Stress

My stomach is in knots, I'm demotivated, and I spend a lot more time faffing about than I should.

Yes, it's time for more work stress.

My old boss left a week ago yesterday. I've had my share of bosses - mostly nightmares. There was the one who let other team members bully each other; the one who tried to apply mascara; and the all-time worst, the one who tried to make me miserable by excluding me, changed the parameters of my work and then claimed I wasn't doing what I was told, and was generally paranoid and obsessive. I quit. A few months later, she killed herself.

Anyway, this boss was great. Seriously great. She was fair and logical, explained stuff but didn't act like we were idiots, and always made time for us if we needed it. When I had the occasional meltdown, she dealt with it and didn't hold it against me. We had a great working relationship, and I admire her immensely.

The new boss is more interested in making time for people she thinks are important than taking 10 minutes to speak to a team member. Clearing her emails is more important than understanding what I do and answering questions. And strategy is so important that she's dumped a load of her "operational" work onto me, since she apparently won't have time for it.

I really, really miss my old boss.

I'd leave, but I only have 6 months left until we get married and move anyway, and I don't like my chances of finding another role where I can work for 6 months and then leave. I also really, really want to finish up properly here: I've been in this role for nearly 3 years and I want to finish up right.

I can mostly laugh at it. After all, I'm just going to continue doing what needs to be done, and ignore the fact that the new manager has no managerial skills.

She was a consultant before, which is abundantly clear: she comes in and tells us what we're doing wrong without understanding what we actually do; she alienates us and doesn't seem to care about keeping her team together; and she isn't interested in anything that can't be termed "strategic".

So I'm really, really trying. But this morning I just felt like crying or leaving. I don't feel like eating my breakfast because my stomach feels all twisty. More than ever, I wish we'd had a small, quiet wedding and left this month as we'd planned to.

Hungry?

Blogger, I finally got around to getting all my photos ready to post. I have finished objects coming out of the wazoo here!

And you choose now to eat all my photos? Hello??

What, does nobody feed you or something?

Greed

I've discovered my new love.

Karaage chicken (Wikipedia let me down here, so the link is explanatory only, not an endorsement for the recipe. I'm no good at frying, so I'll always buy this.). From my local Renkon.

Now people, this is not some fried chicken. For a start, there are NO BONES in karaage chicken (well, Renkon-style, which is the only style I've had, but anyway...). It's large-ish chunks. Also: it is delicious and not at all greasy.

It also comes sans secret herbs and spices.

What it does come with is some steamed rice, cabbage, spring onions, carrot slivers, a wedge of lemon, and some delicious, delicious Japanese mayonnaise*.

(It also comes with pickled ginger, but I don't like it with savoury food, so I never eat it.)

Mmm, deliciousness in a little white cardboard container! I liked it so much I would have had it for dinner, had it been offered. (And had I not keenly offered to cook something - which smelled like vomit and barely tasted better, so don't ever buy Dolmio cheesy tomato pasta bake sauce - it would have been offered.)

I think I know what my lunch will be...


*Japanese mayonnaise is truly, truly delicious. None of that funny sweetness that NZ mayo has, and a more delicate flavour than US mayo. I also like the squidgy bottles it comes in (the bottle feels crazily insubstantial, perfect for getting the last ooze out), and the baby icon used for advertising (kind of creepy but also cute).

Knockin' boots

Yesterday I was reading a recap of Newlyweds over at Television Without Pity.

(As an aside, I love TWoP. These people are geniuses. My favourite thing to do is to read ahead, so I can watch the show and remember the recappers' snarky comments as I watch.)

I know, I know, Newlyweds is crappy, and Jessica Simpson is icky (her dad is ickier, though), and Nick Lachey can't sing so well (but he has nice abs, bless him). But it's a funny show that I largely missed, and something has to alleviate the depression that work brings on.

Anyway, in one of the shows, Nick asks Jessica for a sex guarantee: 3x week. As a Christmas gift, from memory.

And I'm thinking, wow, is that the standard amount of times per week to knock boots, so to speak?

I mean, these are newlyweds, for crying out loud, and allegedly some of the world's sexiest people! And given that Jessica had to wait until she was married, perhaps she should be a bit keen to make up for lost time? Unless Nick's.. ahem... technique is not very good?

