Monday, November 29, 2004

Post-Office Party




What should you not do at an office Christmas Party?

1) Bail up the CEO (and major shareholder) and tell him what you think needs improving within the company. And give your opinions on who is working for the powers of good and evil. Then go on to suggest that you should have a weekly meeting with said CEO every Tuesday at 9.00am (I’ll bring the coffee – not that freeze dried crud).
2) Sing ABBA’s Dancing Queen.
3) Tell various members of Senior Management where you see yourself and what your goals are for the future. OK doesn’t sound too bad. But if it’s 1.00am after bucket loads of beer, the sincerity tends to get lost.
4) Turn up to the hotel with worlds hottest cowboy boots. Walk in and feel all eyes upon you. Then receive compliments for the rest of the night because you’re ‘different’ and ‘out there’.

Who am I kidding? These are the best bit of the night. And for the record, my boss was the one to drag me up for the Dancing Queen episode.

Then to top it all off: A couple of office kids (when I say kids our overweight-chain-smoking-teeth-missing 52 y.o. Purchasing Manager came along too. He’s my favourite person at work) and I wondered into Ding Dong – purely by chance and I got to rub shoulders with totally outrageous bloggers. Sweet.

Off to Pony until 5, when I just couldn’t hack it anymore.

'Tis the season.

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

Office Festivities



Me being the high flying Food Technologist that I am, will be attending my first ever sales conference this week. Hot. There'll be cocktail parties at the Rialto and meetings at the Savoy. No expense spared.

I got especially excited with the General Manager and the Chief Financial Officer were both playing the team-building-and-stock-transferral-board-game in my lab yesterday. Which I’ll be looking forward to cheating on on Friday.

But what really takes the cake. What's really the cats' pajamas. What's even better than sliced bread, is that on Friday evening I have my first ever Office Christmas Party. Oh yes.

I’ve attended Office Christmas Parties before for my Dad’s company. But I was allowed to be trashed there, one could almost say encouraged. Then there’s the numerous trash-whore Christmas Parties for various hospitality jobs I’ve had, but they’re in a league of their own.

I think what I’m particularly worried about is that I’m not necessarily very good at saying “no” to alcohol, or much else for that matter. So I’ve got a hunch that I’ll end up pretty freakin’ rotten. Plus it’s free. Psssh, ah-some.

My one saving grace is that there are quite a few ‘corrupt’ employee’s here at my place of work. And quite a few of these are relatively high up on the food chain. I’m hoping that they’ll outshine me.

(I’ve heard stories of boinking on the Boardroom Table and various substances circulating. Although you didn’t hear that from me)

Another problem I face is that there will be a Karaoke machine.

Yep.

With the right splash of ingredients – alcohol, confidence… anything. I’ve got a pretty good chance of ending up there. A lot.

So any requests?




Monday, November 22, 2004

R.U.SAVD

What images are conjured up when you see this driving around the streets?



Let me impress on you further with saying the driver was wearing a “Tradies” type flouro yellow t-shirt, had a handle bar moustache and wrap around black glasses.

Ok, so we’ve got a mental picture right? Right. Yeah, Yobo. So I glance at the back of the ute and notice many garish stickers on the back. “Great, I love reading redneck quotes,” thinks I, “they’re so catchy.” For example:



… but wait a sec… what the fuck? That’s not… omg! Jesus stickers. That’s right plural. 5, count ‘em, five Jesus stickers, with clever phrases. Ha!

Dis is dem:
Salvation – the only thing that’s really free
You can discount that. I guess salvation really is free

Life’s Short – Pray Hard
See what they did here? Used a pre-existing slogan and religioused it up. Clever.

Jesus, here for Melbourne
I think I speak for all Melbournites here when I say, “Phew” I’m glad he didn’t stray into Sydney. He must like The Rock.

I’ve got Jesus on my side
OK, I'm confused. So is Jesus here for you… or Melbourne? I thought he was supposed to love us all equal like. Shows what lil’ ol’ non-religious me knows.

*

I hurriedly wrote all these down in my diary (*sob*, which I lost at Cherry on Friday night *sob*, my life is worth nothing now *sigh*), in peak hour Friday night traffic. And just when I thought I’d lost him, or dreamt it, I glanced in my rear-view mirror, only to notice the number plate:

R.U.SAVD

Brilliant.

Disclaimer: I have no problem with whatever religion you follow. I just think the juxtaposition is stunning (don’t you love how I just wrote juxtaposition - and I'm a scientist!).

* there is another one, but it’s in my diary *sob*. If you see her, please bring her back to me.

Friday, November 19, 2004

ducking delicious

There are 2 things in life that make me feel all tingly inside when it comes to eating out.

1. the quest to find the skankiest restaurant, where you pay pitons for the worlds best food. A diamond in the rough, as it were.
2. when the aforementioned diamond serves Peking Duck.

