Update

It's permanent.

My promotion at the Fizz Factory depended upon my manager being able to progress himself. The Australian head office thought that it was all systems go. Unfortunately, the international head office reviewed the YTD and projected figures, and decided that there were to be no promotions, and additionally, a staff member was to be cut. I had been there the least amount of time, thus, I am unemployed.

It would have been very easy to point out that there are people within the company who contributed less, have a far lower work ethic, and whose lives would be far less impacted by such an awful decision. But I was determined to leave with dignity, and so thanked them for their honesty, offered sympathy for the uncomfortable position they were in, and expressed my hopes that this would result in future success for those remaining with the company.
That doesn't mean I didn't cry, but I think that as a young woman who had just been ejected from a life of promise and security, I deserved that luxury.

The redundancy is meant to commence on new year's eve (happy new year!), however they thought it best, thank goodness, that I be allowed to leave immediately. I collected my possessions, said quick, quiet goodbyes to those I had counted as friends, they organised a taxi, and I was homeward bound at 11am.

My boss hugged me several times before I left, and he tried repeatedly to explain. However I understand completely - I generated the reports, I saw the issues, but the optimist in me hoped for an upturn. He has promised me a written reference, and has made himself available by phone as well.

Though I am assured it has nothing to do with me or my abilities, I can't help but feel diminished by the event. I'd recently become so grateful for where I was in life, what I'd left behind, and where I was going, I was starting to shed a bit of my trademark cynicism, becoming more confident and optimistic. I should have known that I was due some trauma.

I will be fine, financially, for three months, more if we are frugal. I refuse to touch my savings, and hope to be employed soon enough that this may contribute to them. I will allow myself the rest of the week to relax, accept, and heal. Then we go into major job hunting mode. During which I may undertake some volunteer work to stop myself from rattling around the house. If I've not secured a suitable position by the end of the third month, we will revert to desperado plan B - temping.

At the very least, this is giving me a lot of time to do some serious working out - and so I shall. The house is already sparkling from my afternoon of frenzied cleaning, and I am looking forward to striking a great deal of items from my mental to-do list. I am determined to emerge from this a stonger, wiser person.

Thanks to those who've offerered consolation, it really means so much to me. I'll still be here, still be trying to lose a kilo or two, and I'm sure the coming months will provide lots of blogging material!

Kisses...

(Oh, I should point out that I've been using pseudonyms for the companies I've worked for - please don't bombard any companies unlucky enough to be called Fabcorp or Fizz Factory with hate mail, I'm sure their products are lovely!)

News

My position was just made redundant.

I'll post as soon as I can, until then, take care of your beautiful selves.

Driving Range

Apparently, I'm going to be a licensed driver within two months.

My instructor says six more lessons, but I'd like to rack up more practise hours, around 100 would be good.
I've done a little over 60 hours so far, in the awful old brown Camira. After a few more professional lessons (last night I had my first) Stu will be comfortable with me driving the Focus, and I'll be able to accumulate many more, driving to and from work, plus extra jaunts on the weekends.

I'm told that my wheel control is great (probably from the heavy Camira steering), my attention to road signs is exemplary, and I'm talented with the parking. That didn't stop me from failing to give way to a car when I wanted to turn across its path - oops!

Down

I lost a kilo this week, so I'm now 103.9.

The only real hurdle to my being able to be under one hundred by the new year is Christmas... I know that I won't want to start counting points at the dinner table, but I can try to make the right choices. Big problem is wine, if I so much as take a sip of the nectar of the gods, my hips inflate. Must be all the sugar.

Eh, I won't let a holiday stop me from working my butt off for the rest of the month. Hopefully it'll all balance out!

Friday Fact

I go gaga for Christmas.

However, only parts of it. I'm not a huge fan of repetitive Christmas carols, perhaps from years in choir singing the same old tunes. That said, I still watch the Carols by Candlelight, but only the Melbourne ones, as they are held at the most perfect time, Christmas eve, when we're all excited from having left work early and buoyant from plenty of drinkies.

