerbating this, here I am looking for work, with not much joy. Still waiting on a definitive answer on the Hobart job. The market is really strange to say the least. I know I'm fine for a while, but I'd rather be back earning and saving once more. It is very unsettling for me. I'm using the fallback plan at the moment.
The thing is, I know the Tower is great. It's nothing to be scared of - and yes, things can be uncomfortable with it, but it's quick change - not the slow, annoying, deliberate change that you get with other change cards, like Death, or the six of swords.
You look at the card, a large tower is being hit by lightning. Two people, one in red, one in blue, are falling to the earth. The Tower is built on solid foundations. There are twenty two yods (the little yellow dingles) falling from the Tower. The dingles are inspiration and hope. The crown that was on the top of the tower is blown away, signifying the release of thoughts and the allowing in of the new.
It's also symbolic of the Tower of Babel, where man built a tower so high, thinking they were so smart, all speaking the same language. It was a world where everybody could communicate with each other. God, angered by man's pride and audacity struck down the tower and removed the one common language between man. Once the tower fell, man could no longer easily communicate - and the languages of the world came about.
We often forget that the tower is a card of communication. Communicating freely between the intellect and the emotions.
Ah, I'm letting you into Pandora the Tarot Reader's domain.
Personally, I'm rather fond of the Tower card in the Witches Tarot deck. There are lots of tarot decks - I ahve about thirty tucked away in my wardrobe. They're all different - but this Tower, in this deck, is special.
Set on the sphere of the unconsious, the tower is exploding outwards, the sphere of the self at the top, ready to embrace the change, like a cocoon finally breaking to allow the butterfly out. I really do like this interpretation better than the normal "rug pulled from under your feet" interpretation. The Tower is never gentle, but you can see the good in it.
I do like the butterfly analogy though. I've been feeling a bit like that lately. Bits of me have been emerging. I've got cheekbones and collarbones again. Other parts of me are starting to show. The tenatious, courageous side that doesn't get seen often is out in full force. The athlete that has been buried away is now there for the showing. Most amazingly, for the first time in my life, I'm beginning to have confidence in my looks. I never thought I could say that. My body is starting to match my ankles (the skinniest bit of me). This is all good.
Maybe this tower is representative of me.
I just worry what else the Tower could impact.With all the earthquakes and other natural disasters going on at the moment, you have to wonder...
A group of people, meditation on the tarot card of the tower and the hebrew letter Peh can't effect world events. Can they?
My thoughts go out to Japan at this time. Christchurch was dreadful enough. This is a disaster of near apocalyptic proportions.
Pand
________________________________________________________________________________
Project Pandora report Day 19
Losses to date on the plan - 3.1 kgs Weight lost this year: 9.5kgs
Had my first "bad" day today since being on the program. I've been fervent with the calories until today. Thing is, since when is a blowout half a fresh pineapple, a chupa chup and a wrap with some hummus? Seriously, I'm not fretting. Planning a lot of exercise this weekend, I had a necessary rest day today from the exercise. It is okay. It's not like I've done what I've done in the past - McDonalds, a visit to the bread shop on the way down Victoria Street, a large block of chocolate.
It appears my eating habits are changing for the better.
Back on the horse tomorrow.
Eleven weeks Takeaway free.
In the scheme of things - this is not a disaster.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Me, Commute?
One of the things that goes on top of my new job wish list is location. As I live in an inner city location, I'm looking for a role that is close by. A role that with any luck I can walk to. I'm even scoffing at roles that may be based down St Kilda Road. Other there is a creepy subset of people who work down St Kilda Road (reminder to self - blog about subset theory one day), it's two trams away. Tin Can, String and Whistle was in a great location - three kilometres door-to-door on foot - though the tram dropped me a three minute walk from both home and work.
So here I am, pondering the one job that has come up recently that has taken my interest. A role where the Project Manager likes the look of my CV. A solid job that is paying the right money, that will be a challenge in the good sense, fits my skills almost to the letter, in a new sector which would be great and round me out a bit. That is a decent three month contract - which will get me out of the doldrums which the current Melbourne market is facing and get me working again - all of this is good.
The hitch.
It's in Hobart.
Hobart, Tasmania.
Hobart, butt of many a joke, many a wild tale and many a Jim Beam Drinking, flannel shirt wearing bogan.
If I was in America, it would be like being stationed in Nebraska or Minnesota - if in England, well, think of being sent to Rotherham, Norwich or Barry, Wales for three months.
Okay, Hobart isn't the end of the world. But it's Hobart. Not Melbourne - and it's certainly not walking distance from home.
Talking to the pimp (read recruitment consultant) I said that I might be interested in this. I look at my life. It's three months. Twelve to thirteen weeks. It's not like I have a family here, though I do have friends, a flat, a car, a mailbox and many solid associations. As it's three months, I'm not expected to relocate - commuting would be the way to go. Fly down Monday morning, come back Friday - or negotiate a work from home one day, being virtually available one day a week. We are yet to see what the conditions are.
My poor head is spinning - not that I have the job yet, I can see the value in the opportunity. I can also see the roadblockers as well.
So here we go - the good, the bad and the ugly of taking a three-month job on the Apple Isle.
