Subter Bulletin Board

The subter. com bulletin board is new. For those gals from the board, you might be interested in reading/commenting on the thread under subRomance. It's about LDRs.

There are also topics on art, literature, music, theatre. Check 'em out.

Thanks, but no thanks

I am so sick and tired of job hunting. I've been applying for jobs for months and have only received two interviews so far. One, the guy knew I was over-qualified and would want more money than he was offering, and the other was just an arrogant pig who didn't read my resume, and I still don't understand how I even got an interview with him.

I'm almost to the point of really not knowing what to do. I can't get a job outside of my industry, because I 'don't have recent hands on experience' or I'm over-qualified. I can't get a job within my industry, because there just aren't any doing what I do now. I can't even get anyone to take the time to freakin interview me.

I started semi-actively job hunting when the Army knocked back my appeals to join. That's coming up to two years ago now. I've been fully active in looking for a new job for the last 6 months. Two interviews from private companies, and not one agency who's willing to even have me come in and talk to them.....there's only so long you can do this and stay positive and optimistic.

Arachnophobia and mousecapades

Two stories...one post

I have an aversion to spiders. In a big way. I posted late last year about a spider problem I had in my last house (it's called Arachnophobia, or something like that, if you're inclined to go looking for it, coz right now I don't have time), and I'm pleased to say I'm glad I don't have to deal with that anymore.

My spider aversion comes from having a nest of baby spiders burst all over me in the dark, under our house, when I was little. At least, that's the short of it.

So, I was driving to gym from work on Friday afternoon. It was warm, so I had my window down and I was resting my arm on the door. I had to do something (who knows what), so I took my arm off the door. As I did, a huge huntsman spider crawled up where my arm had been, and onto the outside of the windscreen right in front of me. I swore - loudly and wound my window up as fast as I could. Did I mention it was warm outside? I couldn't stop where I was, so I did the next best thing - call the boy for moral support.

He tells me, in a voice that makes me unsure whether or not he's telling the truth, that the spider will like the airconditioning, find a vent and climb through the hole where the brake pedal is, and climb up my leg. At that point, I wanted to throw up, so I turned the airconditioning off. Well, what do I know about car design, or a spider's penchant for aircon vents? For all I knew, the boy was being serious.

I managed to get to gym, staring at the road around the outline of a foul-looking arachnid, probably suffering from heat stroke and just waiting for the opportunity to climb into my car and up my leg. I must have looked a bit strange, because the gym instructor asked me what was up. "Oh, I just drove all the way here with a huntsman in front of me". He questions whether I need his assistance or not. Feigning bravado, I tell him it's fine and it'll probably be gone in an hour anyway.

An hour later, I leave, and I'm asked again if I require assistance. Pfffft, I'll be fine, I say. Not so. The hairy menace is still on my windscreen, taunting me. I do what any brave chick would do. I grab my umbrella out of my car and start bashing my windscreen to get the little bugger to move. Of course, being the feisty little shit he was, he just dug in further.

I poked a bit more, till I got him to run around to my drivers' side door (keep in mind folks, our steering wheels are on the right hand side, so by now I'm standing in the middle of the street). And there he sat. Not good. So, looking like some crazed Pirates of Penzance reject, I kept jabbing at my car. And then I started laughing. I realised I looked like a complete madwoman, in the heat, in my gym gear, in the middle of the street, stabbing at my car with my umbrella. That's how the driver of the car that drove past, saw me.....laughing crazily and jousting with my umbrella. Needless to say, I finally got the damn thing off the car, only to have it land right beside the door, so I still couldn't get in. 'Assume sniper position on the road and poke feverishly till spider goes under car.' Sometimes you just gotta do these things.

The 40 minute drive home after that was a blur....with no airconditioning, just in case.

That was Friday. Today was looking like a normal day. I'd managed to survive a good 20 hours of it just fine (albeit with more girl probs, which I don't have the energy to post about right now). I'd packed the boy off to night shift, had some dinner and did a bit of a job search. My mum rang, so there I was, sitting, talking to her, when one of my lovely feline friends decided to bring me a present. A live one. "Gotta go mum, I'll call you back!" I like mice. Really. I even like snakes. The only thing I detest is spiders. So I wasn't bothered that my girl had brought me a live mouse.

