Nanny

At the risk of ruining my carefully cultivated reputation of being a cynical shit who exudes about as much warmth as a brick in a freezer, I love my Nanny. She’s the matriarchal glue that holds the funny looking bits of our family together in all its dysfunctional glory. Without her, I doubt the rest of us would have much to do with each other. At any rate, we’d almost certainly have to give up our lifelong passive smoking habit. Anyway, Nanny’s great. Here are some reasons why:

• Upon taking me in as a wayward 16 year old, the price was set for my lodgement at $30 per week. Apart from the fact that that amount wouldn’t even begin to cover my hot water consumption alone (and I’m proud to say my habit for unbelievably lengthy showers is still alive and well, hallelujah), she would then give three dollars back to me every day for my school lunch. Any effort to deny this generosity was met with her adamant refusal. "What about the lunches? I always cut the lunches."
• Rules of lodgement: "I’ll do your washin’, and you can do the ironin’. I’ve always done the washin’. Matter of fact, I’ve always done everyone’s washin’." Of course, she then proceeds to do the washin’ and the ironin’, much to my chagrin as a 16 year old try-hard grunge wannabe who certainly did NOT want her oversized clothes ironed. Washing them was dorky enough.
• When I think of Nanny, I picture her kicking back in her recliner, engulfed in a cloud of cigarette smoke, in her favourite fuchsia leisure suit with matching fuchsia lipstick, with the fire going in the middle of summer, ranting about the Government, or dole bludgers, or what the Government aren’t doing about dole bludgers, or the price of any of the following: food, petrol, electricity, telephone, rates, water, registration, cat food, cigarettes, Austar, and… well… pretty much everything, really.
• She constantly has "one foot in the grave and one foot on a banana skin" – a precarious position indeed, but one she has claimed to be in for as long as I can remember
• I can hear her now, lamenting the demise of Wheel of Fortune, especially in its glory days. Apparently, Baby John Burgess was irreplaceable. (Personally, I’ve never seen anyone with quite the same inability to separate his head movements from the rest of his body. He reminds me of a paper puppet glued to a Paddle Pop stick). But never fear – whenever she pines for Wheel of Fortune, she can simply whip out one of the many episodes she still has on tape. I doubt that the solutions to the puzzles are all that surprising to her by now, but it’s the memories, gosh darn it.
• If she ever tires of the Wheel of Fortune tapes, there’s always the Deal or No Deal tapes to fall back on
• If you ask her how she is, you’d better make a cup of tea and have a seat – you’re in for a forty five minute health report, complete with gory details about seeping sores and runny eyes. And she’s always got "that damned cough again". It’s the dairy, you know. Nothing to do with the aforementioned cloud of cigarette smoke. No – it’s definitely the dairy. Come to think of it, the wad of butter that tends to accompany pretty much all five food groups would probably affect anyone’s health.
• The runny eye issue eventually led to an appointment at the hospital to have a cataract removed. After a hearty lunch, she turned up at the hospital, only to be told that she wasn’t supposed to have eaten anything. "No", argued Nanny, "They crossed that bit out in the letter – see, look!" She pulled the letter out from her bag. Upon closer inspection, someone pointed out that the part of the letter she was referring to was actually highlighted. Well! Nanny had never heard of a highlighter, had she! Evidently, if it’s not a pencil (for crosswords) or a bingo marker, it doesn’t rate a mention.
• Only Nanny could get lost in Westbury. With Daph and Elaine on the way back from the casino. I mean, Westbury…
• My brother suggested she program Consumer Affairs into the speed dial on her phone, rather than wearing out those particular numbers from repeated use.
• When asked if there are any plans for the next Christmas together, she always cheerfully replies, "Oh, I’ll be dead by then!"
• She refuses to get a CD player. She doesn’t need "one of those new fangled things"
• Anything that takes more than a passing thought is too much effort. She just "can’t be bothered". Yet she’ll be out of the recliner like a rocket if someone’s outside the house doing a U-turn in the cul-de-sac. Old people are so nosy.

Rock on, Nanny!

A Sermon Illustration

New Year's Resolution Haiku

Perhaps at age twelve
Hitchhiker's Guide's a good read
Twenty eight's too old.

Phone

My mobile phone died the other day. My trusty old black-and-white-screened monophonic-ring-toned bare-bones Nokia 1100. That phone was like a phone to me. I'm going to miss it and all its wonderful features, like… um… its ability to make and receive phone calls. Actually, come to think of it, I will miss the built in torch. And my Ernie and Bert phone cover. And Snake II.

So, seeing as I'm such a social butterfly, I needed a new phone quickly. I went to get one in my lunch hour, but ended up getting stuck in line waiting for lunch first, then I ran into someone I knew and yapped to them for a while (social butterfly, remember), so by the time I got into Wills and stood around waiting for a sales assistant to rouse from their slumber and come and serve me, I had precisely ten minutes before I had to be back at work. Luckily, I knew what I wanted and how much I wanted to pay. I wanted: a phone. Just a phone. I didn't want something that would make me a coffee in the morning or keep me constantly entertained. Just a phone. And I wanted one for under a hundred bucks.

Well, you sure do get more bang for your buck these days! (wtf does that mean, anyway?) You can't even GET 'just a phone' any more. My el-crappo Nokia 1100 cost me $89 three years ago. Pfft. PFFT, I say. The phone I hurriedly chose was $99 – one of those Nokia flip phones. It has a colour screen, plays MP3s and videos, has a camera and video function, surfs the internet, has bluetooth, a calendar, a stopwatch, a radio, a sound recorder, a converter, a memory card, a world clock, and Sudoku! SUDOKU! My life is complete. Sayonara, Snake II. You've been superseded.

So now that I've got a phone with a camera in it, I can take photos wherever I go (yes... it is I, Captain Obvious). So here's something I saw in a shop the other day that amused me:

Oh yeah, I bet you just can't shut her up. Life of the party, she is.

Aged Rage

My new job seems to be working out okay so far. Not that working in accounts is my dream career or anything, but it seems like a pretty cruisey place to work. Apart from the fact that it was like entering some sort of technology time warp. I mean, don't get me wrong – the good old days of CRT monitors, Office 97, dot matrix printers and DOS-based command prompt software were damn fine days indeed, but in this day and age I must admit I've gotten used to the finer things in life, like, oh I dunno, being able to email someone an invoice instead of faxing it. But the atmosphere there is a pretty good one, and that's the main thing. It seems like everyone who works there has been there for about twenty years, which is a good sign I guess. Either that or the place is like the employment equivalent of the Hotel California. Apparently on your 25th anniversary, employees are presented with a silver tray. On your 30th anniversary, you get a matching decanter. When I asked what you were supposed to do with the tray for five years while you waited for the decanter, they just laughed. Whether they were laughing at me, with me or near me, I'm still not sure.

