Technology: 1, Me: 0

It’s been a while since I last wrote something and to be honest, it’s not due to a lack of ideas but more due to a lack of motivation.  I’d like to suggest it was due to a lack of free time but that’d just be a gross exaggeration of my social life.  Today, something happened though, something that I felt compelled to write about.  As I sit here on my Tuesday off - 2 loads of washing done, a vaguely edible lunch constructed from stray foods in the fridge and all caught up on Oscars goss from last night; my productivity (and patience) stands to be destroyed by one small circular machine.

While similar in many ways, DTM and I differ on our feelings towards one thing in particular – gadgets.  I am by no means anti-technology or anti-gadget, I am after all the one with the science degree, but for me there’s helpful technology and then there’s just an unnecessary waste of money.  DTM does not seem to be able to make that distinction or if he does he just doesn’t care/it’s overruled by his need to have the latest most up-to-date everything before it even reaches Australia.

Some of his gadgets are helpful – I get that for someone who’s trying to really focus on their health, a watch that constantly measures your heart rate and tracks your sleeping and does god knows what else might be providing useful data.  I’ll even concede that the wifi scales are kinda cool, even if it did take me a year to realise DTM wasn’t joking when he said he got weekly emails updating him on my weight, BMI and body fat. 

Then there are his gadgets which are kinda cool as a gimmick but do not really justify the price tag. There are a lot of gadgets in our home which fall into this category and often DTM will realise this after a while and sell them on ebay.  I’m still wrapping my head around the point of google cardboard and don’t even get me started on why someone who doesn’t drive would need a breathalyser keyring...

The gadgets I don’t know about are possibly the ones that scare me the most.  I recently told DTM that maybe he should cut back on his internet shopping now that he’s quit his job.  He conceded this was probably a good idea and yet I find myself coming home to slips in the letterbox every day notifying me of a missed delivery.  He tries to tell me these things were all ordered long ago but I have my doubts.  He recently showed me something on kickstarter which he wanted to invest in/pre-purchase/support/I-don’t-entirely-know and when I questioned why on Earth he would need it he thought twice and didn’t buy it.  I checked in a week later to confirm that he had of course gone back online and bought it the next day.  I shudder to think how many more of these projects he’s paid for which haven’t even gotten off the ground yet.

But by far my least favourite type of gadgets are the ones which are supposed to make my life easier but do the exact opposite.  The first of these was the soap dispenser.  Not a super flashy expensive gadget I'll admit, but one which DTM loved and I loathed.  It was just a Dettol product which my technology loving man was raving about.  He loved that he didn’t have to press down on the top to get soap out or heaven forbid have to pick up an actual bar of soap.  He told me regularly that he used so much less soap this way and I can only assume that was because like me, he had trouble setting off the sensors.  This thing drove me crazy, I would wave my hands under there like I just didn’t care and nothing would come out.  Nothing that is, until I moved my hands away.  I’m not sure Dettol’s selling point of better hygiene applies when you have to wipe the soap off the basin to get it on your hands.  And then of course, as you’re there wiping up the soap from all over the sink, it finally detects your hands and you’re now covered in soap, trying to simultaneously mop up the soap and stop it from dispensing more.  One morning I woke up to a sink full of soap after something had apparently set the thing off during the night.  That was enough for me; I bought some normal soap and threw that painful gadget away.

Another product which falls into this category is the air freshener DTM recently bought.  Not content to spray one as needed or even have one of those plug in things which is always on, DTM bought one which senses when you’re in the room and goes off accordingly.  That man loves a sensor.  He put it on a shelf in the bedroom near my side of the bed.  The result is that every time I go to get something from my bedside drawers – socks, underwear, jewellery etc, I am greeted by a loud puff of fragrance in my face.  On the plus side, I no longer need to wear perfume as every morning without fail I get some Air Wick in my hair.

The gadget today which really tipped me over the edge, was the robot vacuum.  This little beast only arrived yesterday but of course I’m assured it was purchased a while ago, before we had our little chat about someone’s internet shopping addiction.  He told me it’d be soooo handy and save me sooooo much time vacuuming, I was going to love it.  And it’s a robot!!  Now because DTM is not great with instruction manuals (in that he becomes weirdly illiterate at the very sight of one), he asked me to figure out how to use it today.  Given the size of our one bedroom unit, I’ve never really had a problem doing the vacuuming.  DTM will even do it on occasion.  This was really a “problem” which I didn’t think needed solving.  Nevertheless, I read the instructions, pressed the start button and sat down to watch the robot do its thing. 