She sat on the carpet, announced she had something for me and waited till I checked out what it was. I grabbed her, opened her mouth and the mouse scuttled a few inches away. Great, I thought, everyone's staying calm. Yeah, right! I went to grab the mouse by the tail and as I did (and in a move I still cannot comprehend), the mouse ran back into my cat's mouth! Ok, so mice really are stupid. No worries, I say to myself, I'll just pry her mouth open, grab the mouse, and take it down the street.

The mouse had other ideas. I haven't seen a mouse jump before. This one jumped. Out of my cat's mouth and straight up the inside of my track pants. I must have a talk with my neighbours about their lack of response to my high pitched scream of surprise. In a move a magician would be proud of, two things happened. I got my track pants off within a split second.....and the mouse vanished. Completely. Gone.

I start looking around my lounge room, then realise I had no underwear on (well, I was getting ready for bed!), so how I thought I was going to open the doors if the neighbours really did come to rescue me, I have no idea. The maniacal laugh that appeared during the spider incident, returned. I decided I'm truly disturbed.

The cat went back outside, I found some underwear (in case it's just a case of delayed reaction and the neighbours really will come to rescue me soon), and I vacuumed the lounge area. Still no mouse.

I rang the boy and told him we had a new pet. He's disappointed he's missed out on the two most exciting things that have happened to me this year. Methinks that's not a bad thing. He already calls me 'decidedly odd'. Lucky he likes me that way.

Girl stuff

Ok boys, I'm gonna talk about girl problems, so if you can't handle it, look away now. If you keep reading, don't say I didn't warn you.

I went yesterday afternoon to the local womens' health centre to have a smear test done. I (as much as I preach to everyone else) haven't had one in a while and knew it was time to go when I started getting strange symptoms last month. It's one of those things; you know you have to go, in case you don't go and then you find out you've got problems, but if you go, they could tell you that you have problems. Fear makes it easy to sit on the fence and justify whichever choice you make, especially when the last few times you've been and had problems, they tell you it won't happen again.

I took a book to read, because these places always make you wait. This time I got in only a few minutes after my appointment was scheduled, so I was thankful, although I can't say I was pleased to be there, or doing cartwheels in anticipation of what I was about to have done.

The nurse was late 40s and very softly spoken. She was almost girly and that annoyed me. Hey, maybe that's what set off my bad mood in the first place? At the outset, she asked if I minded if another nurse came in while I had the procedure. Hey, what the hell, invite everyone to check out my bits. "Um...sure."

Anyway, she sat me down and started asking me questions. Most were pretty straightforward, asking about my general health, diet, exercise. I got the feeling she thought I was pretty young from the way in which she asked. Previous medical problems. Explained. On any medications? Explained. Family history? Explained. Kids? Lord, no! Who do you live with? My partner. Have you been together long? Um...no. (Why did I feel guilty about that?) Is he your first partner?

At this point, the feeling was reinforced that she thought I wasn't much older than 12. No, he's not my first partner and I'm not his. Do you think you should be tested for STDs? Is it part of the same test? We can do it at the same time. Yeah, why not, I'm mean shit, while you're prying me open, may as well take advantage of the situation. "I'm not concerned, but yeah, you can do that."

Now I'm thinking, great, not only do I have some problem with my bits that's giving me all this grief, I've got a billion STDs and lucky I don't want kids, because C and I would obviously produce mutated freaks and I'm never having sex again. Well, the never having sex again thing lasted about a millisecond.

Eventually, down to business. She told me to take off all my lower body clothes (left work early to shower and change underwear because you do not want to go into those places with people scrutinising your bits and have your bits looking all haggard!), lie on the table and put the sheet over me. Ok sure.

There's a spotlight at the end of the bed. I don't remember having a spotlight shon into my girl bits last time I had this done! I lie down, they come back in. At this point, nurse #2 takes over and I realise that she's a practice nurse. Oh joy! Lift your butt so we can put this pillow underneath. Mmmm, I'm glad the windows have blinds, because anybody driving past about now is gonna have a major crash.

