Yep, you read it right. Last week I drove to work in my thongs and it ended in disaster.
For those of you from the USA who read my blog, I know, I know… and yes, I was driving to work in my thongs – two of them – and when I got there I realized I had no shoes on!
Confused? Don’t worry, so was I!
As everyone in my life knows all too well – I am a complete shambles at the best of times. I fall over, run into things, accidentally tell strangers that I love them, forget how to get home and vomit regularly. However, in recent months, I had been reaching all new levels of coordination and things were going swimmingly.
No longer was I the bitter, sarcastic blogger who dated psychopaths and had an unreasonable fear of fake hair… As I said to another blogger several months ago, it’s hard to blog sarcastically when you’re happy with life… (and yes, contrary to popular belief, I had been getting out of the house at that point in time!)
Alas, it all came unraveled when I wore my thongs on the drive to work on Thursday. I had stayed at my boyfriend’s house, which sends me on a total different route to work and it was one of the first really warm days of the year, so I had just thrown my thongs on at the last minute as I ran out the door, not thinking much of it. I’m someone who avoids shoes at all costs, so I always keep a pair of work flats on the car floor for everyday use.
Unfortunately I didn’t think much of the fact that I had sent my car in to be serviced either, and the car that I had borrowed (strangely) did not come with a pair of emergency shoes on the passenger side floor. So, to cut a long, dramatic morning short, I turned up to work with no shoes, frantically yelling out to a colleague across the carpark something along the lines of ‘My shoes! My shoes! No shoes! No shoes! OMG! Shambles! HELP! HELP!’ while waving both arms frantically in the air…
Ah, you know that look of panic people get as they desperately think of a way they can pretend they don’t know you? Yep, that look is ALLLL too familiar for me!
So half an hour and one trip to Kmart later, I had a pair of $8 shoes making my feet sweat and I was back on track. Or so I thought…
This morning, I took the same route to work. I was back in my own car (spare shoes and all) and for a Monday, the day was looking fine. About half way through my drive, I switched my handsfree thingemy on in case I got a call, as I’d thrown my bag somewhere in the back of the car and had no chance of reaching my phone if I needed it.
Beep… Beeep… attempting to connect… no phone found… attempting to connect… no phone found…
After a small panic, I ran into the office, waving my arms in the air like a madwoman. My colleagues have come to await the daily drama that tends to signify my arrival, so there was an air of anticipation as I ran into the office yelling ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got my shoes! I DON’T have my mobile phone but it’s going to be OKAY!’
Being a Gen Y girl and lacking the ability to memorise a single phone number since about 1999, I had no idea what my boyfriends phone number is. So I called myself. No answer. Redial…
Yep, oh shizz indeed! But we had a plan, boyfriend would drop phone to my office at lunchtime and I would buy him lunch, which I did. I was all ‘sit down, get comfortable, let me buy your lunch and drink and prove my gratitude for you driving halfway across Melbourne for me…’
And then it fell apart…
In an effort to be super helpful and after I was clearly told the squeezy ketchup sachet wasn’t opening, I insisted on having a crack at it and with all my strength, attempted to outsmart what was, I swear, the most complicated condiment packaging ever made.
Unfortunately… the ketchup won…
We were both covered. As was our table, my bag, the entire pile of napkins on the table, the chair next to me… and the random stranger sitting no less than two metres away from me.
I spent the entire afternoon pulling pieces of dry, crusty ketchup from my ponytail and fringe while randomly bursting out in fits of giggles.
I took it as a sign I had been neglecting my blog.
The universe has spoken. I will blog more.
I will also stop wearing thongs in the car… Except on weekends and public holidays.
And possibly also eating ketchup.
Also – I’m still scared of fake hair.
Arrrrrrrghhhhhhhh! I just sat down to write a post and realised that – shock horror – I haven’t posted since 5 June! 5 JUNE! I’m not even joking! Fail! Fail! Bad terrible blogger! How will I get discovered and have my life story turned into a made-for-television movie acting like this??
I have so many posts planned to write and I’ve been sitting here, staring blankly at the screen unable to finish even one of them. So, to get myself back in the blogging space I have decided to FINALLY pass on the Beautiful Blogger Award that was kindly given to me last month.