PROS
Right money
Good fit of my skills
Interesting work
New sector
Get to use my training skills
The airmiles will pick up
Hobart is a gorgeous city
My favorite cousin lives there (And she is a she and it is not like that - I was asked what to Hobartians do - I glibbly replied that they shag their cousins - oops - I was then asked if I had cousins down there - to which I replied that I did but she wasn't my type...)
I might get to see a bit more of the country on the weekends
It gets me working in a real job again
By the time I get back to Melbourne the job market might not be so finnicky.
I like the weather in Tasmania - it's cold - I like that.
Good tax breaks on all the travel and accommodations (depending on what way the company goes)
Jansz bubbles
King Island Beef
Hahn Bitter
It's not at all rat racey
Will get lost of sleep as people are in bed by 10 pm (Like New Zealand)
Computers work faster as they have the NBN Down there
I'd get out of reading the next book on the book group list that I'm not particularly enamoured with.
CONS
What to do with the gym - there are no Fitness Firsts in Hobart! Will have to find a gym - I'm told they have them down there.
Need to find a place to stay - though possibly this will be company sourced.
Lots of time at airports
Would have to let dream group go for a few months
Would have to let masons go for a few months too which will ire the new Grand Poobah no end
Will miss the odd birthday celebration
Somebody else will have to run book group for a few months
Will miss my friends, but I'll should be back in Melbourne on weekends
Will need to find a gym
What about the 12WBT - will need to source accomodation where I can cook.
Do they have protein shakes in Tassie?
No Pinochet - or will have to see Pinochet on Saturdays, if he will see me.
No car in Hobart - but will I need one?
I'm getting a house guest at the end of the week - where to place Maow Maow if I have to go before Blarney and Barney get back? (Mind you, there are a few friends I'm sure will have him - he's a joy)
And as Alice pointed out, finding work when I get back will be delayed until I get back, though at least the process can be started on the internet beforehand.
Looking at this short list, the cons appear to be greivances rather than real roadblocks.
It's going to be interesting if I get this role.
Certainly food for thought.
The last time I was there, I was at my cousin's son's wedding. It was held in community hall in Bagdad. Bagdad, Tasmania that is. A town which is near Jerusalem and Jericho, Tasmania. I didn't see one pair of tracky dacks or ugg boots at the reception.
It's not that bad, really. I have lots of friends who are from Tasmania. Barney's from Tasmania.
Funny, all my Tasmanian friends live in Melbourne.
Ah, one more con. If I get this role, will have to curb my penchant for telling glib Tasmanian jokes, referring to Melbourne as civilisation and making remarks about second heads.
Besides, I can talk. I'm South Australian. I'm just a Tasmanian who can swim....
So here I am, pondering the one job that has come up recently that has taken my interest. A role where the Project Manager likes the look of my CV. A solid job that is paying the right money, that will be a challenge in the good sense, fits my skills almost to the letter, in a new sector which would be great and round me out a bit. That is a decent three month contract - which will get me out of the doldrums which the current Melbourne market is facing and get me working again - all of this is good.
The hitch.
It's in Hobart.
Hobart, Tasmania.
Hobart, butt of many a joke, many a wild tale and many a Jim Beam Drinking, flannel shirt wearing bogan.
If I was in America, it would be like being stationed in Nebraska or Minnesota - if in England, well, think of being sent to Rotherham, Norwich or Barry, Wales for three months.
Okay, Hobart isn't the end of the world. But it's Hobart. Not Melbourne - and it's certainly not walking distance from home.
Talking to the pimp (read recruitment consultant) I said that I might be interested in this. I look at my life. It's three months. Twelve to thirteen weeks. It's not like I have a family here, though I do have friends, a flat, a car, a mailbox and many solid associations. As it's three months, I'm not expected to relocate - commuting would be the way to go. Fly down Monday morning, come back Friday - or negotiate a work from home one day, being virtually available one day a week. We are yet to see what the conditions are.
My poor head is spinning - not that I have the job yet, I can see the value in the opportunity. I can also see the roadblockers as well.
So here we go - the good, the bad and the ugly of taking a three-month job on the Apple Isle.
PROS
Right money
Good fit of my skills
Interesting work
New sector
Get to use my training skills
The airmiles will pick up
Hobart is a gorgeous city
My favorite cousin lives there (And she is a she and it is not like that - I was asked what to Hobartians do - I glibbly replied that they shag their cousins - oops - I was then asked if I had cousins down there - to which I replied that I did but she wasn't my type...)
I might get to see a bit more of the country on the weekends
It gets me working in a real job again
By the time I get back to Melbourne the job market might not be so finnicky.
I like the weather in Tasmania - it's cold - I like that.
Good tax breaks on all the travel and accommodations (depending on what way the company goes)
Jansz bubbles
King Island Beef
Hahn Bitter
It's not at all rat racey
Will get lost of sleep as people are in bed by 10 pm (Like New Zealand)
Computers work faster as they have the NBN Down there
I'd get out of reading the next book on the book group list that I'm not particularly enamoured with.
CONS
What to do with the gym - there are no Fitness Firsts in Hobart! Will have to find a gym - I'm told they have them down there.