This week, all the subscriber invoices went out with an error on them. Instead of the due amount being in the 'current – please pay in 30 days' box, the amount owing was printed in the 'overdue – please pay immediately' area. So all week I've been answering the phone to every damn Betty Jones in Launceston, demanding to know why their invoice says they are overdue when they know full well they aren't. Sigh. Needless to say, it's been a long week – one endless conversation with an irate elderly person. Elderly people aren't the only ones who subscribe, of course, but they certainly seem to be the only ones who complain. It wouldn't be so bad if they'd just tell me the problem, listen to my explanation and heartfelt apology, accept it, and hang up. But nooooo… First, they have to announce their age, the aeons they've been subscribing for, and make sure you're very clear on the fact that they have always paid on time. Then they have to tell you the whole long-winded story of how they came to discover the error on their invoice:

"Well! I woke up this morning, and after my cup of tea, I heard the mailman. And I thought to myself, 'There's the mailman. I might go and check the mail'. So, I went and checked the mail. I walked back inside with my letters, and I sat down to look at them, and I noticed there was a bill from you! So I opened it, and I had a look. And well! Imagine my shock when I saw that the bill said I was overdue! I have always paid on time, you know. I've never been overdue, and I've been subscribing for fifty years. I'm eighty six years old, you know!"

"Yes, I know Mrs Jones, I'm really very sorry. Our accounts were printed with an error on them. The amount that you owe is not overdue, it's in the wrong section. It should be in the 'current' section. You have until the end of the month to pay. I'm very sorry for the inconvenience. Please accept our apologies."

"Well! Yes! Because I'm not overdue, you know. I knew that was a mistake as soon as I saw it. I couldn't believe it! I mean, after I woke up and had my cup of tea, and heard the mailman, and went to the mail box, and came back inside, and opened the mail, and saw the bill from you, I was most unhappy! I've never been overdue. I have always paid on time, and I've been a subscriber for fifty years. I'm eighty six!"

"I'm really sorry, Mrs Jones. Hopefully the problem will be fixed by next month, so it shouldn't happen again."

"Well, I certainly hope not! I'm eighty six years old, you know! I've been subscribing for fifty years, and I've never been overdue!"

And so on. I finally get Betty off the phone, breathing a sigh of relief as I hang up the receiver. The phone rings again. This time, it's Wilfred Smith. He's ninety three years old. His mailman came before he'd had his morning cup of tea. He's got a good mind to cancel his subscription. He doesn't need this stress. He's ninety three years old. Next time I ring up to complain somewhere, I'm going to announce my age a few hundred thousand times and see if it makes a difference. Unfortunately, "I'm twenty eight! Give me a discount!" doesn't really have the same ring to it.

Work Schmerk

Lately I've been bounding out of bed every Saturday morning and racing down to the corner shop to get the paper to check the positions vacant. Okay, maybe not 'bounding'… probably more like 'ambling arthritically'. And maybe not 'racing' either… perhaps more like 'sauntering slothfully'. Anyway, checking the paper for a new job has become a highlight of my week. There's no need to tell me how sad-arsed this is – I'm fully aware.

A few weeks ago I saw a job that looked okay, as a credit clerk for a local publication. After five minutes and a few copy and pastes later, I had an application letter together. One interview and a medical later, I was offered the job! So, today was my last day at my current workplace, and I start my new job on Monday. I really really really really really really really hope I like it. I've had just about enough of shit work situations. New year, new job, new start, and all that glass-half-full kind of crap.

A few staff gathered around me at work today to say farewell. One of the partners of the firm asked me where my new job was. When I told him, and that it was in the accounts department, he screwed up his nose. "Ohhh… I hope you won't be in the debt collection part, ringing people up chasing payments. That would be awful. I had a friend who worked there and did that, and she lasted a whole three weeks before she quit. Horrible job, it was." He shook his head, evidently trying to clear it of the awful thought of what a horrendous job it would have been. I stared at him, instantly deciding that it would be best not to tell him that that was exactly what I'd be doing in my new job. Then, seeing the gigantic novelty farewell card I was given, he seized it from me, declaring that he'd forgotten to write in it. With tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth in concentration, he penned, "Have fun with Eb Hextall… hope you don't get stuck in the phone debt accounts collection".

Okay, first of all, who the fuck is Eb Hextall? And secondly, not only did he feel the need to verbally cast doubts on my future at a company I haven't even started working for yet, just in case that wasn't enough, he thought he'd do me a favour and put it in writing. In my farewell card. Ha! I suppose if I cared what he thought, I might be offended. Still, I hate to admit it, but I am slightly more worried about my new job than I was before. Damn.

I guess it could be worse. I could be starting a job as an accountant.

Obligatory Reminiscence

Where would any respectable blog be in a brand new year without some sort of half-arsed recap of the year just passed? Nowhere, that's where. I'm not scared to get all retrospective on yo ass. Nostalgia ain't what it used to be, you know.

When I think of how my life was exactly a year ago, I'm surprised at how much has changed. It doesn't really feel like we've done anything worth writing about, but when I think about it, I really am in a totally different place. A year ago, we were living in a flat in Ulverstone, having just bought our house in Launceston. We weren't going to church anywhere (unless you count my occasional sojourn to the Presbyterian down the road. Which I don't). I was working for AM in Devonport. In March we moved to Launceston – new house, new office. I began my career as a church hopper. I joined the Uni of Tas Symphonic Band. I auditioned for a musical. (Incidentally, I don't think I ever wrote about what actually happened there… well, if I may take the opportunity now… a couple of months went by and I didn't hear back from them, so I decided to call the director and ask him if I'd gotten a part or not. Well, he could find no record of me ever auditioning! Then he bluntly told me that it was too late now anyway, they'd started rehearsals. I was a bit disappointed – I was rather looking forward to "every single pastor in town coming along and critiquing my performance with ruthless honesty and bee-in-their-bonnet sensationalism". Oh well, maybe next time. In the meantime, this bracket is still open, and has just a few too many words within its confines to be considered grammatically correct, so I'd better rectify that now).

Where was I… oh yes… AM went belly up in June. K and I had our seven year anniversary in August, and celebrated with a trip to Melbourne. I got fired that same month (and, might I add, at the risk of creating another grammatically questionable diversion, I STILL HAVEN'T BEEN PAID MY STAFF ENTITLEMENTS! RAH!) Then, before you could even say "Job Seeker Diary", I was employed again. The excitement was short lived when I realised that most of my role there would involve finding new and interesting ways to prevent myself from nodding off at my desk. In October I applied for a job at a school that I desperately wanted. In November I got a rejection letter from them in the mail. That letter marked the beginning of a period of utter hopelessness that I'm only just emerging from. So yeah, I guess that's a fair bit of stuff really.

Also, here are some other little memorable things that I think of when I look back over the year just gone (in no particular order, and with no feeling of obligation on my part to explain any of the more ambiguous ones. So suffer in ya jocks.)

