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by any other name

Thursday Mar 30, 2006

I’m called by different names by different people.

Skank/Loser – My sister, she’s charming.

Lovely – My best friend.

Surname – Male work colleague’s.

Pineapple (pronounced pin-applay) – friend at work.

Spunky – Cute boy at work.

Chicken/Possum – Dad

****** – Totally not going to tell you my mother’s nickname for me. Needless to say it was formulated when I was a baby and has 4 words in it, one Puss one Poo. (Again, my mother’s a little creative with her names)

Kitten – The ex.

Kitten is probably one of the favourite’s, Spunky is definitely getting up there but I miss the parental ones the most.

My mother lives on the other side of Australia, and my father lives a couple of hours away and I miss them, terribly at times.

When I break up with someone I just want to be sitting in my Dad’s kitchen drinking a glass of wine or a freshly brewed cup of coffee, talking to him while he cooks or curled up in my mother’s lap. When I walked out of a doctor’s appointment last year with a referral to an oncologist for a bone marrow biopsy and a blood test result that indicated leukemia I just wanted a hug from Mum or Dad.

And I hope that never changes.

This post proudly sponsored by nostalgia, a mid week visit, two glasses of wine, a long work week and missing my Mum and Dad.


Monday Mar 27, 2006

Well. If there’s a way to bring on a quarter life crisis thinking about having one sure is bloody effective.

And the thing is I just don’t have the damn energy, inclination, patience to have one. I complain frequently but I don’t do whiny and pathetic. And in disdain with the proverbial red convertible sports car and hooking up with my secretary I’m having none of it.

So in reference to “It’s not just a river in Egypt” I’m in denial.

What quarter life crisis?

Sometimes I swear I work with 5 year old’s and annoying 5 year old boys at that.

I was not having a good morning, and when I was unable to get access to a particular unix box again, the Unix guys (the Fijian and the Brazilian) bore the brunt of it.

Then afterwards the Brazillian actually asked, “Shall I get you some chocolate then”.

This is what I’ve taught the boys to do when their girlfriends are suffering from pms rather than doing their standard, “why are you being such a bitch?”

However they now do this to me all.the.bloody.time.

I’ve been asked if I want chocolate 6 times over the last 3 weeks. The only weeks I haven’t been suffering pms. So now whenever I’m busy and stressed, or tired, or grumpy or even just quiet I hear a tiny voice over the cubicle offering me chocolate.

Kind hearted but I still want to kill them.

And then as I went to the basement at work this morning for a coffee and a cigarette I’m greeted by two men making as much noise as humanely possible, clapping, screaming and banging things.

Sure it was going to be another breakdown (for some reason this happens at work frequently) I find out one of the middle aged men had recently got a mobile phone that measured sound decibels.

So they were trying to get it as high as it could go.

Apparently two middle aged respectable managers yelling into a phone is 150 decibels.

Proving my point that people never grow up, they just……actually I have no idea.


Saturday Mar 25, 2006


Apparently I am channelling Martha Stewart today.

I awoke at the horrific hour of 6:30 a.m. (for a Saturday anyway) to go to the produce markets.

There I spent a relatively small amount and bought – a jap pumpkin, sweet potato’s, asparagus, mango’s, pears, english spinach, leeks and fresh herbs and flowers.

I meet my friend S for breakfast (still only 10 a.m.).

Then I came home and I baked, and roasted and pureed.

I’ve made roasted pumpkin and sweet potato soup, roast vegetable frittata, spinach and three cheese tart and potato and leek soup.

Mind you I live alone and eat out half the time. So it looks like I’m set for food for say, the next couple of months.

I also bought flowers for the house and some gorgeous potted hyacinth’s.

So after my Betty Crocker on crack day I finished the day off with a little geek.

I watched Star Wars – Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith.

And then had a half an hour discussion about Yoda with a friend.

I really am fucking sad sometimes.

Actually no, writing a post about how sad I am on a Saturday night ensures newer limits of lame-ness are met.


what do you mean that was a bad idea?

Tuesday Mar 21, 2006

I get to celebrate hitting a quarter of a century next month and I am excited.

