The spiders have broken me

Back in my "Bubble and Squeak" post, I sort of gave you a scrambled up version of what had been happening in my life recently. Shortly after that, I remembered that I'd had a huge thing happen, that had absolutely, positively, FREAKED ME OUT. But, I decided that rather than update my post, or mention anything about my freak out, I would pretend nothing had ever happened, therefore ignoring the incident in order to hopefully not attract anything like that again. A la The Secret.


Well, something happened over a week ago, and in a similar although totally more freakish incident earlier this week, and I just can't contain the truth any longer. I must verbalise my fear.

The spiders. Huntsmen. They're baaaaaacccckkkkk.

I need to update you on what happened last time to freak me out so much. I should try and give an edited version of the incident in question, but I don't know if I can. I'll try.



About a month ago now, I was driving into work on a mild-to-developing-hot morning. As I got closer to the city, I remember thinking to myself, "should I open the windows?" I decided against it, and also half forgot. I guess at the time the heavy wind outside put me off.

When I was about 5 minutes away from work, stationary in traffic before some red lights, all of a sudden, something appeared to drop on my car bonnet in front of me.
I stopped and stared. I stared and stared at the object, frozen. Uncertain. Was that a spider?

Surely enough the huntsman scurried along the bonnet to one side. Just thinking of it now makes me shudder.


I was quietly freaking out. Here I was, driving to work, and a huntsman had just apparently dropped from the sky onto my car. Thinking back, I believe I was under a tree when it appeared, so it may have fallen from there.


It started crawling, towards the windscreen, to one side and to the next. I didn't know what to do. I was trying to drive, and getting totally sidetracked by this disgusting THING. I suddenly recalled my decision against opening my window, and thanked God I hadn't, or else it may have come inside my car. With my bad luck that could have happened, and I totally would have had a car accident. I would have gone mental.


I considered putting on my windscreen wipers when it crawled towards the window, however I was worried I would splatter it and have to look at a dead mangled spider for the next 5 minutes, which equally would have grossed me out. However in hindsight, I should have opted for that path. My other concern was that I would fling it, and then not know if it was still on the car. As warped as the logic sounds, at least if it's on the car, I'm certain of it, whereas not knowing it is there, and it IS, I would too easily be careless and then get a heart attack when it decided to reappear again.


So, I drove to the regular car park I go too, and the spider had decided to disappear along the bottom of the wipers. It was as if it was mocking me against my decision to initally use them.


As I approached the small booth that park-ees pay at before proceeding to park, I already had a little plan. D-man, the parking attendant who I see practically every day, was there. I left my window up, and proceeded to attempt sign language for the first time in my life.


"Is there a spider up there?" I yelled through the closed window, simultaneously pointing upwards and imitating a spiders crawl.


He looked confused. Perhaps because I was communicating through a closed window.


"Spider!!! Up there?!" I called louder.


D-man still looked puzzled.


I opened the window an inch. "Is there a spider up there? It was crawling and now it's gone and I'm really scared...."


"No, no, no spider."


"Sure?"


"Yes I'm sure I can't see anything."


I reluctantly, yet quickly opened the window and paid him, not only because I was scared the spider would re-appear but I had a line of cars building up behind me also wanting to get in.


"You scared of spiders?" D-man asked. He had a cheeky grin.


"Yeah, I just don't like them."


"It's ok I understand, my girlfriend is the same. No spiders there, don't worry."


I quickly closed my window, and went to park my car. As soon as I was all parked, and ready to go with my bags, I took a deep breath.


I had to get out of the car, but at the same time, I didn't know where on the car this spider was. My intense fear was that it would somehow fall on me as I climbed out, and the thought of that sent me into a huge desperation and panic.


I decided to sort of push my drivers door open, and then scoot over as close as possible to the passengers side, while still craning my neck towards the open door to try see if there was anything near my drivers side. I was practically sitting on the parking brake. I was there, peering over towards the car door opening, when I saw it.

Shudder.

This is very hard for me, just picturing it is totally freaking me out. I remember my fear and emotional pain and I'm doing it for the blog, so I hope one day someone appreciates it.

Ok, continuing.

The spider was crawling along the drivers side door, up the window. I freaked out, and practically jumped out the passengers side, all my bags in tow. To be honest, I actually have no recollection of jumping out of the car, or how I got over the parking brake and middle-car-bit (excuse my car lingo), that's how freaked out I was. I quickly ran to the drivers side, because I absolutely HAD to know where the spider was. If I lost sight of it, I would never know where it was, and that lack of knowledge would make me lose my mind.


It was now crawling right above the drivers door opening, rather than on the open door. It was in such an awkward position, that I didn't know if closing my door would kill it, force it out, or God forbid, enclose it in the car.


I think I stared at the spider for about 5 minutes, trying to work out what to do. I went to the passenger side and tried to look at where it was through the window. I looked around. I called a fellow work colleague, who we'll call Densley, who I was hoping was on his way to park at the very same car park as I was at. He didn't answer. I would've gotten D-man involved, only he was at his busiest time, with all cars coming in during the morning peak hour.


Before I could think much more, or decide on a plan of action, the spider dropped. It just disappeared. I didn't see where it went, it didn't look like it was on the ground or under the car. It simply dropped, and with it went my stomach.


There was nothing else to do, so I gingerly stepped towards the open drivers door and gently pushed it closed. My light push meant the car door didn't close fully, but that didn't worry me at that point.


At this point it was 9am. I had gotten there before quarter to nine.


As I trudged up towards the attendants booth, D-man saw me. "Where is the spider?" he asked smiling.


"I think it's in my car! I'm so scared, I don't know what to do."


"If you like, give me your keys, and when I have a bit more time, I will check it for you," he offered.


"Thank you." I was hoping he was gonna say that. I just didn't know what to do at that point.



As I trudged towards work, a deepening sense of dread seemed to sink further into me. I realised, that if D-man didn't find the spider, there was absolutely, positively, NO WAY I was driving home that day. The chance of a spider being in the car was too much to bare. I couldn't do it. It had to be killed, and I was beginning to realise that I had to see it get killed. There was no other way to guarantee my sanity and sense of certainty.