• lying in the hammock with K
• going for night walks and looking in people's windows to see what sort of lives they lead (mainly lots of TV watching, and a bit of ironing occasionally. Nice to know that everyone else is just as boring as I am)
• watching Australian Idol (go Carl!) and Fat People ("I know you're hurtin'… feels like you're lurnin…")
• listening to people's stories over a meal at the Group of Indeterminable Cause. Meeting some awesome people there
• Ladies Craft Group (bwahahahahaha!)
• getting braces on (again) and off (again)
• joining the Seedless Grapes Club
• meeting new friends at the pub
• Thursday night Bona Fide Born Again Believers Bible Study Brought to you By Ben and Barney
• playing in Uni of Tas Symphonic Band
• dyeing my hair black
• Hari's Curry, Thai takeaway and baked spuds from the van for lunch
• our sewerage being blocked for several weeks and K digging it up by hand
• taking a pillion passenger for the first time
• cups of tea with Rachel (Planet Organic Chai Spice to be precise)
• finding a new church that I might just possibly perhaps maybe feel like I could one day belong to (perchance)
• Watching The Simpsons movie at the Gold Class cinema at Crown Casino
• planting fruit trees and raspberries
• various creatures in our yard eating the aforementioned fruit trees and raspberries – wallabies, possums, frogs, blue tongue lizards, echidnas, bumblebees, and every freaking cat in Trevallyn
• playing Taboo on Christmas Day and Boxing Day
• Tuesday night production meetings
• reading the final Harry Potter book
• painting the lounge room & hall
• Ezzie's white whisker
• playing music in church again
• breaking into the old LGH (twice)
• Launceston and Burnie Carols by Candlelight

And finally, here are my New Years Resolutions for 2008:

1. Read "Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy"
2. Watch a Star Wars movie

I know. I like to aim high.

Dizzy

I was walking behind a couple of young mums in my lunch break the other day. The type that amble along at a snail's pace, content to take all the time in the world as well as all the available space on the footpath with their giant cow-catcher prams and their vast 'I-still-haven't-lost-all-my-baby-weight' bums wobbling back and forth, making it impossible for anyone else to pass. After hopping around in frustration for a while, I resigned myself to being stuck behind them, listening to their fascinating conversation. It went something like:
Mum 1 – "Yeah, well, y'know, after he turned around and said that to me, I turned around and told him he could stick it. What a bastard."
Mum 2 – "Yeah! I would've turned around and punched him if it was me!"
Mum 1 – "Well if he ever turns around and says anything like that again, I'm gonna turn around and take him for half!"
Mum 2 – "And so you should!"

And so on. I couldn't help being amused. There seemed to be a lot of turning around going on in the discussion she was recounting. Regular ballerinas, they were. I mean, did they actually pirouette on the spot, and then say their piece? Or were they facing away from each other, so that they had to physically rotate 180 degrees before they could converse face to face? I had images of two people standing back to back, the first one spinning around to give their side of the argument, then turning to face the other direction again to hear the reply. Seemed a waste of effort to me, when they could just remain looking at each other. Hmm.

Felt like turning around and suggesting that there might be a lot less vertigo if everyone involved could just stay facing the one direction. But then they might have turned around and punched me.

Quickie

Had a mini-church experience on Sunday night. I'd been meaning to visit a certain church, simply because of its name. Usually I don't like to mention names of churches specifically, but in this case I just have to make an exception – it's called Nude Erections. Okay, sure, it's spelt a little differently than that, but homophonic principles aside, that is the name they have chosen for their particular branch of the body of Christ. Which is cool – I'm all for naming churches after lewd images, if that's what floats your boat. After all, it was the novelty factor of the name that made me want to pay them a visit, so it must be achieving something. That, and the fact that a guy I was talking to this week told me he used to attend there regularly, and that now he considers it a cult. My interest was aroused immediately (so to speak). I was going to check out Nude Erections!

Rocked up to the night service to the new whizz-bang venue they've just built. The first thing I noticed was a huge sign in the foyer, clearly visible as you walk toward the building from the car park – "ATM HERE". I grinned. Funny how little things like that can create a mindset for the sort of church you're about to attend, even before you experience it for yourself. No cash for the offering? No worries, just pop out to the foyer! Credit card facilities also available for those who wish to give money they don't even have yet! I shouldn't jump to conclusions I suppose, but I was sure it was a sign. Well, it was a sign – it was on a little stand and everything.

Following the thump-thump-thump of the worship music I could hear emanating from the building, I walked through the doors and was greeted with a sight all church visitors dread – no more than twenty people, standing around a bunch of tables and chairs with pens and paper on them. Argh! Intimate contact with strangers! Run awaaay! It's one thing to be a casual observer in the back row, but it's quite another to sit awkwardly at a table with a bunch of bona fide born again bless-ed believers who are bending over backwards to make me (the potential convert) feel comfortable, and somehow managing through every action and deed to achieve the exact opposite.

I was just about to turn and escape when a lady approached me, wearing the all too familiar Frozen Welcome Expression. Standing about five millimetres away from my face, she proceeded to joyfully explain that this service was a 'little bit different' to the norm, with a more intimate time of connection and discussion. Hmm. I mustn't have looked too impressed, since she added, "It can be a little bit daunting for newcomers, can't it?"
"Just a bit" I replied, uncomfortably.
After giving me a reassuring pat on the arm, she pentecostal-hopped her way over to another uneasy looking guy, no doubt a fellow visitor. Seizing the opportunity, I quickly turned to leave. My movement must have caught her eye, as she turned back to me, gazing wide-eyed in confusion.
"Bye!" I called cheerfully, as I walked toward the exit.
"Wait!" she exclaimed, panicked. "Are you leaving?"
"Yep. See ya!"
She grabbed my arm, frantic. "Did I say something that offended you?"
I laughed. "No, of course not! How could you have? We had like a five word conversation. It's just a bit too… intimate for my liking."
The Frozen Welcome Expression quickly returned, and after squeezing my arm what felt like twenty times, I was finally able to leave.

Quite disappointed that I didn't see any actual nude erections during my time there – again, more for the novelty value than some sort of pervy voyeuristic tendency on my part. Nor did I see any evidence of cult activity, but it was a bit soon to tell I suppose. Perhaps I had a narrow escape.

Employable

Well, seeing as the myriads of people who read my blog (okay, maybe just the one) are clamouring for part two of the tale of my journey to the dole queue, I thought I'd better oblige with an update on what's been happening lately.

After the company I worked for gave me the right foot of fellowship, I was suddenly left with the task of finding a new job – and quickly. It's kind of weird actually. I'd become very attached to that company (even though things were pretty shit near the end there), and suddenly I was supposed to just get over it and move on to something else. This sounds a bit extreme, but it's kinda like, say if K died, it'd be like joining a dating agency the next day to try and find a new husband. There was no time to grieve for the chapter of my life that was closed forever – I needed to earn an income.

Luckily, all I had to do was sit on my vast acreage and wait for a job to fall in my lap. The day after my last day at AM, I got two phone calls from guys who worked at recruitment agencies who had heard my plight and wanted to put me on their books. Sounded good to me! However, I felt obliged to go to some sort of effort myself, so I went hunting on the Seek website and checked last Saturday's Examiner. To my surprise, there were heaps of admin jobs. Must be a skills shortage or something. The Seek website had one that closed the next day, as an MYOB assistant at an accounting firm in the city. I threw together an application and emailed it off. Exhausted from the effort of applying for one whole job, I decided to resume my search the next day.

Turns out there was no need. The next morning I got a phone call, inviting me to an interview with the recruitment agency for the job I'd applied for! So off I trundled. It went very well. They called me for a second interview – with my prospective employer. It went very well. That afternoon, the recruitment agency called me and informed me that they would like to offer me the position! Man, I thought, they sure don't waste time. So they sent me a letter of offer. I read through it – it was pretty standard, apart from the fact that I'd be taking a $5k per annum pay cut. Damn. Oh well, I thought, at least I'll have a job to go to. Any job is better than nothing.