Last night, alongside my fellow restaurant hunter, Glenn, we uncovered the restaurant equivalent to The Star of Africa.

Kudos goes out to my Dad who steered us in the direction. His method of choosing good Asian fare is by the amount of black hair there is sitting down shovelling rice down. Extra points are awarded if there are little old pruney Asian women in there. Here there were both.

We strolled boldly passed at least 2 groups of people on the street waiting to be seated, assuming we’d be joining them soon, but got straight in. Nice. We sat on your typical Naughties version of a Formica table. Right in front of the kitchen door, which is where every table is in these types of establishments.

I looked at my fellow hunter and found the same look in his eye that was in mine.
“I might cry.” I said. He agreed. This was going to be good.

The walls were lined with a spattering of brightly coloured paper with either English or Chinese characters. Prices were crossed out half the time, but not much exceeded $20. There was seafood like you wouldn’t believe, crab, scallops, every fish (ever), lobster, pippis, squid… you name it. Every now and then a waiter would come out carrying a net with a shiney fish flapppin’ around or a squirmy lobster and let whoever was going to chow down on it have a squiz.

Then there were your lesser known dishes: frogs legs, weird offal… you know.

Being self-proclaimed aficionados in the world of crispy fried squid with salt and chilli, we couldn’t go past it. Obviously there was duck. Peking, with the pancake and the spring onion and the cucumber and the plum sauce… oh my god. Oh, and scallops with ginger for entrée.

If you’ve ever had crispy squid you know it’s a world of delight. But not like this. It was not only crispy - the meat was actually juicy. Like they’d been force feeding the squid before they chopped them up for us. My mouth is watering again.

The duck was so succulent and plump and sweet and delicious and I don’t think I can write about this much longer. It’s causing me actual physical pain not being there.

All this plus wine and chat makes for a ducking great evening. And no, I’m not mentioning the name. I’m selfish like that.

Meri Blog

I have a bloggy plan for Meredith.

It requires interaction. Please leave a comment if you’re going. Oh, the funness.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

What ever happened to The Food?

Ahem. Didn’t I start this whole blog thing so that I could show the world my cooking prowess and astounding knowledge of food? Yeah, so where is all this tummy goodness?

Ashamedly I’ve let my ego get the better of me. It’s true. Sometimes I do this.

So back to more important things.

Why does your wee smell funky when you eat asparagus?

Last night I picked up some asparagus, prosciutto and some Melbourne Bitter on the way home. Because I was dumped from Wednesday Corner Night. Whatever. A lovely Penne ensued (sans the beer, I just drank that).

Because asparagus is so seasonal I always forget its hidden powers. It’s fun when it happens though. What? It is fun.

So here’s the scoop.

The funky smell doesn’t happen to everyone. But is ok. The freaks are the one’s that don’t have the funk. It’s at about a 92% strike rate.

It’s all got to do with sulphur. Who’s cracked a rotten egg? Been to the steaming cesspools in Roturoa, NZ? That’s sulphur, baby. The flavourist’s mortal enemy.

(I was once doing sampling for an ingredient company and got a sulphur compound on my lab coat. A drop mind you. I smelt like a bum for the next 3 days. Thanks sulphur.)

So sulphur smells.

There are 3 major stanky contributors to the wee stench. 2 of these are S-methylthioacrylate and S-methyl-3-(methylthio)thiopropionate. (All I really wanted to prove about including those is that I know about chemicals and junk. Give the girl 10 points. But hey… who was the person that identified these compounds? That’s one thesis project I would be less than excited about. Who am I to talk though I did my thesis on a mayonnaise style sauce.)

These compounds are present in both the asparagus and the wee. Though either in different forms, or bound tighter in the vegetable bit. I mean they’ve got to be different because AS IF you’d eat something that smelt like asparagus-wee.

So… they’re moving through the whole digestion bit where everything turns into broken down bits of gunk or stuff that your body hates and needs to get rid of. You know who wants stuff that the body hates? The kidneys. They’re mad for it. But the kidneys are fickle folk and they get rid of stuff in a hurry. And they get rid of it through… wee. Hooray! We’ve reached the bowl. We know what happens here. Pee-eww.

Who else feels smarter?

Now here are some weird pics I found on Asparagus.



Ahhh.... probably not.


Oh, ah. Crafty.



Nice, a folk project called "Asparagus". Sweet hat.



Wednesday, November 17, 2004

Probably the sweetest film ever

Ho-ly crap. I’m still laughing.

"...Incredible." Best line ever.



Check out what the web site does too.



There are so many quotes to take away with you. G-man and I spent dinner recounting the ENTIRE movie. Almost wetting ourselves with laughter. Again.