Christmas craft warms my soul - vintage fabrics and gingerbread and timeless motifs - all loverly. As we have organised to have Friday the 23rd off from work as a lead in to our two-week holidays, it will be good to have two days to make fresh goodies to include in hampers.
I really despise the earrings, jumpers and general kitsch that accompanies the season though - aren't I a paradox!

The feast for us is such a ritual, my whole family plans the day months in advance. Presents in the morning, a bit of a play with new toys, and then so much food your stomach groans to look at it. We love our prawns especially, and were dismayed when mum decided last year that we were having a 'traditional' meal - sans prawn. This year, they're back! I've planned three different salads that I'll be making, in the interests of a healthy alternative to taters and crackling.

Of course, now that Bec and I have our partners, it's a bit of a logistical nightmare getting all three families to co-ordinate the times of their celebrations. It was sad last year not having Nathan sharing the meal with us, but this year, everything seems to have aligned itself nicely. Thinking back over six Christmases with my sweetheart, I'm all warm and fuzzy, but I do look towards the event with a touch of trepidation - two families means two meals, and as much as I can restrain myself, I do have to be a polite guest, grateful to the mums who prepared such generous banquets. *Sigh* I think I'll have to eschew the weigh-in that week!

And the Christmas tree. Nothing evokes childhood regression like assembling the tree, carefully hanging the fragile decorations, and 'coming to an agreement' over who gets to place the star or angel upon the top branch. Mum's tree is the one which her family owned when she lived in Canada as a child, and many of the decorations are brittle family heirlooms. Of course, she's also hung on to the awful pipecleaner decorations and polystyrene garlands we all made over our school years, which we deftly remove when mum's not looking!

We bought a new tree last week, and I'm giddy just writing about it! My parents gave me the most thoughtful house warming gift a few years ago, a little tree and boxes of silver and cobalt blue ornaments, plus a blonde angel (Sussy?) bedecked in silver robes. But that cute little tree would look a bit forlorn set up in the new house, so we've gotten our forever tree - as tall as the ceiling will allow, featuring branches thick with lush, realistic foliage. We could hardly fit it in the car! It will be sad not to put together the housewarming tree - sentimentalist that I am - though we have some friends who are just freshly moved out of home, and might appreciate a virtually brand new tree to bring some cheer to their new abode.

I don't really go in for real trees, their scent is amazing, but the bugs and loose pine needles are a real turn off. Also, I just don't find their shape appealing, and the branches of most of the locally grown trees are insufficient for supporting many decorations.

Oh, decorations, I am going to need so many new ones, with all these branches to fill. I've bought a lot, but I fear that it will still look sparse. Beware the feisty brunette hoarding piles of silver and deep blue baubles in department stores!

Bec put up her tree about two weeks ago, which, um, is a bit too early in my eyes. December 1st up, January 1st down. But then, December 1st is a weekday this year, so I'm sneaking it up this weekend (tonight if I can distract Stu for long enough!).

Only a month until Christmas day!

Hurrah!

I've been guarding this happy news for a little while, just making sure it was true before I blurted it out to the world.

Finally, my promotion has kicked in!

So now, the phone is not my concern, and I can concentrate on doing my job.
Apparently I'm being groomed for management, which is lovely, though that may mean I'll eventually have to move upstairs, where I'll miss out on girly chit chat.

Back at Fabcorp, the possibility of managing departments both at head office and in stores was offered a few times, but I had no intention of staying at HO for very long, and I know from experience that managing stores is an unglamorous, thankless, underpaid job. And ugh, uniforms? A company issued uniform is the perfect way to turn a curvy figure into a boxy heap, and acts as a sign to customers that you are there to be verbally abused at their leisure, regardless of your influence. No thanks.

But this will be just right - no customers, just ensuring the safe and timely delivery of product, facilitating credit, and maintaining a perfect balance in our inventory. Trust me, as our goods come from distant lands, are perishable, are classified as dangerous by the government, and are shipped Australia wide through stores and a web interface, the job is harder than it sounds! But a welcome challenge, nonetheless.

Well, I should get back to it!

By popular demand...

A picture of me on Saturday night.