"I've warmed it up so it's not too cold on your skin. It's not too hot is it?", she says, pressing it against my inner thigh. I'm thinking, you people have a spotlight on my bits, I don't care whether your torture instruments are hot or cold. "Nah, it's ok." Nurse #1 is rubbing my leg and telling me to relax. She really does think I'm 12!

I didn't see the alien torture device, but I sure felt it. I watched the clock. I remembered this didn't take very long last time. She's taking a while about it. She turns her back and starts to get something ready and it appears she's having trouble. Nurse #1 goes to show her how to put it back together. Hello! People! I'm here with this metal thing sticking out of me and a spotlight on my insides. Kinda uncomfy here!

"Oh look", says Nurse #1, and points out something, "You'll have to get that out of the way, before you can do the test, but be sure not to touch the cervix if you can". Ever seen that board game where you pretend to be a doctor and you have to put kidneys back inside people without touching the sides? I had visions of that. I wondered what would happen if she touched the sides.

Nurse #2's arm keeps blocking the light, so Nurse #1 tells her to stop and shows her how, if she put her arm under my thigh, instead of over it, it wouldn't block the light. Genius, huh? Then they tell me they don't just do one test in that establishment, they do two. Oh yippy! I get to stay like this longer!

Seven minutes! Seven minutes is how long they had me pried open. They say it hurts less the more relaxed you are, but it's a fine art to relax your bits when the rest of you is screaming, "hurry up already!". I managed. They kept saying they were sorry and how well I was doing, like I was having an amputation, or something.

Nurse #2 handed me some tissues. You can use these if you need to clean up a bit. You don't have to, but you can if you want. Nah lady, I really wanna walk outta here feeling like my bits are all hanging out and looking like I've been riding a horse. I cleaned up. It's funny. The whole procedure is not all that painful, but it's certainly uncomfortable and leaves you feeling slightly off once it's done, albeit glad that it's over.

She asked if they could call me with the results. Sure. If there are no problems, we'll just send you a letter, is that ok? Yep, so really what you're saying is I don't want you to call me? Oh no, if we call you, it doesn't necessarily mean it's bad, but we might just need to talk to you. How is that good? Oh no, I can just call and say the results are fine, if you like.

Letter in mail, good. Phone call, bad. Why are they concentrating on the phone call? Meanwhile, I won't get any results for up to three weeks. Oh, except to find out if I'm riddled with STDs. They'll tell me next Tuesday. Oh joy! I can hardly wait!

Not irrational?

I had another doctor appointment yesterday afternoon (which I'll talk about in another post for anyone who cares about the gory details) and I don't know what happened to me, but something in my head just snapped and I turned into my moody, irritable twin. I was fine and perfectly ok before I went in. Forty five minutes later I was ready to cry at the drop of a hat.

No explanation.

We'd planned to go to the motor show and I had no intention of letting the boy down, because this was something we'd looked forward to for a while. I told him I was unexplainably grumpy. I didn't know what to wear (I already had on what I was going to wear, so go figure), I didn't know if I was hungry or not (yes), I wanted to stay home and sleep (but wanted to go out). Every-little-thing bothered me.

We got in the car. I wanted to cry.

We drove to McDonalds, since we hadn't eaten. Of course, I haven't been there for ages, since I've been following Dr Fun-Killer's advice. The boy tells me they now do healthy salads. What's in them? Don't know. Do they have onion? Don't know. I don't want it if they have onion. Just take it out. No, everything else will taste like onion. I wanted to cry.

So, he drives into the drive-through and drives past the sign that shows what the salad looks like. How do I know if I'll like it if I can't see what's in it? There's no sign at the window where the guy's serving. What's in it? Um...chicken and lettuce and things like that. Ok, helpful.... C tells me he'll eat it if I don't like it. Yeah, meanwhile I'm gonna starve. I wanted to cry.

I get it. It has cranberries in it. For the life of me, I couldn't remember the name of the stupid things and that was pissing me off too. Meanwhile, my poor guy thinks he's done something wrong. No, you never do anything wrong, my brain is being stupid. I concentrate on eating and forget that I wanted to cry.