As I got to work, I was feeling so helpless, and I don't deal with not being in control of a situation too well. That day was another musical chairs day, I could see as I walked in, as my usual spot was being occupied by someone else, and rather I was going to have the spot next to Kitty. Usually I'd get a bit cranky and possessive about not being in my own spot (because I'm fully anal and have OCD) but today I just didn't care.

As I put my bags down, Kitty started to talk to me about some work of mine she had followed up on. She was chatting and going on and on, and I was just staring at her blankly, adding a monotonous "yeah" every so often.

Then I just said it. There was a slight lull in the conversation, and I went "Kitty, I don't know what to do, there's a big spider and I think it's in my car, and I don't know what to do."

A huge deepening sense of sadness washed over me and my throat tightened. I can't remember her reply. I'm sure it was something comforting.

Again I spoke, this time, my words were FLOODED with emotion. "Kitty, I actually CAN'T drive home if I don't see it dead. I just can't. I'm seriously freaking out." The tightness in my throat gave way to a huge ball that I just couldn't swallow, and tears welled in my eyes. My chin was going to start to quiver, I could feel it.
"I'm sorry, I have to gather myself," I said as I practically ran off. As I ran, hand over half my face, I happened past Densley, who in that moment, had seen that he'd missed my call, and also that I was apparently running off crying.

I was in the kitchen, trying to pull myself together, when I realised the most private place was the bathroom. So again off I ran. When I walked in, another woman was already in there, a newbie who had just recently joined our wider department. I mumbled a hello and stumbled into the cubicle.

Guess what? My parusesis was all GONE as I deliberately made myself go, knowing that just sitting in the cubicle would spark some curiosity in the newbie woman. She didn't have to know why I was traumatised, and I already felt totally stupid for crying over a freaking spider. However it seemed Kitty had other plans.

I heard the door open. "Miss S?" Kitty called.

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry about the spider ok? Densley has a vaccuum and he's going to vaccuum it out for you."

"I feel like such a dickhead Kitty."

"Don't worry Miss S he'll get it out."

As I walked out of the cubicle Kitty was already gone. Leaving the newbie, who had heard our discussion, unless she was selectively deaf.

"You're gonna think of me as the bug woman," I started with her. This statement came because of ANOTHER incident (I just attract incidents don't I?) that had occurred a couple weeks before that, where as a group of us went on a break, before opening the door that exits our department, which is also next to the door which leads to the bathroom, as we walked, a moth flew up from the corner, making me scream, the 2 girls with me scream and also funnily enough Densley scream. It was the screaming moth-effect, so to speak, And as this happened newbie woman had walked out of the bathroom ,witnessing our scream fest due to random moth.

So, now in the bathroom, I told her about the spider in my car. And you know what, she was so nice. She's become one of my fave people at work now. She was really comforting, adding that she had once left her car in mid-traffic because of a spider in her car. I felt so much better hearing that. Apparently I wasn't the only freak-spider-incident-attracting person.

I walked out, all regrouped and breathing normal again, and there was Densley, with a mini vaccuum in hand. I felt really touched, yet really stupid for reacting the way I had, especially at work. He on the otherhand, had thought I'd been in a car accident or something, what with the missed call and running off crying, and he'd felt really bad. He'd gotten the vaccuum from someone's work drawer, and now we were ready to do some damage.

Off we went, me in the background looping with "I feel like such a dickhead, really I do. Thank you so much for this...."

D-man thought we were hilarious as he handed me my keys back at the car park. He'd been busy and hadn't had a chance to check on the demon spider. And so we walked to my car. There still reminding me of my horrendous episode was the drivers door, still partly not-quite-closed.

Densley started opening up doors, as I explained where I'd last seen the spider, and watched from a good safe few metres away what was unfolding. He opened the drivers door, then the passengers door, looking inside and around the door every time. I was near the passengers side, when he opened the rear drivers side door.

"It's here, I've got it," was what he said. I couldn't see (I was practically cowering) but he tried to suck it up with the vaccuum.

And then it started to scurry. (Ugh, shudder). It started to run over the car roof and we whipped into action, slamming doors closed so that it couldn't get into the car. As it wondered where to go, Densley at this point said "it's only a baby."

Sorry, a baby? Only a baby? Well if that's a baby I'd like to see what you call a fully grown huntsman. Yuck.

Densley tried to suck it up with the vaccuum, several times, but somehow, and this is the point that confused me, it 'fell' off the car. I say this because at the time Densley said it fell down, and although I felt utterly disappointed because it offered no conclusion for me, he assured me it wasn't in the car. I consoled myself, thinking, 'even if it's on the bottom of the car, it can't get inside.' He seemed to me to be speaking very vaguely, and so I felt somewhat consoled yet still confused.

I felt exhausted getting back to work. I'd just gone through an emotional train wreck, and I wasn't even sure if I was out of the tunnel yet. Upstairs at work having a tea break with my buddies, I stared at my mug of tea, constantly envisaging the demon spider to suddenly appear, crawling out of my tea like something out of a horror movie.

At the end of my shift that day Densley offered to walk me to my car, and check out the interior so that I could drive home feeling more secure. He was hanging back at work for a work function, and I had to run off, meet Hubbie and leave for Mr Wine's uni graduation party that he was having at his place that night.

Densley was awesome. He lifted everything that could be lifted, checked out every nook and cranny in my car, very thoroughly, constantly reassuring me that it couldn't get in the car, IF it was on the car. It was sometime at this point that he said the spider has actually fallen on the ground, in which case he strongly believed it would have crawled off into the adjoining bushes, rather than hang around. I really hoped he was right, also really glad to know he'd seen it fall on the ground. I was so annoying, I asked him to confirm that fact for me, oh, about 6, 7 times.

Nontheless, I drove home, with the windows UP, in the warm car, constantly looking around me.

Hubbie was conveniently outside when I got home, so I sign languaged to him to check for spiders on the roof of the car. Once again my sign language proved futile, and he looked confused despite me yelling through the window, so I tentatively opened the door and quicky explained before I got out.

That night at the party, I told Red everything. I had a good laugh with her about it, we acted slightly like hysterical women do when it comes to spiders, and she told me that yes, that was quite a story. Vaccuum and all.