Need to find a place to stay - though possibly this will be company sourced.
Lots of time at airports
Would have to let dream group go for a few months
Would have to let masons go for a few months too which will ire the new Grand Poobah no end
Will miss the odd birthday celebration
Somebody else will have to run book group for a few months
Will miss my friends, but I'll should be back in Melbourne on weekends
Will need to find a gym
What about the 12WBT - will need to source accomodation where I can cook.
Do they have protein shakes in Tassie?
No Pinochet - or will have to see Pinochet on Saturdays, if he will see me.
No car in Hobart - but will I need one?
I'm getting a house guest at the end of the week - where to place Maow Maow if I have to go before Blarney and Barney get back? (Mind you, there are a few friends I'm sure will have him - he's a joy)
And as Alice pointed out, finding work when I get back will be delayed until I get back, though at least the process can be started on the internet beforehand.
Looking at this short list, the cons appear to be greivances rather than real roadblocks.
It's going to be interesting if I get this role.
Certainly food for thought.
The last time I was there, I was at my cousin's son's wedding. It was held in community hall in Bagdad. Bagdad, Tasmania that is. A town which is near Jerusalem and Jericho, Tasmania. I didn't see one pair of tracky dacks or ugg boots at the reception.
It's not that bad, really. I have lots of friends who are from Tasmania. Barney's from Tasmania.
Funny, all my Tasmanian friends live in Melbourne.
Ah, one more con. If I get this role, will have to curb my penchant for telling glib Tasmanian jokes, referring to Melbourne as civilisation and making remarks about second heads.
Besides, I can talk. I'm South Australian. I'm just a Tasmanian who can swim....
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Gertie the Grumpy Gobshite
Alcoholics Anonymous meetings end their gatherings with a short prayer. Whether you are praying to God, Allah, Yahweh, The Universe, Vishnu, Buddha, O-Ben Wan Kenobi or the fairies that live behind the potting shed, it has a message - a good message.
'Insert your Deity here ' grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference."
There are times when I am not Pandora - Queen of Denial. There are times when I am Gertie the Grumpy Gobshite. Just as I have a number of alter egos - Jessica Rabbit's frumpy accountant sister, Joyce, The Running Wombat, Word Nerd, Chicken Legs, Beer Club Bitch, the booky one on the corner - lots of fun monikers can be put to me, all of them apply at certain times.
Gertie the Grumpy Gobshite is one of the least favorite of my incarnations. Gertie winds me up. She's not fun to have around. She's just incorrigible, bad tempered, though never rude, and just generally a pain it the butt to have her about. You want to slap her. Hell, I want to slap her. When I feel an attack of Gertie the Grumpy Gobshite, I tend to go to ground - find other things to do, away from people, for fear of offending.
Today is one of those days. I was in full on Gertie mode.
And the day started so promisingly. I woke. I read for an hour. I read the book I was supposed to be reading for an hour (loving "Reading Lolita in Tehran", it's for book group and for a change it's not fiction - and as unsure of how the throng will like it, I'm loving it). I got up, I had a muesli bar and a cup of coffee. I managed to do my ironing and strip my bed - all before leaving for the gym to make my 9.30 pump class.
I noticed a slight twinge in my stomach - down near where I had pain last year. Hmm. Look at the calendar. Okay, can see what that's there, not going to worry about that. Maybe Pinochet making me dead lift 45 kilos yesterday could have something to do with that too - and I make note of the fact that for the last two days I've felt like I've been coming down with a cold - but the magic green horse pills and a few early nights have appeared to keep this at bay.
Leaving for the gym a few minutes late, I scout ran the half a kilometre down the road. Scout running is when you run to a stobey pole, then walk to the next and so on - oops, we don't have stobey poles here - telegraph poles, is that better? I'm forever being berated by Jay and Emm that I turn up to Pump on Sunday at the last minute - mind you, half the time they've set up for me. Got them well trained. But scout running would get me there with a few minutes to spare. It would be good.
Wrong.
Arrived at the gym to find about fifty people standing about outside, looking forlorn.
Muppet receptionist had forgotten their key. No way to get into the gym. The Sunday Pump regulars were pacing, eager to get started. This wouldn't have happened if Hot Gen Why Slacker Dude was on (Also know as RILF - Receptionist I'd Like to.... stop it Gertie!) But Hot Gen Why Slacker Dude has gone to another club. Bugger.
Found Jay shouting into her iPhone. Seems she had a beef with her newsagent cancelling her Sunday papers. No sign of Emm - then again she was rather snotty when I saw her last. The class time came and went. The instructor continued to answer banal questions about what was going to happen in the class. More milling and finally one of the other receptionists turned up with a key.
Pump was only forty minutes long. No biceps, no triceps, no abs - thankfully Pinochet worked them the day before. Still felt rather put out. Was looking forward to a full pump class. Can't change what happened. Deal with it.
Went for a coffee with Jay before coming home to more cleaning, job hunting, reading and cooking. I was looking forward to a ten kilometre run with Kitt. That would get me out of my funk.
I got home. I received a text from a friend telling me about a section in the newspaper on Melbourne appartments. I snapped back an answer to thank them for the information, but one thing at a time. Get a job and get healthy now - I can't think about buying a place until I get the first one sorted anyway.