Well, I've been there nearly four weeks now, and I have to say it's one of the most uninteresting jobs I've ever had. Don't get me wrong, the company seems really nice and all, and there are some great people that work there, but I just don't have anything to DO. It's driving me nuts. And when they do give me work to complete, it's like the accounting equivalent of cleaning the toilets. Like entering two years worth of transactions into an abandoned MYOB file with only bank statements to work from. It's really not something I can see myself doing long term. Plus, the work environment is much more restrictive than I'm used to. I have to timesheet every minute of my day. I have a swipe card that tracks my every movement in, out and throughout the building. The only websites I can view are work-related ones that have been whitelisted in the system. Email is tracked. Personal phone calls are forbidden. I mean, I understand that people need to keep on track and focus on work, but I'm not TWELVE, for crying out loud! I think that staff are much more likely to be loyal if they feel they are trusted by their employers. Sure, there will always be the odd one or two that take advantage of that trust, but you'll get them no matter what. I really don't want to work in an environment like that for much longer. I feel like my personality is slowly ebbing away, being drowned in a sea of conformity.

So that's where I stand at the moment. I know I should be grateful that I've even got a job at all. I dunno, I guess job satisfaction is important to me. Maybe my heart is still with the old company. Who knows. I'm keeping my eye out for somewhere I feel I could work long term. I've applied for a job in a school office, which I really hope I get. I've always wanted to work in a school office. Huge ambition I know, but at least it's achievable. My only concern is that the job I've applied for is with a school that is a client of the company that recently gave me the arse. All it would take is for someone to ask BJ about me, and my chances of getting the job are probably screwed. But I think it's worth a shot.

Bludger

I began this week with a job, and ended it without one.

At least I can stop worrying about what I should do now, I guess. No more whinging to God about it, trying to decide if I should stay or move on. But I wish it had've been my decision. It wasn't. I got fired.

Well, when I say 'fired', I should probably say that I wasn't given the option to stay. I had been back from holidays for a whole day and a half before the new 'general manager', BJ, asked me to go out for a coffee. Well, at least he asked my boss G to tell me that's what we were doing. So I reluctantly trudged down to the coffee shop with a sinking feeling in my heart. I said to G on the way down, "Is he gonna fire me?"
"He can't do that" said G, "he's not your boss."

We sat down at the table. BJ started by asking me if I was happy in my job. I replied by saying I had been very happy up until a few months ago, when the company had gone into administration and three new companies had started up. I told him it was a bit hard to answer that question until I was sure about what the new structure would look like. He tried another tack. "But you're not happy working under R, are you?" I said that admittedly it had come as quite a shock when I heard that G was leaving and that R would be my boss again, but I had had some time to think and gain perspective over my time off, and I'd come to a peace about working under R. This didn't seem to be the answer that BJ was expecting. "That's not what I've heard", he said, "I've heard differently. I've heard that you have issues working under R". I replied that sure, we'd had our ups and downs over the years, but I respected R and was happy to work under him.

BJ replied, "Well let me tell you, that won't be the case. R was confused when he said that he would be your boss. He won't be your boss. I will be. I'm the new General Manager. So that's not really going to work very well, is it? We don't really see eye to eye, do we?"
"No. We don't."
"I can't really see us working well together, can you?"
"Are you firing me?" I asked, dumbfounded.
"Well, you were never re-hired, Rebecca" replied BJ. "Your employment ended when the company went into administration last month. And you haven't been offered a new employment contract, have you?"
"No. I haven't. I'm guessing I won't be offered one, then?"
"Well, it wouldn't really work, would it? You don't want to work under me, do you?"
"No, I don't. Absolutely not. But I was told R would be my boss! I have no problem working under him!"
"Well, that isn't an option. I'm the new General Manager, and you and I can't work together. So we need to look at other options."

He then went on to tell me my 'options' – I could either leave immediately, or I could stay for two, three, four weeks, however long it took me to find another job, and that they would help me to find work, as long as I would help them in return. He said I could let him know which option I'd decided on in the next couple of days.

Wow. I was speechless. After all the hard work I'd put in over the years. All the stress. All for nothing. They were asking me to leave. I felt like someone had punched me in the guts. I decided to go home for the rest of the afternoon, seeing as I was in no fit state to concentrate anyway, and think about my decision. But I already knew that there was only one option really – there was no way I wanted to stick around in a work environment like that for the next few weeks. I didn't want to be there for one more second, knowing they wanted me gone. So the next morning I went and cleaned out my desk, gathered my stuff together, and said goodbye.

Being the third person to leave the company this month (with more departures looking likely very soon) speaks volumes, in my opinion. It hurts that I had to go out this way though. I would have preferred to leave on my own terms like the others, not in semi-disgrace. At least, that's what it felt like. I feel sorry for whoever replaces me. There was two weeks worth of backlog sitting in my in-tray, waiting for me to come back from my holidays. Anyone with half a brain would have sacked me after I'd at least gotten through the pile. Which reminds me – one point of interest is that the old company went into administration on July 13^th, and I got fired on 21^st August, over a month later – enough time to set up the MYOB files and stuff for the new companies. Coincidence? Hmm. The most hurtful thing of all though, is that my supposed boss, R, didn't even say goodbye. Didn't ring me, didn't talk to me. Didn't say thanks. I worked my butt off for his company for two years. Apparently, that's not even worth a phone call.

So… anyone got any jobs? Will drop pants for food.

Daffodil

I'm on holidays at the moment. This week I have done NOTHING. It's been fantastic – exactly what I needed. I was planning on doing some gardening and house type stuff, but the weather has been so totally shit I'm reluctant to go even as far as the carport to hop in the car and go anywhere. Let alone take Gus out for a ride. So instead I've been playing my Game Boy and reading the final Harry Potter book. If anyone spoils the ending for me before I'm finished, I swear I'll whop them over the head with it. It's quite a big book too, so nobody had better try anything.

Being on holiday has given me a little bit of perspective as far as work goes. Most other things in my life have been going great, but work has really been the pits these past couple of months, and I can't see it getting any better either. That's the worst thing – if I could see a light at the end of the tunnel, it would make it a lot easier to go through some of the things that are happening. But I can't see a light. Just an endless freaking tunnel.

So what should I do? Get another job? Stick it out? God seems characteristically silent on the matter. The only thing he has told me is to not hold my job in such a high regard. So what is that supposed to mean? Am I gonna get fired? Quit? I just don't want to make the wrong decision. I'm a loyal person really, so I'm reluctant to leave. But I can't go on the way I have been. Yesterday my boss asked me to fill out some form that needed to be done that day. I'd finally begun to relax and forget about work, but even him asking me to do such a tiny thing sent me into the spiral of work related panic that has become so familiar lately. I just can't go on like that any more. I feel like I'm going crazy. I wish I knew what to do about it. It's affecting other areas of my life, and I'm sick and tired of it.

I just looked out the window at the windy, rainy day, and felt depressed. So much for gardening. It's interesting to see what's popping up in the garden now that spring is near. Lots of bulbs are starting to poke through the dirt and show signs of sprouting flowers. I'm interested to see what sort they'll turn out to be. One of them tentatively started to open a couple of days ago, revealing himself as a bright yellow daffodil. But then the wind and the rain came, and when I looked out there this morning, the daffodil was lying on the ground, all blown and battered by the wind. It made my heart sad. It's just typical really – he finally got the courage to open up, thinking the weather would be kind to him. Instead, it turned on him, and now he's all crushed and broken.