I’m pretty sure the people in front of me developed whip-lash because my feet kept slamming into the back of their seats. Actual fits of laughter.

Here I’ve even linked the times for those of you in Melbs.

Go. Go now.

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

Today I’m massively excited about:

*Meredith Music Festival

*Seeing this tonight (even though it’s a sorry excuse for missing out on Gillian Welch tickets)

*Tomorrow being Wednesday. After Wednesday everything seems easier.

*The new Neko Case album I’ll be buying stat.

Monday, November 15, 2004

me. me. me.

So who was the most popular gal ever at Pony this weekend? Yeah that’s right it was me. And I owe it all to my favourite t-shirt.



To start at the beginning… I went on a bender this weekend. I didn’t mean to. Really I didn’t. It just happened. And I don’t really want to be all, "Ha! How rad am I! I got drunk on the weekend. I’ll give you a play by play," but…

Friday I went The Corner(what a freakin’ surprise) and saw stacks of Gararge rock. Rock. To continue in the rock theme I stayed out and spewed. Totally ah-some.

Things I should have done on Saturday:
- loved my liver, brain and lungs.
- not gone out for ‘a drink
- and maybe watch a dvd. Yeah, that would have been nice.

Things I did on Saturday:
- went out to Bimbo. Ewww. Quick think of the Punters to make you feel better.
For (count ‘em) 11 hours.
- drank more than one beer and more than one G’n’T
- stayed out until 7 am.

It’s the last point where the Pony bit came into action.
I wore my Interpol T-shirt that I bought on the internet. Because buying stuff on the internet is like cool an’ shit. And apparantly every single person in the whole of Melbourne that digs Interpol was there. And they were all guys. Sweet. They all loved me, me, me.

I had 5 guys bowing the "we’re not worthy, we’re not worthy" to me. And I loved it.

Being cool is fun. Doesn't matter if you're the only one that thinks so.

what's funny?

Footscray K-Mart. Just because.

Friday, November 12, 2004

plug on. part 2

So it’s widely accepted that I heart The Plug.

When I discovered The Plug was calling it quits I decided it was important to kick up some kind of stink. So I wrote him a letter, where I cussed and made the wit.

To my delight The Plug responded and then I responded and made comment about my profession and that I could tailor make him a herby blend. Special ain’t it.

So I made The Plug his herby blend with love and whey powder (to make his potatoes crispy, you see). This is my formulation (“mum’s” the word on the formulation).

INGREDIENT %
WHEY POWDER 30.000
ROSEMARY CUT 15.000
GARLIC MINCED 15.000
ONION MINCED 15.000
SUPERFINE SALT 13.000
PEPPER CRACKED 7.000
CHILLI CRUSHED 3.000
VEGETABLE OIL 2.000

The chilli was in an 'optional chilli sachet', which I'm rather proud of. Apparantly not everyone enjoys chilli. Losers.

And I sent my herby goodness to The Plug all the way in Atlana, Georgia. That's in America. Totally far away from Melbourne, Victoria, Australia.

I waited patiently for a response. I checked the mail every night in the hope that The Plug would reciprocate the love. And last night my every dream was fulfilled.

I got one of these



It’s got all kinds of plug stuff in it. And I got a card, and a letter, both penned by The Plug. As Television’s Kynan Barker says “You LOVE getting presents in paper bags! Bless your anonymous fanmailing heart.

Awww. My heart’s all a-flutter.

Thursday, November 11, 2004

A good reason for being tired.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact I played a game of netball (yes, netball… hey, it’s the new cool, ok) at 9.30 last night. Drunk.

Well you see it’s tradition that we go to The Corner for dinner on Wednesday. And they have beer there and I was there. It just made sense. Not to mention someone thought it was hilarious that I was going to play n-ball after The Corner and made sure I was never without a full glass. Great. Hilarious.

Frankly, I played well. My aim was somewhat accurate and I think I was a little more aggressive on the court than usual. Netball is hard-core-bitch-fighting, so “a little more aggressive” is ace.

It’s since 2pm that I’ve really hit the wall. The 4 cups of tea got me through the morning and the sushi (oh man how I was craving raw fish today) got me through lunch. But now I’ve got nothing to live for.

So write me a comment and brighten my afternoon. I know you’re out there.

Monday, November 08, 2004

What ever happened to Nathan Cavaleri?

Cavaleri Query number 1: Which came first the cancer or the fame?



Apparently the cancer. but hey give the kid some cred', he hung with BB King.

Nathan Cavaleri is a young Australian boy who was diagnosed with cancer; he came to the Medias attention when he got his wish of jamming with Mark Knofler during one of dire straits tours here.

Nathan was taught guitar by his father from a very young age (3 years I think from memory). Following Nathan’s televised jam session with Mark Knofler he shot to celebrity status rapidly, travelling to the USA where he played backup and duo's with world renowned blues players such as muddy waters and others. Nathan also made guest apperances in television shows such as Baywatch.”