The dress is from Big City Chic, in the smallest size possible. It's still a little too big for me, and being strapless, it was sliding down my bust, but a bit of Hollywood tape kept me family friendly. I think they had other colours available.
The bolero dealie is from Jeans West.
That huge hump on my right side is a hip, I am not pregnant!

Suss honey, did I really look that bland on Saturday? I got lots of compliments that night, but in this pic, I look a little fneh in the face. Yep, fneh.

The smallest loser

I lost 0.1 kgs last week. A loss, for which I am grateful, but the teensiest one possible!

So I'm now 104.9.

We have nothing to celebrate in the coming week, no social obligations, so I'm in minimal points mode.

Friday Fact

It's Bec's 21st birthday this Sunday. Happy birthday bella!
She doesn't read this, as far as I know, but hey, it's out there.

I decided I needed something new to wear to the party tomorrow night, so I gleefully hit the shops for some retail therapy after work yesterday.
Now, being the host of some serious curvature, it's not as simple as just walking into any store - I have to do my research to know which places stock things which will accommodate and flatter my frame.

I'm in an awful position where my proportions are often a teensy bit generous for regular girly shops, but too small for plus-size girly shops. It blows.
And the cut on bigger clothing is all wrong for my frame - I have a waist and bust, which I don't want to hide under shapeless shirts. The skirts often just hang off my hips, and ugh, everything's elasticised. I'm big, not disabled! I know how to operate a zipper! Plus, the extra gathered fabric created by the elastic can create unflattering bulges, making one look even larger.

Now, maybe I have expensive taste, but whenever I hit the mother lode of style and comfort, I am charged an amount possibly better spent on eradicating third world debt. Yet, when perusing other stores or departments, I see identical items, at half the price. Same fabric, same designer, literally identical. Now, the ignorant might say "But you fatties need so much more fabric, you can't get it for free!", however, they are completely deluded (and rude).
Firstly, the difference between these sizes is no more than a few inches (in my case, anyways), which is the same as the difference between a size eight and size twelve. But twelvies don't have to pay more, why should a sixteenie, or a twenty-sixie? Having been a cog in the machine of a major fabric retailer for many years, I know exactly how much manufacturers are paying for their materials, and the difference between the sizes is negligible. You would be astounded at the markup on even the smallest item of clothing, so someone making clothes for bigger girls would be swimming in profits.

Some shoptions -
Big City Chic - Lots of younger styles, not afraid to let you show some skin. Too big for me however, even their 'small' sizes swamped me. Lots of polyester.
My Size- Big, shapeless clothes, usually. Big, scary pricetags, often, even on the cheaply made items. Elastic galore.
16/26 - I have a few skirts from here, which I wear a lot. However, I've never found a top here that didn't try to make me look like a grandma.
Target - So unflattering. Sometimes some linen or cotton, but mostly in huge shapes. Loads of polyester, kept up by elastic.

A tip from me to you - if you're a hourglass shaped woman, having trouble finding clothes to play up your sexiness, go to Myer. Still pricey, but I can always leave with something I'm proud to wear. Lovely fabrics, great detailing, and proper fastenings.

Oh, and for the record, I'll be wearing a black strapless cotton jersey dress, with shirred bodice and handkerchief hem. Might need to pop out tonight to get a tie front bolero cardigan, to cinch in my waist, and protect my modest shoulders. Hopefully in blue, to match the earrings my friend Jen bought for me, which feature lovely indigo firepolished czech crytals. You should have seen the look of appreciation on Stu's face when I paraded that dress about the living room - priceless!

Toasted cheese

Remember ages ago, when I so intelligently lost my train of thought, mid post?
Well, I just remembered!

I was also cheesed about:

1 - flippin' Daniel Craig as Bond! This is wrong on so many levels.

2 - The Memoirs of a Geisha film adaptation I have so patiently awaited will be released here on January 16, 2006. But the US and Canada will get to see it from December 9th. We didn't even make the distribution list! Okay, we fare a bit better than many distant lands, but penguins in Antarctica will see it before me at this rate. They're trying to squeeze it in for Oscar consideration, and that just seems contrived to me.

It's not convenient?!

Okay, so you all remember my uncle's sudden acquisition of fiancee and kids? Eh, it's somewhere in the archives, or email me, we'll talk.