I'm gonna go pick him and put him in a vase. At least then he'll brighten up my house. He'll have a purpose for existing.

Tobogganing

Went to Ben Lomond on Thursday with K, M and J. It was SO much fun! We went there to go tobogganing – I'm not quite game enough for skiing. It was M's idea, and she insisted that we all take a day off work to go. That particular part certainly didn't disappoint me – work is awful at the moment, so I was glad to get away. We borrowed M's mum's Land Rover and hired chains to put on the tyres. K and I bought some waterproof gear and thermals, then we were set. Yay! I was excited. I don't usually let myself get excited before an event, just so I can avoid disappointment in case it doesn't happen for some reason, but I was excited this time.

We arrived at the top of the mountain at about midday. I'd heard horror stories about Jacob's Ladder, but it wasn't that bad. I mean, it's a freaky road, but it's pretty wide, and there are railings on the corners, plus J is a very safe driver, so it was okay. We put on all our gear and waddled up to the shop to hire the toboggans. All the toboggans had names, and were in bright fluoro colours. I ended up with a bright pink toboggan named Brad. The lady behind the counter suggested that maybe Brad was a bit confused. I laughed. I'd never considered that a toboggan could be confused about its/his/her sexuality. Maybe having a girl riding him all day might clear things up for him.

Tobogganing was GREAT! We started on the weiner's slope, but soon gained confidence and moved to a better slope further down. There was tons of snow – I'd never seen so much snow in my whole life. Tobogganing wasn't that hard, but you were pretty much at the mercy of the slope – none of us managed to figure out how to steer the damn things, so we just held on and hoped for the best. I seemed to go a bit further than the others, maybe because I was the smallest. K definitely crashed his toboggan the most. He kept trying to go over jumps, and just end up axing himself. At one stage, we went around the corner and decided to try a very steep slope. It was fantastic the first few times, but the last time was interesting. A pile of snow had been building up about halfway down, probably from our footprints. The last time I went down, I hit the pile, went sailing through the air, and landed on my back with a thud. Cartoon birds flew around my head. Brad was nowhere to be seen – when the going got tough, he'd buggered off. I eventually spied him, cowering behind a bush. Pfft. What a wimp.

We went to the pub/café thing for lunch, after going to the drying room and toilets. That was an ordeal in itself – removing fifty layers and putting them back on again isn't easy. While I was zipping myself all watertight again, a sticker on the toilet cistern caught my eye. It said something like, "Please do not flush oil, fat, milk, paint, chemicals or harmful substances down this toilet. Launceston's water supply starts here!" Well! Launceston's water supply starts at the toilets at Ben Lomond? I felt both proud and disgusted that I'd just made a contribution to Launceston's water supply. It occurred to me that I could even be drinking my contribution by the time I got home.

After lunch and a few more runs down the hill, we decided to build a snowman. Well at least I decided to build a snowman – J and I put in all the hard yards, and we'd just got him to a decent size and I was about to go find him some stick arms, when suddenly everyone else wanted to put their two cents worth in. Looking back, the whole process was pretty funny, and seemed to reflect our different personalities perfectly – K was furrowing his brow in concentration as he painstakingly sculpted an arm out of snow. I was whining about how I didn't want snow arms for him, I wanted stick arms, and it was MY snowman, and now he'd come and taken over, and I didn't want snow arms, I wanted stick arms, and why wasn't he listening to me? J was hopping around with a grin on his face, trying to find an opportunity to knock the whole thing over when nobody was watching. M was sitting a little bit away from the rest of us, humming to herself, sculpting a smaller 'lady friend' for our big snowman, complete with intricate facial features and boobs. Then she set to work on the big snowman, and made his head look like a penis. So the snowman ended up with one snow arm, a penis for a head, and two sticks that would have been arms lying at his base. Oh well – it'll look intriguing to anyone else who gives it more than a passing glance I guess.

It started snowing pretty heavily after that, and got really windy, and we were all knackered, so we called it a day. I had the best time though. I felt so free, sliding down the hill on Brad. K and I were pretty sore the next day though. It was worth it! For one whole day, all my worries were gone.

Poos

Have been very unwell this last week. I'm not entirely sure of the difference between a cold and the flu, but if this was a cold, it was a killer mutant crazy one. I haven't felt so horrible in a long, long time. Normally I can drug myself up and just get on with things, but this had me flat on my back for nearly a week. It couldn't have come at a worse time, work-wise. I had so much to do this week, heaps of end of financial year and payroll stuff, and my boss was away all week so I was hoping to get it all done and dusted before he came back. No such luck – it's all still sitting there waiting for me, along with next week's work of course. Cry. Oh well. At least I got to watch Judge Judy. Judge Judy rocks.

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I love Pods. Those little wafer shell chocolate things – you can get Mars, Snickers, Dove, and maybe one other sort, I can't remember. My favourites are the Snickers ones. Not sure why, because I hate Snickers bars. Anyway, I was eating some Pods when I went to visit M & J the other day. I met Ted at the door, and offered him one. He looked at the bag I was holding out, and raised his eyebrow. "What are Poos?" he asked. I grinned. "They're not Poos! They're Pods!" He took the bag and turned it around so I could see the front. I laughed and laughed – I'd managed to open the bag so that the top of the 'D' had been cut off, so it really did look like I was eating a bag of Poos. Hahaha! Poos.

Needless to say, he still ate a handful. Can't have been too put off by the thought of eating excrement in a crispy wafer shell.

Disco Fingers

COULD IT BE ANY MORE FREAKIN COLD IN LAUNCESTON? Why didn't I just go the whole hog and move to Antarctica? Riding a motorbike to work in the morning is the pits in weather like this. I must look a sight to anyone waiting at the lights in the morning… hunched over the handlebars like a giant black foetus, the only sign of life being a puff of frosty air being emitted from beneath my visor every couple of seconds. I even walk to the post office to get the mail with my bike jacket and snowman pants still on. I get a few funny looks from the usual pantyhose-clad, high-heel-wearing, makeup-smeared office girls that usually show up there at that time of morning. They might look more 'shaggable-secretary' than me, but at least I'm warm.

I have heat grips on Gus, which helps a bit. Since it's been cold, I've noticed a strange riding habit of mine – on each hand I have three fingers and thumb firmly wrapped around the grips, but my index fingers stick out in front, pointing the way, like I'm some sort of deranged disco rider. I'd never noticed these stray digits before – now that it's freezing, all the rest of my fingers are nicely warmed by the heat grips, except for those two, protruding as though I'm some sort of human forklift. "Which way is that scooter going?" I can sense pedestrians thinking as I ride past. "That way! Straight ahead for me!" my fingers reply, removing all doubt from their minds. This inadvertent riding style of mine also has the potential to cause conflict whilst waiting at traffic lights. I can picture it – I'm at the front of the queue, waiting to take off. Across the intersection, the guy in the car facing me sees my wayward fingers. He looks confused at first, then agitated. "Me?" he mouths from behind the wheel. "Yes. YOU" reply my fingers menacingly. Before I know it, we're having fisticuffs in the middle of the intersection in Launceston peak hour traffic. The potential for this sort of misunderstanding is very real indeed. I'm just not sure what I can do about it.

