Needles.

Yeh these are the only needles I can bare to touch. Lucky I am not Diabetic!

So today I learnt that I am just fucking useless in a needle crisis.

Stevie was at the specialist for a look-see at what hurts him and the bloke who was all very jolly and pleasant said that a big fuck off needle was called for and that he'd do it NOW. Well Stevie was all very sanguine about it and Dr T said it would be good if I sat in with him and held his hand, and I walked into the Needle room with best intentions, but when the ultra-sound machine was pushed in and the needle container was swished about, and forms were signed and all was in readiness, I bottled out. I wanted to steal some of the jelly beans from  the jar, but rightly figured I hadn't earned them.

Fucking useless wimp that I am.

Now I have had more needles than would be blunted sewing a canvas tent big enough to cover the Gold Coast and its hinterland. Yep, I reckon if all the times I had been punctured were done at once in the one place, say into my belly,  I would have just a great big hole in that spot, big enough for the doctors to shake hands through as they congratulated each other about how I had enabled them to send all their kids to private schools and then pay their HECs fees.

So needles are not foreign to me, except that I NEVER look at 'em. I don't watch 'em sitting in the little green kidney bowl waiting to be used, and I sure as shit don't look at 'em as they are shoved into my skin. I can't watch that shit in person or on the make believe hospital shows on the tellie. Really it surprises me that I can change the sewing machine needle or thread one to sew on a button. So unfortunately today, I had to do a runner....what a fucking coward! I sat outside, but could still hear the conversation so I ran further afield to the loo...Ah Escaped.
 
I hope that if push ever does come to shove that I will be able to 'woman-up' and look after him, but I reckon I will always need a bit of time to get my head around it all, and with any luck at all there might be time to do a proper reccie to source a perching spot where vision of the actual needle shoving procedure is hindered by bodies. Today I would have been closer than Stevie and it was going into HIS shoulder.....ooooh yukkie!

He was a brave little soldier! And I did what all good generals do, and that is cheered from the sidelines, far far away.

Plebiscite?

Well bugger me! Agreeing with Bill Shorten -this is something that I never in a million years thought I would write, cos I simply detest the man. I would take a giant golf umbrella and a rain coat outside, after I had bought extra flood insurance, if I heard his forecast was for fine weather, and if he said there was no chilli in a meal, I would fully expect to need hospitalisation if I ate even the smallest morsel. To say that I just do not believe a single word that falls out of his mouth is like saying Mick Fanning was only a little lucky when the shark came upon him, and that a crying baby on a plane is only mildly irritating.

But today - not before and I am pretty sure never again, I reckon he might be right. Yeh I know he has some political agenda and some lefty axe to grind that I do not care to waste brains cells deciphering, but calling for the government to do away with the fucking waste of taxpayer millions for the Gay Marriage Plebiscite just makes good sense.

I fired off my request to the Federal Member Steve Ciobo and the Queensland Senators, asking them to give it a rest. No I didn't swear but I sure as shit wanted to. For fuck sake, why would the government spend 15 million bucks to outline the 'Yes' and 'No' campaigns, and then insist everyone votes, when the decision is not binding anyway, so the pollies can still go their own sweet way and please 'emselves. Surely they can just do that now and save the cash?

As I understand it, if there is a Plebiscite and the Australian majority, vote for marriage equality, the parliament still needs to stick their nose in by re-defining marriage - so back to Canberra everyone goes, and they can all claim their rent and meals' allowances again. It's all so bloody tedious and expensive and un-bloody-necessary and of course time consuming.

For fuck sake, I just don't see who is harmed by allowing gay folk to marry.

Aren't there more important things for the government to be doing? New road anyone? How about another hospital? or maybe, somewhat controversial I know, maybe something could be done about the refugees?

SWELL is on again

Bloody perfect day for a little drive and a look see at this year's wonderful sculptures.

The sleepy old Currumbin Beach is alive and pumping with folks of all kind and it's lively without being cosmopolitan crowded, and there is a sculpture for just about every taste.

Parking is a bit of a lucky dip, but if you are just a tiny bit patient something usually opens up.

