It's been ages since I've written in here, wow. I'm back in Sydney for now and am working at the law firm until I return in June.

When I got in to work today, a few people said happy birthday to me (it's on Sunday). This is weird because most of the staff there can barely remember my name, let alone my birthday. Upon further investigation, I learned that a morning tea was held on Wednesday to celebrate me and another staff member's birthday. On Wednesday - the one day I don't work, and have never worked, since I started at this company. Thanks a lot, jerks. Hope you liked my cake.

In the short time I've been at my new job, I seem to have attracted the attention of the office's resident creepy old man.

His name is Gerald, and although the company directory lists his position as a Clerk, his daily activities would lead one to believe that his sole purpose in the firm is to skeeve out the ladies (presumably to keep us from climbing too far up the corporate ladder, or something).

The fun starts when I get to my desk at 8am each morning. Within five minutes of me sitting down, G will approach my cubicle (may I just add that he emerges out of nowhere, he's rather stealthy for an octogenarian), drape an arm oh-so casually over the top my cubicle wall and ask me if I am 'firing on all pistons today'. This is his one and only conversation starter, and I'm pretty sure that he's been using that very line to court the dames since World War II.

While I'm thinking of a response - the default is a fake chuckle followed by "Yes, thanks", but sometimes I like to mix it up - G will take the opportunity to have a nice lingering perv at my boobs, which is where his gaze will remain for the rest of the conversation. He'll ramble on about nothing for a couple more minutes before slinking away to harrass his next victim.

Over the course of the day, Gerald will visit my desk at least three more times, always for superfluous reasons (to tell me the names of everyone who is absent from work, to check that I am still firing on all pistons, etc). This always gets me annoyed, because he'll interrupt whatever I'm doing so that I can be an audience for his rambling monologues. Take today, for instance. He was prattling on about something or other, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to get back to the document I was in the middle of typing (said document was a graphically detailed account concerning some unfortunate woman's vaginal tearing, ENOUGH SAID).

You might be thinking that I am being unfairly impatient with an old man, right? Allow me to help you defect to Team Lola: I work for a group of self-important, ridiculously demanding sharks lawyers who like to drown me in work while telling me that they want it on their desks an hour ago. "Sorry boss, but I didn't get your typing done on time because I was letting Gerald ogle my boobies" won't cut it (or will it? I have never actually tried peddling this excuse...).

Lately Gerald has been giving me a daily reminder about his upcoming holiday. He'll be going away for the entire month of July on a sweaty sex romp in Thailand's red light district leisurely jaunt to merry old England. He's been telling me that I'll need to email him my exam results when I get them on July 16. I brush him off by saying "OK, I'll do that" while my inner voice says, "Chh, yeah right"

Today Gerald brought up the topic of emailing again, and decided that he'd give me his personal email address ("because there's no way in hell you're getting mine" I thought). I tore off a scrap of paper for him, on which he very studiously wrote:

Gerald_LastName

Oh, Gerald.

It reminded me of a story one of my high school friends was telling me about trying to get her mother an email address. Friend signed her mother up for a Hotmail address, who then protested, "But I don't want hotmail, I want email"

LOL, old people find email confusing.

Yesterday I was rummaging around in the garage for my birth certificate. I didn't find the certificate, however I did stumble upon ( this little comedy goldmine... )

Quick quiz question: Who is the biggest dorkus malorkus in all the land?

Pencils down. Did you guess me? Well, it's true. I feel like the biggest loser, and not in the "i just went on a reality TV show and lost 200 pounds" kind of way.

See, I had an assignment due last week, but our printer wasn't working. I sent the file in an email to my mum's work address, asking her to print it out for me there. She did, I handed it in on time and all was good.

Today, I got the assignment back. I was flicking through to see what my grade was and I noticed that not only had my mum printed the assignment, but also the email exchange between us (WHY, MOTHER?). Of COURSE, I had stapled the printout of the email to the back of the assignment. It wouldn't be so bad if the email was just like, "Hey mum, print this for me". But of course it wasn't. It was a freakin' novel, complete with lame subject line, a tidbit of salacious gossip and hefty sprinklings of me and mum's pet names for each other throughout.