All is fine, although I left my happy face at home and couldn't bring myself to smile. I tell the boy every little thing is annoying me. He turns the radio off in the car. Ok, it's not that bad.

You know when you really just want to hide in a dark place for a while and go to sleep and wake up a few years later? You can't do that at a motor show. I must have looked like Mrs Miserable who was being subjected to some interminable torture by her thoughtless, evil husband, having to endure wandering through and sitting in numerous vehicles, most of which we'd never consider buying anyway.

I make a comment about how the young blonde chicks seem to go for the fat, ugly dudes with money, as we check out a prime example sitting in a lamborghini. The boy quips that I could be referring to him. Ok, make me cry!

He's taking photos of all the cars. Do not take pics of me. So I turn around after having been bent over a shiny new Audi and 'snap'. Was I in that picture? You better delete it and take another one. He gets in another car and I walk around the side. Another blonde gets in the back. He glances over and thinks it's me, then turns and sees me standing beside him. I thought that was you, you all look the same, he jokes. That's not funny. Tears coming, get a grip woman. He apologises and I tell him it's ok, but that I'm really mad and I don't know why. He asks again if it's him. (Why does he always think it's him?) No, if I knew what it was, I'd get over it.

I haven't cried in public in a long time. Thankfully, I still haven't. I kept it together, although by the time I got in the car, I just wanted to bawl. Again, he turns off the radio in case I want to talk. Nope. We had to go past his work on the way home (way after 10pm) and I opt to stay in the car while he does his stuff. I sleep for a bit and the urge to cry goes away.

I was flat when we got home. I apologised for being moody and grumpy for no real reason. He said it's ok to feel despondent sometimes. Is that what I'm feeling? Well you're not going nuts and behaving irrationally and going all crazy and yelling. Yeah, but I'm not normal. It's ok to be down.

Sigh. I woke up feeling better, but I'm pissed off with myself for bringing us both down for 6 hours for no real reason.

In case you care, and even if you don't, here are some of the cars I'm considering wasting my money on in the next six months.

C3 Pluriel (Citroen)
Honda Integra Type S (replaces the S2000, which was previously on my want list)
Holden Tigra (which isn't very practical, coz it's only a two seater, and not yet available anyway)
Audi TT Roadster
Audi A4
Ford Focus Vignale (also not yet available, sadly)
Subaru Impreza RS
Subaru Impreza RV
Mazda 3

Yeah, I know, there's a bit of a difference in all those vehicles (and that's not my whole list!), but who ever said I had to be decisive?

a volte la migliore musica è silenzio

I know when I'm sick - really sick. I can't listen to music. At all. If I'm just feeling a little unwell, I can generally have the music on and sometimes turned up loud, even with a headache. Go figure, it's a bit like an addiction, so even if it makes me sometimes feel worse, I have to have it. The more sick I am, the less music I can handle, but if I have a cold, or I'm just a little under the weather, I'll still sing along. It's a compulsion and I can't help it. I need music to be playing all the time.

Yesterday I was sick. Really sick. No music sick. I've spoken on here before about the fumes that sometimes come through the airconditioning here at work. We've had sewerage smells, diesel fuel smells and gas smells on numerous occasions. Yesterday, they gassed us again.

No, I still don't know who they is, because everyone kept buck passing and changing the source of where they thought the gas was coming from. No, they didn't gas us on purpose.

We got headaches. We got nausea. We got light-headed. My heart rate went up like you wouldn't believe.....not good when you have a problem with your heart to begin with.

In the beginning, nobody did anything about it. The crazy thing is, we don't even have a health and safety officer or anything of that nature. I got angry and wrote an email so it was all documented, since this was not the first time this had happened and I was not about to be sent to hospital in an ambulance again (although the last ambulance incident had nothing to do with getting gassed).

After a while, the smell dissipated somewhat ("open the windows for a while to let the air through") and things were ok. After lunch, more gas. This time they told us we could go wait outside ("oh yay, thanks!"). The only reason we got evacuated was because a class full of students was being affected and they needed evacuating, so they thought it might be a good idea to get us out of our office for a while too.