The guidelines are as follows:
- List seven random facts about yourself
- Post a link to the blog of the person who nominated you
- Link to seven other bloggers who are deserving of the award
- Let those bloggers know that you have nominated them
So, seven random facts that you don’t know about me already…
- I just scored some sweet-as pink flamingos for my front garden, which are currently brightening my life. How COOL are they?!?!?
- I HATE winter and am struggling as this is the first full winter I’ve had in a long time. I mean full as in I’m not chasing warmer climates this year, unlike most! Nope, no trip to New York this year… or Hawaii… or anywhere… two more months. TWO MORE MONTHS and it will be over!
- Earlier this evening, I deleted someone from Facebook who I had been meaning to delete for ages. I’m not a Facebook hussy and like to keep my friends to people that I actually don’t mind sharing my life with. This person was not one of these people. It’s a long story.
- I haven’t cleaned my house for WEEKS! True story. I can sense your judgement and I’m committed to cleaning it this weekend!
- My favourite city in the world is New York. Nothing beats summertime in NYC!
- I desperately want to go to India. Like, soon. Like, desperately! Like, for serious!
- I might have cooked my dogs a steak for dinner tonight. Hold your judgement.
Post a link to the blog of the person who nominated you:
The lovely Jennifaye! Yep, go check out her blog! She writes much better than me AND she doesn’t abandon her followers for five weeks in a row… eek!
Link to seven other bloggers who deserve the award:
- http://raisingmyrainbow.com/ – If you haven’t read this one already, do it now!
- http://pithypants.com/ – why branch out on my recommendations when they’re so funny?
- http://catherinebuday.wordpress.com/ – The tips for a summer day took my mind of the crappy weather for a moment…
- http://searchingforagentdalecooper.wordpress.com/ – Okay, so I haven’t read this properly, but it’s a blog dedicated to Dale Cooper from Twin Peaks!
- I’m out of suggestions, so I’m sticking with 6!
Let them know they’ve been nominated – I’m on it!
Woo hoo! Real post coming soon, I promise!
I have always been told that when you receive flowers from a man for no apparent reason, it’s a sign that he is cheating on you. I don’t exactly agree with this theory, but I do find the whole flower-giving thing fascinating.
I remember being younger and always wanting a nice boy to give me flowers. Not some crummy bunch of roses or, even worse, a single rose, but a pretty, well-planned and thoughtful bunch of flowers, which may or may not feature lilies or something similar.
But the flowers I envisaged and the flowers I actually got back then were vastly different. The lilies were replaced by god-awful weed-like flowers and the beautiful, ribbon-bound box was replaced by clear and white flowery glad-wrap that screamed of having been bought in a hospital foyer or stolen from a cemetery.
As I got a bit older, I completely lost interest in flowers. I never expected them and never really got them, but when I was about 25, I started to notice that they were making a comeback. Gone were the days, however, of flowers bringing joy and happiness.
First, there was the bunch that arrived with the statement ‘I might have an STD…’ (please note that the might turned out to be a definitely did not) and then there were the ones that came shriveled up after being hidden behind the heater in the lounge room for an indeterminate period of time, resulting in me arriving late for work after being ordered to go to the florist to exchange them…
Yep, flowers weren’t so glamorous anymore. They brought disease scares, anger and embarrassing encounters with florists. But I am a girl and don’t we all, deep down, dream of one day receiving flowers from a secret admirer declaring their undying love for us?
What we don’t realise though, is that this is actually the behavior of sociopaths and serial killers… and holiday crashers… yep, holiday crashers!
I mean, if you really think about it, if a person has the ability to interact with people, hold a conversation and enter into a real-life relationship, why wouldn’t they just mosey on over and ask you out? Alas, hindsight is a wonderful thing…
Back in 2009, I was a few months into my current (recently resigned from) job. Part of my role back then was to do presentations to young people about living and working overseas. Me being me, this involved lots of goofiness, many bad jokes and technical disasters.
My main problem with these presentations was that if I told a joke or a story that should get a laugh didn’t, I would just keep on pushing… bad joke after bad joke… higher pitch… faster talking… and it would start getting just plain awkward.
For example, I was once talking about San Francisco and started telling the story about riding a bike over the Golden Gate Bridge, taking a wrong turn (can you even take a wrong turn?) and ending up going overland to Sausalito all the while turning right involuntarily because I get balance issues when riding in the wind…
Alas, after being met by dead silence, this story led to the one about getting lost on a ‘quick drive’ before returning the hire car, the one about accidentally offending a group of dutch backpackers after telling one that his friend smelt like cabbage and finally wrapping it up with a declaration that I love San Fran because the hills made me feel like I was in Full House…
You know, FULL HOUSE?