I'm sure my teacher got a good chuckle out of it and has since moved on, but this is going to haunt me forever. It's going to bother me for about a week to the extent where it's the first thing I think about in the morning. Then it will fade away, but not disappear completely.

I guarantee you that I will still be cringing about this when I'm sixty. If not this, then something else. I have a million of these things I don't want to remember, buried in my head just waiting to pop out at any given time. And who cares if other people remember them, because usually friends are tactful enough not to go around reminding you about things you don't want to think about. My mind, on the other hand, has no tact and wants me to think about it all the time!

Quiet, brain, or I'll stab you with a q-tip.

'Kay, so Nashville is on a tornado warning right now. We live about twenty minutes north of Nashville, and our county is not on tornado warning. Nevertheless, Candy is in batten-down-the-hatches/Y2K is here/we're gonna die mode. SHE MADE ME DO A TORNADO DRILL. I wish I were joking.

In case you were wondering, Candy and I will be congregating in the closet under the stairs if the tornado hits Hendersonville. Never mind that the same closet also functions as storage for Candy's son's belongings, and there's no way that two people could fit in there, squished in with all his junk. How tragic that the broken vacuum cleaner shall survive while I perish.

If the tornado comes, I want to be swept away a la one of those cows in "Twister", only to be deposited dazed but unharmed in an empty field several miles away.

Put in some overtime at work tonight which meant I had to catch the late bus. While waiting for the bus, I got chatted up by a guy dressed up like Elvis. He had the entire look going on: the hair, the sideburns, the glasses. He introduced himself as Elvis Junior. Roffle.

When my bus arrived, I got on and he followed me on and sat down next to me. For the entire ride back to Hendersonville, he told me his entire life story, monologue style. Listening to him talk, I realised that this man actually believes he is Elvis' son. He didn't actually say this explicitly, but he dropped some subtle hints. People, I did the math. It wasn't hard. Some choice quotes:
"My father was an entertainer"
"I own a mansion in Memphis but the deed is locked inside a vault hidden in the walls"
"I have ownership in a valuable estate but my half sister sold most of it"

He also wondered aloud "What is the difference between England and Australia?", and described his favourite brand of kitty litter. Every so often he would stop and tell me that he was so excited to meet me, this was his lucky day, etc. The whole time I just kept smiling and making polite comments and hoping that the other passengers didn't think we were together. He got off the bus at Target, promising to look for me at the bus stop on Monday night (yikes).

When Elvis Jr got off, the lady sitting across the aisle from me burst out laughing and said "I guess he really is alive". Then, the lady sitting behind her told us that she has seen Elvis Jr around town a bunch of times, always in costume. The bus driver chimed in and said that the guy is a known local crackpot, and if Elvis Jr's story is correct, the real Elvis would've had to have been 12 when his "son" was born.

I am doing overtime all week next week, so if I run into Elvis Jr at the bus stop again, I am going to get a picture with him.

Some guy called the office today, and I guess he misheard my name because he kept addressing me as "Mambo". Usually I tell people if they get my name wrong (I frequently hear Flora, Nora, Leah and other fugly names). But Mambo? It's so ridiculous and sassy, I didn't have the heart to correct him. Also, one of my (female) coworkers was repeatedly called Sir by one of her customers, so now I don't feel so bad.

Now onto domestic matters. The lady I rent a room from is the biggest freaking slob and it's starting to drive me a leetle bit up the wall. I was a messy person up until a couple of years ago so I think I have a fairly high threshold for untidiness. Quite frankly though, this shit is bananas. I shall not be surprised if the authorities will eventually have to drag this woman from her fetid apartment, yogurt running down her chin, a la Goldie Hawn in Death Becomes Her.

