Friday, September 3, 2010

What I Did Over My Summer Holidays - A recap of the last neglected weeks


The last few hours of being shackled to my desk was such an exercise in patience. Pure and utter misery, leading to boredom tears and sighs of frustration. Like any other day, really.

Unofficially, Fridays are half days. Officially, we’re on call, but conveniently out of mobile range. However, my boss’ boss is in town, (for one whole miserable, terrible, angsty month) so we have to do the whole 8 – 5 thing and work, or pretend to work to justify our paycheques. This includes staying until 4pm on a long weekend Friday. This is nothing short of torture.

Today, my timesheet, if I had to record a daily timesheet, would look like this:

25 minutes preparing coffees, teas and opening cans of drink

90 minutes eating verrrry sloooowly. No one bothers you when they think you’re eating lunch

30 minutes on ‘business related industriousness’

45 minutes talking to boss about weekend plans

30 minutes hiding out in the ladies, attempting to pull back from the brink of frustration based hysteria

This means that I spent a hell of a lot of minutes G

oogling shit. And that loses it’s charm after the 325th minute.

A recap

To potentially make up for the entirely unreasonable length of time since posting (I have located the source of fault to be the laptop. I don’t like the Mac version of word. Word.) I would like to present the following offering:

I went camping for the first time in 2+ years a few w

eekends ago. Only one of the five of us that went is a regular camper and he’s a bit of a princess, so I made fun of him and his 48 cubic metres of camping accoutrement until 12.32am the first night. That was when the heavens opened and I fell deeply in love with his kitchen tent.

The rest of the weekend reads: rain, rain, no sleep, rain, walk on the beach of death, rain, rain, no sleep, gunfire at 3am, rain, pack up, wait dejectedly for the ferry, collapse into bed, discover slug in the car, weep.

Notable moments include: Hodge getting soap on his contact lenses in an improbable and unlikely fashion, discovering that he didn’t pack his glasses and ferociously rinsing said contact lenses until he could get at least one in. This resulted in zero depth perception, which led to a fractured finger. For Realz.

I suffered a second degree burn on my finger as a result of my own stupidity involving a cigarette and a card game. Too zealous? Perhaps.

After two weeks of healing!

Sleeping (rather – not sleeping but laying awake listening for gunshots – to scare the bears away, I shit you not) in a tent designed for infants and not two adults as the label says, with a man who smelled pretty badly. I don’t know what it is about men and camping and the utter refusal to bathe. Next time, if there is a next time, I am sleeping in the car.

Walking on the beach of death. The only living beings on it were ourselves, the dogs and the carrion eaters that threatened to fly off with the miniature dachshund. Not so miraculous, Miracle Beach.

I did a City Chase last weekend. We didn’t finish, but we came close. Next year, that bitch is ours!

We are not great route planners, but what we lacked in foresight, we totally made up with misdirection and enthusiam.

Luch, my beloved mental doppelganger, is 8’10” and has a rather long gait, if you can imagine. Those long legs required his teammate, Hodge, to trot a bit to keep up with him. Seeing Hodge running, Rob would start to jog and then they would be stirring up the dust and leaving Pumpkin and I, in a murderous rage, in their wake. I did manage to jog quite a bit of it, but the effort left me with several stitches and shin splints.

Aside from broken bodies and not finishing, we loved it and can’t wait to punish ourselves next year. We have vowed to finish this time. Also, beer has never tasted so good as after a full day of running and doing odd tasks in the sun.

In other news

My alley, usually home to urination and suspiciously-like-human excrement, was witness to slurpee vomits today. So was I, in an aural sense. Fortunately I didn’t see it, rather heard it (and assumed that it was water being poured out until I looked up and saw a young man doubled over holding his half empty cup). It was enough to make me queasy, but not enough to dry heave, so…WIN! It was a red slurpee, in case you were wondering, so somewhat-but-not-really like the excorcist. The young man then washes his mouth out with slurpee and, presumably, carried on with his day.

Since I can’t really leave you on red vomit stories, I am taking another cooking class at the Dirty Apron. It is cocktails and canapés, and I intend on getting really, really, unreasonably legless and stay in bed all day Sunday.

Chin-chin, Anna xo