This touched a nerve. It's a really sensitive subject with me. I will buy a property when I'm ready. This will mean having a secure job and finally having got my head around the subject. Just writing this I'm in tears. A home has somebody else in it. I don't have that somebody. End of story. No further correspondence shall be entered into.
I went and had a cry for a bit, bringing myself out of the grumps knowing I was meeting Kitt at three for a run.
2 pm. Kitt texts. "Feeling like crap. Snot city here. Talk later in the week. Sorry."
GRRRR.
Gertie breaks out in a swearing rant. This isn't directed at Kitt. She's allowed to get sick - she helps run the country, there's enough weight on her shoulders. However, unfair! Was looking forward to that run. Yes, I can go alone, but it's far more fun going with somebody, we egg each other on.
Decided to hit the treadmill at the gym instead.
Trekking back to the gym I was all ready. Do an hour of interval running. Yeah. All will be fine. Yeah. Knee is a little sore, but I'll be fine. Yeah.
Jump on the treadmill. Kerchink,kerchink, kerchink.... Great, not spending an hour on this.
Being a good gym member, went and reported the duff treadmill. The receptionist thanked me for the information and logged the errant machine in the maintenance book.
Jumped on another treadmill and dialled it up to ten kilometres an hour.
And I was walking.... GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
Being a good gym member, I went and reported the second dudd treadmill. I was again thanked for the information.
I tried a third treadmill. Thankfully no errant noises or dreadfully slow pace - but after five minutes all I could here was the bloke next to me huffing away, some strange woman trying to walk up a mountain (set the gradient to 15% and was hanging on for dear life - weirdo. A couple on the cross trainers were conversing in loud, melodic Hindi. The grunty boys were grunting away. I could hear the grunty boys - oh no!
Where was the music?
I can't do treadmill running without annoying music to pace along to. And not music that goes on in my ears - I'm not fond of being on a treadmill with earphones in my ears - I'm that unco I'll trip over the cord - actually, I just hate having earphones over my ears, besides, my ears get sweaty and they fall out. I need my gym music - the stuff I only listen to at the gym - the All Saints and the Rhianna and Lady Ga Ga and the other crap that I hate so much that they pump out at seventy decibels to drown out the grunty boys and the huffing and swearing and the clanking of the dumbells. At least you normally have a steady beat to run to. Then I noticed, the tellies weren't on either. No David Attenborough lions to run away from either...
Sod this for a game of soldiers. I grabbed my bag, towel and water bottle, mentioned the lack of music to the recepionist, "They're looking into it, Pand. Hasn't been on all day."
Hmph. The pain in my side returned
And I returned home, stomping and tearful once again.
Once home, I had a good look at this bad mood. Why had Gertie come out? She normally doesn't hang around this long.
Okay, I don't have a job at the moment and it's starting to annoy me. It hasn't come as quickly as I thought it would, but this time off has given me so much more. The chance to lose weight, get fit, do some reading and writing, spend time with friends. It's the first time in my adult life I've had more than a month off. The job will come. I'm okay for quite a while longer financially, although the sooner I get working, the sooner I can look for a flat to call my own and replace my car.
I'm not alone, even if I feel like it some of the time. Today was a lonely day. I have them - but not often. You have to take the good with the bad. There are days when I have too many people around and I get huffy at that too.
I am safe and well. I did have he starts of a cold, which appears to have abated. I'm healthy. The pain in my knee is slowly going and feeling a hell of a lot stronger. The pain in my side will go away in a day or so. It's reminding me that I'm ovulating. It happens often. I know my body.
Really, all is as it should be. I am okay. Gertie's presence was a just a glitch. She comes out to remind me that things are really fine and as they should be. And that I have to take the good with the bad.
I just have to remember the serenity prayer. Keep saying it to myself. And have faith that I can make the changes I need to make and not sweat the small stuff.
And so to bed.
And if Gloria cancels on me tomorrow morning, she's dead!
Pand
P.s. Did a card reading when I got home. The outcome - the Hanged Man, The Magician and Temperance. Hang back, surrender and let the universe take it's course, you're healing - and you can do anything if you believe it. At least the cards are on my side.
________________________________________________________________________________
Project Pandora - Day 14 Report
Weight lost to date - 3 kilograms
I'm settling into the 1200 calorie diet really well. The recipes the 12wbt give you are fantastic. Also making sure I'm eating every three hours - the regular 100 calorie snacks keep things in check. Exercise wise the week hasn't been as intense as it could have been, but with all the emotional stuff going on in the background (Rose's passing and the aftermath, Blarney's boys in hospital, me feeling like walking poo) I've kept up the walking and the odd class - looking forward to getting back on top of the program. I never though I'd have the energy on this what seems like a small amount of food, but I really am fine.
One epic fail - went to the cinema and managed to snaffle the wrapper of my choc top. I'd left 250 calories for my choc top. I like my ice cream, this was my weekly treat, I'd factored it in.
Not. Did you know that the average pre-packaged cinema boysenberry choc top contains a MASSIVE 432 calories and nearly forty grams of fat!