And so, as the great night ended, and it came close to midnight, Hubbie and I wondered off home. We both had work the next day, and had to get a move on. Being dark outside, my somewhat relaxed disposition in joking about my ordeal to Red had now transgressed to a paranoid cautiousness. In the car we got, and I began to drive, again constantly looking around me through the windows.

We had been driving all but 5 minutes. Not even. I took a path home via some back streets, however they were sort of commonly used back streets. This time of night wasn't too busy though.

I looked at my drivers mirror, and in it I could see the rear window, enveloped by the black night surrounding it. No cars were behind me, so only occasionally was the window lit up by passing streetlamps.
Then I saw something. Weird.
"Is that birdshit?" I asked Hubbie, confused, still driving yet staring at the reflection in my mirror. It looked like odd, random lines across the window, and when I thought about it I could've sworn no birdshit had been there during the day...

Hubbie turned around towards the rear window to look. He didn't say a thing. And in that moment, I knew.

I just pulled over. I barely could, being in the narrow back streets and all, but without looking I stopped the car, then put my indicator on. I was lucky there'd been no one behind me. I looked behind me at the window, and the freaking spider, IT was very quickly scurrying across the window.
"Quick!" I screamed. "Get it, get it!"

Hubbie and I have an unspoken agreement. I give him much love and happiness. He kills any bug I request. It's an agreement that works very well for us. It's never a question of WHO will get rid of any weird thing that comes MY way. He knows his job, his duty to protect me. And he does it well.

"Close the door!" I screeched. Hubbie slammed the door behind him, and I turned around to see the spider scurrying around to the rear passengers window, right where Hubbie was in front of. It was fast.

"Where is it?" he called out from the darkness.

"There!" I screamed wildly, pointing to the rear window in front of him.

He paused. Saw the spider. And went "Faaaaarrrrrrrr."

In a matter of 5 seconds, he took off his shoe, and BANG! Off the window the spider went. To spider heaven.

Meanwhile, about 3 cars had piled up behind me, unable to overtake because of the oncoming traffic. I wondered if the sight of Hubbie with one shoe, other shoe in hand bashing a spider, at 11.30pm in a little back street, would seem weird. I knew if any men in those cars had partners, that it would most likely be a natural occurence for them.

Hubbie came back to the car, and once again, as I'd done with Densley, I bombarded him with the same 2 types of questions about 8 times:

"Is it dead?"

"Yes."

"Was it on the car or on the ground?"

"It was on the ground."

"Are you sure it's not still on your shoe?"

"No I checked it's outside."

"So it's definitely dead?"

"Yes."

"And you're sure it was on the ground, like dead? It couldn't have gotten away."

"No, I got it Miss S."

"And I just have to make sure, it's not still on your shoe? I can't have it in my car Hubbie...."

And so this conversation was repeated, perhaps another 3 times on the short 10 minute drive home.

Boy, had I had a day. What a spider saga. Now it was uncertain to me whether or not the spider that had 'reappeared ' that night on the drive home was the same spider hat had been on my car that morning. I say that because Mr Wine lives in the same area Hubbie used to live, and that area is abundant to THOSE kinds of spiders, as I've had one come to live on my car for a couple of weeks because of parking under a tree there before we were married.

That, combined with hearing a few days later that my bestie Red had gotten a similar surprise of her own, FINDING a yuck spider IN HER CAR, after parking at her man's house, makes me think that it may indeed have been a new spider on my car that night, if even Red got one later on. But, it's too much of a coincidence for me to think that I had a spider on my car that morning, and then another one that night.

I'm calling the morning spider the terminator spider in my spider saga. It came back with a vengeance. It stayed on my car and reappeared to horrify me (yes I know that's not a real word, is it?). And in true terminator style, after its demise, all that remained of its existence was a lone spider leg hanging off my window, like the broken limb rattling on the back of the car in T2. Shudder.

Story 2: (yes my nightmare continues)

About 2 weeks ago I've come home from work to some good news from Hubbie: he has sprayed the entire exterior of the house with insect spray. I was rapt, because with the ascending Spring/Summer weather, I knew there'd be trouble, and I wanted to get the house 'protected' before any incidents occurred.

All was good, all was fine. 'Til that night.

In bed, Hubbie had his eyes closed next to me. I was reading one of my books, and as I went to turn the page, something caught my eye, above me. I looked up.

A freaking, massive, disgusting huntsman (shudder) was in the top corner of our room, above the doorway, near the air con vent. (And as I write, from bed, I can't help but look up and check that the coast is clear).

I don't know if I cried out, or poked Hubbie, but he opened his eyes, and I just pointed to the ceiling.

Once again - "Faaaaarrrrrrr."

At first he didn't know what he was going to try kill it with, 'til I handed him my slipper. I jumped out of bed and stood near the window, as far away from the impending murder scene as possible. As he got closer, the spider scurried closer to the vent. This was very worrysome. We assume that's where it came from, and we didn't want it going back to its hiding spot. Hubbie was now on a mission, he had to get it, before it got away.

From what he said (because I just couldn't look), IT was quick. It took a few thumps, Hubbie jumping towards the ceiling and all, but he got it, leaving a beautiful mess behind. Far out. On the same freaking day Hubbie had acted to repell the house of insects, the biggest and baddest of them all appears, IN OUR BEDROOM of all places. And that's not it. Guess what my big mouth said right after, if only to make things worse:

"Far out. Imagine I wasn't reading, and we had the lights off. We wouldn't have known it was here."

As I said the words, I stopped, frozen. Yes, imagine that horrific scenario. Unknown to us, that thing crawling around the walls of our bedroom around us. And to think, what other times, when the lights were off, was something crawling around in our beddroom....???

I'd actually shot myself in the foot with that comment, that observation. In that moment I was more than terrified, I was petrified, MORTIFIED. It took some coaxing from Hubbie to make me turn my lamp light off, and even then, I edged myself as close as possible to him as we lay there, despite the too-warm night. My eyes frantically searched the walls around me in the darkness, as my eyes grew more and more adjusted to the night. That night, I had constant dreams of crawling huntsmen, and I had such an interrupted nights sleep, waking at least 5 times, each time searching the walls around me with paranoid eyes.