Of course Dog was going loopy in the car as soon as she could smell the beach so that had to be our first pit stop. When she had played the sand game and drunk enough water to see her wonderfully vomity, we headed in search of our favourites. Starting in the middle - cos that's where we parked, we wandered north along the beach with Dog doing a bit of a drag cos she was rooted.

Even without the arty attractions this is a beautiful beach to explore. At the northern end where the ANTS had made their home on the rocks you can take time out to watch some dare-devil surfers who were out today sans wet suits cos the water was lovely. The ANTS were pretty speccie and the other pieces along there were worth a look, I imagine that a couple would be quite serene at night under the lights.

Then it was time for this old bird to have a little sit down and a soft-serve cone. YUMMO!

The walk south was mostly along the footpath cos there are lots of pieces between the footpath and the beach dunes. Here are some of my favourites.

Chain links individually soldered to make these oversized masks. Photo is shit compared to the originals. Sorry.

Kangaroo made from odd bits of furniture. I had a pleasant time searching out old bits of chairs and tables that I could have owned. This was a bit of angry fella.

Little bits of timber individually cut and placed - such an effort in patience and exactitude that it made me feel slothful. Marvellous to rub along - in a G sense you understand.

Bread crates cable tied together to make a pyramid which seems to move before your eyes. Again photos is shit. Perhaps I am including them here so you get on your bikes to go have a look in person.

Neither of us have voted for our favourite yet cos we want to go back again at night for a look at the work under their lights. 

We chattered for a while with the maker of the Kangaroo - cos I thought that was my favourite, but then the masks came into view, and the beach chairs. 

Perhaps there were too many good 'uns to have a favourite?

Pop on down if you get a chance. It finishes 18th Sept.  

Mobile phone etiquette.

It's a source of wonder and irritation and amusement. If you just sit around and watch people on their phones you realise quickly that just about anything goes today.

I have watched people who I figure might well be on their first or second date, both intently swiping their phone screens, presumably looking for someone who is hotter than the person in front of them. But it must be an interesting conversation prior to drawing their phone weapons.

One: Well you aren't like your photo
Two: All that acne ..... what makeup did you use for your photo shoot?
One: You remind me of someone, hang on (grabs phone and starts swiping) is this your brother? ( swipes madly)
Two: (swipes phone)

There is no further conversation. They swipe away, they don't order, not even a cuppa, and then one of 'em leaves, and the other doesn't notice.

I silently wish 'em both better luck next time. Fuck I am glad I am not out there.

The selfie stick shuffle gives me the shits, and I just fancy suggesting to people to actually have a look at stuff, and remember it, instead of filing millions of poor shots in some cloud file never to be seen again. How they don't do themselves a mischief I don't know, and I have some sympathy for the yanky fella who posted footage this week of him chopping selfie sticks in half. I laughed up a lung when I saw it, but the stick wavers were not amused. If you have a few minutes I am sure you can find it on you tube. Yeh I am too useless to include the link.

Today I spent time in a waiting room, and we all know how much I might have been enjoying that! It was heaving with people and even though I had wandered out for an hour, Stevie was not done so I scouted the seating area and took up a corner position on a bench seat, popped my handie on the other side of me and hoped not to be touched or irritated by anyone. Kindle in hand I sunk back into my book.

Pop Pop, PLOP Bing Bop Plop. I looked up. So did another lady.

There was a massive tellie hanging on the wall and last night's 'The Block' was playing and I guess it was pretty loud.

I went back to my book.

Plippity Plop Bing Bop. What the fuck was that noise?

Then I spied her. She was wearing an ID necklace and was sitting by a lady in a wheelchair. The ID said she was some sort of care provider. I guess she was with the wheelie lady. But she clearly didn't have any interest in keeping her company, cos her head was nose deep into one of those shitful phone games. Blippity blop.

The lady behind her said loudly, 'What is that bloody noise? Is it on the TV?' I laughed cos that's the sort of gaff I usually make. I said, 'No' and pointed across to the games player. 'What?' She laughed out loud and so did I.

The lady in the wheelchair clocked it all and smiled at me and then raised her eyebrows as if to say, 'Don't you whinge too loudly,  I am paying for this shit.'

The games player ignored all this even though it was unfolding in a room smaller than most laundries. When her charge was called she fumbled about with her phone and hand bag and then finally turned her attention to her lady, whose feet had slid off the foot pedals of her chariot and so needed to be tucked back into place before wheeling her off.