3 times I rescued it from underneath the shelf – it could fit enough to have a go at getting under there but would then get stuck and just switch itself off.  Twice I had to untangle the power cords it was trying to vacuum up.  I feel it’s worth pointing out that the cord it was stuck on was the one connected to its own power dock and that unplugging it while vacuuming is not an option.  Multiple times I watched it bash into a chair, rotate, try again, bash into the chair, rotate and repeat a painful number of times before deciding it was time to try elsewhere.  When it wandered off into the kitchen I started hearing a lot of strange noises before realising it was attempting to suck up some plastic cockroach baits DTM had put out.

Now I’ll admit the patch in the centre of the room away from any furniture and cords does look clean.  It can clearly suck up dirt and whatnot.  The thing is, it took significantly longer to clean a smaller area than I would with a regular vacuum.  It also required my attention to restart it a good 7 or 8 times.  It could not handle going between the chair legs so there are squares of carpet it hasn’t attempted to clean.  Sometimes when its technique of bashing into things doesn’t work, it tries to mount them and it is currently stuck on the leg of DTM’s desk.  I’m also not entirely sure how I’m supposed to know when it’s finished.  So far, it’s turned itself off because it’s gotten stuck underneath or on top of something or because it’s gobbled up too many power cords.  Each time I’ve restarted it because its job was clearly not done.  Unlike a human controlled vacuum, I am sceptical it knows where it has already done and I feel like given the opportunity, it would spend all day circling the room and bashing into furniture.

DTM told me at the time that this latest purchase didn’t count as part of his spending problem because it was a present for both of us.  This beast has tested my patience today and it has won.  I almost lost my lunch when it tried to vacuum my feet as I ate.  I am very concerned by what DTM will buy me for my birthday if this is the kind of “us” present he thought would excite me.

To Top of my productive day I cancelled my blood donor appointment after eating some of the hepatitis berries 2 weeks ago and almost flooded the kitchen.

What do a comedian, a dirty street pie, an Indian doctor and an NRL player have in common? Me...obviously

Well it felt like it was about time I wrote a post because there are a few things on my mind at the moment and frankly I feel it’s better out than in!  Things keep cropping up in the media which seem to eerily echo my life.  OK so “eerily” might be pushing it and referring to the free optical magazine I cannot seem to unsubscribe from as “media” could be a slight stretch but the fact remains I keep reading/viewing things and thinking “hang on, that’s me”.

The first item that caught my attention was an article in Mivision about “the world’s funniest optometrist”.  Naturally I assumed it was written about myself and wondered how they had possibly commissioned this story and managed to keep me in the dark.  I was super impressed by their stealth research but was quickly disappointed when I realised the pictures were not of me and the optometrist in question was some Canadian lady.  At least I think she was Canadian, I was too annoyed to read the article properly.  I shared my concerns with The Italian and she agreed it was odd that they could make such a claim without even having any sort of audition or competition to determine whether there might be funnier optometrists.  I knew she would agree as she has long held the belief that she was “the funny one” in our optom crew but I think we all know I was the funnier one.  In classic delayed M-Dizzle style, she also brought up the odd article about 2 weeks later and again we questioned this woman’s credentials.  Apparently doing a bit of stand up makes you “the world’s funniest [insert career which isn’t traditionally funny here]”.  After his gigs in New York and here in Sydney, I think DTM must be in the running to be the world’s funniest travel agent!

It wasn’t long after this that I was sitting down to watch The Bachelor (necessary viewing to ensure I would properly enjoy Rosie’s Review the following day) and realised that The Slimy Real Estate Agent had stolen DTM’s moves.  Yes, the first night we went out, and I phrase it that way as I was repeatedly assured it was not a date, we found ourselves at strike bowling.  It was most definitely not part of the plan (well not that I knew of) as I’d agreed to see Transformers at IMAX after a quick drink.  You can imagine my surprise when we drank and drank and somehow missed the movie and ended up bowling.  Like Laurina, this was not where I saw my date heading and, while equally surprised, I handled it pretty well.  Granted I wasn’t wearing a cocktail dress without underwear as she was but still, I think strike bowling got a bad rap as a date venue and we had a pretty alright night there, from what I remember.  Plus she should consider herself lucky, I would’ve killed for a dirty street pie – it was weeks before I ever got food on one of these not-a-date-dates and even then I have a strong feeling it was probably Oporto.  I could go on and on about The Bachelor but after almost spewing up my McHappy Day Big Mac when I watched the Woman’s Day promo video, I think it’s for the best that I don’t dwell on that douche and his 3^rd choice.