You think Baywatch is good, but the more info you uncover the better. It was actually Baywatch Nights. Baywatch’s ugly twin sister, even more hideous than the first.


Cavaleri Query number 2: Where are they now?



Look how tough he is now with his blond tips. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Oh this is an absolute gem. I have to go and check these guys out!

Ha! They call themselves The Dirty Skanks because of the girls in the front rows of their shows. Charmers.
And their first single is called MILF! And it goes a little something like this...

Talk about bored housewives,
Watching them Days of Our Lives
Don't hold me tight
Take a bite
Fuck me in the kitchen
While hubby's workin' wishin'

Gold.

Another child prodigy turned drug toking scum-bag. I heart Nathan Cavalri.

Friday, November 05, 2004

Ode to Vodka

I have very little respect for this beverage, but I felt compelled to do and Ode to The Vodka today after yesterday.

Yesterday all of Melbourne’s finest whores (male and female) were out on display. And what is Oaks Day spent with work colleagues without a of Icelandic Vodka shots? What is it? It’s better day. Vodka should not be consumed without a buffer.

This then took me back to days of abusive-teenaged-drinking (after all that’s what an office environment reflects). The Fruit Tingles taken in 2 litre bottles to the Year 12 party. Goodness knows I wouldn’t have been doing the things I did that night on Raspberry Cordial. And I’m sure Dave-The-IT-Dweeb wouldn’t have done a nudey run without the aid of The Vodka.

So I thought “What the hey. I’m going post about The Vodka today”, because it’s why I feel so shithouse right now.

Some of my preferred offerings:

The Vodka Lime and Soda – actually my preferred “other” drink. Sounds a bit poofy, nonetheless goes down without a hassle.

The Vodka and Cranberry – wery refreshing

The Aforementioned Fruit Tingle – Raspberry, Blue Curacao, Vodka. Ewwww, this is only in here in case the younger generation get ahold of this blog and need some assistance.

The Vodka, Gingerbeer and Lime. Could be because I’m a sucker for Gingerbeer.

The Vodka is an essential part of most cocktails.

The pees de resistance… The VodkaMelon.

I think I’m confused. I started out writing this hating the idea of The Vodka… but now I think I’ve lightened to the fact that we need a back-up. The Vodka may not be Head Of The Class, but she’s there for everyone. A support system. And who am I to discount that? Where would we be without our support system?

I think we can all learn a little something from The Vodka. Don’t you?




By the way I want to write about Bush. But the words never quite make sense. And we all know it’s worse than vodka shots… nay, Citruse shots. *spew*


plug on

love this site.
love that i wrote to the plug.

i even made a special herby blend for his potatoes. it must be love.

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

Death by Turkey and Beer

Despite the fact I’m posting on Wednesday I did in fact drag my wretched corpse to work on Monday, but was in no mind for wit (hence no blogging).

OK, so I only got one of my predictions right (the wetting of the pants), but that’s a good thing right… no tears. Oh... and shit the bitching, alcohol and cussing bit came true too. Duh.

I’ll save us all the hassle of reading my play by play of the last 4 days and leave you with this. I’m. Fucking. Exhausted. Alas, still willing to haul my ass to The Corner tonight. No matter how crapola you feel there’s no reason to skip out on tradition.

Some Choice Cuts:

  1. Between us The Gang sunk in 8 hip flasks of beam/whiskey/turkey and all other mind bogglingly awful bevies.
  2. Biggs, R. wore an afro wig all day. Precious. You go ‘Girl Sebastian’ uh-huh, yeah (snap, snap, snap)
  3. The G-Man caught a happy snap of some drunk chick’s muff as she was tackling her brother. Weird. (is it wrong to want to post this?)
  4. We broke a chair at the Rob Roy. Can’t say I had a direct hand in the destruction, but I looked on at the ‘stacks on’ in full awareness of the snap and crackle that would ensue. It was our way of saying "Thanks for the music Rob Roy."
  5. Totally exchanged numbers with a hot guy. Now this may not seem like a big deal to most… but let’s just say I’m WAY picky about these sorts of things. Dear lord, I hope I didn’t tell him my blog address.
  6. Drank beer all Cup Day, then ate curry… not advisable.
  7. Backed both Makybe Diva and Vinnie Roe for a place. Won $23 from the TAB. Better though was getting She's Archie (last place) in the sweep and winning 10 bucks (get it bucks!)

    Oaks tomorrow. Holy shit, I don’t want to become one of those bitches that go to the races in frocks, make-up running by 3 o’clock, shoes off at 4. Screw that, my shoes are too red and flat for that to happen. And make-up… P-ha, except for the excessively red lip-stick.