Laptop riddled with the electronic equivalent of STIs. Hopefully be back in business ASAP after a short visit to the computer doctor. Grrrr....
C.K.
30 Nov 2009
22 Nov 2009
My Life is a Ben Stiller movie II - the Pak n Save woman’s revenge
Explosive anger is not usually my forte. A few months ago I had an extremely stressful week at work, was tired from burning the candle at both ends with sport and socialising and I had a very very rare rage blackout whilst shopping at Pak n Save. I had made an effort to leave work early to get to a few stores before 5pm and had a very tight schedule of chores to get through. I made the amateur mistake of deciding to stop briefly to grab a couple of things at the supermarket at 4.30pm. Peak hour for soccer mums with multiple trolleys jam-packed with a months supply of own-brand necessities and screaming toddlers. I have a problem with background noise (I tend to get agitated and edgy) so make a point of never shopping at Pak n Slave as it is, but at peak hour, in a serious hurry I was not in my element.
After surviving a million-isle indoor hike that just about required a backpack and refreshments (that place is way too big) and dodging throngs of shoppers like a stealthy supermarket ninja, I breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of a 1 person queue in the express checkout. I carefully placed my handful of items on the conveyor and saw the wine display a few steps away, glanced at the man getting served and judged that I could easily be back in time with wine in hand and not hold anyone up. At this stage there was no one waiting behind me anyway. After barely 3 seconds I had selected my wine and was back to my groceries BEFORE the man had his final item scanned. I was incensed to find a skeletal, nondescript uniformed lady had repositioned my items so that she could squeeze in front of me. I lost the plot.
Everything that came out of my mouth was a venom bullet and so well constructed and quick that the lady, who clearly needed to learn how to queue, had no response other than to look at the floor. Although I have on many occasion reconstructed conversations with retrospect, this time I said everything I should have and yet it didn’t feel as great afterwards as I always thought it would. I was still angry when I pushed my trolley to the car and she came around the parking lot and I made a point of walking directly across her path obscuring her passage and sending her serious jet-stares. I don’t think I have ever been so explosively angry at someone I didn’t know, and in public!
Fast forward 3 weeks. I donate blood on a regular basis. Midway through the donor interview I got this sickening feeling that I recognised the nurse who was interrogating me. I just hoped she didn’t recognise me. There was sufficient normal nurse banter, shooting the breeze about the weather but I was still not convinced I was safe. I was about to learn a lesson in Karma, big time. I have never had a more painful, marathon donation experience. The woman absolutely went to town on my vein, convinced she had “hit a valve”, she had an excuse to prod me several times until I was nearly passed out and another nurse came to assist. I am sure the nurse was sporting a satisfied smug grin when I left with a swollen and bruised elbow. Never have I had a more real example of “what goes around comes around”.
C.K.
After surviving a million-isle indoor hike that just about required a backpack and refreshments (that place is way too big) and dodging throngs of shoppers like a stealthy supermarket ninja, I breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of a 1 person queue in the express checkout. I carefully placed my handful of items on the conveyor and saw the wine display a few steps away, glanced at the man getting served and judged that I could easily be back in time with wine in hand and not hold anyone up. At this stage there was no one waiting behind me anyway. After barely 3 seconds I had selected my wine and was back to my groceries BEFORE the man had his final item scanned. I was incensed to find a skeletal, nondescript uniformed lady had repositioned my items so that she could squeeze in front of me. I lost the plot.
Everything that came out of my mouth was a venom bullet and so well constructed and quick that the lady, who clearly needed to learn how to queue, had no response other than to look at the floor. Although I have on many occasion reconstructed conversations with retrospect, this time I said everything I should have and yet it didn’t feel as great afterwards as I always thought it would. I was still angry when I pushed my trolley to the car and she came around the parking lot and I made a point of walking directly across her path obscuring her passage and sending her serious jet-stares. I don’t think I have ever been so explosively angry at someone I didn’t know, and in public!
Fast forward 3 weeks. I donate blood on a regular basis. Midway through the donor interview I got this sickening feeling that I recognised the nurse who was interrogating me. I just hoped she didn’t recognise me. There was sufficient normal nurse banter, shooting the breeze about the weather but I was still not convinced I was safe. I was about to learn a lesson in Karma, big time. I have never had a more painful, marathon donation experience. The woman absolutely went to town on my vein, convinced she had “hit a valve”, she had an excuse to prod me several times until I was nearly passed out and another nurse came to assist. I am sure the nurse was sporting a satisfied smug grin when I left with a swollen and bruised elbow. Never have I had a more real example of “what goes around comes around”.