By this time I was worried about how I was going to get home, since it's a long drive and I was dizzy, lightheaded and feeling sick, so after they let us back into our office, I packed up and said I was going home.

Once I got home, I got as far as the lounge, and fell asleep. I didn't even hear C come home from work.

This happened yesterday. It's now lunchtime and not one word from anyone about why it happened, who is responsible, or assurances that it won't happen again. I'm thinking an anonymous call to WorkSafe wouldn't go astray....

Incognito

I told my dad about subter.com today. Well, I told him what it was, not what it was called, or anything else. Of course, he said I would have to send him copies of anything I was contributing. Ummmm.....no. How strange to have to tell my dad that he couldn't read what the rest of the world is free to read.

Actually, I wouldn't mind so much him reading what I intend to put there, because it's different from what I put here. Maybe I'll just have to use a pseudonym on subter.com and change my photo to one where I'm wearing a hat and dark shades. I might colour my hair too.

Anyone got a good pen name for me? ;-)

Not so dreamy

I had a dream over the weekend that Jason died. A friend of his, someone I've never heard of before, rang me to tell me his plane had been shot down in Iraq. I woke up feeling as though it had all been for real.

It's just unsettling. I haven't heard from him for ages and I miss him.

And Rich, if you're reading this, I hope you're taking good care of you over there too! Stay in touch when you can.

Unbelievable

I read and post on a number of message boards. There are some seriously screwed up people out there with really wacky lives. One message I read yesterday just totally pissed me off.

Here's part of it...

I have been married 5 years, My husband is the custodial parent of a 7,8 year old for 4 of those years ................ I am 7 months pregnant and we also have a 15 month old. I have told DH that our lives would be so much easier if his kids did not exist, I do not like the fact that he has kids,that I want him to compensate me with the $130/mo that he was supposed to get for child support ........... so that I could save the money for this kids when they got older, and that his kids drive me crazy. I told him this before and after we got married. His kids told him a month ago that they felt like I did not like them because I said that I do not like being around them, because they do not do what they are told to do. He and his kids took that to mean that I do not like them.

Well duh, lady! Methinks I'd get that impression too.

My family is/was pretty screwed up and completely disfunctional, but nobody ever said they wished we didn't exist!

Ugh...it just made me speechless.

Family - part 3

Not sure where I'm going with this one, but it's prompted by a question C asked me two nights ago.

Do you like your mother?

Usually, there'd be a straightfoward, positive answer to that question. I had to think about it. Of course, lying in bed, late at night probably wasn't the best time to start having a conversation like that, but things come up when they come up, so I answered as well as I could.

I do like my mum - as surprisingly hard as that was to actually type out in words. She can be funny and she knows just about anything you ever needed to know, and then some. Don't know something? Ring my mum. Don't ask her about mathematics though. She's no good at that.

We're nothing alike, (yet I find myself berating myself sometimes for doing things that are so like her). She grew up with a governess in England, went to school in a castle and her mother (my grandmother) did sculptures for the Queen. A distant relative of ours married into the royal family. It was never seen as a proper royal marriage though, because the relative was not of the proper class. Mum has a royal signet ring (like those rings with an emblem on them that they use as stamps with hot wax) which she's eventually going to give to my brother. She read the dictionary for fun. She speaks with a very proper accent (which I sometimes slip into when I talk to her for too long). In contrast to her upbringing, she now lives from pension to pension. The air of superiority is there though - quite evident when she's discussing people who are unlike her. She doesn't really like people who aren't like her.

As I'm typing this, I'm thinking shit, I hope my family never reads this. Well, too bad. I've never rocked the boat. When it does happen, maybe that'll be a good thing - relief for everyone.

Do I like my mother? Yeah, she's ok. C said it appeared I resented her. I don't mean for it to appear that way, but perhaps I do. I've separated my emotions from my relationship with her. I told him my brother and I never had any role models. Mum certainly wasn't a good example. She was always depressed, never happy. She had a boyfriend who lived with us for quite a long time, who was an alcoholic, a chain smoker, and who continually verbally and physically abused her. Dad? He was good. Maybe too passive though. We only saw him once a week, on a Tuesday night. On those nights, he taught art classes, so my brother and I didn't really get to spend 'quality' time with him, either.