I felt I had lost control.

Why was this happening to me? No, not the spiders as much. I was well aware that by thinking of spiders, even though in fear, I was still attracting their presence to me. Which is hard to avoid when you do think of them in fear. But more, I didn't understand when I had grown sooooooo fearful.

I thought of my entire life history and association with spiders. In my 3rd birthday video, little Miss S says to the camera "spider, yuck," after cutesy-coaxing from my parents in my thoughts of them. This may have come about because of my sisters intense phobia of spiders, hence the discussion of them.

Living with my parents, yes they got spiders, but nowhere near as many, or as disgusting as the ones we got here. Over there there was always daddy-long-legs, and little itty-bitty, bullshit jumping spiders. Sure, occasionally there would be a big one. But that's it, occasionally, not EVERY SINGLE TIME.

I thought of last summer. WOW. There had been soooooo many big huntsmen. Hubbie thought I was calling them out to play when he went to bed, with all my stories of chasing them around with the mortein. And yet, despite their appearances, I chased them. I certainly didn't cower into a little corner and cry.

I remembered my last incident of the summer. The biggest grand-daddy of all mega-huge-huntsmen had appeared one Friday night, and it was a horrible experience. I think it was quite possibly the size of my whole hand. I sprayed it, it went behind the fridge, and I actually had to watch it and wait for it to be in spraying range again before I could try kill it. I was waiting with a torch and all. Then it disappeared under the dishwasher. When I noticed a gap above the dishwasher, that could allow the spider to crawl up and into the adjoining section of cupboards, onto my servingware, pots and pans, I lost my shit. There was no way it's mortein-covered body was gonna spoil my dishes. I ran upstairs, trying to wake Hubbie through my intense sobbing, begging him to come downstairs and kill it for me.

When he moved the dishwasher, and saw IT, apparently all-white covered in Mortein gunk, he says it was practically dead already, it was so loaded with my attack spray. And what did he say when he saw it?
"Faaaaarrrrrr."

He freely admits, it's the biggest spider he's seen in our house, I think even to date. And it remains in our spider history of stories, the Grand-Daddy of spiders.

So I think, after last summers intense onslaught of spider after spider coming into our home, concluding with the biggest mother you've ever seen, I actually became broken from all my experiences, and rather than lifting my metaphorical sword in the air and proclaiming "I will destroy you," I've collapsed into a shell of fear, worry and paranoia. I'm not kidding when I say I do automatic scans of the rooms I enter in the house, ESPECIALLY at night. It's driving me crazy.

I must say, despite the whole agony of this post, being all "woe is me, spiders are out to get me," there is a slight positive note I can end with. Since the recent incident of the thing in our bedroom, we haven't had another appearance, of any kind (I'm not including last nights daddy-long-legs, that spider is so not intimidating). Which I'm slightly terrified to admit, knowing after I post this that I'm walking downstairs to put my computer back in the study, and passing room, after room, after room....

Perhaps that one recent incident was that spider just getting out, that is, the house being purged of all insects after Hubbies spray-a-thon. That sort of makes sense. And makes me happy. And able to breathe. And walk in and out of rooms here, a bit easier.

But what happened to me earlier in the week wasn't so breathe-easy on me. Having a tea break at work, early in the morning, listening to a colleague talk about crab fishing or something like that, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye, towards my lap.

I looked down, and to my intense shock and horror, a MOTH was sitting in my lap. Ugh, Shudder.

I screamed jumping up, in turn not only giving myself a proper wake-up call, but also enlightening my colleagues around me. My scream really started their day.

Geez. When will these bugs ever learn? I don't like them. STAY AWAY.

Happiness Is.... #1

Happiness is....

Watching the sunset go down, on a balmy summer night. Sipping your champagne, watching your new dress flap about in the mild breeze of impending twilight. Hearing the voices and laughter of your family and friends around you. Thinking "Ahh, this is the life."

No-Show boy

I've been getting quite peeved lately at work. You see, as I've mentioned in a prior post, our department has had to upgrade in staff size considerably, due to an increased amount of work. This is all fine and good, and crazily enough, I actually like and get along with all the people in our department, even the newbies. That is quite a feat considering there are almost 10 of us now, and often in large groups you may get a few clashing personalities. But nope, all good :)



Anyway, this isn't what I'm upset about. One of the guys who has joined is, has basically transferred from his old department into our department. He didn't like his old job, and therefore was able to find a place with us.

This is fine too. I like him and can get along with him really well.

Which is the hard thing, because he has this really annoying habit.

He is freaking never at his desk.

Ok, perhaps I'm exaggerating a little. Let's find a name for him first. Let's call him no-show boy.

No show-boy, when doing the same shift as me (which is about 90% of the time as we are on the same rotation) will ALWAYS come in late when it is an early shift. The early shift starts at 6:30am, and oddly for me, despite my tendency to wanna hug my pillow all morning when I first open my eyes, I actually make it in on time for all my early shifts, even getting in earlier in some cases. I think the motivation is knowing I will have most of the afternoon off, which is super-duper.


What I'm trying to say is, that even though I love to sleep in, I make it in on time for my early shifts. He CLEARLY loves sleeping in, and I cannot count the amount of times he has arrived late.


No joke, here are some examples:


6:40am (I know, don't be a nazi Miss S, but just you wait)

7:00am

7:15am

7:30am

7:40am

8:00am

9:00am.


I am not kidding. Now multiply all these times above by a frequency of 10, and that will give you a clear indicator of how many times I've seen him walk by me and towards his desk, so late into his shift.


And you know what's more annoying? He doesn't make up the time afterwards. He will leave, at the same time as our other early birds, having worked from an hour to 2 hours less than us.


So unfair.


I hate it. And I get really shitty. My thoughts towards him swing from hate, to 'don't be too hasty.' Like I said, I get along with him, despite his shit getting-to-work ethic.


At the beginning, no-show boy first joined us, he would take advantage of the whole training phase, and leave work a little earlier here, a little earlier there. On one Saturday, although I had left before him because I had started earlier, I know for a fact he left at least a full 2 hours before his shift ended. 2 WHOLE HOURS! OMG!!!!