Anyways, we're all very happy that he is settled and content. However, we are also a bit worried about his priorities.

My sister is to be married in April next year. Bec is very family oriented, doesn't care who screwed over whoever, her motto would be "Why can't we all just get along?". Born with rose tinted pupils, in Bec's world every cloud has a silver lining, a buffet, and a pool.

So imagine her shock to find that her beloved Uncle wouldn't be attending the wedding next year. When he was single, he was planning on donning his ceremonial uniform on the special day, now apparently "It's not convenient". These things don't usually happen to Bec, so she's a bit hurt, to say the least. She's offered accomodation for him and the new brood, to pay for flights, and said that she understands if just he flies down quickly for the celebrations, and flies back, without lingering. No takers.

Me, well, I'm not surprised. I learnt long ago to expect that everyone, family included, is capable of causing disappointment. Hey, I'm sure I've been the cause of it myself on occasion.
I personally won't miss him. I hardly know him. He has always afforded Bec more attention than me, and hasn't acknowledged any of my life's achievements the way he has for her. But I'm sad for Bec, and my dad, both of whom were eagerly awaiting his visit.

Eh, cest la vie.

Bye bye Smokey-Joe

Stu's cat, a member of the family for seven years, has unfortunately expelled the ninth of his lives.
A huge, temperamental, yet fairly active boy, we were all expecting many more years of his grey hairs floating around the vicinity.
Alas, Stu's sister found him sprawled on the lawn, still alive, but immobile from the neck down. How he sustained a spinal injury, we'll never know.
When we visited, he was purring, glad to see familiar faces, but he was obviously distressed at not being able to move, and seemed to have shrunk from his usually proud, imposing self.
After a few days hoping that there would be an improvement, the decision was made to ensure that he was comfortable.

Ciao, boychops.

Sorry...

...I'm going to discuss something you will rarely hear me mention, in the interests of good taste - the toilet.

See, Stu teases me, saying I'm the only woman in the world who doesn't want the seat down. Nuh uh - I don't want the lid down.
At night, when I stumble to the ensuite for relief in the darkness, I need for the lid to be up, so that I don't have to wake up too much to manoeuvre everything. A worse scenario would be if I didn't wake up enough to notice its downness, and just went about the activity as usual. I'm nauseous just thinking about it.
If, as Stuart believes, the seat was also up, I might get wedged in there, making for a bad night's sleep.

In the main bathroom, which I never visit during snooze times, I prefer for all hinged covers to be closed, when not in use. It's only polite.

I feel like I need a shower, to rinse off my vulgar post!

I'm laughing on the inside

My scales must have a sense of humour. One week they register a loss, the next week they go on strike. This is one of the latter.

No loss again.
Perhaps muscle gain? We did climb the stairs up the cliff face, leading from the beach to our street, a few times, quite a challenge, for which our legs are grateful.

Still, I'm looking forwards, desperate to be under the hundy.

Friday Fact

I am immensly proud that my father served in the Australian army, for six whole years of dirt, camouflage, and hospital corners.

I do not appreciate when others scoff, as I express how grateful I am that he didn't have to go to war. My dad was prepared to give his life for our country and it's people, and he is no less deserving of honour because he didn't have to fight.

Personally, I despise war. I believe that only the weak, and largely unaffected, decide to send their young men off to hostile lands so that oil may be purchased for two cents less per gallon. The strong, the intelligent and the compassionate can discuss and negotiate a mutually advantageous result, without the loss of lives.
However, the men and women who choose to answer the call and defend their country are to be respected, it is their efforts which allow us to sleep easy, and be optimistic about a future untouched by the ravages of war.

Lest we forget.

Special K

Happy Birthday Kendall!

I hope the powers that be bring you everything you want and deserve over the coming year. And if nobody reads your mind, don't be too shy to ask for what your heart really desires. Speaking of which, I gotta start pestering for a Kompressor!

*snuggles*

Apparently...

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	8.4
Mind:	6.9
Body:	7.3
Spirit:	8.3
Friends/Family:	7.7
Love:	9.1
Finance:	8.9
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

Pretty accurate for where I am at this moment in time, I guess.