Hmm. I'm sitting here, at nine o'clock on a Friday night, eating grated cheese and writing about my fingers. What a pathetic life I lead… bwahahaha.

Movies

Spent a fair bit of time watching DVDs this past weekend. I really don't enjoy movies that much, so it was a bit of a rare thing for me. It was day one of my period… felt like someone was repeatedly punching me in the uterus and kicking me in the vagina all at once. Amidst all that phantom pummelling of the reproductive organs, I thought a weekend on the couch was well deserved. Thought y'all might like a menstrual update there.

Went and hired Kenny, the one about the guy who manages a portaloo company. It was so good! I've heard some poo colloquialisms in my time, but "mud banana" is a new one on me. I laughed and laughed. What a great guy. I just wanted to take him out for a coffee and tell him what a fantastic job he was doing. He was treated like crap (and covered in it) over and over, but never lost his positive outlook. What a legend. I'd recommend this movie to anyone.

I got a free weekly movie with Kenny. Of course, I didn't know about the free weekly thing until I'd picked out my overnight movie, stood in line at the counter, and slowly inched my way to the front of the queue. I plonked the DVD on the counter, beaming with pride over the speed of my decision, thinking the transaction would soon be over and I could be on my way home. The video man beamed back. "We have an offer on at the moment, one free weekly with every overnight hired!" "Great!" I said, inwardly ambivalent – torn between marvelling at the generous offer, and frustrated at having to choose another movie when I thought I was finished with all that choosing business. I was soon to realise that it was all an evil ploy to get people to hire lame movies that you wouldn't normally watch. Went to select my weekly, as the video man watched me browse. Felt rather hurried. I like to either take my time choosing a movie, or know exactly what I want to hire, and get in and out as quickly as possible. I was after the quick option that day. Yet there I was, having to choose another film – with the added pressure of the video man waiting for me to make my selection, so he could go back to whatever it is video men do when they aren't serving customers. I hastily grabbed the first half decent looking movie on the shelf, and made my way back to the counter, hoping that spontaneity would pay off in this instance.

It didn't. The movie I selected was The Stepford Wives. Worst. Movie. EVER. Take my advice – don't even waste your time looking at the cover, let alone picking it up and reading the back of it, let alone (heaven forbid) actually hiring it. I cannot overemphasise how incredibly lame this movie is. Don't EVER watch it. It would be an hour and a half of your life completely wasted. Gone forever. You'll never get it back. In fact, don't even read this paragraph about me telling you how lame it is. Even reading about how crap it is would be a waste of your life. Writing about how crap it is is like wasting that hour and a half all over again. So I'll stop now before any more precious minutes go swirling down the drain of time, never to return.

Yumour, I'm Using Yumour

Received some negative feedback about this blog via email recently. Seeing as it's about my blog, and this is my blog, I thought I'd post it here. This is pretty much it, slightly edited to remove any identifying information:

"Hey old digger

I must admit Bec (I'll be honest, because you like honesty) the majority of your blog is very sad and ugly, (apart from your hilarious 99 points).

I hope you get the part as well for the play you auditioned for, because if you do, I'm going to invite every single pastor in town to come along and critique your performance with ruthless honesty and bee-in-their-bonnet sensationalism. :-)

You do realise you can actually stay at home on Sundays; instead of pulling apart the very thing people selflessly and servant-heartedly give their lives to, even if it is a touch mundane, robotic and cliché. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for dramatic change in the life of churches, but I'm passionate about finding answers, not sitting there like a fricken goose and pointing the finger. Crap like this (I'm being honest) doesn't help anyone. Find some answers, make a difference, and your blog will be worth reading.

There is me being brutally honest, and I await your brutally honest response.

PS: I thoroughly enjoyed catching up with you guys; loved the house."

Well. Gutted was not the word. This email affected me more than I care to reveal – mainly because it was a friend that wrote it. I can handle this sort of criticism from someone I barely know, because they don't know me, where I'm coming from, or the heart and humour behind what I write. But this person does, which is why it came as such a shock. This was my eventual reply:

"Hi

I enjoyed hanging out with you too. It was great to catch up, and I especially enjoyed the discussions we had on church, some of the issues, and how things could be done better. I felt that we shared similar views on a lot of things, and I had no doubt that you heard my heart with regard to it all. That is why when I read your response to my blog, I was utterly astounded. Totally blown away. I shared the link with you because I felt certain that you would know where I was coming from. Your knee-jerk reaction to what I have written indicates that you have taken everything I have written about the church as some sort of personal attack, directed at you and everything you stand for. Perhaps if you read my blog from oldest entry to newest, keeping in mind what you already know about me and where I'm at, then you wouldn't have been quite so scathing in your correspondence.

I can't believe I even have to explain to you that it is FAR from my intention to personally attack ANYONE. The things I have written about my church experiences of late are simply satire, and were in NO way written with the intention of 'bagging out' or having a go at any of the people I have alluded to. I assumed that anyone who knew me well would know that I have total respect for the genuine attitudes of those who lead or are otherwise involved in churches. My entries are not personal attacks, nor do I believe that I am "pointing the finger". Rather, I seek to emphasise how ridiculous 'corporate Christianity' can seem to outsiders to the church. Having a few years away from church involvement has given me a perspective on the goings-on that I didn't have while I was a part of it all. I appreciate that someone like yourself, who is heavily involved, wouldn't really notice a lot of the things that someone who was 'unchurched' might - being in the midst of it all makes it hard to see these things. But I wouldn't have shared my writing with you if I didn't think you would at least see the humour in what I had written. Have you really lost the ability to laugh at yourself and your surroundings? I wouldn't have thought so by some of the comments you yourself made after the service we attended. Now I'm not so sure.

As I am attempting to explain, my observations were NEVER intended to be construed as personal attacks against anyone who is in there having a go. Take the 'Happy Clappers' blog as a case in point. I have no doubt that the lady on the welcoming committee who greeted us at the door was a lovely, genuine person, who really desired to serve God by being involved in that way. But the often over-enthusiastic approach of church welcomers can be rather annoying, especially to newcomers - I used this one experience to identify with this perception. The lady that night simply represented welcoming committees all over the world. Since I don't know her from a bar of soap, I thought this would have been obvious. Likewise, the guy that got up and spoke about growth said nothing that endorsed nicking people from other congregations, and I never meant to imply that that's what he meant. I simply used his illustration to highlight what I believe is a commonly held misconception - that numbers of attendees equals a healthy church. You and I both know this is not the case. My intention was not to highlight any personality faults in these two people, but rather to make light of common perceptions in general. I thought you would realise that.

As for "the majority of my blog [being] very sad and ugly", I am assuming that before you would make such a statement, you would have thought it only fair to read the whole thing, and are therefore commenting on my blog as a whole. Since only twenty five percent of my blog is about church experiences, then I can assume that you find my entries about Valentine's Day, swimming, work, moving, Gavin, finding a frog and my many introspective musings "sad and ugly". This hurts me more than you would believe. I have tried for the first time in my life to 'bare all' with regards to my thoughts and feelings on things, writing about where I am at right now, even thought it might not be where I want to end up. And you, a friend I've had for over half my life, who I thought would understand me as much as anyone could, thinks that the contents of my heart are sad and ugly. Maybe you're right - maybe I am sad and ugly inside. All I am trying to do is represent myself as sincerely as possible, right here in this very stage of my life. I hope that life gets better, and I hope my perspective on things improves. It is not my intention to stay stagnant, or to go backwards. But I'm NOT about to pretend that I'm not in the place I am, and I would think it fake to wait until I'm in a good place before I let people see what's inside of me. MANY people feel down, negative, cynical, all those so-called 'bad' emotions. It is my hope that those people can relate to some of what I am saying, and perhaps follow my journey as things improve for me. It is likely that you will encounter many "sad and ugly" people on your journey in life. I just hope that you show those people more empathy than you have shown me in your email.