My best friend does not feel the same way.

She had a panic attack on her 18th and hyperventiliated on her 21st. Why she felt so overwhelmed is not something i care about. I enjoy laughing at her each year, while finding a paper bag for her to breathe into.

She is a little odd, yes.

I’l be heading to Melbourne for a long weekend with friends to celebrate and I predict that by the time I come home the below will have happened –

– One of us will have alcohol poisoning.

– We will wake up at least once with a strange boy in the apartment.

– I will demand cake and candles and balloons drunkenly on my birthday. And because my friends are aweesome they’ll totally do it.

– I will make out with one of my Victorian work colleagues I’m meeting for drinks with (I mean I’m sorry but when a boy burns and sends me copies (totally not illegally!) of entire seasons of Jack Bauer and 24 I fall in love a little)

– I will have a fight, possible ending with a wrestling match with my sister who is also coming down.

– I also predict I will totally kick her arse.

– We will have invented a new cocktail and drink litres of it prior to going out.

I am so bloody excited.

In the last few days I have –

– Started a war with a work colleague. Whenever I leave my PC at work unlocked he sends love e-mails to my boss from my computer. The last one was,

“I have always loved you, and always will.

Just like the Whitney Houston song. But not as gay”

I did it back to him yesterday and apparently “it’s on”. Bring it.

– Blushed, I repeat blushed while talking to bar boy in front of him and my best friend. Smooth Lucy, smooth. As we walked away she commented she’d never seen me blush before (we’ve known each other for 10 years)

– Made out with my ex (I regret nothing!, plus awesome)

– Cried on the train this morning while reading “The Virgin Suicides”. So beautiful.

– Considering leaving IT for politics.

All for no reason than because I could really.


gotta love this city

Friday Mar 17, 2006

The things I love about Sydney are numerous.

– Going to most bars and being able to have a few Caprioska’s and knowing you’ll be made a great drink.

– Living, working, drinking and eating all within a $10.00 cab ride home.

– Being able to eat burger’s in King St Newtown at midnight on a Friday night after said Caprioska’s and having a great big fuck off burger with the lot. And knowing you won’t have food poisoning tomorrow (touch wood)

– Having a great cab driver who delightfully lectured my friend and I for 15 minute’s about tattoo’s. And how women who have them are “lower than common prostitute’s”. Surprisingly he was charming so we just laughed. (My friend totally has a tattoo)

But other night’s you’re just not feeling it.

And even though you’re wearing gorgeous new shoes. (hello)

They hurt your feet so badly they bleed.

And it take’s you 20 minute’s to get a cab from Newtown.

And your friends work in politics and you have to spend a good chunk of the night making small talk who live, love and breathe politics.

And city bars can be full of absolute wankers.

And it’s St Patrick’s day so the city is full of drunken louts celebrating (god knows what)

But then you have a great night with your best friend. And you have gorgeous shoes. And you have a giggly meal late at night. And you get home, kick off your shoes, take a shower, sit down to write this while fighting the temptation to message boys who are very bad for you, and you love this city so damn much that you don’t know you hated it for just an hour or so.

be careful, she bites.

Thursday Mar 16, 2006

I cannot let things go.

The latest things the Brazillian/Fijian boy combo (two delightfully annoying work colleagues who I sit closest to) at work are doing to irritate me beyond tears is to state I’m an alcoholic.

We actually did the math’s and both of them drink the same amount as I do, if not more.

Yet they say it, I bite and it’s game on.

Each morning one walks in, and as he walks past my cubicle loudly and cheerily shouts, “Good Morning Lucy!”.

And I want him to die.

As I try explaining to him, I am not a morning person. I’m almost certain my parents divorce could be blamed on him being a morning person and her not.

And until I have my first coffee most of what people say is complete gibberish to me. I can literally stare blankly at someone talking to me and be thinking, “I have no idea what he’s saying”. I start work each day at 7:30 a.m. and I finish generally 12 hours later, so I’m tired.

So, most normal, sane people avoid me like the plague until I stop squinting and the furrow in my brow goes away.