Sticking with TV shows, The BH&G Fan recommended a little while ago that I watch The Mindy Project coz she’d gotten right into it and was sure I would like it.  With DTM overseas and The Bachelor wrapped up for this year, I was in need of a new show to watch and felt like this would be perfect.  I’m yet to tackle Breaking Bad but like a few other shows on my To Watch List, that’s one I have to wait for DTM to start so this seemed like the perfect option for my 4.5 weeks at home alone.  The BH&G Fan was right, I do very much enjoy the show but unfortunately have managed to finish the first 2 seasons and am now all caught up and waiting for new episodes on a weekly basis just like everyone else.  Now I know this seems like a pointless story (and at the same time like a bit of an ad for The Mindy Project) but I’m getting to the point.  The point is, Mindy is me, I am totally Mindy.  It’s hard to explain as I appreciate that to the untrained eye I may not appear to have that much in common with an Indian gynaecologist living in New York and dating like it’s going out of fashion, but I am kind of a doctor (just ask the chick on the phone from Medicare), I do share her love of celebrities and romantic comedies and I am pretty damn hilarious.  Yeah there are things Mindy does that I do not condone (like eating food she dropped on the street and going to an ex’s wedding) but in general we are one and the same and I am thoroughly enjoying seeing myself in my own TV show.  On a side note, last night I recommended the show to M-Dizzle and told her I thought she’d like it.  She fairly accurately surmised that it’s “about a sassy black woman” and after clarifying Mindy’s ethnicity, she agreed it did sound up her alley and I’m confident that she will also see the similarities between myself and Mindy.

Moving onto sports and not so current affairs, as I was reading about Sam Burgess and his broken cheekbone I couldn’t help but be reminded of my own sporting injury and got a little worried about what permanent damage I might have done.  Sure it seems unlikely that 12 years later I would discover some mental problems which had previously gone unnoticed but this article was not speaking kindly about concussions and playing on and frankly I was starting to panic.  I got so worried I took it to Wikipedia and starting googling concussions and symptoms and consequences and before I knew it I’d pretty much convinced myself that I could’ve gotten higher marks in year 12 and uni had I not suffered such a devastating head trauma at 15.  The next day, after a proper night’s sleep (it’s amazing how much better I sleep without DTM there randomly waking me up because he can’t sleep) I realised this was probably a little extreme and accepted that my marks were less to do with my “concussion” and more to do with my general laziness and apathy.  That said, given I suffered a massive headache all day, temporarily lost my vision (very temporarily, I’m talking no more than 10 seconds), and was a bit confused and disoriented (Legs 11 and Legally Blonde can vouch for my confusion on the slopes that day) I’m starting to think that continuing to ski after smashing my head on a rock in the morning was not my smartest move.  I’m also starting to think maybe I shouldn’t refer to this incident so light-heartedly – at the moment I tend to discuss it in the same way I discuss my time at art school, with a laugh I’ll tell anyone who’ll listen that I’ve had concussion and I’ve been to COFA but I think this deserves a more serious tone.  Yes I think this is more on par with my horrific Cotton Eyed Joe dance injury or that time Quit It sat on a wasp’s nest and we both got stung in the face.  This is some serious shit and I intend to play it up for years to come.  I’m even beginning to wonder if my floater might be related to my head injury...

So that pretty much wraps up a rather self-involved post where I managed to find myself in every story I read or show I watched.  Some might call that narcissistic but I’m pretty sure it just makes me super relatable and kind of like the everywoman. 

15 Reasons To Not Be An Optometrist

I recently stumbled across an article (which I promptly forwarded on to DTM) listing 15 reasons to date an optometrist.  I was a little proud and chuffed but it got me thinking, hang on, this gig isn’t really as rosy as you make it up to be.  Never one to miss an opportunity for a whinge, I compiled my own list of 15 reasons…though this time it’s reasons to not be an optometrist.

1. You will find yourself diagnosing eye conditions all the time – the guy in The Mentalist has nystagmus, your auto electrician has blepharitis, the guy on the bus has dry eye, that chick in Oblivion has either got dilating drops or contact lenses in because her pupils are unnaturally large – you can’t concentrate on what any of these people are saying or doing because you just want to deal with their eye issues which are clearly bothering you, more than they’re bothering them.

2. Your jewellery will become tarnished at an alarmingly quick speed before you realise that those alcohol wipes you use to sterilise equipment between every patient, apparently aren’t great for your sterling silver rings.

3. You will feel the need to be constantly responsible – gone are the days of turning up to work hungover, suddenly you’re doing something important and people are relying on you to bring your A game.  Yawn.

4. You’ll spend over $2500 every year just to keep yourself registered and remain a member of the Optometrists Association.

5. You will spend your day repeatedly asking people "which is better 1 or 2?” and having to deal with a variety of answers to that question including “yes” “no” “worse” ”go back” “the other one” and on the rare occasions they answer “1” or “2” they probably have only seen option 1 and are answering too soon.

