Peanut Butter Enema
Adam’s having sex with celebrities again. Bad Adam!
Well, not really. But at the pub he’s a bouncer at on Saturday night, there was a private party with lots of Triple J radio announcers present. Adam’s not really sure if it was her or not (she’s definitely a Triple J radio announcer but he’s not quite sure who) - but Jenn Oldershore may have tried to crack onto Adam.
Adam: (pokes his head into door to see who’s around)
Jenn Oldershore: Hiiiii!
Adam: Hi!
Jenn Oldershore: Come on in!
Adam: Oh, I can’t. I’m a bouncer here.
Jenn Oldershore: Are you sure?
Adam: Yeah. Sorry.
Jenn Oldershore: Well, it’s good to meet you anyway. (holds out hand)
Adam: (shakes her hand)
Jenn Oldershore: Hahahah! What do you call that?!
Adam: Huh?
Jenn Oldershore: That wasn’t a handshake!
Adam: Oh. Okay then. (grabs Jenn Oldershore’s hand and tries to crush it in his fist)
Jenn Oldershore: That’s better!
I’m sure she would have fallen for Adam’s seductive ways if he was allowed to socialise in the party room a little longer. Of course, there’s the issue of Adam being gay, but as if either of that would let that get in the way of Celebrity Sex!
Torana visited us on Sunday. We told him the story of the old angry Italian woman (see previous entry), and suddenly his face lit up. He was most excited, because he realised he’d seen her in person. Just five minutes ago, in fact. She was standing there on her balcony watching him as he walked up to our door, as if he might be a potential electrician to fix her heater (which is no doubt still not working).
Adam realised another thing the other day - because Torana often gives Adam a lift home, the old angry Italian woman may have thought he was an electrician. Torana drives a white panelvan around for his work. It’s all fitting into place, see?
*****
There was an eclipse on Sunday night.
Me: Can you see the moon?
Adam: Um… (calling out from other room) Yep.
Me: Is it all… red?
Adam: Yep.
Me: Cool. (walks into room and looks out window) Where is it?
Adam: You’ll actually have to go out onto the balcony to see it.
Me: Oh, fuck that. It’s cold outside.
Adam: Your loss.
Me: I’ll just wait for the next red moon eclipse to come along.
Adam: You’ll be dead.
*****
On Monday, I was in a good mood because of my birthday. I got up really early and was prepared to take on the world. Of course, the bathroom light took it upon itself to blow on that particular morning, so I showered in darkness. It was nice in an ambient sort of way, but I think it was missing candles or something. Maybe it would have helped if I played some of The Smiths music.
After disembarking from The Dark And Scary Shower, I flicked on the TV. I see that Channel 7 have replaced their morning cartoons show with a video clips show - ‘All Music Video’. This is actually kind of a cool idea, except for the fact that seeing kd lang at only 7.05am in the morning was a little too much to handle.
In fact, I’m convinced the show is programmed by gays. I’ve watched it twice now, and every time, I’ve seen that new kd lang clip, and on both days a collage of Kylie Minogue clips has been played, along with one of her worst from the 80’s.
My most feared video clip of all time? ‘Window Licker’ by Aphex Twin. That’s one of the freakiest things I’ve ever seen. All those women gyrating around in skimpy bathing suits - THEN SUDDENLY THEY’VE ALL GOT GOATEES! Now I know how straight men feel about gay guys threatening their sexuality, because this video clip can turn me into a quivering mess! I quite liked goatees before I saw this! Even when I just HEAR the song on the radio, my skin crawls. It sounds so creepy. It’s just the soundtrack to a Women With Goatees Sideshow now.
*****
I’ve developed a really bad cough. It’s as I’m smoking or something. All day I was hocking up things that looked like they’d been designed by Industrial Light And Magic.
Can you imagine someone trying to get venture capital funding for that company?
Venture capital funding person: So what is the name of your company?
CGI geek: Industrial Light And Magic.
Venture capital funding person: Um… right. (makes lots of notes on notepad) And.. uh… what will be the primary operation of this businses?
CGI geek: Industrial light. For movies.