*BTW, I 'borrowed' this from my delicious Sussparilla friend.

Choc off

I have been running a little competition between the calorie/fat reduced chocolate drink powders. This was a fun competition, but unfortunately plagued with disappointments.

My local Coles store is limited in its variety (grumble), so all contestants are medal winners, by default.

The bronze medal goes to -
Cadbury 'Highlights'. 1 point per serve*
Has a 'mealy' kind of taste. I felt I needed at least double the amount of powder to get a satisfying chocolate hit. Also has a yucky grainy residue. On the plus side, once stirred it forms a lovely smooth crema. After you've slurped that up, however, it's all downhill from there.

The silver medal goes to -
Weight Watchers 'Drinking Chocolate'. 0.5 points per serve*
Original name! But surprisingly, a great product. Has a hint of 'diet shake' taste, and still leaves a strange residue. But the consistency is slightly thicker than Highlights, and the flavour is rich enough that it feels naughty!

The gold medal goes to -
Jarrah 'Choc o Lait'. 0.5 points per serve*
This is gooooood. Thick consistency, decadent flavour, no unpleasant aftertastes. It even smells great, and works well with coffee, for a mocha, or with a slurp of Baileys (when you've made sure you have enough points for such a treat!).
It used to be a cow to stir, but Jarrah have reformulated it, so it's now as smooth as silk with a quick swirl.
On the downside, my Coles store has stopped stocking it. I have considered changing supermarkets for this reason, but we like the Fly Buys, and Safeway is even worse. So instead, I've requested that it be resupplied. No word yet.

*Each company recommends that either 2 or 3 heaped spoons of powder be used in approximately 200ml of boiling water. I add an artificial sweetener and a dash of milk, and, as such, add an extra 0.5 points, 'cause that's the way I like it. If only I could stir it with one of Ben Lee's gazillion ARIA awards, we'd be set.

I'm getting too old for this

Something is wrong with my biological clock.

At 23 I should be saying "Pete Murray pub gig? Hooray!"
Such things always include plentiful beverages (at extreme cost), lots of young bodies tightly packed against one another, and music.

I'm not really a drinker, beyond a cocktail or a celebratory bubbly, so the allure of alcohol is never enough to entice me. I also gained no pleasure from having to stand so close to so many strangers, all jostling and smoking and intruding upon my personal space. An arrogant, yet ridiculously tall 'see you next Tuesday' decided that I, at 5'6", was the best person to stand in front of, and I almost incited a pub brawl trying to let him know how he had inconvenienced me.

It was so freaking hot in there, I was afraid that I might cause a scene by fainting. I wondered if I should remove my top to reveal the cute pink cami / black skirt combo that I had going on, but my internal dialogue warned me against it "Look at all these hot, tanned 20 year old chicks in their uniform of double layered singlets and tight jeans. I don't need their male counterparts making comparisons and verbalising their disapproval. The top stays on." So sweat coursed its way down the small of my back in rivulets of protest, and my hair hung as lank as sodden grass.

Stu was kind enough to say that I was as sexy as any of the other girls there, but at the time I just felt ungainly. And as he so knowingly rationalised, had the music been 'my type', I might not have noticed all of these factors, being preoccupied with the singing and dancing and general good times. But rock music, even the fairly laid back, sensitive musings of the admittedly attractive Pete Muray, just doesn't float my boat. Especially when I can't even see him.

They say "you can't knock it untill you've tried it", and I've certainly tried, many times, for the sake of sharing something with my delicious man. But this just proved that I'm better suited to a walk along the beach, a good coffee, and a nice, thick magazine.

I need a good dose of soul music, interlaced with a bit of funk, where the rhythms will lift me to my feet, where the beat will mimic that of my heart, and where I'm so captivated by the voice that I forget how wide my hips are, and just dance with wild abandon.

That said, I'm so over the 'word, homey, peeps in tha hood' blingy lingo that accompanies mainstream r'n'b. I don't care about your hoes, your cars, your ill-deserved dollars, you're tacky, and your message is corrupt. Hence why I shy away from it, searching for songs with meaning, artists with integrity... a hunt that leaves me turning to old time jazz and modern poets who set their powerful words to equally stirring sounds.