6. Despite your multiple degrees and many years of study, patients will assume they know better and will selectively tell you which medications they’re on as “surely that doesn’t affect my eyes”.

7. You’ll start to develop weird dry patches on your hands as a result of excessively frequent (but unfortunately necessary) hand washing.

8. You will work Saturdays.  You may even work Sundays and public holidays if you’re really unlucky.  People will expect you to be at work when they aren’t so that it’s convenient for them to come and see you at their leisure.  When you aren’t available it seems outrageous to them that you would dare try and hold down some vaguely normal work hours and have some time to spend with your partner, friends and family.

9. You will see some disgusting things and more concerning you will see people with these disgusting things in their eyes and not a care in the world for how serious it is.  There’s a fine line between making the patient take you (and their eye problem) seriously and inadvertently making them think they’re going blind.

10. You may not physically take your work home with you, but you will second guess yourself and worry that maybe you missed something.   You’ll go home and replay signs and symptoms and hope to God that you got it right and that you haven’t sent home a patient who needed urgent medical attention.  While primarily worried about the patient, there’ll also be a niggling concern that you may be sued (enter Legally Blonde).

11. You’ll spend full Sundays attending conferences and seminars to reach your CPD requirements and you’ll get to spend a few hundred dollars for the joy of doing so.

12. You will spend your day in a dark little room with no windows and the lights constantly dimmed.  In winter, you’ll get there not long after the sun has come up and you’ll leave as it’s going down.  Your vitamin D levels will take a serious beating and you’ll start to forget what sunshine and natural light even look like.

13. You will spend 5 long hard years and $42 000 studying so that you can answer people who wonder if it’s a TAFE course you did and assume that it can’t have been more than 3 years you spent studying.

14. You will stop conversations when people ask what you do.  It won't be intentional, it's just that no one knows quite how to respond when you tell them you're an optometrist.  The usual reaction is either “pardon?” “oh” or some bad eye or sight related joke like “I didn’t see that coming” inevitably followed up with “get it?”

15. In your first year of uni you will hear what a great career you’ve chosen and the salary possibilities and will think you’re absolutely set, until a reality check in 5^th year will see those same people return to tell you that actually you may be entering the only career whose salary is likely to go down in the coming years.

I'm sure I could go on but hey, if eharmony can't come up with more than 15 reasons why you should date me, then I'm not gonna come up with more than 15 reasons why you shouldn't.

2013 - Shit That I Got Up To...parts 3 & 4

To quote Marshall Mathers, “guess who’s back, back again”…that’s right, I’m back and I plan to finally finish this drawn out summary of last year – we’re almost halfway through this year and I don’t know what freaks me out more, the thought that the year has gone so fast or that I’m now that old person who talks about how fast the year has gone.  Seriously, that sentence just aged me at least a decade.

July – only one facebook update this entire month which either suggests a dull month or speaks volumes on the quality of bagels at Brooklyn Hide. 

Sure I might be slightly biased since I know the owner (side fact: I like saying “I know the owner” almost more than I like actually knowing the owner) but The Italian and I had been planning this outing for a very long time and it did not disappoint.  At first I was a little concerned that The Owner wouldn’t recognise me – don’t get me wrong, we’re practically BFFs, I’ve totes been part of an intimate gathering at his house, but without our common link (The Bad Influence) I wasn’t sure he’d make the connection.  Luckily he did and The Italian was no doubt as impressed by my friends in high places as she was by her first bagel experience.

 “Amazing bagels! Thanks The Owner” (nb: this status was a little less strange when the original name appeared on facebook, but that’s just not how I roll here)

August – not a single status on facebook but definitely a month with some significant events, mostly revolving around The BH&G Fan and DTM’s family.  Sadly this month we farewelled The Armenian Grandmother and I had my first experience of Armenian church.  That was an interesting one.  In happier news though, The BH&G Fan turned the big two one and celebrated with a party in a splash of pink.  DTM rocked a mini hat purchased the previous month in Penang (in hindsight it’s odd that didn’t make it into any statuses) and I wore a flower in my hair because “that’s my thing” apparently.  Not long after her birthday I farewelled The BH&G Fan as she headed off on her European adventure, first stop Greek Islands with The Scientist before settling into uni life in The Netherlands.

September – I kicked off spring by annoying people it would seem, patients and friends alike and so, as is often the case, I turned to TV.

If full time work as an optometrist has taught me anything, it’s that a reasonably fast typing speed will impress most people over the age of 40.  It’s a hard call when they marvel at your mad skills and assume you’ve been taught and you have to decide whether to tell the truth “no I’m just a lot younger than you and we grew up with computers so it kinda just happened” or lie and pretend like you did a course in touch typing “yes along with my 13 years of school and 5 years of university I thought it might be fun to do a typing course also”.  They seem almost resentful when they see me typing away so sometimes I look at the keys just to make them feel better.  Clearly my skills are not appreciated by my patients.