Mind you, Candy is not all to blame - I should accept some of the responsibility here for ignoring the initial warning signs. On the first day I moved in, I spent about an hour hauling bags filled with trash (food and otherwise) from my new bedroom so I could get the furniture in. Gross. The kitchen is also disgusting. The woman is too lazy to put stuff in the dishwasher so she lets her plates pile up in the sink, still covered in food and crap. It'll sit there for days until she decides to throw them into the dishwasher or buy new dishes. In the meantime, she'll use the faucet so the sink turns into this muddy swamp with dishes and food bits floating everywhere. Her son just moved back home and of course he never learned basic cleaning habits, so the disgusting factor has been doubled!

Now that I have completely trashed (heh heh) Candy and the way she lives, I'll throw in a couple of good points. Candy is a sweet lady and has been very kind to me. The rent is a great deal, particularly for the neighborhood. Also, I think the exposure to godknowshowmanygerms is building me up a killer immune system. Nevertheless. My current issue is: all the spoons have disappeared from the kitchen drawer. I suspect most of them have migrated to Candy's bedroom, sitting in the weeks old bowls of sour milk that surround her bed and computer desk. I did spot one spoon, but it was in the depths of the sink swamp, and there's no way I'm putting my hand in there. Tonight I ate my ice-cream with a fork.

Poor Mambo.

Happy 2008 everyone! I can pretty confidently say that last night was the best New Year's Eve I've ever had.

Got to Zac's place at about 6. He has this gorgeous little townhouse that sits directly on the edge of a golf course - the green starts where his back porch ends. It's not even separated by a fence or anything, so I guess his house has had a few close calls with flying golf balls. Nevertheless, how cool is that? I think I came off as a little over impressed by the location of his house, but I couldn't help it!

So we met up with a couple of Zac's friends who were visiting from out of town, and we all went and had a really nice dinner. The plan after that was to hit a classy live music venue downtown. Unfortunately, our first choice was booked out to a private party. After some deliberation, we ended up going to a little dive bar out in the country.

As a rule, I do not like bars at all, but I'll make this one an exception because of the terrific clientele. Female mullets? Check. Lonely drunk slow dancing with a bar stool? Check. Hillbillies with braided beards? Check. Appalachian clogging enthusiasts? Check (x10).

We didn't stay out too late after midnight, and there were crazy drivers everywhere on the road so I was glad to get home. Unfortunately, I don't think anything romantic will develop between Zac and I, but we made plans to hang out next week. I also received an invitation from Zac's crusty old man buddy, BJ, to come up to his ranch on the weekend and shoot machine guns. Looks like I'm starting 2008 with a full social calendar!

Wait, I almost forgot. I had this charming little anecdote I wanted to share with everyone.

So my landlady (Candy) has this beautiful fluffy white cat named Bella. I do not like this cat, and take no part in looking after her.

Last night, I was upstairs chilling in my room when I heard Candy loudly admonishing the cat (she does this a lot). When I went downstairs, Candy pointed out that the cat had a giant turd clinging to her fur (ewww). Apparently, this was very upsetting but Candy was too grossed out to deal with it herself, so she asked me if I could "take care of it".

"Ummm... I really don't want to do that," was my response. Candy was understandably disappointed.

Luckily, five minutes later there was a knock on the door. It was one of the neighbor kids, looking for Candy's son. Candy told the kid that Bobby wasn't home, but wait, before he left could he do her a little favor?

Neighbor kid basically laughed in her face before speeding off back home. It was AWESOME.

I do not know who Candy conned into doing the job, but Bella is back to normal today. Whatevs, I'm proud to rent from the lady who asks innocent children to pull pieces of shit off her cat.

Can't wait for New Years Eve because for the first time ever I will be ringing in the new year with a hot date! Snaps for me. Today I was stalking said hot date's IMDB page, and a film that he made in 2004 was rated a solid 2.4 stars out of a possible 10. LOLsers.