The Brazillian does not care for this and every morning persists with the perky salutation.

This morning, I’m afraid to say, I told him to fuck off and die.

He appeared startled for a few seconds. Then cheerily exclaimed, And right back atcha sunshine!”

And I wanted him to die again.

I can play with the best of the boys. But until it’s 8 a.m. and the caffeine has hit my heart, I got nothing and they take full advantage of it.

But I respect that because hell, where’s the fun in teasing your work colleagues if you can’t kick a man when he’s down.

I love it when you have ideas that even the CEO is pumped about. Like so pumped he uses the word awesome. For a man whose 60 years old and is never seen out of his suit and tie it’s oddly disturbing yet oh so cool.

Tomorrow is a day off. I will sleep in, I will be shopping, I will be continuing my love affair with Jack Bauer. Then I will be donning said high heels, putting on my make up and going out for drinks with my friends for St Patrick’s Day.

Sweet blessed no work.

And alcohol.

Good times.

first date?

Saturday Mar 11, 2006

Reading this article about sex on the first date made me furious.

It’s an article about how long should you wait to sleep with someone after a date, and sex on the first date.

On of the comments was this,

“Sex on the first date is perfectly acceptable with any woman who is the type to have sex on the first date. That type of woman deserves to be treated like a piece of sporting equipment”.

And followed up by,

“Casual/1st date sex seems a bit seedy and the person willing to give that i would question their values, and how many other people they may have been with…”

I’m still completely bemused that an individual’s sex life and choices are somehow anyone else’s business and that it affect’s their personal character.

I hate, let me bold that to ensure you know how much it infuriate’s me, hate the double standard that when two people sleep together it is only the woman is labelled as a ‘slut’. The male’s morales are not questioned.

I’m not a harping feminist banshee. I just don’t see why this hypocritical bullshit still exists.

I don’t sleep with someone on a first date as a general rule. Purely because i need to feel physically comfortable with someone first.

But if I did?

It’d be none of your goddamn business.

It does not affect how I will behave as a girlfriend, nor does it imply I have had sex with an entire football team. Nor does it indicate that I am a whore, or that I will make a bad wife, nor that I sleep with every and any man I meet as soon as I see them.

Over the last few years I’ve learnt not to make moral judgement’s on people’s relationships or sex lives.

Because I’d have no ground to stand on if I did. And I don’t think that anyone else would either.

I think if you respect yourself and your partner, trust your own decisions and have protection then knock yourself out.

At the core of this rant is – I don’t believe my morales or values or choices are more important or correct than someone else’s.

And neither should anyone else. Make your own decisions and let other people make theirs.

I mean Christ, surely we’ve got more important things to worry about than other people’s sex lives right?

yep, cool is bad.

Thursday Mar 9, 2006

I am completely rubbish at men.

Last night my best friend, over drinks no doubt, bollock’s me for not flirting with club boy (a boy who runs my local bar whose kinda cute who we met a couple of weeks ago – lovely, cute, funny). I wasn’t not flirting with him. It’s just that once I have a crush on someone I automatically get shy. So I cover it up.

She told me I had to “stop being the cool girl.”

Now, she meant it as a bad thing. I have a habit of getting along really well with men, having great conversations, laughing, connecting. And this is apparently where the “cool girl” kicks in, we become friends. I become the cool girl they hang out who they don’t think about in a getting naked kind of way, because to them I’m just Lucy.


So I fall for these boys and hang out and maybe even fool around. But I’m in a different zone than to where i want to be with them

So no more “cool girl” stuff. Although how I stop that? Who knows.

All I know is I love men’s company. They’re (generally) funny, laidback, interesting, crude in a way, and just generally a lot of fun to spend time with. I just have that (this sounds so lame) girl next door thing going on where their immediate vibe may be she’s cool in a girl way, which after spending time with me becomes she’s cool in a friend way.

Highly. HIGHLY frustrating. So I’ve got to work on that. Because it’s just how I am, I like engaging someone beyond the superficial stance you do when you first meet someone you’re interested in. I like people being comfortable in my company. Unfortunately it gets lost in translation.