My brother and I learned to be self sufficient. We coped, because we had to. We learned, because we had to. We got out of home as soon as possible. Because we had to.

I find myself marvelling at what a good parent C is. His biggest joy is his son, and when we have him, his time is spent making A feel loved, making sure he's having fun, educating him and generally helping to turn him into a well rounded, happy human being. It's so far removed from what I'm used to that it makes it even more of a privilege to me to be able to be a small part of that.

Do I like my mother? Yeah. Do I love her? With total honesty, I can say, I don't think so. I don't comprehend that love of a parent that a child is supposed to have. Being with C, I'm getting a sense of what it's like to have a bond with a child, but with a parent? No. They say (whoever 'they' are) that everyone loves their parents, because you just do. I don't subscribe to that notion. I'm sure I'm not the only one who cannot relate feelings of love, warmth, caring and understanding towards their parents.

The reason C asked me that question is because he said he needs to be able to feel the same way about her as I do. I'm not sure I completely agree with that, because I think he needs to form his own opinion eventually, but since we live so far away, I can see why he'd want to try to emulate my perspective, especially since it might be a while before he does meet either of my parents (or my sisters, for that matter).

His situation with his parents is the complete opposite of mine. They're still married, appear to be quite content being in each other's company, and have brought up three great children. He has a good relationship with them (as do I, thankfully).

We didn't really finish our conversation. I felt I needed to talk to him about things at a time when we both weren't half asleep and when I felt I could properly convey my thoughts.

But it occured to me, my brother and I have done damn fine by ourselves, considering we had no real guidance growing up. Sure, we're sometimes a little too stubborn and independent, but overall, I don't think that's too much of a bad thing. I'm glad I can look after myself.

In a way, I feel like I've now been given a small chance to make up for (stuff), having the opportunity to care for and guide, albeit in a small way, C's son. I appreciate more my responsibility, because I know what the alternative is like. I may not ever want kids of my own, but if I can make a tiny difference to someone else's, then that's pretty cool to me.

Subter.com

Go there now and check it out. Bookmark it, dammit!

Unconventional

That's how one of the women here at work just described me. I guess she's right, but I never thought anyone would actually say it to me. At first, I was a bit annoyed and taken aback, but like I said, she's right.

I'm sitting here with my hair in two ponytails, like Ellie May from the Beverly Hillbillies (although my hair is straight and I don't have that fluff thing going on), I have a cropped black tshirt on, a pair of tight jeans (yes, I found a pair that fits!!), no makeup, and no shoes. That's right. I'm at work, looking completely inappropriate and I have no shoes on.

I was wearing a pair of clog type shoes, with a leather upper, but having tripped down an escalator last night (accident prone geek!) and having my toes practically ripped off my foot, my shoe, unbeknownst to me, broke. It came completely apart as soon as I got to work - of course.

So this woman, from the art department, came to take my shoe away and see if they could glue it back together again. How she found out about my predicament, I don't know. I asked the maintenance guys to fix it.

It was bound to happen, though. Late last year, the other shoe broke and I had to leave it here overnight as the guys in the woodworking department glued it and kept it in a vice to hold together.

Anyway, it amused me to be called unconventional, now that I think about it. In relation to the other women who work here, I definitely am. They're, for the most part, all over 50, two incomes, empty nesters who don't necessarily have to work, and who all live in the right suburbs, with the right neighbours, on the right side of the river.

Me? Well, obviously, I come to work looking like I'm about to have a day riding horses on the farm, I live in the 'wrong' suburb, on the wrong side of the river, I'm not interested in who's been seen with whom, or what colour is the next black, or who backstabbed whom at the lunch table. I hang with the tech guys at lunch and we eat $5 meals from the asian take-away. I love gadgetry and all things technical and I couldn't care less about nailpolish and manicures.

I don't fit in. And I like it like that!

I'm unconventional? I can handle that. It's a compliment.

Oh, and I never saw Ellie May in just the same way after Erika Eleniak burst out of that cake in Under Siege.