I briefly wondered if perhaps The Trouser and I, after over 5 years of cohabitation, were, um, knocking enough boots ourselves. Even when we're newly wed, it's not like we don't know what we both look like naked.

(For the record, and at the risk of never getting to see the sight again, he looks very, very good indeed without his clothes. And that is as much information on boot-knocking or nudity that you'll get out of me.)

That millisecond over, I felt a bit guilty about all the work he does around the house, while I knit or watch TV or whatever. I'm not a totally lazy slob, but I'm not hugely motivated to do housework. And I felt bad for Nick when Jessica was a slack-arse.

So when I got home last night, I tidied up my side of the closet, put on a load of laundry, made the bed, tidied the living room and bedroom, and full intended to make dinner (until he offered to get Burger Fuel, which he wanted anyway, so I give myself points for intent).

See, trashy TV shows *can* be good for your relationship!

Distraction

I feel like I've been blogging, but not really blogging properly. I keep getting sidetracked by stuff and I never get around to blogging about the really interesting stuff.

Case in point: our trip last year. Still unblogged.

Another case in point: the recent wedding. As-yet unblogged (I'm hoping to shame myself into blogging it soon by posting this).

Why am I like this?

Well, it's work.

You see, I blog from my work computer, because when I get home I'm so keen to get to my knitting that I neglect my beloved laptop in the scramble to do chores as fast as possible. But there's only so much you can blog at work, before someone catches you and finds out you blog (and, what's worse, blog about work!), and also that you should be working in those 10 minutes.

The other problem is that my work seems to have a drama going at any time, but especially when my personal life has been busy. After the big trip: all sorts of re-shuffling and new projects. This time: my new boss has started and there are all sorts of... adjustments to be made. Including possibly re-adjusting myself right out of my job, if things continue as they are at present.

Anyway, it's a reason but not an excuse, so I'm going to try to get some thoughts about the trip to Fiji down fairly soon. And I'm expecting my first SP8 package any day now, so that will be "real" blogging. Oh, and I absolutely have an opinion on the recent Bridge & Groom show. Maybe I'll start really blogging again soon...

Winter and the problems of the rich and famous

it's a funny old thing, winter. Just when you think it couldn't get much worse (i.e. colder and wetter), it does.

The current Antarctic blast (for you northern hemisphere-ers, we get the cold from the south - like Antarctica, hence the "Antarctic blast", as opposed to your "Arctic" blasts...) has brough with it charming southerlies that would dry the hair, so intense and cold they are - if it weren't for the rain that accompanied them.

I've said it before (though not online, sorry) and I'll say it again: give me a proper winter where there's snow and all the paraphernalia to deal with it. Or give me non-winters like you get in Florida. Cold winds and rain is half-arsed, but also super-miserable.

Ok, enough about the winter. On to the second half of this posting - the rich and famous people bit. It's not about real rich and famous people (though I did see Richard Long, the ex-newsreader, in town the other day. He looked even more like a gigerbread man than normal, and was wearing an ugly black leather jacket with yucky blue jeans, and really not-attractive brown shoes. Can't the TVNZ wardrobe people at least give him some tips?).

No, it's about me (funny, that).

Like many rich and famous people, my hair gets blow-dried every morning. Unlike many people, it doesn't get dried to perfection, and I have to do it myself. (But I do dry it, because it looks a hell of a lot better when I do, and I'm working on the whole looking-nice thing in preparation for getting a real job once we've moved overseas.)

And then I go outside, and the wind and the rain start. There's only so much a hat can do to protect it - and you have to be careful in your selection to not get hat-hair. A burqua would be great. What do the real rich and famous do? I guess they get chauffered.

Much nicer, even if the parking in Auckland would make it almost unfeasible.

So anyway, my walk to work is brief, but cold. The words "wind tunnel' come to mind. My hands get very cold, seeing as how I've been buying tops and jackets that are the correct length for my arms. It's a smarter look, but it's a cold one.

So I pulled out my lovely black suede gloves the other day. I haven't worn them a lot, and I love them (great present from The Trouser, Smith & Caughey's sale). I tried to put them on. They don't fit.

Yes, my gloves don't fit. Why? Because my engagement ring is too big for them.

I know, your heart just breaks for me.

Actually, it's not that it's a huge, honking ring. Really, it's not. It's that the setting is quite raised, to make the most of the stones in the ring. (Can it be that I haven't posted a pic of The Ring yet?)