In other news, last week I started taking the bus in to work because parking is getting expensive. I used to commute by bus when I worked in the Sydney CBD, and overcrowded/late/absent buses were the norm. Not to mention the disgruntled bus drivers. The buses here are freakishly good, and their drivers are extremely gruntled pleasant. On the Friday before Christmas, our bus driver bought Krispy Kremes and coffee in for all the passengers, and my mind was blown.

Anyway, hope everyone has a great New Years!

Re: guy that my landlady wants to fix me up with. He came over this morning and we hit it off like whoa. My landlady kept making ridiculous excuses to leave us alone in the lounge room. Let me tell you Internets, her ruses were about as subtle as a sledgehammer to the brain. Sidenote: after he left, my landlady said, "Did I do good?!" and she sounded EXACTLY like Kathy Bates in the movie Misery. In fact, I think they are the same person.

I don't know if anything will come of it, but at least it will be nice to have someone new to hang out with.

My landlady keeps trying to fix me up. I am not sure how or why this 50 year old woman knows so many eligible young bachelors. It's a little weird.

Anyway, none of the gentlemen that she has paraded before me have really tickled my fancy, but the guy she's introducing me to tomorrow sounds kind of promising. He's 28 and a film director, but the biggest selling points are these two things we have in common: (1) he's interested in ghosts and haunted sites, and (2) he's a non drinker. Do you know how hard those are to find? Fingers crossed that he is not a total weirdo.

Last night I made this fudge for my office. It tasted amazing. I feel weird tooting my own horn about it since the recipe was so simple, but I put it on the table in the kitchen at work and it was gone in a flash!

Also, today found out that my office has a Toastmaster's Club. The CEO is in love with Toastmasters, so if you join he gives you a cash bonus for every speech 'milestone' you complete. The first milestone is giving a 2 minute speech about yourself, and the cash bonus is $250. I hate public speaking, but for $250, I think I could learn to tolerate it.

Quick poll: Don't you love it when you're waiting in line at Target, and the customers behind you start talking about you like you're not there? I do!

I picked up a magazine to flick through while waiting, but the line started moving forward so I immediately put it back. Guy 1 was like: "She touched the magazine, she has to pay for it!" to his buddy. Then when it was my turn to pay, I started talking to the cashier and Guy 1 said to his friend: "Hey, she sounds like Nicky. Do you miss her?" and Guy 2 replied: "Hell no, fuck that bitch!".

Hello, I'm standing right here, I can hear you! So rude. I didn't stay upset for long though, because on the drive home I saw that someone has "Happy Birthday Jesus!" on their roof as part of their Christmas lights display. Awesome!

I have spent the past couple of days job hunting (or as my landlady calls it, "job lookin'").

It is the most frustrating thing ever. I am looking for a clerical job, and there are very few being advertised, especially at this time of year. Also, I am still waiting for my social security number to arrive, and employers are reluctant to hire without it.

Have registered with at least ten temp agencies, and all of them have said that they are very slow this time of year, with the exception of light industrial and manufacturing work. As much as I would love to spend a 40-hour work week standing before a conveyor belt putting cherries on top of cupcakes (or whatever it is that factory workers do), I must decline this type of work.

My only consolation is that I feel slightly superior to my fellow job hunters. There was a sign-in register at one of the temp agencies I visited, and under the heading "Type of job desired", one applicant had written, "a good payin one". Bravo, sir.

Anyway, I have an interview on Monday, so fingers crossed for me, please!

I'm doing this paid taste-testing thing this week. $120 cash for 2 hours of stuffing my face with salad dressings, then filling out surveys about them. Not too shabby at all, says I.

I tasted six different kinds of French dressing this morning. I'm not a dressing connoisseur, but numbers one to five were quite nice. Number six, however... was mint flavoured French dressing. Mint?! Let me tell you Internets, it was vile. It was like pouring a bottle of Listerine on a salad. I hope someone in the salad dressing company's ideas department gets a stern lecture about this.

In other news... I moved out of my apartment and back into my mum's house until I leave in 2 weeks. Sleeping on a mattress on the floor is AWESOME.