What adds to it is the other fact, that he takes frequent and long breaks throughout the day. Just yesterday, as a test, I noted the times that he'd been away from his desk:

7:10am he took a break, after coming in at 6:40. I can't remember how long he took.

8:50am he took a break when I took my first break. That was about 15-20 mins.

10:30 to 11:00am - gone. Whole half hour.

12:00pm - went for a walk. Don't know how long as I took my second break then.

12:44 to 12:57 - another quick one.


Then he bullshitted around for a bit, but I didn't note it down because he kept leaving and returning to his desk.


Now I know that I sound like a real time nazi here, but I don't claim to be perfect either. I know you can't always be on time, and I myself can't be too self-righteous, as most of my blog posts come from my working desk. However I never leave work, feeling like I haven't done my 'time,' that is, I make sure if I come in late, I make it up later. If I bullshit a bit here or there, I work extra hard in other times. And I don't abuse the work system (despite the fact that the work system abuses us quite a bit.)


Again, this morning, he arrived at 6:45am. He's started his computer. Bullshitted a bit. Then walked away before 7am and returned just now at 7:13am. I wouldn't be surprised if he left now for a smoko break, killing another 20-30 minutes.


Sigh. As I said, I get severely frustrated, as I both like him as a person, but HATE his habit. HATE it.


Do you know what his excuse was when he walked in at 9am one day? He totally admitted it, I give him kudos for that. But he was all like "I swore last night I set my time to 6am, and instead I must have set it later. I don't know what's wrong with me, I'm losing it." (Insert pity face and violin strings.) He does that quite a bit. Gathering pity and all. Which upsets me because there are people out there who want jobs and who will always arrive on time, and they're competing with people currently in jobs who are incompetent.


Now I feel bad because I'm bagging him. Such a conundrum.


Now it's time for me to get back to work.

The guy that tried to steal me away

I was chatting to this guy on Saturday night.



You see, I was at this 40th birthday party, in a restaurant that had been booked out by the hostee in question, and I was talking to this guy. He was the one who first approached, and that's how we began to talk.


He asked my name, we spoke about our backgrounds, occupations, what we liked to do.....


He was good looking. I was very attracted to him. He started talking about how in some instances he can be aggressive. I thought to myself 'ooooh, what is he trying to say?'


And so I asked "In what way are you aggressive? Should I be concerned here?"


"No, no," he responded reassuringly. He looked up, trying to gather the right words. "I guess you can say, in more of a.... sexual way. I can be sexually aggressive when it matters."

Staring into my eyes. With deep intention.


This man was cracking onto me!


"Well," I started to respond. "That doesn't sound half bad, I have to admit."


I smiled demurely.

We continued to chat for a while. My Sis and her Hub were also at the party, and so when they eventually joined me, I introduced them to him, and they all shook hands, exchanging names.


However, after a while it got too much for me to handle. I just had to know. So I asked him "are you here with your girlfriend?"


"No."

That wasn't enough info for me. So I prodded.


"What, you've left her at home?"

"No, I don't have a girlfriend." Small smile followed.


"Oh, ok." Pause. "So you're single?"


The quiet smile that had been on his face now erupted into a huge grin, almost from ear to ear. He began to laugh. His eyes relaxed as did the rest of his face.

He whispered: "I can't do it, I can't say it."


I smiled back "But it's to me honey! I know what you mean."

My Hubbie had been trying to pick me up all over again. And he couldn't even tell me, his wife, that he was single, for fantasy scenarios sake. That's how much he feels for me.


My darling. How much I love him so.

And everything that transpired really did happen. We did re-introduce him to my Sis and her Hub, only because they'd been missing for so long, mingling around with everybody there. So really, although they didn't know what was happening and thought we were only kidding, it was all falling perfectly into place for our little game.

It was sort of bitter-sweet, because as much as I wanted to take advantage of him, he rejected my advances, in not being able to tell me he was single. In our little pretend world, he couldn't admit out loud that he was unattached, because then it would have been admitting like his wife didn't exist.

Which is the precise reason why it's so sweet. He was thinking of his wife, his REAL life.


So when you think about it, it's actually sweet-sweet :)

Going with the flow

It may just be me over-reacting, and looking into things too much again (in true Miss S style), however I think my parusesis phobia has just re-categorised itself, and in doing so, bit me in the bottom.

I feel soooo embarrassment right now. Yes embarrassment. In the words of all those women out there with light-shaded tresses.

So just a moment ago at work (where else, I may as well move in here) I had to move my car into the building due to the fact of working later tonight, and DON'T get me started on the moral and safety issues associated with parking away from the building, that's for another blog post.


But I really had to go to the toilet to pee, and so in I went. The female toilets on our level are a 2-cubicle toilet, and so when I went in, I saw a fellow worker fixing herself up, putting on make up and just generally fluffing up her appearance. And I also saw that one of the cubicles were engaged.


Now let me digress for a moment here. In a post I wrote quite a few months ago, that included nothing else but my current ramblings about my life, I mentioned the fact that I had parusesis, the phobia of urinating in a public place. I certainly don't consider it a condition, much the way that I don't think many arachnophobes note down their fear of spiders in the medical section when applying for health insurance. But nonetheless, it is a phobia, and yes it's irrational. In this prior post I mentioned how I only seemed to be affected when there was one other person in the toilet. I guess the thought of many people pee-ing with me in unison doesn't worry me, however being on stage and performing for only one other person in the bathroom, does.


I don't know what it is. Not just for me, but the other people out there who also have this stupid, totally irrational phobia (like every other irrational phobia?) I mean, we all have to pee. As we all have to shit. No, I'm not mincing my words here, we all pretend we don't, but clearly we do. If as a race we didn't pee and shit, we'd all be screwed, like in the most medical of fashions. But, just something about the private practive of excreting our waste, makes some of us get more unreasonably uncomfortable than others.


So back to today. I was like 'ok Miss S, cool, you can do this, there are 2 people in here.'


I went into the cubicle, and I could hear the girl in the adjoining cubicle, now freely pee-ing. She clearly has no parusesis whatsoever. I was hoping that would help me, as her loud urinating would shadow my own, blocking out the sound of my pee-ing all together. But as I stood there, pants down, I just couldn't do it. It was as if my bladder actually froze up, and went 'nuh-uh, no way.'