C.K.
18 Nov 2009
My life is a Ben Stiller movie I - Fishing
I always thought I had reasonable man-skills. Being bought up in and around the country, I'm a little rough around the edges to say the least. Generally I operate the majority of farm machinery, vehicles, tools and equipment with varying degrees of success but by and large give things a reasonable shot. Up until a few weeks ago I thought I was at least a fair to middling fisherman too. Well it turns out the BF seems to be kryptonite to my man-skills…everything I used to do impressively ‘for a girl’ has turned to custard including my ability to surf, skate, play tennis, pool, converse about all things sporting, and now I can add fishing to that list. Well I had this fantastic idea to borrow my dad’s boat (not an unusual or rare event) to take the BF out fishing. Little did I know what I had gotten myself in for.
Well things began well, set up the lines, packed the boat, checked the motor was tickety-boo, hooked the trailer to the Nissan and made the mammoth journey 150m from the end of my parents driveway to the boat ramp. So far so good. As I was amidst utilising another learned man-skill, backing the trailer, I noticed the neighbours indicating to something attached to the boat. I got out only to find screeds of nylon attached to a now empty reel and leading back to the house where it must've hooked on a tree or something as we had left the driveway. After winding the entire reel of nylon back on I continued backing the boat in. First time, no trouble.
So I am at the helm looking nautical and windswept like any good captain should. Manage to navigate a tricky entrance, leaving the safety of the harbour for the open ocean. Upon arrival at my so-called spot x it is mutually agreed to drift rather than anchor. After getting sufficiently bait-smelling, my line looks to be in order and I decide to cast my line out away from the boat. Less than 2 shakes of a lambs tail later, my line has drifted back under the boat and become impossibly tangled around the motor. Fantastic. The next 30 minutes are spent with the BF nearly up to his chest in the water trying to untangle the line from the propeller whilst I fret about the rate we are drifting over a scary looking sandbar and the swell is rapidly turning into breaking waves. In the nick of time the BF earns serious man-points for removing aforementioned fishing line and we motor away from impending doom to safety.
Once back to spot x we decide this time to anchor. I instruct the BF to “just fish” while I sort out my line and try not to cause anymore trouble. The BF flashes me jet-stares followed by rolled eyes when I refuse to let him help me. Of course, much to my frustration I am in birds nest country after about a minute, end up cutting off half of the line and retiring from the sport for the day.
I forgot to mention it was overcast and blowing a gale but while we didn’t actually get a single bite, and in spite of all the mayhem at least it was memorable and we both had a good laugh.
C.K.
Well things began well, set up the lines, packed the boat, checked the motor was tickety-boo, hooked the trailer to the Nissan and made the mammoth journey 150m from the end of my parents driveway to the boat ramp. So far so good. As I was amidst utilising another learned man-skill, backing the trailer, I noticed the neighbours indicating to something attached to the boat. I got out only to find screeds of nylon attached to a now empty reel and leading back to the house where it must've hooked on a tree or something as we had left the driveway. After winding the entire reel of nylon back on I continued backing the boat in. First time, no trouble.
So I am at the helm looking nautical and windswept like any good captain should. Manage to navigate a tricky entrance, leaving the safety of the harbour for the open ocean. Upon arrival at my so-called spot x it is mutually agreed to drift rather than anchor. After getting sufficiently bait-smelling, my line looks to be in order and I decide to cast my line out away from the boat. Less than 2 shakes of a lambs tail later, my line has drifted back under the boat and become impossibly tangled around the motor. Fantastic. The next 30 minutes are spent with the BF nearly up to his chest in the water trying to untangle the line from the propeller whilst I fret about the rate we are drifting over a scary looking sandbar and the swell is rapidly turning into breaking waves. In the nick of time the BF earns serious man-points for removing aforementioned fishing line and we motor away from impending doom to safety.
Once back to spot x we decide this time to anchor. I instruct the BF to “just fish” while I sort out my line and try not to cause anymore trouble. The BF flashes me jet-stares followed by rolled eyes when I refuse to let him help me. Of course, much to my frustration I am in birds nest country after about a minute, end up cutting off half of the line and retiring from the sport for the day.
I forgot to mention it was overcast and blowing a gale but while we didn’t actually get a single bite, and in spite of all the mayhem at least it was memorable and we both had a good laugh.
C.K.
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