Though you may not see it, I am on a journey of "finding answers" and "making a difference". I thought I made that clear in our conversations the other day. I'm not sure where I'm supposed to start looking for these answers, or how someone like me could make a difference. But I hoped my blog would be a record of that journey, if nothing else. I'm not interested in leaving out the bad bits. I'm not trying to say that my blog is God-inspired. Nor do I think he is opposed to what I say. The premise is pretty simple really - just someone trying to share where they're at in an honest way. Perhaps you're right - maybe church isn't for me. Maybe I should stay home on Sundays and forget the whole thing. I was hoping to find somewhere that accepted me 'warts and all', but to be honest, I'm starting to wonder if any such place exists. I refuse to pretend to have it all together just for the sake of being positive. In my experience, this only alienates those who might not be at a great place in their lives. I'd prefer to get alongside them.

I have waited a few days before replying in order to try to be as objective as possible in my reply, rather than blurt out the first thing that came into my head after reading your email. Replying out of anger or hurt feelings doesn't help anyone. That's not to say that I'm not still hurt or angry, because it's probably fairly obvious that I am. Criticism is always hard to take, but I can honestly say that I gave your email a lot of consideration before I decided what to write in response. Also, if you have decided to show other people my blog, and they feel the same way you do, then I would ask you to please show them this response so that I can at least have the chance to explain where I'm coming from. If you are willing, I would also like to use your email and my response in a blog entry (with any identifying information removed of course), just in case anyone else reads it who might misinterpret the things I have written. The last thing I want to do is hurt anyone.

Feel free to respond to this, but to be honest, if your response is going to be more of the same, I'd rather not hear it. I'm sure you'd agree that the last thing I need is to absorb more negativity into my life, especially after what has been one of the most trying couple of weeks I have had in quite some time.

Rebecca"

Received a response the next day, apologising for the hurtful comments, and explaining a bit about where my friend was coming from – frustrated with church in a lot of ways, but trying desperately to find a solution to the things that are seen as problems. I can understand this. My comments on church goings-on are honestly not meant as attacks – just observations from an old cynic who is tired of the role-play and would really love to genuinely connect with God without all the bells and whistles that seem to accompany it these days. I'm sick to death of hoo-hah. For a long time, it prevented me from attending church at all. But I'm a people person, and I really miss that about being a part of a church – connecting with people afterwards makes a boring service worth attending. So these little blogs of mine are written to help me get through it without going insane. I write them for ME. I'm rapt that others consider them worth reading. But if nobody else read what I wrote, I'd write it anyway.

I guess I wanted to post this discourse for the benefit of anyone else who might read my blog and consider it "sad and ugly". If that's what you think, and you don't know me in person, then I don't give a shit what you think. But if you do know me in person and you think that, then I just want you to know that I'm sorry if anything I've written has hurt you in any way. I'm not sorry for writing it though. And I'm not about to stop either. I like to write. I like to be honest about how I feel, seeing as it will all be hollered from some dude's rooftop one day anyway. But I am sorry if you have taken it personally. It was not intended that way. I'm just a person on a journey, like everyone else. A person who feels sad and ugly and depressed and worthless sometimes.

But I try to look for things that make me happy. Like that frog in the yard. He made me happy. I might go outside and look for him again. I need more frog-finding moments in my life.

The Real Deal

Went to a church service like none I've ever been to this morning. The service was held in the foyer section, much to mine and K's surprise – we were hoping to slink in to a back pew somewhere, unnoticed. Instead, we walked straight into a room full of people. Hung around near the entrance for a while, before we realised that was a dumb spot to stand for a couple of new people trying to blend in – we accidentally became the welcoming team for a few minutes there. Quickly went to find a seat at one of the tables in case someone tried to pin a 'Hi, I'm Rebecca!' badge on my front, and sign me up to chair the welcoming team's committee meetings on the penultimate Tuesday of every month.

While we were waiting for the service to start, I flicked through a church bulletin I'd found on the table in front of me. Most of it was the usual yada yada – what's on this week, tithe targets, praise and prayer points, and the ubiquitous hall of fame on the back cover. But there was one article that particularly caught my eye. I hope the author doesn't mind if I copy the article here. This is what it said:

"Is This A Sign Of A Dying Church???

I write this editorial with a heavy heart, burdened with a sense that all is not well in [this church]. Take a look around and count how many of you are here in church today? Where have all the others gone? Why are they not here?

I cannot try to offer reasons for their absences except that I can only hope that they have not chosen to miss church for some trivial excuses. This does not detract from the fact that our pews are getting emptier each week, and if this is not a worrying sight, then be prepared to see a sign on the door of church one Sunday saying: "No Church Today Due to Insufficient Numbers, Please Go & Do Church Somewhere Else!" Are we prepared for this to happen? There are already signs of this happening on long weekend Sundays, when everyone supposedly goes away?

I will confess that I have been rather disillusioned by what has been talked about in church over the past few weeks. I was not impressed by a visiting speaker telling me that church is no longer sacred, and we should be thinking "Outreach, Outreach, Outreach!" While I acknowledge that as Christians, we should not be an exclusive group and shun the non-believers, I take offence to the suggestion that it is better to outreach than to attend church on Sunday. If that is the case, I shall be looking for a nice shady tree in a park next Sunday, bringing a large picnic rug and lunch, and inviting some stranger in the park to come share my rug, my lunch & do "outreach". "Nothing wrong with that", I hear some of you remark, but the bottom-line here is not all of us are cut out to do outreach, or want to do outreach. Some of us prefer to come to church to worship the Lord, be inspired, motivated, and encouraged by a Biblical message and cherish our time of being able to be in the Lord's temple. After all, is not the church the "Body of Christ"?

What are you getting out of church these days? Have you made your thoughts or expectations known to the Elders, your Home Group, your spouse, your fellow brother or sister in church? Or will you just slip quietly away to another church to find more meaningful worship & hope things will improve at [this church]? Are you losing your church before your very eyes? Can you afford not to say or do anything and let [this church] meet her inevitable demise? I sensed that these are troubled times at [this church]…

(Disclaimer: Views expressed in this editorial are not necessarily a representation of the views of other members in [this church]. This editorial is meant to generate discussion, reflection, and quiet meditation before the Lord.) – EDITOR"

Felt a bit like a rabbit that had accidentally hopped onto a shooting range. Didn't have much time to contemplate the article before a guy with a microphone started ahem-ing and shuffling papers up the front. Didn't hear much of what he said for the first few minutes, because all I could think about was his ENORMOUS BEARD. I've never seen a beard that big. Soon snapped out of my beard fixation when I realised that he was introducing what was to be a very serious time of discussion.