The rest of us breathed a sigh of relief when the technician said she should come with the lady, cos otherwise I suppose she would have just planted her arse again and played more of the bloody game.

Any one of us could have asked her to mute the phone, but I suppose we were all of an age where we didn't think that asking that should have been necessary.

I like it when I see signs asking customers to hang up before coming to the counter to order. It's about time a stand was made. I reckon if I was a barista I'd be like the soup Nazi on Seinfeld, 'If you're on your phone, fuck off!'

Poor Dentist G man.

Yesterday was his and hers appointments with the lovely G. I had been very brave and made an appointment a couple of weeks ago. The conversation went something like this:

Me : I need to see G
Her : (new to practice and new to me) Is this for a regular reminder visit?
Me : Oh No You don't send that to me, I just ring when I am brave enough.
Her : What do you think is the problem? (obviously trying to ascertain the required time for the       appointment)
Me : I don't know, G just sits me down and gets on with it. I don't want to know.
Her : ( Finally cracking onto the crazy) OK 1.30 Tuesday.
Me : Ok

And then in the mean time Stevie developed some pain in a tooth and got himself into quite the panic about it needing root canal and a crown - not the royal kind, and he needed to see G too.

I willingly offered to let him take my appointment, but he really wanted me to go and so I managed to get him an appointment not long after mine.

Now my inability to cope with all things dentistry has been well documented here, but yesterday was different, cos Stevie was tagging along.

Usually I drive myself, park up, walk aways to the office, sit in deadly silence, concentrate on breathing to the pit of my belly to maintain some normality. Conversation is not possible. But Stevie, possibly a bit nervy himself, was all a chatter and somewhere amid the mounting panic, I told him to fuck off and then I reckon he realised things were not good.

I popped into the chair with no pleasantries, cos that's the was we both like it. The new girl thought this was all a bit odd and a trifle rude.

G went at it like a dentist possessed, cos he knows there is a very definite limited window of opportunity. He did an investigation and a scraping and told me I needed 2 fillings fixed cos of all the grinding going on and he wanted to know if he should do ONE. I think he began to shake a little when I said that we should get 'em BOTH out of the way.

He stuck the needle in and I wiped my eyes after round 1.

Eyes closed and face washing commenced for round 2. Drill noise, and the panic sets in, shaking and crying and a little bit of hyperventilating just for good measure. I reckon G should be on the Aussie Pentathalon team cos if he can hit the target even the moving shaking target, then firing a pistol while a little out of breath aught be no problem at all.

He goes like the bloody clappers. No chit chat, no pleasant requests, he shoves shit in shakes it all about, removes it, I close my mouth, 'OPEN' he commands and eventually I manage to prise apart my lips. Again and again, 'OPEN' and I sniffle and open my mouth, until I am fucking exhausted. God knows how G must feel. If this was a description of something sordid I guess some might find it titillating.

He doesn't tell me what he's doing, cos he knows I don't give a rat's arse what it is so long as it's fast and necessary.

And then he's finished! We all give ourselves a big pat on the back until next time. Seriously if I was him I would tell the receptionist to tell me to fuck off and never to make an appointment for me again.

Stevie was up next and I waited in the surgery with him while G had a look, just in case he was gonna deliver the shit news Stevie was dreading. But it was OK, well not OK that there was pain, but OK cos the rooty toot toot thing was unnecessary. Whew! As soon as I heard that I was outta there, paid the bill and buggered off to the beach, where I sat and calmed down.

There was supposed to be another patient between Stevie and me, but he cancelled. Apparently he used to see G at Tweed Heads, but had moved to Brisbane and rather than find a new dentist in Brisvegas, where there must be bloody millions, he decided to be loyal to G. He thought he'd save  3/4 of an hour's extra drive by coming to the Broadbeach office. Unfortunately he hadn't counted on the severity or number of stairs and was unable to make the climb. All this is ho hum, except that I reckon it gives an indication that when you find a good dentist you should stick to him or her. If I ever move away from the Goldie, I will have to come back to see G cos I just do not want to have to break in anothery.