It must be my lisp, audience does not comprehend… Cue terrible attempt at singing the Full House theme song:
Everywhere you look… everywhere you go (there’s a heart)… There’s a heart, a hand to hold onto.
Silence… crickets chirping… tumble weeds rolling through the room… you get the idea.
To this day I tell myself the crowd were just too young. They clearly didn’t know Mary-Kate and Ashley when they were knee-high to a grasshopper!
But back to my story, I was having one of these HORRIBLE evenings where the crowd was giving me absolutely nothing. No number of cheesy jokes, funny stories or even crowd interaction was saving it and besides one over enthusiastic guy in the second row, whose fake laugh was way too elaborate to be genuine, the audience were having none of it.
So you can imagine my complete shock when a massive bunch of roses turned up at my office two days later with a card that read:
I saw your presentation the other night and have been thinking about you ever since. Do you want to go for a drink sometime?
My colleagues and I tried to think of who it could be, with one suggesting it was ‘probably that one person who was laughing at your jokes!’ and after some crafty investigation, I had a full name and an email address.
Looking back, I should have read between the lines, seen the unwritten references to kidney stealing and paid attention to the music that started repeating in my head.
But really, the guy had made a pretty big effort and as someone who cannot even remember having asked anyone on a date before, who was I to reject someone without even meeting them?
So, I went on a date with him and despite there being no chemistry whatsoever and him judging me for liking Simon and Garfunkel while saying his favourite type of music was ‘anything they play on Triple J’… I didn’t regret it. I told him I wasn’t interested, we agreed we would be friends, added each other on Facebook and caught up a few more times before he went overseas.
Fast-forward to early 2011 when I was planning a work trip to Canada, followed by a week of Tennizzlle-time in New York City on the way home. I was contacting a few business partners and customers who were over there to catch up, one of whom was this guy. He wasn’t going to be in the cities I was visiting in Canada, but was going to NY with some friends around that time. I sent him my dates and said we’d have a drink if we crossed paths.
A week before I left, he emailed saying he had great news, it turns out we were going to be in NYC at the same time, so we agreed to have a drink. It all seemed so normal…
We met at a bar downtown before dinner and had a quick beer. We had the quick catch up, how’s life, blah blah blah, and then I asked him ‘So, what are you even doing in New York?’
His response: ‘I came to New York to spend the week with you’
This guy had driven from Montreal to New York to holiday with me… without me knowing.
After a few deep breathes, I talked myself into it. I’m the queen of miscommunication and I probably misunderstood something along the way. I’m sure it’s fine, when he says SPEND the week with me, he doesn’t mean SPEND the week with me. Nervous laugh, nervous laugh…
That was Thursday night.
By Friday, it was clear that he did actually mean spend the entire week with me…. Every single second of it…
‘Oh, you want to go to Forever 21 and try on seventy dresses? I’ll come!’
‘Oh, you want to purchase outfits for your dogs? That sounds like great fun!’
‘Should we plan out all our evenings in advance and buy tickets to everything?’
‘Let’s go to the farmers market and buy some food to cook in the luxury Soho apartment I have rented for us to hang out in’
By Saturday, I had lost my shit. Somewhere between Canal Street and Union Square, after being dragged around by his know-it-all self all afternoon trying to find ‘the best coffee in New York’, I had had enough. I hadn’t spoken to him for at least an hour when I made my escape, yelling something along the lines of ‘Space! Tennizzlle time! Forever 21!’ before throwing myself into the midst of a crowd of fast moving locals and running for my life.
A few months later, I was at work one afternoon and received a text message from a US number.
‘Hey, are you free to catch up?’
Assuming it was someone from our US office, I responded ‘Yeah, sure, but I have no idea who this is!’
‘Oh, sorry, it’s Michelangelo*, I’m in Melbourne but still using my Canadian number’
These days, if I want flowers, I just go buy myself some damn flowers. They’ll always be tasteful, they won’t be on the verge of death, they won’t die overnight and I will be able to sleep soundly in the knowledge that my kidneys will still be attached when I wake up in the morning.