Venture capital funding person: Okaaay. (more notes) Anything else?
CGI geek: Magic, as well.
Venture capital funding person: Er… magic?
CGI geek: Yes. Magic.
Venture capital funding person: Do you believe this is a… viable business venture?
CGI geek: Why, yes. We’ve been spending a lot of time worshipping the Dark Prince himself, so we’ve come to learn a thing or two about black magic, you know. You sort of just pick it up.
*****
On my way to the train station, I thought I’d visit the petrol station and buy something to wake myself up. I’d only had a few hours sleep.
Me: (places bottle of Red Bull, Coco-Pops bar and Chupa-Chups on desk)
Petrol station girl: You didn’t get much sleep, last night, did-
Me: (snaps) NO.
I’ve noticed Kelloggs have turned lots of their cereals into chewy ‘breakfast bars’. For some reason, they’re called LCM’s. What does LCM stand for? Lotsa Calories Munchies? Lost a Credible Meal? Latest Craze: Masticating?
I was munching on my LCM (ahh, maybe it’s the name of a chemical, perhaps?) as I walked into the train station, when a child sneezed onto my foot. I could sympathise with the kid, what with my Industrial Light And Magic Phlegm, but this was a really wet, sloppy sneeze. Even worse - I forgot to wipe it off and it’s sort of become part of the pattern of my shoe.
Ash was at the train station this morning - her first day back at school after the holidays. We had a chat about the holidays (or my lack thereof), and I noticed her hair was still purple.
See, when she first dyed it, I thought it was pink. It was originally pink, but then it went purple; except I just thought it went to a darker pink. I think I must be colourblind - I always seem to get pink and purple mixed up, but they are very similar colours. Sometimes. I also seem to have problems with maroon. I also have started violent arguments over if certain shades of aqua are blue or green. (’It’s aquamarine!’ ‘No it’s not, it’s turqouise!’ THWACK!)
I also whinged to Ash about my sore stomach.
Me: I’m just falling apart. My stomach is killing me. I think it’s because of all those exercise sessions I had with Adam.
Ash: Didn’t you only do one session?
Me: Um… yes.
As I disembarked the train, the train station was far too noisy for my poor unslept head. People rushing around, construction work thundering, and the CityRail Dismebodied Announcement Man was making two announcements at once, because there was a train on each side of the platform I was standing on. A child near me started screaming, presumably at the shock discovery that the CityRail Disembodied Announcement Man isn’t actually a live announcer, but a recording.
Five new train stations opened a few months ago in Sydney - 2 of these are airport train stations. They obviously had to re-hire the CItyRail Disembodied Announcement Man to record announcements for the new train stations. He must have aged a fair bit since he last recorded announcements, because when he announces names of newer train stations he sounds old:
CityRail Disembodied Announcement Man: (perky voice) The next train goes to St James… Museum… Central… (croaky voice) Greeen Squaaare… Maaascoot… Domeeestiic Terrminallll … Interrnaaationall Terrminallll…
CityRail trains are certainly an experience. Compared to Melbourne trains, they’re much dirtier and slower, but Melbourne trains usually have syringes hidden in the seats, so they sort of balance out.
The trains in Sydney come in three flavours. At the very bottom end of the scale, you’ve got the Cobbled Together Trains. You don’t see many of these - they look like giant versions of what would be a fair representation of a train if it was a model. The seats have lumps in them positioned especially so you have to sit on them crooked.
Then there’s the regular flavour of train. Usually filled with grafitti, a couple of slashed seats and rubbish.
Moving up from Regular, is Tangara. The Tangara trains have doors that beep, and are much newer. Tangara is the Japanese word for ‘late’.
All CityRail trains feature signs that announce ‘At night, travel near the guard’s compartment marked with a blue light.’ However, as any Sydneysider will be able to tell you, every single one of these signs has been altered by schoolkids to read ‘At night, rave near the guard’s compartment naked with a blue light’. I thought this was sort of funny when I first moved to Sydney, and almost renamed my journal ‘Rave Near The Guard’s Compartment Naked With A Blue Light’, but I now understand the joke isn’t that funny.