So we are both a bit sore and sorry for ourselves today. The block injection has obviously worn off and left a dull ache on that side of my face and Stevie is walking around with a tube of Sensodyne Toothpaste which seems to be the adult version of Bonjela. I hope it is working a little magic.

I am fronting up to see G again in October to be fitted for another grinder shield. Mine is about ground through. This is just to make a little mould from alginate. Neither G nor I are nervous about this one. We might even be able to have a normal conversation, who knows, I might even be up to asking him how his holidays went.

I wish G and his wife a wonderful month off - god knows he deserves to leave all this crazy well and truly behind and look with wonder at whatever he beholds, at least I hope that it won't be some sobbing shaking sheila. Good for him!

Fuck off or Fuck It?

These are my kitchen scales, not nearly as pretty as an old balanced scale, but I tossed all that sort of stuff years ago. Maybe I should have kept 'em?

I reckon your 50's are a time for decision making, a time when because people seem to ignore or not see you, when you get to decide stuff and the consequences are somehow less significant, perhaps this social too old to be of any importance and too young  to be too much of a medical nuisance, helps.

So it's OK to spend some time sorting things into boxes. Not kitchen equipment type stuff, although I do enjoy a good 'chuck-out' of old broken useless, what the fuck is this? stuff. No I am thinking of issues and ideas and reactions and people and methods and more esoteric shit.

If you are packing up a house the experts reckon you need 3 boxes: keep, throw, donate. All pretty self explanatory.

But the esoteric stuff can be even more simply sorted, into FUCK OFF or FUCK IT.

The Fuck Offs are the things that drive you so mad that you end up in a dribbling spitting heap on the floor. They are the things that drive you to email overload or screaming banshee status while on hold AGAIN. It's the stuff that if you actually get to shout, 'Fuck OFF' at 'em, you know you will either be hung up on or the police will be around to arrest you for being too annoyed, or something.

• All government departments
• Noisy neighbours
• Real Estate Agents
• Telco Providers
• Business scammers.

(Yeh we all know this is not the limit to my list - I am pretending to be calm today)

Fuck Its are things that truly just don't matter:

• the weather
• the number of days til christmas
• broken nails
• another pimple and more wrinkles
• burning the dinner
• shit service or food at a cafe - maybe not, depends on mood and energy this one!
• barking dogs
• bad drivers
• broken things
• rudeness
• traffic jams
• stupidity
• other people's children
• just about anything that fits into the 'what ever doesn't kill you only makes you stronger' category.

I know, who'd have thought my Fuck It list would be so long?

It'd be excellent if the 'fuck it' list grew in proportion to the demise of the 'fuck off' list. I can't decide if training your mind to say, 'oh well never mind', instead of feeding the red mist of rage is a good thing, except that I am sure your bloody pressure would thank you.

So I think your 50s are years to spend time trying to prepare to launch yourself into the sanguine 60s. I have a good while til I am 60, and I am glad cos I am still fucking far from sanguine about things that give me the shits.

And I am not sure how to change the habits of a lifetime. I rather imagine that if I hit the actual truthful Sanguine State people will ask Stevie if I have had a lobotomy or if senility has set in. 

So I guess there is always gonna be a balance, unless you are a walking time bomb or Mother Theresa, and didn't the Pope just put her into a cannon?

Manners and Integrity Vs the Corporate LIne

Yeh this is the polite version of the thrusted middle finger.

I could never have been in the Army cos I don't do well taking orders. When told to do something, my first reaction - since I was a child, has always been to ask why. Unless of course the WHY is obvious, the house is burning down and someone tells me to RUN, well I am not a complete nutcase so I run without question. But, 'Move that over there.' 'Read this.' 'Go there.' 'Say this.' Don't say that.' 'Do this.' 'Don't do that.' My first reaction has always been to wonder WHY. And if I can figure out a good reason myself, then I will comply with the instruction, and if I can't work it out and so ask WHY and get a logical reasonable answer I will comply with the instruction. But if that answer comes back, ' Because I said so.' then I rather doubt there will be any compliance. If I feel like I am being coerced I dig the heels in, and I am not one who acts too often out of fear. The idea that I would comply with some irrational illogical, ill-mannered edict from on high because I had been told to fear the consequences, is foreign to me. I do not like being TOLD. See all of this is why I couldn't be in the Army.