NB – In doing a little Google research for this post, I typed ‘Flowers from a man’ into the search bar. I love the predictions Google comes up with and where they lead you. This time, I got ‘flowers from a man who shot your cousin’… as you do!
Also, if you were thinking about sending me flowers, feel free! I like lilies (just in case you didn’t get that) and I will accept them graciously. Just don’t be expecting me to go on a date with you afterwards!
*names and numbers have been changed, though not very well
Last week I quit my job.
Most people who know me saw it coming, but for the many people I know through work, it was completely unexpected. So far, everyone has reacted with ‘Omg, what’s happened?’ and I suspect, knowing my tendency for dramatics, they are assuming that I cracked without warning, slamming the manual lift door while screaming ‘I QUIT!’ and storming off down La Trobe Street.
Alas, it was not so exciting and unlike the time someone put spag bol all over the bin in the midst of a bug infestation or the time I realised someone was stealing the toilet paper (I still have my suspicions, but no proof), there was absolutely no hysterics.
Resigning was a massive relief and although I had a TINY panic attack in between being offered my new job and quitting my current one, it wasn’t long before I was getting excited about taking a huge step off my current career path and throwing caution to the wind.
There’s something liberating about having absolutely no idea what the heck you will be doing a year from now, and, to quote my ever-unreliable Fortune Telling Fairy Cards, I am moving forward fearlessly!
Gone are the days of work-related panic attacks and swatting bugs as I sit at my desk – it’s time for freedom, creativity and full, uninterrupted nights of sleep! Woo hoo!
As mentioned above, I do have a new job lined up, which I am very excited about, but leaving my current role will also allow me to look into new opportunities, to focus on my blog and what I really want to do – to DANCE!
Okay, that was totally a joke, but I have spent a fair chunk of the past few days thinking about the future. Now is the time to work out exactly what I want to do and how to do it… But in typical Tennizzle-style, I have become overwhelmed by the decision.
Ideally I would win lotto and spend the next few years jetting around the world, renovating my house and volunteering my time to the greater good… however accepting that this is not going to happen and that the chances of anyone paying me to hang out with my dogs for a living are just as low, I am going to need a more realistic plan.
I have decided to focus on copywriting, but without it being part of my everyday work.
So far, I have taken the massive steps of purchasing my blog domain (check it out, I’ve dropped the ‘wordpress’ from my site, la di da!) AND getting my own personal domain for the future… I haven’t quite worked out how to set up a website or get it hosted, but I’m on my way! I can feel success in the air!
I’m starting with a bit of blatant self-promotion to people I know professionally and am hoping to start putting a portfolio together in the coming months. As a result, my blog will be growing and although my regular, neurotic posts will continue, I will also be using this page as a means of collating writing until I have a proper website.
In the meantime, if you see someone with a sandwich board reading ‘Will Write for Food’ standing outside Flinders St station next month… please stop by and say hi!
I had a flashback the other day to when I was working at a large stationary/office supplier and a customer called me a ‘F*@#ing American’ as he took his purchases. Lovely guy.
I am probably as far as you can get from being American, but being a big fan of the US and of pretty much every single American I have ever met (except that crazy guy who took me to Ireland and cried over dinner), I was very confused as to what he was trying to achieve by calling me this.
I have no idea why that memory popped into my mind, but I started recounting all the crazy experiences I had while working in customer service in my younger years. I realised after running through the numerous times I was yelled at, insulted and disgusted, that with the exception of the one experience mentioned above, they can all be attributed to one thing – I worked in a video store.
After dropping out of my first year of uni, I spent about 18 months working at a massive video store in the suburbs of Melbourne. I had been studying Media arts and working in a video store seemed like the ultimate job for a drop-out.
Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoyed my time there and met some awesome people but at the same time, I came up close and personal with some of the dregs of society.
The New Release Junkies
Probably the worst of all video store customers are the New Release Junkies – the ones who come in at least three times a day asking ‘any new movies? Any new movies?’ It’s like they have a radar and as soon as a delivery guy comes through the store, they magically appear, hovering, grabbing and pleading while you’re trying to establish exactly why you have ended up with 300 copies of The Man Who Sued God and why everything keeps scanning up as Shallow Hal.
The Games Junkies
As above, these people hover, but it’s PC games that they are after. They’re on edge and can literally spend hours in the store or waiting outside, ready to pounce at the first sign of a delivery guy. They know when the games are coming out, they know when they should have arrived and they sure as hell know when you’ve stashed them in the back room until the official release date and they’re going to do whatever necessary to get to them!