Frustrated, I pulled up my pants, and ripped off some toilet paper to throw in the bowl, trying to make it seem like I had done something. Unrelieved, I stepped out, made some light convo with the girl getting ready, and with the freely pee-ing girl who had just stepped out, and left the bathroom.


I didn't wanna leave it like this. I had to move my car, so I knew I'd be gone about 10-15 minutes at the most. I was hoping that by the time I got back, getting-ready girl would have left the bathroom, and I could go back into the toilet, pee freely without the burden of other people present, and be off on my way. Pee Free.

I considered myself EXTREMELY lucky in that as I walked back into the building after moving my car, I passed getting-ready girl going into the car park. This was lucky because I wasn't sure how I was going to scope out the bathroom without going in there. Certainly I couldn't go in there, see her still there and just turn around. No then I would just look weird (and talking about pee-ing in a blog post clearly isn't?!)


So, knowing getting-ready girl was out of my way, and pee-freely girl was all out of pee so she too shouldn't come into the bathroom again for a while, I confidently walked in.


The coast was clear. No one.


So, I did my business, thinking all the while how perfect it was that I saw getting-ready girl on my way in, and that she would definitely in no way, come back to the bathroom again.


Definitely, NO WAY, she would come into the bathroom again, after I'd seen her walking out. Right?


As I was washing my hands, the door opened, and guess who came in.


Yes. That's right. Getting-ready girl.


She sort of didn't say anything, just gave a sheepish smile, and she herself went into one of the toilet cubicles.


I could have died. I was sooooo embarrassment. In a timeframe of 15 to 20 mins, she had seen me in the toilet cubicles twice, and was now most definitely thinking 1 of 3 things:


1. I have a weird bladder that makes me go to the toilet heaps.


2. The number says it all. I came back for that (kill me now).


3. I didn't go before, and FAKED it then, to come back now. Which is the truth, but still weird when uncovered.



Either way I look like the biggest weirdo ever. I did try to focus my weird energy on her, and wondered why after spending so much time in the bathroom she didn't think to ever go to the toilet then, but I noticed that along with returning to the bathroom she also ended up returning to work for a bit, so that was odd. Some pressing matters perhaps? So to speak :) LOL anything to lighten the mood.


So although she went to the toilet twice (I can't work out why) I'm all concerned with me being perceived as weird, of course, because I'm freaking abnormal with my toilet habits.


Sigh. See what I mean? Not only did my original definition of my numero uno grade parusesis redefine itself to a greater category, that of just simply PARUSESIS with no exceptions, but I embarrassed myself, and now I don't know what she is thinking.


Either way, whether she is thinking of one of the above explanations as to why I went to the toilet twice, or all of them, or even in my wildest dreams NONE of them, the fact remains that anything having to do with you going to the toilet, and someone observing you displaying an odd toilet habit, is greatly (all together now)...


EMBARRASSMENT.


Good thing I'm not that close with her. Oh well I may just blurt something out to her in the upcoming Christmas party. That should solve all my toilet issues.


All this talk of pee-ing has made me want to urinate now.


I have to go.


Wish me luck.

Random Quote #4

Let's set the scene:

My house, a few Sundays ago, approx. 4pm.

The WHOLE family is over (the prequel to my "drunk" post).

3 female family members are helping wash the dishes. They are huddled together. I sneakily poke my head in.
"What are you talking about?" I ask mischieviously.
My blonde family member speaks up without a hint of hesitation, or inhibition.


"Licking, sucking, the clitoris....."

Laughter ensues from all of them. I raise my eyebrows. "Okaaaayyy, well I need to wash the dishes a bit more often."

Bubble and Squeak

Bubble and squeak is a term I came across a few months back, when browsing through some recipe books. As arrogant as this next bit might make me sound, to my surprise (and slight disgust) I discovered it was a term, rather a recipe whereby you used leftover vegies from another meal to make a 'new' meal, perhaps using eggs or something similar to combine it all together.


I think I was more disgusted at the name given to the recipe, rather than the ingredients used or the recycling of the food itself. No one eats leftovers more than Hubbie and I, so I can't say 'boo' to re-using food at all. But the name, bubble and squeak....... I don't know, what about the recipe, inspired the name Bubble and Squeak? What, about the food, makes it bubble.... and squeak...? Shudder at the thought.

However, this odd food terminology has sprung to mind in thinking about what indeed I should write about. So many odd, random, good and bad things have occurred of late, that I don't really know what to focus my writing attention on.

And this is how bubble and squeak came to mind. Apparently, the bubble and squeak is all the things that have happened lately, and the egg jelling it all together is my life.

Egg is my life. LOL.

And so the following minor stories, observations and episodic details of my life may come at you rather randomly, much like pieces of day-old carrot and peas in a mouthful of distastefully named 'bubble and squeak.'

(I'm only guessing at how it may taste). All this in an effort to bring you up to speed on my life, and also to bring me up to speed in my own life and help me to review it in progress, in what is herein going to be referred to as the 'bubble and squeak' post.

So be warned. I have NOT been taking notes.



When it comes to the good, versus the bad, unfortunately it's the bad that first springs to mind. However that only means that I have all good to end with :)



Mouth absolutely boiled me to my core, once again, on a few occasions. It becomes very hard when you have to deal with a person such as this. Even harder when it's someone in the family who you just can't avoid, unless of course you disown them, which I couldn't do without hurting many people I care about.

I get into this cycle with her. She shits me up the wall > I get upset, broody and moody and keep it all in trying to work it out in my head > it culminates in me practically exploding to Hubbie in anger and tears > after 3 days of wallowing we work out that A) I need to partially ignore her, and B) actually speak my mind and tell her when she is annoying me, in order to avoid the fantasy fights I create of her and I later on in my mind, that eventually drive me crraaaaazzzzzyyyyyyy.

So although we have danced this exact dance many times, I actually need to put the mentioned A and B acts to practice, and follow through. Otherwise nothing will ever change. Only my attitude in how to deal with her will actually change anything for me, because as we all know, an old dog will not learn any new tricks.