Why are those city couriers who ride bikes around the city centre all ferals? Do I need dreadlocks to apply for this job? I’m starting to think the reason I got knocked back from the fireman’s job is because I don’t have soot on my face or a musky aroma. Or fitness.
As I arrived at work that morning, it started raining really heavily, so I was drenched by the time I walked in the door. As I got in the lift, a snide salesman looked me up and down from head to toe. It was as if he knew there was something wrong with me - somewhere - he just had to find it.
Snide salesman: Do you ride a bike to work?
Me: No.
Snide salesman: So do you… walk here?
Me: No.
Snide salesman: Did you just go out for a cigarette?
Me: No.
Snide salesman: So why are you so wet?! (as if I have no excuse)
I sat down at my desk, and Jen gave me an umbrella for my bithday, which is good. I need an umbrella. I was walking with my umbrella to the tea room, when:
Snide salesman: (jumps out of meeting room) Why are you so wet - if you’ve got an umbrella!?
The day didn’t start off very well. My first call was from a client who’d been handballed around different departments of the company I work for - nobody wanted to deal with him. The handball clients are always fun. You’re never quite sure if you should try to help them or not, because it’s so much fun hearing their reaction when they’re told they need to speak to someone else.
On this occasion, I actually was able to help the person. All they wanted was some information on one of our products. I was recommending the cilent call a reseller in his area, and needed to give him some phone numbers of resellers in his area. So I asked him:
Me: Can I ask what state you’re in?
Caller: A bloody distressed state!
Later that day, one of our biggest clients called. I know the people who work there quite well, which is good, but I made a dick of myself today.
Woman from big client: Hi, Jeb. I need some help.
Me: Sure, how can I help?
Woman from big client: It’s almost embarassing really, it’s just a silly question. I don’t want to ask anyone who works here.
Me: That’s fine.
Woman from big client: Well… I need to know how to spell your ‘tailormade products’.
Me: Um… T - A - I - L - O - R - M - A - D - E - P - R - O - D - U - C - T - S.
Woman from big client: HAHAHAHAHA!
Me: Er…?
Woman from big client: I said I needed to know how to ’sell’ your products, not ’spell’ them!
I’ve started using a quote from one of my old bosses lately. My very first boss when I was working at a uni last year, Ms Superiority - she used to say ‘too bad, too sad’ all the time. Except she was quite horrible about it.
Student: I need a few more days to pay my TAFE fees. Things are difficult at the moment, in fact (turns head around and shows us giant scar) I got hit by a tram earlier this week.
Ms Superiority: (roars) TOO BAD, TOO SAD!
*****
I’m quite suspicious about the cafe chain ‘Delifrance’ currently taking over Sydney. What’s firstly suspicious is that the main meal of the day they cater to is brunch. Very suspicious, no? Also - almost every written piece of information at ANY Delifrance location is written in French. Be it the menu, the little tags stuck into food on display - absolutely anything. They could be writing anything they want! You may think you’re smart by ordering a little French cake in the French tongue - but you may really be asking for ‘a piece of shit shovelled up from the back room - and an orange juice, thanks!’
*****
My mum ordered my Nomad II MP3 player today. Oooo! I’d ordered it from the online store Dstore - all my mum had to do was ring up a phone number, and quote an order number and her credit card number (this is my 21st birthday present). It wasn’t easy to explain it to her.
My mum: I’m not quite sure I understand what I’m supposed to do.
Me: You just ring up this number, quote my order number and they’ll ask you for a credit card number.
My mum: How do they know what you’re buying?
Me: Because I’ve already chosen it on the internet.
My mum: Oh my god, not the internet.
Me: Yes.
My mum: My credit card number might be stolen by hackers!
Me: No. You’re not actually giving it out over the internet.
My mum: Oh, I don’t know, I’ve heard stories about buying from the internet.
Me: Surely you’ve heard of Dstore. They have ads on TV and everything.
My mum: What store?
Me: Dstore.
My mum: Oh, that sounds dodgy. What does the D stand for?
Me: I don’t know. I assume it’s ‘department’.