The Combination Junkies
So combine the top two, and you’ve got some seriously obsessed people who really need to get out of the house more (and going to the video store and back does not count as an outing)! They hover between the games and the videos, they know the release dates of not only the games, but the movies as well and they have also been known to come in repeatedly on a Saturday hoping that some miracle of miracles has occurred and the delivery driver has decided to bring new stock on the weekend – just for them!
The Porn Hirers
So, if you are someone who hasn’t quite mastered the art of using the internet and you still like to go to a video store and hire the same videos that have been… used… by other people with similar interests, may I suggest that you do not borrow from a video store where the only person working is a perky 19 year old female. In fairness, I was willing to let the odd filthy movie pass by without too much judgement, I totally get it, people have needs, blah blah blah, but when we get to the stage of five pornos for $10, you can rest assured that I am judging!
Our store had two regular borrowers of porn, both of whose faces are quite literally burnt into my memory, even 9 years later. The creepy one was a really old man who would always come in during the day, generally late morning and always take out five videos, all porn. He was sweaty and gross and I used to make every effort to minimise the contact I had with the actual videos while processing his rental, picking them up by the corner to scan them, before flinging them over to the door side of the counter. I had it down to a fine art. I wouldn’t make eye contact with him and he’d be out the door with no more than five words exchanged between us.
No more than forty minutes later, without fail, he’d be back. He’d shuffle in, drop his videos into the returns chute and be off. Luckily each video was only a few minutes in, so it wouldn’t take me long to rewind them all…
The Late Night Creeper
I wish I was in the habit of naming people here as this one had a totally suitable name for the creeper that he was. I was warned as soon as I started working that he would turn up late at night, hover around the store, changing his mind, hassling the staff and trying to stop you from closing… ‘You’ll smell him before you see him’ one of my collagues explained… and oh, smell him I most definitely did!
Our store had two entries and despite keeping us open 15 minutes past closing, he would always insist on departing through the back door (which he knew would be locked), before riding his bike back around to the front door and trying to get back in. This failing, he would proceed to the overnight chute, where he would lift the cover and scream into the store ‘I made a mistake! I meant to borrow the Wizard of Oz!’ Ah, creeper…
The Horrible Children
I absolutely love kids and I am fairly confident that if anything was going to put me off ever having them, it would be working in the video store. Although looking back, I suspect the parents had as much to do with it as the kids did.
There were several horrid children who would frequent our store, but one in particular stands out. She had pigtails and we shall call her ‘Annabella’. Granted, in the real world she would have been cute, however I now associate the name with the screeching of a mother desperate to get her unruly child under control.
The highlight would have to be the day Annabella broke into the ice-cream cabinet and insisted on having one bought for her, which she promptly ‘lost’ and left the store… At closing time (about five hours later), it was found under D in comedy… absorbed into the covers of at least three different movies.
The Vomiting Child
So I totally understand that children get sick and that when they are sick, taking them to borrow videos might seem like a nice idea. Hell, it might even BE a nice idea. However, if you’re one of those mothers who is concerned that they might throw up themselves if they try to clean the child’s vomit up from the entire counter area, I would not only suggest that you do not take your sick child out in public, but that maybe you reconsider motherhood altogether.
Trust me, I totally understand the feeling of ending up elbow deep in your child’s vomit and dry-reaching while trying to remember why I even left the house that morning.
P.s. I think you never coming back to our store was a really good idea.
There were so many more worth mentioning, the people who would ask me to fill in their Centrelink books pretending they’d applied for a job every month… the couples who would launch into an all-out argument in the new release aisle every Saturday night… the creepy guy who used to bring his kids in and stare at me while telling me I looked incredibly similar to Jodie Foster… All those people who kept stealing Eddie Murphy’s Raw and Delirious… That nutcase who accused me of stealing his money and having ‘an arrangement’ because his bank froze his credit card…
To this day, I cannot spend more than five minutes in a video store without getting nervous. I feel myself looking at the people surrounding me and categorising them in my head. Crazy parent. Unemployed with no intention to ever work. Couple who should stop renting movies and leave the house for a change…
If you fit into one of these categories, I apologise for any offense caused. You taught me many valuable lessons in life and for that I am grateful.