I enjoyed it. But you live and learn.
'Insert your Deity here '
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference."
There are times when I am not Pandora - Queen of Denial. There are times when I am Gertie the Grumpy Gobshite. Just as I have a number of alter egos - Jessica Rabbit's frumpy accountant sister, Joyce, The Running Wombat, Word Nerd, Chicken Legs, Beer Club Bitch, the booky one on the corner - lots of fun monikers can be put to me, all of them apply at certain times.
Gertie the Grumpy Gobshite is one of the least favorite of my incarnations. Gertie winds me up. She's not fun to have around. She's just incorrigible, bad tempered, though never rude, and just generally a pain it the butt to have her about. You want to slap her. Hell, I want to slap her. When I feel an attack of Gertie the Grumpy Gobshite, I tend to go to ground - find other things to do, away from people, for fear of offending.
Today is one of those days. I was in full on Gertie mode.
And the day started so promisingly. I woke. I read for an hour. I read the book I was supposed to be reading for an hour (loving "Reading Lolita in Tehran", it's for book group and for a change it's not fiction - and as unsure of how the throng will like it, I'm loving it). I got up, I had a muesli bar and a cup of coffee. I managed to do my ironing and strip my bed - all before leaving for the gym to make my 9.30 pump class.
I noticed a slight twinge in my stomach - down near where I had pain last year. Hmm. Look at the calendar. Okay, can see what that's there, not going to worry about that. Maybe Pinochet making me dead lift 45 kilos yesterday could have something to do with that too - and I make note of the fact that for the last two days I've felt like I've been coming down with a cold - but the magic green horse pills and a few early nights have appeared to keep this at bay.
Leaving for the gym a few minutes late, I scout ran the half a kilometre down the road. Scout running is when you run to a stobey pole, then walk to the next and so on - oops, we don't have stobey poles here - telegraph poles, is that better? I'm forever being berated by Jay and Emm that I turn up to Pump on Sunday at the last minute - mind you, half the time they've set up for me. Got them well trained. But scout running would get me there with a few minutes to spare. It would be good.
Wrong.
Arrived at the gym to find about fifty people standing about outside, looking forlorn.
Muppet receptionist had forgotten their key. No way to get into the gym. The Sunday Pump regulars were pacing, eager to get started. This wouldn't have happened if Hot Gen Why Slacker Dude was on (Also know as RILF - Receptionist I'd Like to.... stop it Gertie!) But Hot Gen Why Slacker Dude has gone to another club. Bugger.
Found Jay shouting into her iPhone. Seems she had a beef with her newsagent cancelling her Sunday papers. No sign of Emm - then again she was rather snotty when I saw her last. The class time came and went. The instructor continued to answer banal questions about what was going to happen in the class. More milling and finally one of the other receptionists turned up with a key.
Pump was only forty minutes long. No biceps, no triceps, no abs - thankfully Pinochet worked them the day before. Still felt rather put out. Was looking forward to a full pump class. Can't change what happened. Deal with it.
Went for a coffee with Jay before coming home to more cleaning, job hunting, reading and cooking. I was looking forward to a ten kilometre run with Kitt. That would get me out of my funk.
I got home. I received a text from a friend telling me about a section in the newspaper on Melbourne appartments. I snapped back an answer to thank them for the information, but one thing at a time. Get a job and get healthy now - I can't think about buying a place until I get the first one sorted anyway.
This touched a nerve. It's a really sensitive subject with me. I will buy a property when I'm ready. This will mean having a secure job and finally having got my head around the subject. Just writing this I'm in tears. A home has somebody else in it. I don't have that somebody. End of story. No further correspondence shall be entered into.
I went and had a cry for a bit, bringing myself out of the grumps knowing I was meeting Kitt at three for a run.
2 pm. Kitt texts. "Feeling like crap. Snot city here. Talk later in the week. Sorry."
GRRRR.
Gertie breaks out in a swearing rant. This isn't directed at Kitt. She's allowed to get sick - she helps run the country, there's enough weight on her shoulders. However, unfair! Was looking forward to that run. Yes, I can go alone, but it's far more fun going with somebody, we egg each other on.
Decided to hit the treadmill at the gym instead.
Trekking back to the gym I was all ready. Do an hour of interval running. Yeah. All will be fine. Yeah. Knee is a little sore, but I'll be fine. Yeah.
Jump on the treadmill. Kerchink,kerchink, kerchink.... Great, not spending an hour on this.
Being a good gym member, went and reported the duff treadmill. The receptionist thanked me for the information and logged the errant machine in the maintenance book.
Jumped on another treadmill and dialled it up to ten kilometres an hour.
And I was walking.... GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
Being a good gym member, I went and reported the second dudd treadmill. I was again thanked for the information.
I tried a third treadmill. Thankfully no errant noises or dreadfully slow pace - but after five minutes all I could here was the bloke next to me huffing away, some strange woman trying to walk up a mountain (set the gradient to 15% and was hanging on for dear life - weirdo. A couple on the cross trainers were conversing in loud, melodic Hindi. The grunty boys were grunting away. I could hear the grunty boys - oh no!
Where was the music?