 “That awkward moment when your patient says "I have to tell you, you're really pissing me off when you do that"”

A dinner catch up with M-Dizzle was cut short when mid-cider (and mid-story) I realised she was no longer awake.  I didn’t know whether to be offended or concerned but turns out she does this quite regularly so I needn’t have been either.  I was a little worried about putting her on the train to get home by herself but having seen her since I can assume she made it home safely that night.

“Sending M-Dizzle to sleep with my stories, like literally”

Bored one day and with none of my regular shows to watch, I asked DTM for some suggestions.  He got me onto 30 Rock (it helped that he already owned the whole series) and I watched a few episodes.  Later when I went to watch the 4^th episode I couldn’t find it so I took a 6 month hiatus from watching it and have only recently gotten back on board.  Unfortunately I am now just at the start of season 4 and have to wait to watch it with DTM as apparently this is where he’s up to.  I could’ve knocked that show out in a few dedicated Tuesdays but instead I have to do other stuff on my days off to pass time…like today when we went to lunch and walked down to Cremorne Point.  So frustrating to know I could’ve been cooped up inside watching TV that whole time.  And don’t even get me started on tonight’s dinner out with Legally Blonde, Legs 11 and The Hot One…

 “Watching the first season of 30 Rock...only 7 years behind the rest of the world”

Since I’m on such a roll I'm gonna keep going and smash out the rest of this year.  That’s right, unlike M-Dizzle who famously told us “I don’t make the rules, I just follow them”, I’m here to break my own rule about splitting this into quarters.  Now who’s the rebel M-Dizzle??

October – a month of long weekends, concert fun, hiding from children and forking out cash…a pretty pricey month by all accounts.

My work likes to do this thing where they ask me take annual leave but mask it as them doing me a favour rather than the other way around.  Sure they’ll occasionally slip in something about the appointment book not being very busy but generally the overwhelming message is “we thought this would work out really well for you”.  Well, as much as I like having a proper Saturday-Sunday weekend like the rest of the world, it hasn’t worked out at that well as I ended up short of annual leave when I actually wanted to use it and now when I have days off I don’t get paid.  Joy.

“Having Tuesdays off when there's a public holiday on Monday is kinda awesome, being asked to also have Saturday off is even more awesome. Bring on the 4 day weekend!”

DTM surprised me this month with his keenness to see Ricky Martin in concert.  And not just any concert, not his big arena show, no, this was his intimate little gig at Star City which I believe was being billed as “up close and personal”.  Somehow, sales hadn’t been huge (did someone say overpriced?) and DTM managed to snap up some amazing tickets for a fraction of the price.  While Ricky certainly puts on a good show, it was a little disconcerting seeing DTM get so into this gay Latino popstar.

“Things I learnt today - Ricky Martin has a tramp stamp. Who knew?!”

October 29 is a day marked in my calendar for 2 expensive reasons.  First and foremost it is The Marge’s birthday but secondly, it is the day my car rego is due.  I stupidly requested a “minor service” with my pink slip check and before you know it I was answering multiple phone calls a day from my mechanic which all started with the all-too-familiar line “I’ve got some bad news”.  I get that my car is older than The BH&G Fan but surely it needn’t cost THAT much to keep the beast running?

 “$3016 to keep my car registered...starting to think I should've just bought a new car”

Always a sucker for a well placed charity person, I was casually doing some grocery shopping one Tuesday when I got stopped by an American man asking me to sign up for regular monthly donations.  I’m no stranger to the monthly donation game and over the years The Starlight Foundation, Surf Livesaving Australia, The Red Cross and Fred Hollows have all benefitted from my “generosity” (truth be told they’re really benefitting from good timing and my inability to say no) but I was willing to switch it up and change charities for 2 reasons: Canteen have helped my man Samuel Johnson and no one says no to a man singing Will Smith on the streets of Forestville.  If I find out that charity guy wasn't really from West Philadelphia, born and raised, I will be ropable!

“Well played canteen charity man at Forestville - how can I possibly say no when you start singing the theme from Fresh Prince of Bel Air to me?”

The end of October can mean only one thing – an excuse to dress up and get free lollies from your neighbours.  Or maybe it can mean two things, because in my case it meant turning the TV right down, closing the blinds and pretending I wasn’t home when the aforementioned dressed up beggars knocked on the front door.