My mum: That’s suspicious in itself.
The Nomad II has a voice recorder function, which I plan to have fun with. The first thing I want to record is Slow Sally singing, and post it on my site - because you have to HEAR her singing to understand what I put up with all day. I might record one of the Accountant DJ’s outbursts (’Who wants a kick in the head?’), and probably other things too. No doubt I’ll get in legal trouble for this eventually, but what the hell.
On my computer at work, there’s this little plastic protector sheet covering the caps lock/num lock/scroll lock lights on my keyboard. It was beginning to peel off, so I started to rip it off.
Slow Sally: No, don’t do that!
Me: It won’t hurt the computer.
Slow Sally: Mr Marketing said not to muck around with the computers.
Me: I’m sure he won’t mind.
Slow Sally: No! I’ll tell him!
Me: What are you talking about? You don’t even know what scroll lock DOES.
Neither do I, but that’s not the point.
We’ve all moved downstairs, and so has Mr Marketing’s basketball rings. He’s installed little rings at either end of the office for his personal use, and throws a little soft ball into the ring all day long. I pity Scooter, because his new desk is just to the left of the basketball ring - the ball hits him on the head all day.
I’m not a full time employee at my work (I’m a temp on a 6 month contract, but they’re making me full time in a few weeks when I get outsourced). The DJ Accountant, however, is a full time employee. We get paid monthly at our work, and everyone who worked full time was due to be paid today - except there was some problem with the banking, and it was all delayed until tomorrow. The DJ Accountant went absolutely ballistic, because I think he really needed the money.
DJ Accountant: (screaming) I’M GOING TO BE A FUCKING TEMP, I NEED TO GET FUCKING PAID!
Slow Sally: (trying to calm him down) Well, you can’t be a temp. You’re full time.
DJ Accountant: (almost starting to cry) I’M GOING TO BE A FUCKING TEMP, FUCK YOU ALL! (storms out of office)
Mail Girl: Is he on drugs?
I’ve learnt a new trick to play on the DJ Accountant. Basically, he never seems to know what he’s doing when he answers the phone, so he’ll just put people on hold and ask me the question. When he starts getting into a really complicated question, I usually walk away and go to get a drink, or go and visit people. Just to give him the shits.
For lunch, I went to the cafeteria. I think I can put up with Cafeteria Woman now. I’d brought the newspaper with me, except it was the Sydney Morning Herald, which is a large newspaper. My paper took up the whole table, and Cafeteria Woman sat opposite me and expected me to clear some space for her. Which was bad, because the whole idea of buying a large newspaper like the Herald is to act as a deterrant. But if I had have bought a tabloid newspaper, I ran the risk of looking not-quite-as-intellingent. I don’t really need to impress her, I suppose; but we still keep having these little awkward conversations. Maybe I should point out to her that we’re not actually friends.
I walked over to the Coke machine to buy a can of Coke. After I pressed the ‘Coke’ button, not one can of Coke popped out the bottom, but two. I held a can in each hand up to Cafeteria Woman, expecting her to grin and share my elation in getting something for free from a vending machine. Instead, she looked at me sideways in a quizzical way. See, normally getting a free can of Coke is a great thing. But because it was Cafeteria Woman, everything became awkward. There’s me, standing there with a stupid grin in my face, holding up a can of Coke in each hand, and her wondering why I’ve bought two cans of Coke.
I haven’t really gotten to know other people who work on my new floor just yet, but they have strange eating habits.
I walked past one guy who had just finished eating KFC, and he was ripping pieces of paper from a notepad to use as napkins. Pretty smart, really; because you tend to need a notepad’s worth of napkins just to get rid of KFC grease.
Then there was the Chicken Twisties woman. I walked into the tea room, and this other woman was there using the vending machine.
Me: Hi.
Twisties woman: Hi!
Me: What are you buying, there?
Twisties woman: Twisties.
Me: Cool.
Twisties woman: Not just normal cheese Twisties though.
Me: Oh?
Twisties woman: CHICKEN TWISTIES!
Me: Great.