I can't do treadmill running without annoying music to pace along to. And not music that goes on in my ears - I'm not fond of being on a treadmill with earphones in my ears - I'm that unco I'll trip over the cord - actually, I just hate having earphones over my ears, besides, my ears get sweaty and they fall out. I need my gym music - the stuff I only listen to at the gym - the All Saints and the Rhianna and Lady Ga Ga and the other crap that I hate so much that they pump out at seventy decibels to drown out the grunty boys and the huffing and swearing and the clanking of the dumbells. At least you normally have a steady beat to run to. Then I noticed, the tellies weren't on either. No David Attenborough lions to run away from either...
Sod this for a game of soldiers. I grabbed my bag, towel and water bottle, mentioned the lack of music to the recepionist, "They're looking into it, Pand. Hasn't been on all day."
Hmph. The pain in my side returned
And I returned home, stomping and tearful once again.
Once home, I had a good look at this bad mood. Why had Gertie come out? She normally doesn't hang around this long.
Okay, I don't have a job at the moment and it's starting to annoy me. It hasn't come as quickly as I thought it would, but this time off has given me so much more. The chance to lose weight, get fit, do some reading and writing, spend time with friends. It's the first time in my adult life I've had more than a month off. The job will come. I'm okay for quite a while longer financially, although the sooner I get working, the sooner I can look for a flat to call my own and replace my car.
I'm not alone, even if I feel like it some of the time. Today was a lonely day. I have them - but not often. You have to take the good with the bad. There are days when I have too many people around and I get huffy at that too.
I am safe and well. I did have he starts of a cold, which appears to have abated. I'm healthy. The pain in my knee is slowly going and feeling a hell of a lot stronger. The pain in my side will go away in a day or so. It's reminding me that I'm ovulating. It happens often. I know my body.
Really, all is as it should be. I am okay. Gertie's presence was a just a glitch. She comes out to remind me that things are really fine and as they should be. And that I have to take the good with the bad.
I just have to remember the serenity prayer. Keep saying it to myself. And have faith that I can make the changes I need to make and not sweat the small stuff.
And so to bed.
And if Gloria cancels on me tomorrow morning, she's dead!
Pand
P.s. Did a card reading when I got home. The outcome - the Hanged Man, The Magician and Temperance. Hang back, surrender and let the universe take it's course, you're healing - and you can do anything if you believe it. At least the cards are on my side.
________________________________________________________________________________
Project Pandora - Day 14 Report
Weight lost to date - 3 kilograms
I'm settling into the 1200 calorie diet really well. The recipes the 12wbt give you are fantastic. Also making sure I'm eating every three hours - the regular 100 calorie snacks keep things in check. Exercise wise the week hasn't been as intense as it could have been, but with all the emotional stuff going on in the background (Rose's passing and the aftermath, Blarney's boys in hospital, me feeling like walking poo) I've kept up the walking and the odd class - looking forward to getting back on top of the program. I never though I'd have the energy on this what seems like a small amount of food, but I really am fine.
One epic fail - went to the cinema and managed to snaffle the wrapper of my choc top. I'd left 250 calories for my choc top. I like my ice cream, this was my weekly treat, I'd factored it in.
Not. Did you know that the average pre-packaged cinema boysenberry choc top contains a MASSIVE 432 calories and nearly forty grams of fat!
I enjoyed it. But you live and learn.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Things Left Unsaid
Things have been improving over the last few days.
Flora called, Pierro will stay with Natty in Canberra and she will go the the funeral alone, meaning I don't need to go up there. Pressure off there. It's been an incredibly emotional few days regardless. Monday was spent at home, in a mild version of shock. I wish, at times, I wasn't an emotional sponge. At least I've got ways of coping with this now - coping better than ever before. Exercise and a great support network make all the difference.
So now, with the Canberra trip abandoned I can get back to the joys of job hunting.
Yesterday's interview was at a top-flight consulting firm. For the first time in this job hunting period, I felt half excited. I felt that I'd actually like to work for this company. Not something I've been feeling for a while.
Strangely, it was one of the better interviews I've attended in years. I had no idea what to expect, but I fitted in well with the interviewer who seemed to get what I was about , just as I got where they were coming from.
It was a bit of a revelation of an interview. It also had me looking at the answers I was providing. What do information do you give? What do you leave out? What do you bury at the base of a sandpit encrusted with cat poo where you know nobody is going to go.
It was an interesting experience.
First up, I didn't look like me. Walk down the street and I was near unrecognisable. As I've lost 9 kgs this year all ready, my standby suit that I've used for interviews is now on the big side. Big enough to be swamping me and it is now sitting on the pile to be taken to St Vinnies. So the black jacket and skirt, in the wardrobe for when I got skinny again was donned. Hair in a bun, kitten heels, bespoke bracelet, red leather handbag, make up.
This is the result.
I look like Jessica Rabbit's scary accountant sister. Flora said I looked like and undertaker when she saw the photo. What Flora wasn't seeing was a really pretty cobalt blue top under the suit jacket that takes away a bit of the ferocity. Still, as most people are used to me in fisherman's pants, jeans, t-shirts or dresses, it's a bit out of the norm. As for make up - my normal eyeliner and mascara has been upped - but thank goodness for mineral foundation - it feels like you have nothing on your face.