“That awkward moment when you find yourself hiding from 6 year olds because you didn't buy any Halloween treats”

November – The Weather Girl turned 30 while I was controversially at a Beyonce concert, we flew to Melbourne to watch some horsies run laps and I came to terms with not always being the smartest person in my office.

Since The Melbourne Cup conveniently falls on my usually inconvenient Tuesday off, DTM and I decided why not fly down and lose our money in person.  We got an early flight that morning, checked in to the hotel, made our way to the racecourse, lost our shit when we realised there was a Grill’d truck making burgers, spent too much money on expensive drinks and bad bets, hung out with Lleyton Hewitt, lost our shit again when we realised they were selling Connoisseur Cookies & Cream icecreams, went back to the hotel for a nap, headed out to dinner, went to bed, woke up, went out to breakfast, went and watched King Kong The Musical, had a late lunch/early dinner at TGI Fridays then flew back home to Sydney.  It was a whirlwind but entertaining 2 days.

“Had better win some money on the cup today to make up for the fact I woke up at 3.45am only to sit on the tarmac in Melbourne for the past half hour waiting for a parking spot.” 

I don’t entirely recall the conversation which led to this next status but I do know the child in the room was asking way too many questions for which I had no answers.  He realised this too when he started ending his questions with “or would I need to ask a neurobiologist?"

“That awkward moment when you and your 9 year old patient realise he might be more intelligent than you... “

December – a confronting World Cup draw and a lack of Christmas presents I’d ordered online were setting this month up to be a disappointment but just before NYE everything fell into place with a dinner party at The Italian’s place and the fulfilling of many university time wishes.                  

Looking back and realising Australia are the lowest ranked team in The World Cup, it’s strange to think I even cared about the draw.  Maybe I was being optimistic or possibly just naïve to think there was such a thing as a good draw but it certainly felt like we’d been dealt one of the worst draws possible.

“Spain, Netherlands & Chile - too easy. Sure they're currently ranked 1, 9 and 15 and we're outside the top 50 but we've got this covered!”

This year, in a move that DTM would be proud of, I did some Christmas shopping online.  I allowed what I considered ample time for the gifts to arrive and yet come Christmas Eve I was without presents for DTM (serves him right for talking up online shopping really) and The Weather Girl (not a complete disaster since it was only 1 of 2 presents I was giving her).

“All I want for Christmas is a national postal service which does its job efficiently”

For several years we have admired The Italian’s various photos before every night out when she will pose, often with her brother or a cousin or a combination of relatives, in front of a brick archway in her house.  It is inherently Italian.  We’ve longed to feature in one of these photos and have often talked up the day we would go to her house and stand in front of those bricks.  We’ve also wanted more than anything, to watch Police Rescue 1994 (it should be noted we remain unsure that 1994 is actually part of the title but The Italian is adamant that we call it that) as The Italian featured in this movie when she was just 4 years old alongside a then unknown Cate Blanchett.  It’s interesting to see the different paths their movie careers took after that film…

“Getting a photo in front of the brick archway, viewing The Italian's movie debut alongside Cate Blanchett, enjoying a gourmet feast and finding The Italian's page on a talent website - a successful evening all round!”

And so there it is, my 2013 summed up in facebook statuses.  If anything it has taught me that some of the biggest moments of my year went by without so much of a mention on facebook.  Cocktails in the pool at a luxury resort in Malaysia – no big deal.  Graduating after 5 long years of uni – not worth mentioning.  Milestone birthdays for some of my family members – whatever.  A trip to New Zealand for The Wannabe Ranga’s wedding – same old, same old.  The important thing is I didn’t forget the little things like friends falling asleep mid-conversation, the bad movies I watched, the TV shows I was hooked on or the endless parade of painful patients who walk through my door.  Now that I’m done summing this up it’s hard to say what I’ll write about next…

I realise nowhere in this post did I mention Miley Cyrus and her Wrecking Ball Christmas decoration which featured on the tree of our Christmas hosts, but I couldn’t not share the pic.

2013 - Shit That I Got Up To...part 2

So after a longer break than Legally Blonde appreciates, I’m back.  Since my doctor has ordered me off work due to a little cold I figured I might as well bust out an update, after all it is a Thursday and there’s only so much 30 Rock a girl can watch in 3 days.

April – I am left to my own memory to guess what happened in April as apparently it was 30 days of nothing worthy for facebook.  I vaguely recall Anzac Day and watching The Bass Player playing bass at The Argyle before a classy dinner with DTM at Jackson’s on George – who knew they served meals?  Moving right along...*

May – a month of fooling and being fooled by patients while becoming a film and television critic and showing how out of touch I am with the music scene.

The month kicked off with some familiar names but not so familiar faces and in what is potentially a breach of doctor/patient confidentiality, I took to facebook to share my thoughts on this deceit.