Twisties woman: Did you know - this is the only vending machine in the whole building that sells chicken Twisties rather than cheese Twisties?
Me: It’s good to see you’ve, ah, done your research.
Then I walked past another guy typing away furiously, before reaching onto his desk and squeezing some toothpaste into his mouth.
Me: (concerned) Is that toothpaste?!
Toothpaste man: Ha, ha, ha. No. Many people think that.
Me: Oh. So what is it?
Toothpaste man: Peanut butter.
Me: Um…
Toothpaste man: I just love peanut butter.
Me: I can see that.
Toothpaste man: So I put it in a tube so I can have it to snack on.
Me: How do you get it in there?
Toothpaste man: Now THAT would be telling! (like he’s cracked a great joke) A ha ha ha ha!
Me: Doesn’t it taste like toothpaste?
Toothpaste man: Nah. You just give it a sort of… water enema.
As I arrived back at my desk, the Mail Girl came storming up to me.
Mail Girl: Can you tell me of any other sites on the net where I can find phone numbers?
Me: Besides what?
Mail Girl: Besides the Yellow Pages.
Me: You can try the White Pages. Why, what’s wrong?
Mail Girl: Because I’m trying to look up the phone number for the State Rail Authority and all I’m getting are the numbers for fucking fish companies.
*****
I’ve been thinking about going to the football sometime soon. I haven’t been to the footy since I moved up to Sydney - mainly because it’s all rugby league up here, which I don’t really like as much as Aussie Rules football. I only really decided I wanted to go since I walked past a footy stadium one night and heard the crowd roaring. It’s strange that I want to go based on the atmosphere alone.
I asked Adam if he’d go with me to the footy.
Adam: But I don’t really like the footy that much.
Me: Oh.
Adam: Torana will go with you, though. He’s always at the footy.
Me: It’s weird. I’m not even sure if I want to go because of the game itself.
Adam: And you think Torana goes because there’s a footy game on?
Me: Oh? Why does he go?
Adam: Alcohol.
Suddenly it all made sense. Football game does not equal football, football game equals being drunk! It’s all a big testosterone thing.
Torana would be fun to go to the footy with. He’s always drunk. And when he’s not drunk, he usually sounds like he is. Take, for example, when he was working in Melbourne last month. He wasn’t too familiar with the area, so he was constantly calling me for directions.
Torana: What’s the name of that place with the cheap clothes?
Me: Richmond?
Torana: Yeah, that’s it. Which road are all the shops on?
Me: Try Bridge Road.
Torana: Okay. Thanks!
(half an hour later)
Me: Hello?
Torana: Me again.
Me: Oh, hi.
Torana: Do you know what?
Me: What?
Torana: I’ve been driving up and down Bridge Road for the past half an hour, and there isn’t even a BRIDGE on this road.
*****
I don’t like it when I’m in the toilet at work, and there’s lots of other people there too. Not in the cubicle itself (God no!) but in the wash basin area. Everyone has to line up to use the hand drier. There were two people waiting for me to finish drying my hands, when suddenly there was no heat being blown out of the drier.
Me: Hang on. There’s no heat.
Sales guy #1: Oh, great. Now look what you’ve done!
Me: It just did it by itself!
Sales guy #2: You’ve killed the heat. Tsk, tsk.
Me: It’s not that bad is it?
Sales guy #1: (in a tone of voice that I’m not sure is sarcastic or not) Well it could be.
Sales guy #2: We could make it bad.
Me: It’s only a broken hand drier.
Sales guy #1: But I liked having my hands dried!
Me: Just use the bloody paper towels!
Sales guy #2: Ah, but see, that’s a waste of paper.
Sales guy #1: Hurts the environment, mmm.
Me: But it’s just a choice between burning coal or wasting paper!
Sales guy #2: You’ve missed my point.
Me: No I haven’t! You’re hurting the environment either way!
Sales guy #1: Oh dear. (walks out of toilets)
Me: Has Greenpeace become one of our major clients, and nobody told me?
Sales guy #2: Tsk, tsk. (walks out of toilets)
Me: (calling out door) And why the hell does our toilet have paper towels AND a hand drier?!