As a rule, in interviews, you go back through you last few jobs. Rich, the guy interviewing me, wanted the full story. Oh, my.
For once, scraping around the truth wasn't going to cut it. I had to be as honest as I could.
He also started back at high school. He wanted the unadulterated story. Oh hell. Here goes nothing.
Rich: So tell me about high school.
Pand: Not what you expected. One of the worst high schools in South Australia at the time. Outer metropolitan hardnuts and country kids mixed in a school that didn't really cater for academics.
Rich: And you were dux of the school.
Pand: No, but in the top five.
Rich: With an Arts bent at high school?
Pand: No. I matriculated in English, Maths, Chemistry, French and Music. The marks were all were all in six marks of each other .
Well, this is the truth. Willunga High was not the paragon of educational virtues. There were four others who's grades were better than mine. Of a class of a a hundred only a handful went on to university. I'm also the only one in the state with a B plus in Math, Chemistry, French and Music.
Rich: What did your parents do?
Pand: Mum was a nurse, Dad ran the rubbish dump, among other things.
Truth as well. What else are you supposed to say? Can't mess with that history. Not so much educated at the University of Hard Knocks, but I've gone through life with the odd challenge. It's made me resiliant, hopeful and rather cunning. Hell, I come from a town called Myponga! That's a handicap in itself.
Rich: And what did you go into university wanting to do?
Pand: I wanted to be a French teacher.
Again, the truth. Thing is, as soon as I got to university, I hated the way they taught French. I wasn't that enamoured with university. I really had no idea what I wanted to do other than I didn't want to get married and have kids early.
Rich: And you went to London in 1991.
Pand: After university. I fell ill in my third year and repeated that final year part time. Glandular Fever wrecked me.
Rich: How did you support yourself at university?
Pand: I worked in a department store during that time, attending lectures at lunch time.
Mostly the truth. I did work in a department store, but in the sub-basement warehouse area, putting tickets on merchandise. The world's most soul-destroying job. You don't get much lower than roles in a sub-basement - the only way is up.
Rich: And you spent eight years in London. Did you have some kind of right to abode?
Pand: Yes. Grandparent entry.
Blatant lie. But who is going to check? He doesn't need to know about my furtive entry to the UK via Ireland or my six years as an alien. I paid my taxes and didn't get caught. We'll leave that alone.
Rich: And why did you return to Australia.
Pand: My grandmother was turning 100 and my sister was having a baby.
Again, truth. I left out the bit that my father had died and I felt I could come back. Employers don't need to know that bit.
We went through my more recent employment history.
Rich: And what do you do best in a role. What is your best fit job title?
Pand: Switzerland or Geek Liaison?
Rich: Explain.
Pand: Switzerland is the place you go to for refuge before getting things done. Don't ask how or why, but stuff gets done in Switzerland - a nice neutral place to go to for solace and regrouping. And Geek Liaison, because that's what I do. I can talk to geeks. I can also talk to engineers, the post room guys, the cleaners, the General Manager - you name it, I can talk to people and tend to get stuff happening. I'm from the country. I have the charm and gormlessness to be able to do that.
Well, this is true too. I'm about as gormless as they come.
Rich: And you want to be a writer. So you want to write the great Australian novel?
Pand: Nah, I'd rather be the next JK Rowling.
Rich: Why her?
Pand: I like her imagination.
For once in my life, whether it be to my detriment or not, I got to be mainly honest. When asked why I left a job in a software company I answered, "Abject boredom. I can't sit in front of a computer all day - does my head in." Rich got told about my desire to run a marathon next year and my need for work life balance.
But for the stuff that's sitting under the cat poo in the sandpit.
The tarot cards. Prospective employers can have a look at them when they get moved into my desk drawer three months into the contract.
The fact I'm into Kabbalah, Wicca and other spiritual stuff. None of their beeswax frankly.
My reflexology practice can stay hidden for the while too. I'm not sure employers would relish somebody who plays with feet on their books. It's just a bit too strange for corporate Australia.
And yeah, they don't need to know about the three Mills and Boon Manuscripts in my bottom drawer or the fact that I was once a member of Young Labor, many, many, many moons ago.
For the moment, I'm just the well dressed, articulate, intelligent woman looking for a new role, somewhere where there are a few challenges and a lot of variety.
Part of me thinks its the stuff that I leave out which is more interesting.
I'm being recommended for a second interview. We'll see how it goes.
Pandxx
Flora called, Pierro will stay with Natty in Canberra and she will go the the funeral alone, meaning I don't need to go up there. Pressure off there. It's been an incredibly emotional few days regardless. Monday was spent at home, in a mild version of shock. I wish, at times, I wasn't an emotional sponge. At least I've got ways of coping with this now - coping better than ever before. Exercise and a great support network make all the difference.
So now, with the Canberra trip abandoned I can get back to the joys of job hunting.
Yesterday's interview was at a top-flight consulting firm. For the first time in this job hunting period, I felt half excited. I felt that I'd actually like to work for this company. Not something I've been feeling for a while.