“3 days in a row of patients with famous names! Kate Ritchie, Michael Jackson & John Singleton - I can't help feeling my days would've been more interesting if I'd seen the real you rather than some name-sharing imposter”

Music was clearly on my mind and my mind was clearly still in the 90s.  I enjoyed some classic 1997 hits while shopping and discovered I wasn’t quite so up on the rap scene, which was devastating as I’ve always prided myself on my sick rap skills.  Truth be told I’m not even sure if the “rapper” in question is a rapper.  I don’t even know if there’s a difference between rap and hip hop and if I’ve maybe picked the wrong one.  I should probably stop while I’m vaguely ahead.

“Mmmbop playing in David Jones - made my day!”

“Since when is snoop dogg snoop lion?”

Just days after my musical musings DTM took me out to the movies, just like old times…and I’ve not let him live it down since.  It’s been almost a year since that fateful night and I'm still trying desperately to erase the images of a cornrowed James Franco from my mind.  I didn’t get it then, I don’t get it now and I certainly didn’t agree with Franco’s article proclaiming “there will never be a movie or a character that is more important for this age than Spring Breakers and its protagonist Alien”.  I guess maybe if I had read the article before seeing the film (available here if you’re game) then I would’ve known what to expect, or rather, what not to expect “You want a story? Fuck a story. No one wants stories nowadays. “ My mistake for wanting a story I guess.

“Spring Breakers - you might just be the worst movie I've ever seen...and I've seen some baaaaaaad movies!”

When I recovered from that traumatic cinematic experience, I turned to TV for some singers with sob stories and celebrity judges trying desperately to be the popular one…or worse, the inspirational one.

“I think I'd enjoy The Voice a lot more if it was more singing and less of the judges trying to outdo each other in their inspirational monologues. And don't even get me started on their overuse of the word "tone" - if you say it about everyone it doesn't really make it that special does it now?”

The month wrapped up nicely with a deluded patient having some misguided confidence in my skills.

“Just had a patient say "you obviously really know your stuff" - not sure if that means I'm a good optometrist or if I should audition for NIDA”

June – there wasn’t a great deal on my mind this month and I feel like this status needs no explanation, quite simply it is an important public service announcement brought on by a painful public.

“Paediatric optometry may just be the best method of birth control out there!”

So that wraps up part 2 of my 2013 summary.  I had intended to write more than just 3 months worth in this update but Giuliana and Bill isn’t going to watch itself, nor will those strawberry and cream lindt balls eat themselves.  Until next time amigos.

*A last minute addition to this post - after a quick perusal of some photos on my phone from April, 

I'm reminded that not only did I attend a wedding, have my hair and make up done for a photo shoot, and discover a rat eating my optometry equipment; I was also surprised to receive a completely random bunch of flowers from DTM, delivered to work for no apparent reason.  As it's only ever happened once, you'd think I'd remember it!

2013 - Shit That I Got Up To...part 1

It’s no secret I write a pretty decent email.  In fact, people have often commented “you should start a blog” after reading one of my emails.  The jury remains out on whether that was a good suggestion.  Nevertheless, one standout email (if I do say so myself) was when I penned an epic note to Legally Blonde on Christmas morning 2009, summing up my year.  She was away on exchange gallivanting around Europe and I (as always) was happy for a self-indulgent trip down memory lane.  And so, thanks to that very email and its insistent recipient, it is without further ado that I present:

2013 – a year in facebook statuses

January – a quick glance at my facebook for the first month of the year suggests that I was:

a) too busy doing grown-up stuff to spend time updating my status

b) no longer at uni and therefore less obsessed with facebook

c) not doing anything particularly interesting or worthy of a social media update

d) all of the above

The correct answer is D, as my statuses show I was up to some pretty boring non-uni-related grown-up stuff.  I moved in with DTM and finally farewelled The Bra, though my 2035 back tattoo will remain as a reminder of all the good times I had with Koby and all the other guys.  I’m sure Russell Crowe will mention my brief time there when they inevitably make a sequel to Bra Boys.  I for one cannot wait. 

“Refund of 2 months car insurance for changing address to somewhere less dodgy $-15
Mail redirection for 3 months $30
Not having to live in Maroubra any more PRICELESS “

Because moving house isn’t a stressful and time consuming thing, I decided to combine it with starting a new job.  Having farewelled my lovely (generally speaking) newsagency after 11 years at the end of 2012, it was time to actually put some of that uni stuff into practice and start earning back my $42000 uni debt.  After 2.5 weeks learning how to be a receptionist at my new company (and wondering if that might’ve been a better career move than optometrist) I joined my fellow grads for a week of induction before being unleashed onto the unsuspecting public on January 23/24.  The slash represents my confusion over which counts as my real first day – the day I saw 2 patients in the city with about a 3 hour gap between them or the day I had a whole bunch of patients booked in to see me in Brookvale.  I like to go with the latter so that we can claim The Hot One’s mum as my first patient but medicare might disagree since I billed them about $120 the previous day for my services.