I was telling the Grandie boy a school story this week. I was at the convent and not doing mindlessly as I was told. There was a nun there, Sister Francis, we all called her Sister Flopper cos she had the biggest swinging breasts I have ever seen. She was a  big fierce bully of a woman. I think she taught Maths. Anyway, I clearly got up her nose, all the time, maybe cos I wasn't Catholic or maybe it was just cos I was none too compliant. I don't remember doing anything purposefully to annoy her except for this one afternoon when she kept me back after school. This was quite a big deal, cos my travel home was tightly scheduled; walk the kilometres to the train station and then the train took about 45 minutes  which sounds do-able, but there weren't many trains so if you missed the proper one then the travel home was SLOW, and I was only 12 and there of course were no mobile phones and I suppose it could have caused the old woman some concern, if we imagined that she had even noticed. Anyway, old Sister Flopper had me corralled into a corner, hands on her impressive hips leaning in at me and spit dribbled and flew as she shouted, 'Suzanne you have bold written all over your face!' I remember backing away from her boobs and spit as far as I could, and I started wiping my hands all over my face, more than likely in a very theatrical manner, and then I locked on eye contact, in a very bold manner and said, 'Oh dear, is it gone now?' Well she went frantic mental and how I didn't get beaten I do not know.

I didn't run for the train which I possibly could have been in time for. I walked sedately away feeling very pleased with myself. It was one of only a couple of times I was cheeky to teachers at school, but I felt righteous. I wasn't a rude little blighter, will-full and opinionated and brave but not cheeky for cheeky's sake.

Manners nearly always won out. I mean manners are automatic aren't they? Well for someone of my vintage whose childhood was filled with, 'Respect your elders' 'What do you say?' 'MANNERS MANNERS MANNERS'

Even today I need to prime myself to be really rude to someone, cos like old Pavlo's dog, my training kicks in and 'Thank you', 'Excuse me', and 'Please' fall out, even when it's the last thing I fancy saying.

And so we get to the point of this post, I don't understand how the Grandie Boy's Head Teacher can consistently ignore email after email requesting information about the young fella's progress or well being.

The Head Teacher is of an age, similar to me and I can't imagine that manners weren't drummed fiercely into him, so he must be working against basic rote training of youth to be rude enough to continually ignore his correspondence. I just don't want to believe that he is so rude that this ignorant behaviour sits well with him. I don't want to believe this cos he has a hand in rearing generations of children and it would be dreadful to think that he has had a hand in training thousands of kids to be little rude turds.

So I imagine that Education Queensland has sent out an edict that staff are not to respond to emails in writing, cos heaven forbid, an educated, normal, level headed, staff member, would say something litigious. Better by far to appear to be the rudest ignorant fool than to use old fashioned manners and a few brains with a sense of propriety. And sadly he may have bought into this, without question, without wonder, and without deciding that the instruction was bullshit so he'll ignore it.

The systematic 6 years of bullying has not been addressed.

And this week some little thieving snot of a kid slunk into my darling boy's bag and took his Pokemon book full of all his favourite cards, which of course just happen to be the expensive ones, cards that he saved up for, cards that he had paid off 'lay-bys' on, cards that he has spent days showing me and telling me all about. He's been collecting them since before it was a trendy thing to do.

Both he and I had a little cry when he told me how he thought it might have happened, and how he knew he was never gonna get 'em back

And so the latest email asked for follow-up on the theft, but no response has been received.

This is just not satisfactory!

Back in the day, before it was all the rage to protect school reputations by with holding information when kids did shitful stuff, and dealing with it 'in-house', the police were called. So if there were drugs found, the police were called. If a teacher was assaulted the police were called. If a theft occurred the police were called. But now I suppose it's not kind to the school and the police are too busy with other stuff.

But what sense of justice do you think this crop of kids is learning. What my Grandie has learnt is that there is no point reporting bullying or theft, cos it just doesn't make any damn difference and the turdy snots have learnt that they can and do get away with all manner of shit behaviour and if they are caught, it's only by the teachers and the consequences are bugger all - maybe some time out, so they can have a real good look at their stolen bounty.

And the Head teacher has learnt that the Department line insulates him from the ire of the people he is meant to be working for. He must feel like such a winner.

Did I say winner? I meant weak willed wanker.