Lately I have been sick. Last Thursday, I barely made it into work, the only motivators being that my boss was away and I had extra stuff to do, and also, it was my last day before 3 days off. I made it in, barely could keep myself sitting straight up at my desk just long enough to do what I had to do, and left half way through the day. It was just so unbearable. Not only had I gone through a very sleepless and interrupted nights sleep, waking up what seemed like a zillion times and saying to myself "get up it's time to go to work," when in fact I still had hours to sleep, but my muscles were absolutely aching in agony. I was sooooo sore, every part of me hurt, which made me just want to curl up on my couch at home and sleep. Which I ended up doing.



It was the culmination of what had been a huge October. I don't know who else received it, but I got it a few times, both via sms and email, the chain letter about this recent October having 5 Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays? Yes and then it annoyingly tells you you must keep it going, according to the far-reaching distant natives of the land Makirouchidoo or some other tribal sounding country in order to keep the luck going, UNLESS YOU WANT TO DIE. Well it might as well say that, with all the suggestive terminology making you want to send it or else meet some horrible fate. And so I did send it, and due to sending it several times during the month, it occurred to me that hey, this has been a LONG month.

And then I reminisced.

The month began with that awesome grand final win in which the Mighty Magpies brought the cup home! Finally! That had been a big weekend.

We had had my friends over, my close group, which in total added up to 8 of us, for dinner. That was a big night. There was food, there was drink, there were MANY cupcakes. And it was an awesome night.

We had ALL my cousins over. Yes, that drunk post, that was the aftermath. Needless to say I got a little-iddy-bit tipsydrunk, therefore placing the indicator of party success at HIGH.

In between we had side nights (of which I mean people over but not huge to the point of party-status-phere) where my sister came over, and Hubbie's friends. We had a wedding, we had people arriving at the airport from overseas trips. And then the month ended with Hubbie's big birthday bash, where once again we proved we could throw awesome parties and still have fun while doing all the work:)

I think I wore myself out to the disgusting point where 5 days after the last October party, my body started to shut down. It said "screw you, I'm taking leave," leaving the rest of me pathetically screaming "No! Come back damn you!"

And so the muscle aches set in, only after the sore throat and intense sneezing commenced. The flu symptoms were persistent again in days 2 and 3, where again I felt intense fatigue (due to my body running away no doubt) and cleaning the house probably didn't help me much, but hey what else was I supposed to do at home? Yeah I know I know, I could've sat in front of the telly all day. But that would have worked against my whole effective/efficient habit that I haven't been able to kick for the past 9 years.

And so today, a week after my first flu symptoms popped up, I'm still left with a consistent, grating, unrelenting cough. It is really so inconvenient. It's gone from worse, after the weekend of drinking champagne and other home-made apparently 'healing' concoctions, to just annoying now, where I still have to cough every so often - cough cough cough - excuse me, unlike this morning where I felt like I was just hacking up flem.

So all in all, it's getting better.

There was also this little moment late last week, a predecessor before the whole 'sick' thing started.... I had this interesting moment at work with a fellow colleague of mine, that totally bew me out of the water, catching me off guard completely. And it was all to do with cake.

All over some bloody cake.

In true Miss S form, I had decided to bring in to work leftover cake from Hubbie's birthday. I knew there were a few people, who would REALLY appreciate the free cake and all, and having had a huge month that was filled with way too much cakes and cupcakes and just everything sweet, early on I decided that getting rid of the mass amount we still had from Hubbie's birthday would be the right way to go.

And so in I brought it. And as I was finishing off my early shift that day, I happened across a work colleague of mine, who we shall call Kitty. Hmmm :)

She was just starting her shift, and so my intention was to let her know of the few leftover cakes there were near my desk, so she could spread the word to our other fellow workers starting later on that day as well.

As soon as I started the words "Kitty, just so you know there's some cakes over th-"

"No! Don't talk to me about cake!"

And so it began. In a very direct, firm way, she told me:

1. that she was not going to eat any cake

2. people in our work area should not be encouraged to eat cake

3. she wouldn't be responsible for making people eat cake ..............AND

4. if cake was left over, she ALSO wouldn't be responsible for getting rid of it.



What the?! All I mentioned was cake. I was a bit stunned, a bit miffed, and seeing as my sneezing had been accelerating that day, more than sensitive enough, so I was hurt. I felt like she was attacking me, personally, just for bringing in cake.

And all I was doing was trying to be nice. It was about then that another fellow colleague arrived, and I told him quite matter-of-factly that there was cake and that at least HE would appreciate it. I sort of ended the conversation by walking off, without a real proper goodbye to her.

I was really hurt by it all. I pondered it on the way home. I know she had been trying to lose a bit of excess weight that she had gained over the past year (not that she was overweight). I thought of other times that I had brought in cake, and asked myself if I had been pushy in getting people to eat the cake in order to rid myself of it. I wasn't quite sure, but I knew that then, in that moment and in that day, I had merely mentioned it, before getting a barrage of cake-hate spewing out at me.

I spoke to Hubbie about it that night, and even he thought the remarks I'd received were unwarranted and odd. I guess I felt a bit worse, as it's always a little sad when someone you normally like and get along with gives you grief. You wonder 'why' and think of where you have gone wrong. I did just that, and only ended up making myself feel MORE sadder...

Anyways, the next day, arriving at work, I saw an email from her titled 'cakes...'

Part of me had been expecting an email addressing the whole cake issue, so I was not surprised.



Miss S,


Below an email generated in an effort to try to make up for my not wanting cake comments - which came out much harsher than I meant. So sorry about that - I know it's meant in the kindest spirit....


So if they guys don't eat them - I can't say I didn't try!


Kitty



OMG. I always knew the power of Miss S was huge. I've worked in customer service and have gotten a rotten customer to apologise to me for her bitchiness without even trying. I've had my Dad, one of the most stubborn of people, say sorry to me. And he doesn't say sorry or admit to his failures. EVER. I remember Pez, my ex-best friend, calling me up and crying over the phone, saying sorry to just hanging up on me after a stupid fight.