Pastor Beard went on to outline some feedback he'd been getting from people in the church lately, and told us he was about to set a few things straight. He drew a diagram on the white board that looked like this:

He explained that he believed that most Christians had a tendency to separate the different components of their lives into sections – work, church, God, family, marriage, social life, etc. It wasn't often that the components intersected. Church and God in particular are not often seen as having anything in common with the world, but rather as a refuge from it. Then he drew a different diagram, one that looked like this:

The dark grey area, he explained, was the goal – that was the ideal place to be. He urged the congregation to view their lives holistically, and not in separate, irreconcilable sections. He wasn't saying to embrace the world, but rather accept that we are all a part of it, and to see all aspects of our lives as a part of our walk with God, and not just the churchy stuff. He said that in Australia, one thousand churches a year close down. If the church didn't change their mindset sooner rather than later, then there wouldn't be a church left at all. Pastor Beard then opened the subject up for discussion. All sorts of opinions were aired. A lot of people wholeheartedly agreed with him. Others leaned more towards the aforementioned newsletter article, seemingly more worried about what they were or weren't "getting out of church". People got fired up. Discussions were had. After about an hour, everyone prayed in groups and then had some lunch together.

This was all very interesting as an outsider. The thing that struck me the most about the whole thing was that this church (or the pastor at least) wasn't afraid to admit, even in the presence of visitors, that things weren't as great as they could be. Nobody was pretending that things were perfect. Nobody seemed afraid to be themselves, or to say what they thought. Some might have seen it as division in the ranks – I saw it as a place where it was okay to be where you were at. It made me want to be a part of it. Mainly because the thing that puts me off church the most are the people/congregations that pretend they have it all together. I don't want to be a part of a church that has it all together! I'd only come along and wreck it. The sort of service that I attended today was, in my opinion, the real thing. People being vulnerable. Leadership being vulnerable. Not pretending to know all the answers, but willing to be open to whatever those answers might be. Sign me up, I say. Am I climbing aboard a sinking ship? I'm not sure. I guess time will tell.

Eurobeat

I just did something a little bit gay. I auditioned for a musical called Eurobeat, based on the Eurovision song contest. I saw it in the paper on Saturday and thought, "what the hell?" Might be fun. Something to amuse myself, and maybe meet some people around this one horse town. So I hopped on Gus in the freezing cold and headed to Newstead College where the auditions were being held.

It was the kind of audition where you just bowl up, fill in a form about great works you've done in the past, and wait until your group of people is called. I filled in the form, and sat on the floor, trying to blend in with the wall. There were probably about thirty people in the waiting area, the vast majority of which were teenage girls. So there was nothing to look at besides acres of ass cleavage and bad mullets. Oh, and the occasional archetypical gay guy minced past, laughing gaily over his shoulder at some dry witticism spouted by the archetypical gay guy's best friend – the Outgoing Overweight Female. Everyone seemed to know someone else, except me. Waiting was pretty boring. But it amused me to find that even though it's been years since I've been involved in musical theatre, the kinds of people they draw obviously haven't changed a bit.

I went in with the third group of people, and the first thing we did was learned a simple dance routine. I felt like an elephant. But I had fun all the same. Then they made us sing one by one. I sang my favourite song to sing at the moment, At Last – the Eva version. I sounded like an elephant. But I had fun all the same. I don't think I was outrageous enough, though. Everyone else I auditioned with was trying to outdo each other in outrageousness. One lady even slunk on the floor like a snake as she sang her prepared song. I think she was trying to look sultry. I guess if there was a male snake in the room, it might have felt turned on.

There's something both demoralising and empowering about doing all these things by myself. I really want to meet people, so I'm trying to not be scared and just get out there and do stuff, even when nobody I know wants to come with me. But nobody ever wants to talk to the person who's sitting alone. It's heaps easier to meet people when you're already with people that you know. So you can't win – it's like having to ring up to get the phone connected. But at the same time, I wasn't as nervous tonight as I thought I'd be – I guess I just figured that nobody knew me, so I had nothing to lose.

I probably won't get a part. But maybe I will! The director mentioned that there might be some nudity involved for some of the parts. If I land a part, I hope I get to flash my boobs.

Happy Clappers

Wasn't going to go to church on Sunday, but ended up there anyway. Not that I got dragged kicking and screaming mind you, but I sort of tagged along with someone else before I really realised what I was doing. It was one of those churches that everyone knows because of the guy who runs it, but it's still got some token ambiguous Christian-sounding name (usually with the word 'life' in it somewhere). You say to someone, "I went to Launceston Life Church on the weekend". Blank stare. "Um, you know, Joey Jo Jo Shabadoo's church". Instantly, their eyes brighten with recognition. And of course, they'll have a highly thought out opinion already prepared about Joey Jo Jo Shabadoo's church, even if they've never been there themselves.

• Walked in slightly late, to a packed auditorium. Was greeted at the door by a middle aged woman, who crinkled her eyes right on cue, and put on her best 'full 'o joy' expression. Then, quick as a flash, my tonsils nearly got a paper cut courtesy of a church bulletin being rammed down my throat. Welcome to church! Had I been before? No? Well, I'd better have a contact card then! More paper ammunition headed straight for my face. I ducked just in time and went to find a seat. Like, contact cards are like, so 2006.
• All the seats were taken, dammit. Suggested joining the throng of people on stage. We probably would have blended into the crowd up there quite nicely. A bit too much jumping/boob bouncing for my liking though. Chose some seats in the back row instead. Ended up sitting behind a young kid who looked like a frog, who stared at me through the whole service.
  
• My highlight was the power going off during a Powerpoint presentation. Felt like standing up and prophesying that it was God's way of showing people not to have boring slide shows in their church services. But then I remembered I wasn't wearing a hat, so I thought I'd better not.
• Went to find the toilet (snuck out while every head was bowed and every eye closed, with everyone locked in the shampoo position). Accidentally walked into the kid's church room instead. They were playing some lame follow the leader game. Exited the room just in time to hear one kid whine, "what's the point of this stupid game?" Felt like taking the kid aside and telling her to get used to it – that she'd probably be lamenting those very words for the rest of her churchgoing life.
• I'm struggling to think of an object, person or concept that didn't receive a round of applause at some time during the service. Give the Lord a round of applause. Give the band a round of applause. Give the kids going to kid's church a round of applause. Give that last round of applause a round of applause. Sat on my hands obstinately, in case they developed a life of their own.
• At one point, someone spiritual instructed us to lift our hands towards the front to pray for something or other. Grabbed K's arms and lifted them right up for him, making them do a muppet dance. Ha ha.
• Learned that growing is about numbers. And not even numbers of new converts – just numbers of people attending. Well, that doesn't sound so hard! Why not just go and flog a whole heap of existing Christians from other churches? That would be the easy way to do it. Besides, those Christians probably weren't being used or fulfilled in their church anyway. Surely it's the best thing for everyone.
• There was cake at the end! Triple brownie points for food. It was nice cake too. Got talking to some people we know, and ended up being some of the last to leave – not sure how that happened, but I don't want it to happen again. Don't wanna look too keen… keep em guessing, I say.

Not big on the concert style service, myself. It was kind of like, "sorry God, can we chat later? I don't want to miss anything". But the pastor is a genuine guy, so I really hope it all goes well for him. It's just not my thing/cup of tea/scene. 2 Joy Gems. **