Really, there's an old woman rattling around amongst these curves.

Quelle surprise!

I lost 0.3 kgs this week, so I'm now 105. I might just make it under 100 for the new year - here's hoping!

With the sparkling wine and canapes, fruit platters and giant fudgy walnut brownies with our initials on them at the engagement party on Saturday, I had thought I had no hope of losing this week. Though, I was virtuous on the other days to compensate, so maybe I deserve it.

I also spent three wonderful hours being poked and prodded at my dayspa before the party, and jokingly feared that I would have gained at least a kilogram from all the products that were rubbed into my skin.

The engagement party was wonderful, from my perspective. The space was great for it, the staff were attentive, and the weather was perfect. We might chat more about it here, when we've rounded up photos from everyone's cameras.

Friday fact

I have eight piercings.

I have three in each ear lobe, plus one in the cartilage, half way up my left ear. Five of these were made by a professional, two of these I inflicted upon myself, as a crazy teen. Strangely, my job healed a lot quicker than those done by the gun.

I never wear any more than one earring in each ear now, any more just looks tacky on me. I definitely never use the one in the side.

Oh, and the blue stone sitting in my navel makes eight. That was just a present to myself a few years ago, when I was smaller and proud of my flat stomach (not that I would ever display said stomach) . Bec and I went together to undergo this rite of passage, but over time, hers grew out, to the point where at the end, the ring was only held on by the tiniest shred of skin. Now there's just a bump where it once was.

No more piercings for me!

Billy!

My list of things to do before I die is soon to become very much shorter, as I am a lucky purchaser of tickets for Billy Connolly's 'Too Old to Die Young' tour, to be enjoyed on January 24, 2006.

I have eagerly checked for updates on a possible Billy tour for some years now, when rumours first started to surface, but hit the jackpot when his website told me that it would definitely be happening next year (as I squealed about earlier!) . I signed up for every advance notice presale waitlist opportunity. And yesterday, my efforts turned up roses.

The first email I opened after a day of rest was the delightful news that I could buy reserved tickets to see Billy, in the best part of the theatre. Clickety click on the links, only to find that Friday, Saturday and Monday are all unavailable. My last hope was for the Tuesday performance, and luckily, my request was approved.

I was a bit confused about how others could have gotten in so quickly, given that I was opening this email at 8 am on Wednesday morning. But then I realised that it had been sent early on the Tuesday - a freaking public holiday for Victoria! What moron decided to send it then? Doesn't that negate the 'advantage' of a presale, if many have decided to do something away from a PC that day? Well, obviously some didn't, but that doesn't make for an even playing field. I imagine that the service is facilitated interstate, likely Sydney, but when you offer a service nationwide, you should be catering to the circumstances in all states.

Well, I really can't grumble, cause I'm going to see Billy, with great friends and family, in A level seats! Plus, being on a Tuesday means that I can take a day off in the middle of the week. Joy!

Now I just have to decide whether to wear heels, or some big banana feet.

My me, my my, blue knee, French fries

Or however that song goes.

So, on the weekend Stu was hankering for takeaway, as all growing boys do. I wanted something satisfying, yet behaved. I was really up a creek without a paddle! So the behaved part of me won, and I bought a Macdonald's chicken salad, with mango and sesame dressing.

Now, the whole Macdonalds aesthetic never appealed to me, all vinyl cushioning and fibreglass booths, but my goodness, the store I visited the other day actually looked great. I'm ashamed to say it, but the design was nicer than many real restaurants I've visited! The shapes were all pared back, with a tasteful palette, and none of those awful prints they insist upon displaying. Loverly. I'm sure that it's all mass purchased, and done fairly inexpensively with artificial materials, and yes, it's all a ploy to snare our patronage, but it's still a step forward for Maccy-D's.

Now, if the staff at this particular store could try not to be incompetent, they'd be on to a winner.
Oh, and really, why integrate a cafe with a restaurant, if you have to buy items from each separately? I decided that Stu deserved a caramel slice, and I needed a banana muffin (b vitamins are good for you!), but had to buy these independently from my salad. Nonsense!