I had a group presentation to give in one of my classes today. The tutor who takes this class, "Rodney" (his real name, I just wanted to put it in quotes) is the biggest loser ever. Some examples:

- Rodney goes through 2 cans of Coke during every class. Did I mention that the class starts at 8am? Well, it does. It's his breakfast. Ewwww.

- Rodney spends half the time yanking up his ill-fitting pants. He needs a belt, stat.

- Rodney has a girlish high pitched laugh that makes my ears bleed. Also, he spends a lot of time rubbing his palms together like a cheesy cartoon villain. Stop it, Rodney!

- Rodney asks his female students what kind of car they drive, just so he can make fun of them. He also likes asking the ladies to rate random pictures of men in the textbook for their sex appeal. No, he's not 14... he's in his 30's.

- Rodney often forgets where he works. He'll frequently refers to our uni as UTS, UNSW or Macquarie. Lame.

Today was the icing on the cake. I'm in a group that had to give a presentation today. Our group was given a week's extension on the assignment because a guy in our group's father died a few days before the assignment was due. This guy had to leave the country and he's still not back yet.

We gave our presentation, which went pretty well, but Rodney made our group stay back after class. When all the other students were gone he got stuck into us and accused us of using our absent guy's dad as an excuse for presenting a week late. WTH? A week ago Rodney was fine about giving us an extension, and now he gets all worked up about it? Absent guy hadn't started working on the presentation, so we had to split up his part and do all the research and whatnot.

I was annoyed but I didn't have time to fume. I had a 1500 word essay (for a different subject) due for a by 5pm today which I couldn't get started til 10am. Got it in at 4:45... I'm probably going to get a bad mark though. If I do, it's all Rodney's fault and HE WILL PAY.

I watched some of Lost Season 3 on DVD tonight. Claire annoys me. I hate her stupid face, her whiny voice and her baby. Go away, Claire.

They're introducing too many new storylines without wrapping up the old ones. As soon as a remotely interesting plot line comes along, BAM, they do an entire episode on one of the boring characters (i.e. Claire).

39 days until I leave... I've got so many things to sort out before I go. There are two essays to hand in for uni, then I've got two exams in a couple of weeks, I have to be out of the apartment by the end of the month plus a bunch of other stuff. My poor brain is frazzled.

My sister and her best friend had their Pole Dance Recital this morning. I wanted to go and watch (purely for the LOLs) but unfortunately had to work. Andi and mum went though, and here is what they reported:

• The receptionist at the pole dancing studio wore a leather nurse's uniform, with over the knee boots. Professional, yet stylish!
  
  
• Admission to the recital was by a gold coin donation, with all proceeds going to the studio's World Vision sponsor child. Aww!
  
  
• Fun fact: pole dancers put shaving cream on their upper thighs for maximum pole gripping action! Unfortunately, this leaves a mangy thigh-grease residue on the pole.

• The students performed their recital in their underwear, and Andi said that the routine involved lots of "splits in your face". AWKWARD.
  

• When I left home this morning, I had an important letter relating to a rent increase stuck on the fridge. When I returned home, this document was NOWHERE TO BE FOUND. There's a graduation certificate from Bobbi's Pole Studio in its place. Suspicious!

Now, back to my cave

I've been temping full time at my job for nearly 2 months now, and some people in the office are still calling me Angela (Angela is the old admin/receptionist).

Hello, do I look like a chain-smoking, 8 months pregnant woman? I've had to learn 30 names, these people only have to learn one. Sheesh, it's not that hard.

Other than that my new job rocks. A guy who I used to work with at Coke just got hired here, so now I have a lunch buddy! My boss is a really top guy, too... and the pay isn't too shab either. But please... enough with the Angela!!! HATE.

Yesterday at the shop:

Matt: So I talked to a carpenter today about getting a quote...
Me: WE'RE GETTING NEW CARPET?!
Matt:...You're thinking of a carpet layer. A carpenter makes things out of wood.

Hmm. Who knew?