And now this. A woman 10 years my senior, with tonnes more life and work experience, sending me an email to apologise for yelling at me about cakes. (ok not yelling but it sounds better than just 'being firm')

I'm sorry but WOAH. That's big. Of her. To be sorry is one thing, bu to say it out loud to the person you upset in the first place, is a totally different, very rare thing. So I totally applaud her for that.

Following her email to me was the message she had sent to the rest of our department, letting them know, in so many words "cake is here..... eat or else!" So she helped me with my cake distribution, and that, along with admitting her overzealousness in cake-hating, means we are now friends again:)



I have been good in the pursuit of writing my story. I find that when I just start to jot down and write random plot ideas, character traits and story outlines that I am further inspired and motivated to do more research and develop my dream of writing professionally even more. A few nights I have found myself just doodling quite casually, and the following day I find I have the characters and the potential things they could get up to just running around and around in my head. I'm happy with the fact that it stays in my head, because it's sort of confirmation that what I'm thinking is not only interesting, but addictive and worthy, because if it weren't so, I tell ya it wouldn't last long in my over-imaginative mind. I still plan on eventually (whenever I actually finish my first book, after the actuality of beginning to write it) getting Hubbie, Sis and Red to read it and to tell me what their honest, honest, honest opinions on it are. I will ask them to be brutal, and then I think I will run away and hide. Something about getting someone so close to you to critique your work, actually fills me with a sick, sick feeling, and no not the kind that is cough-inducing. More the type that will churn your stomach contents and force them in a vertical motion. Hell, even when I see that people have read my blog, I freak out slightly, and that's people I don't know, with no critical response whatsoever!



But baby steps. All little baby steps. All in the right direction.



Speaking of baby steps. Had a massive, major, incredible !!lightbulb!! moment a few nights ago with Hubbie, Sis and her Hub. It is actually so incredible and major, that if this thing were to eventuate, it could change all of our lives, I believe MAJORLY. But because it is so big, we aren't actually letting people know of our "idea" until hopefully the day that it is fully under way and in full practice. No, sorry I can't even let my imaginary blogger-verse know about it. All off-limits. But I just had to say, it is AMAZING. Funny how something can be under your nose, in your face for so many years, and you just don't know that the opportunity has been staring you in the face the whole time. I think that is called TIMING.



And in more recent fantastic news, I have been shopping. Ahhhhh, how sweet the pursuit of clothes via monetary means and the accumulation of said-clothes can be.

Sweeeetttt.

Yesterday I purchased a very fine jacket. It was during some morning-afternoon shopping before my work shift, and Hubbie and I had just had enough. We were talking about clothes we had, clothes we usually went for, and the clothes that we should go for.

And we made a deal. No longer were we going to go for the safe, normal option. We weren't going to just buy, in my case, more plain tops, black dresses and ballet shoes, or in his case, more chequered shirts and blue polo tops. We were gonna go a bit wild, edgy, and start playing it up. We had decided, and we were sick of it!

Gosh just thinking of our new-found pact, and of all the clothes I could have if I had become shopping-smarter, sooner, just gives me even more AMMO to shop. You see, by always going for the 'safe' shopping option, you end up with a wardrobe that is not only identical, but that lacks creativity. By choosing items of clothing that will go the distance over the coming seasons, you end up lacking the current individuality that you so deserve.

Pieces of clothing can be wild and outrageous, and go the distance, if chosen correctly. I think of the alternative style of dwellers living in the edgy parts of outer-city Melbourne, and I highly doubt that they purchase with the aim of getting the most years out of their clothes, yet they still manage to do so. And still look good in seasons to come. Certainly I don't plan on moving to those suburbs, but the thought of a wild, indy-style wardrobe, with 50s style dresses, hippie skirts, bright colours and edgy alternative cuts of clothing, is greatly appealing to me right now. And what excites me more than anything (perhaps level with the accumulation of clothes though!) is the idea that if it is different, we will not look at the price of an item, we will just buy it.

Let's put that in simpler terms. If something is different = BUY!$!$!

I know! How incredibly monetar-ily free-ing is that idea! Of buying whatever as long as it's DIFFERENT! And Hubbie came up with that idea too. I know I married him for a reason :-D
It's not so easy just to want to do something. You have to also delete all the pre-wired talk in your mind, reset your shopping habits and think outside the square if you're going to start doing things differently. For example this morning, when Hubbie and I were shopping (yet again, we're on a roll) at before-mentioned outer-city suburb, I was in this full bohemian-hippy shop, which had A LOT of dresses. I came across a black and white one with a lot of ruffles near the neck line. It is a gorgeous dress, not too extreme, but even so, when I tried it on, I loved it but was still going "oh, I don't know, it has A LOT of ruffles at the front!"
You see, the old Miss S would have said "those ruffles won't help me move from season to season, year to year." But the new one, asked Hubbie for confidence, pushed through the doubt and went "you know what? I look great in this! I'll buy it!"
Now that I'm thinking differently about my clothes shopping selections and habits, I feel as if I'm a slightly different person, like I'm looking at life all differently. I can even imagine myself in one of the two dresses I bought today, (!) wearing a huge oversized straw hat and swinging from a hammock, with the current song "Something in the Water," playing in the background. Weird. I don't even own a hammock.

It's just inspiring, and so good to know, that not only with clothes, but all decisions in life, all paths taken, roads chosen, any change of direction is just a mind-set away. If you want to make the change, you can, and WILL. It's so easy. You just say "I'm going to look for a new job," "I'm getting a totally new haircut," or in my case "I'm changing my clothing style." It is so uninhibiting to realise you can do whatever you want to in life. As long as you want to.

Now that I've given you my daily awe-inspiring motivational life-quote, concluding tonights mammoth blog post (it started at work and is now ending after midnight at home) I will leave you with this thought for the night:

Everyone knows what eggs are. Eggs are eggs. But what you do with your egg will make a difference. Will you boil, poach or fry? Will you add spices and bacon, spinach and cheese, or place it on toast? What about the quality of your egg? Will it be free-range and wholesome? Grain-fed?
What you make of your very ordinary-seeming egg, will make the rest of your morning. Just as your decisions, will make your seemingly ordinary life, extraordinary.


(Definition to metaphor provided for clarity and due to lateness of post)