Strangely, it was one of the better interviews I've attended in years. I had no idea what to expect, but I fitted in well with the interviewer who seemed to get what I was about , just as I got where they were coming from.
It was a bit of a revelation of an interview. It also had me looking at the answers I was providing. What do information do you give? What do you leave out? What do you bury at the base of a sandpit encrusted with cat poo where you know nobody is going to go.
It was an interesting experience.
First up, I didn't look like me. Walk down the street and I was near unrecognisable. As I've lost 9 kgs this year all ready, my standby suit that I've used for interviews is now on the big side. Big enough to be swamping me and it is now sitting on the pile to be taken to St Vinnies. So the black jacket and skirt, in the wardrobe for when I got skinny again was donned. Hair in a bun, kitten heels, bespoke bracelet, red leather handbag, make up.
This is the result.
As a rule, in interviews, you go back through you last few jobs. Rich, the guy interviewing me, wanted the full story. Oh, my.
For once, scraping around the truth wasn't going to cut it. I had to be as honest as I could.
He also started back at high school. He wanted the unadulterated story. Oh hell. Here goes nothing.
Rich: So tell me about high school.
Pand: Not what you expected. One of the worst high schools in South Australia at the time. Outer metropolitan hardnuts and country kids mixed in a school that didn't really cater for academics.
Rich: And you were dux of the school.
Pand: No, but in the top five.
Rich: With an Arts bent at high school?
Pand: No. I matriculated in English, Maths, Chemistry, French and Music. The marks were all were all in six marks of each other .
Well, this is the truth. Willunga High was not the paragon of educational virtues. There were four others who's grades were better than mine. Of a class of a a hundred only a handful went on to university. I'm also the only one in the state with a B plus in Math, Chemistry, French and Music.
Rich: What did your parents do?
Pand: Mum was a nurse, Dad ran the rubbish dump, among other things.
Truth as well. What else are you supposed to say? Can't mess with that history. Not so much educated at the University of Hard Knocks, but I've gone through life with the odd challenge. It's made me resiliant, hopeful and rather cunning. Hell, I come from a town called Myponga! That's a handicap in itself.
Rich: And what did you go into university wanting to do?
Pand: I wanted to be a French teacher.
Again, the truth. Thing is, as soon as I got to university, I hated the way they taught French. I wasn't that enamoured with university. I really had no idea what I wanted to do other than I didn't want to get married and have kids early.
Rich: And you went to London in 1991.
Pand: After university. I fell ill in my third year and repeated that final year part time. Glandular Fever wrecked me.
Rich: How did you support yourself at university?
Pand: I worked in a department store during that time, attending lectures at lunch time.
Mostly the truth. I did work in a department store, but in the sub-basement warehouse area, putting tickets on merchandise. The world's most soul-destroying job. You don't get much lower than roles in a sub-basement - the only way is up.
Rich: And you spent eight years in London. Did you have some kind of right to abode?
Pand: Yes. Grandparent entry.
Blatant lie. But who is going to check? He doesn't need to know about my furtive entry to the UK via Ireland or my six years as an alien. I paid my taxes and didn't get caught. We'll leave that alone.
Rich: And why did you return to Australia.
Pand: My grandmother was turning 100 and my sister was having a baby.
Again, truth. I left out the bit that my father had died and I felt I could come back. Employers don't need to know that bit.
We went through my more recent employment history.
Rich: And what do you do best in a role. What is your best fit job title?
Pand: Switzerland or Geek Liaison?
Rich: Explain.
Pand: Switzerland is the place you go to for refuge before getting things done. Don't ask how or why, but stuff gets done in Switzerland - a nice neutral place to go to for solace and regrouping. And Geek Liaison, because that's what I do. I can talk to geeks. I can also talk to engineers, the post room guys, the cleaners, the General Manager - you name it, I can talk to people and tend to get stuff happening. I'm from the country. I have the charm and gormlessness to be able to do that.
Well, this is true too. I'm about as gormless as they come.
Rich: And you want to be a writer. So you want to write the great Australian novel?
Pand: Nah, I'd rather be the next JK Rowling.
Rich: Why her?
Pand: I like her imagination.
For once in my life, whether it be to my detriment or not, I got to be mainly honest. When asked why I left a job in a software company I answered, "Abject boredom. I can't sit in front of a computer all day - does my head in." Rich got told about my desire to run a marathon next year and my need for work life balance.
But for the stuff that's sitting under the cat poo in the sandpit.
The tarot cards. Prospective employers can have a look at them when they get moved into my desk drawer three months into the contract.
The fact I'm into Kabbalah, Wicca and other spiritual stuff. None of their beeswax frankly.
My reflexology practice can stay hidden for the while too. I'm not sure employers would relish somebody who plays with feet on their books. It's just a bit too strange for corporate Australia.
And yeah, they don't need to know about the three Mills and Boon Manuscripts in my bottom drawer or the fact that I was once a member of Young Labor, many, many, many moons ago.
For the moment, I'm just the well dressed, articulate, intelligent woman looking for a new role, somewhere where there are a few challenges and a lot of variety.
Part of me thinks its the stuff that I leave out which is more interesting.
I'm being recommended for a second interview. We'll see how it goes.
Pandxx
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