I just got home from work, because I sold my soul for a career, and opened an e-mail from my dad with the subject of,

Dear darling daughter.

And the first lines of, ” Dear darling girl, thank you for your email- It has confirmed to me again what a beautiful Woman you have grown up to be.”

And then the day gets a little bit better.

rant #423

Friday Mar 3, 2006

“Why are you still single” is a phrase I detest.

It’s a compliment, disguised as a question, covering a nosy intent requesting information that is unknown.

I heard it last night from my brother in law. As soon as he said it my sister cringed and tried to hush him.

I don’t like the question for many reasons.

– It’s intrusive.
– It’s a quasi compliment, but not really.
– It’s a rhetorical question but demands an answer.
– It’s none of your business.
– It only ever comes from people in a relationship.
– It’s just a bullshit question.

I’ve never heard it from a single person. But three times from people who are in relationships. And usually newly involved people: like born again Christians they have been saved, now it is their job to save you.

I would be able to accept it more if if the intent was different. It’s the “still” that annoys me.

Because to me, it really means “You’re cool enough, you’re reasonably attractive, why don’t you have a boyfriend, what’s wrong with you?”

(I’m also aware it’s more likely he’s tried to say you deserve a boy, but stick with the rant here)

I may sound defensive and I am. My reasons for being single are my own. Those who know me know that I am single because I am, simple as that.

There’s no answer. I don’t think anyone who is happy with themselves and their lives would willing choose to stay single if the opportunity for a relationship came up with a good man that you connected with.

Being in a relationship is awesome. It is amazing and fun and intense and supportive and beautiful. If the right man walked in right now I would be open to the possibility.

Sometimes you get lucky and meet this amazing man who you are lucky enough to spend your time and life with. And sometimes you do not.

People who need to be in a relationship scare me a little. Some times being on your own at time is exactly what you need. Sometimes you need space to clear your head. Sometimes you choose to stay single because you’re trying to work out why previous relationship mistakes keep re-occuring. Sometime’s you just want the freedom that not being involved and attached can bring.

Because I don’t believe that a partner completes you.

I believe that if you need someone to make you whole you really should devote more time and energy on why you feel lacking on your own, than being in a relationship. I don’t believe that being in a relationship makes you a better person.

But these are my opinions and I don’t voice these opinions to people in relationships, because that is their life not mine. Mine is mine to worry about and their’s should be their’s.

So next time I’ll politely tell them to save someone else because I’m just fine, thanks for asking.

now with absolutely no direction, purpose or order

Thursday Mar 2, 2006

While chatting with a work colleague this morning I casually asked the date and realised that my grandfather died one year ago today.

It’s been a year since this was going on.

I find it strange that I still cry about my grandfather. That sounds cold I think, but it was only when he was dying that everyone grew much closer.

The fact that 12 months has gone by and my first thought was ”God, nothing’s changed.”. Maybe things pale in comparison when death is involved.

Since then I had a cancer scare, my mum moved to the other side of Australia, I lost my best friend and lover, I put up with an megalomaniac incompetent boss, I changed roles, I moved into a new apartment on my own, I ended a friendship blah blah.

It was a big year.

But I think I may be ready to celebrate my grandfather’s life. I haven’t been ready since he died. I was furious that there was an expectation that you had to celebrate someone’s passing. I mean how the fuck does that work? He dies and I’m supposed to beglad?

The death and deterioration of grandad was just far too intensely sad and I couldn’t think good thoughts. Now I think I’m ready to.

It also has made me think about how I treat people, what type of *coughgayhippiecough* energy I put out.

There’s only one person I regret how I treated. It was a pretty unhealthy relationship that if I’m (and he is) being completely honest, could (have been) be the love of my life.

I regret things I said during the aftermath; I wish I could have been gentler with him.

I don’t regret him, I don’t regret anytime spent with him. And if I had gone down the gentler route it would have destroyed me.

I don’t believe he reads this, if he did?

I’d wish him all the best in his life, wistfully wish it had have been different, but hope he is happy.

I suppose when you get to this stage you’re over them.

I hope so.

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