Anyway, I need gloves. Those cute little ones that are fingerless, with the mitten flap that goes over them: practical and yet whimsical, my favourite way for things to be. I could knit these - in theory anyway. In reality, I'm probably too lazy to even look for the pattern. So I deserve to suffer, I guess.

In more knitting-related news, I have finished The Trouser's new scarf with the Argentine mystery wool (for wool it is, that much was indicated), and am working on something nice for my Secret Pal, since she revealed her favourite colour recently. I'm still waiting for my first SP package, which makes checking the mail every day a priority. if only our building manager would distribute the mail at the same time every day - and let us know what it was!

Humour

Ah, the lovely Anonymous. (S)he cracks me up again! Check it out here.

Survivor

That's right, I survived.

I'm a bit pushed for time at the moment, but the salient points are:

- A hoiday with your family is not very relaxing.

- Especially when your dad keeps syaing "Let's all be relaxed and casual", then tries to organise the hell out of everyone.

- It was warm but it rained a lot.

- 5 stars my arse.

- Bland food and moderate to mediocre service.

- She was beautiful, kind, and considerate, and not showed not a whit of bridezilla-ness.

- I did no knitting at all, and I didn't die.

- You need a few extra "emergency" books for rainy days.

- A small chameleon behind your toilet cistern might put you off initially, but you will end up naming and looking for it affectionately. Oh, and not telling the maintenance staff because you defend its right to live.

More later, including the view from our room :-)

So close, and yet still so far

My final afternoon at work for a whole 9 days. (sigh) I am *so close* to our holiday!

All I have to get through between now and Tuesday afternoon is a bunch of shopping, washing, cleaning, packing and nursing (The Trouser is sick, poor love). Oh, and some relaxing and knitting if I can.

I just hope I can find an appropriate knitting project and couple of books to take with me!

Anyhow, you may not hear from me for another 9 days. Try not to go into withdrawl or anything. (smirk)

And just think, if 5 days at a 5-star resort in Fiji sounds good, well it probably is. But then again, we're there with my brothers, parents, Bridezilla, and her family. Oh, and they want us to go on a group cultural tour...

I should have plenty of weird stuff to blog about by the time I get back.

All stagged out

My older brother (Big Bro) is getting married in Fiji next week. It's a small wedding - immediate family only - so his stag party was held last Sunday.

(Yes, Sunday. Monday was a holiday here.)

It started off at 3pm with vodka jelly shots at our place. I upped the vodka content to 2/5 from my usual 1/3, to give them a real kick. Apparently it worked, because the boys praised them all night long.

- As an aside, we made the orange jelly with white rum instead of vodka, and it was great. -

And it was a loooong night - The Trouser and Big Bro came in at around 6.30am, tired and pissed but happy. They'd managed to do a scavenger hunt around town, dress Big Bro up as Michael Jackson, have dinner, hit loads of bars, go to a strip club, eat at 2 different fast food outlets, and watch some soccer.

Unfortunately Big Bro's bridezilla disapproved of the whole thing, and was very pissy with him. Apparently honesty is only the best policy when your intended actually allows you to have some fun.

I'm not a fan of lap dances - but I also accept that it's generally part of a stag night in NZ. And hey, it's not like he had a lot of choice - or that he'll be doing it again. And when it's The Trouser's turn, I'm sure I'll like it less - but I won't be kicking up a fuss.

(If I do kick up a fuss, Remind me about this posting!)

Anyway, Big Bro and The Trouser and all the other participants had a great time (even if Big Bro spent the rest of Monday feeling very, very unwell and being berated!).

Even better, we still have some vodka jellies left...

Overheard

as I walked past two young men today:

"Nice ass!"


I almost turned around, marched back and said "Young man, that is very kind, but totally undeserved. I have great hair today, and my eyes look really good. My outfit is great, too. But my ass? I have seen my ass, and it is not great. I don't have my magic jeans* on. So thank you. But get your eyes tested."

Instead, I giggled and continued on my merry way.

The moral of the story - at the risk of undoing years of feminism: it's nice to be perved at (in a respectful way). It's even nicer to hear the complimentary comments that are made, especially if you're not really supposed to.


*My magic jeans make me look stunning, despite their age and condition. They are, quit simply, magic. But they deserve a well-considered post, so I'll blog about them later.