“Keratoconus, migraines, broken fundus camera and a couple of Freshwaters - not too bad for a first day. “

February – a month where work was on my mind, but not too much that there wasn’t room for a Zoolander quote or a night out with The Hoff.

I’d like to say my lack of confidence in my therapeutics skills has all but gone now that a year has passed but that would be a filthy lie.  Finding out my patient had an optometric background was terrifying back then and would still terrify me today.  Heck, even finding out my patient was a gastroenterologist terrified me one day as I felt like even he knew a lot more about what was going on than I did.  It also made me even more self conscious of my tummy rumbles…I digress.

“That awkward moment when your patient is a retired optometrist and has come to you for your therapeutics expertise... “

After a month of working in Brookie I suppose I should’ve been touched by how comfortable my co-workers felt around me, but I couldn’t help feel a little offended the one (and only!) time I didn’t put concealer under my eyes.

“It's always a good start to the day when you're feeling fine and are greeted with "Hi, how are you? You look a bit sick"”

It’d be nice to think my Saturday afternoon film reference was drawing from an actual event and if I’m being completely honest, there’s a (slim) chance it was and I’ve just forgotten.  The more likely scenario however, is that I was just randomly and inexplicably quoting the genius that is Zoolander.

“I'm not an ambi-turner. It's a problem I've had since I was a baby. “

A highlight of the month (and we all know that’s a big call given how much I love birthdays and mine happens to fall in this month) was without a doubt spending “An Evening with The Hoff” at Lizotte’s in Dee Why with DTM, The Hippy Engineer and one of The Patrollers.  The Patroller was a late fill in after M-Dizzle bought tickets before realising she’d still be in Melbourne for her work induction.  Yet again The Most-Evil-Corporate-Giant-In-The-Optometry-World was ruining our lives.  The Patroller had a great time, as did we all, marvelling at the amazing singing career of Mitch Buchanan.  There were girls dressed in their Baywatch best as he sang the theme song (along to, but not in time with, a backing tape), audience members pulled on stage to be serenaded, inside stories about why there was so much slow-mo used in the show (insufficient amount of footage not just for more boob bouncing) and some excited fans (DTM included) who got to shake hands with the legend himself.  The downside of course, was having The Hoff stuck in my head for days and days after.

“That awkward moment when you can't get David Hasselhoff's voice singing Rhinestone Cowboy out of your head.”

March – a concert and some telco problems make this month seem fairly uneventful on facebook – you’d be forgiven for thinking Legally Blonde, The Hot One and M-Dizzle didn’t all have birthdays this month within the space of 10 days.

My first status of the month was sent out from The Metro where DTM and I were taking in a gig by The Cat Empire.  I remember it all too well as I was feeling sick and the last thing in the world I wanted to do was stand up in a crowded room with a bunch of strangers and loud music.  What a lovely twist of fate that the concert should be on that very day and the tickets were general admission.

“Well hello hello”

After trying to unsuccessfully renew my mobile data on my ipad, I was informed by Kogan Mobile that my account had been suspended and it has “something to do with your service usage as indicated to our ACCEPTABLE USE POLICY which you have agreed on.”  This was just one of many emails constructed in poor English from the Kogan Mobile staff as I tried to work out why they would take my money and not give me any data.  I tried to call and after repeatedly being cut off after 10 minutes of hold music, one day, after 80+ minutes of holding, I finally got through.  This proved no more helpful but eventually, with the help of The Telecommunications Ombudsman I got my $9.99 refund.

“Kogan Mobile - you make me want to smash my head against a brick wall...repeatedly.”

Apparently my year was so riveting that there’s too much to write about in one sitting.  This could be related to my ongoing Cotton Eyed Joe back injury which prevents me from sitting down for long periods at a time.  Well that’s not completely true.  If I listened to The Williams Sisters’ Ex Physio I would never sit down for more than 15 minutes at a time…obviously this isn’t the case but I do occasionally get a sharp pain up my spine if I haven’t stood up in a while.  The point of all this is?  I think my 2013 summary is getting split into quarters and so this wraps up part 1.

A rather average Tuesday

So after a longer-than-planned hiatus, I thought it was time I finally posted something.  I’d promised Legally Blonde a nice little recap of my 2013 (and may still get around to it) but decided my shitty Tuesday this week could not go by without a mention.  So here goes nothing…

It all starts back in January last year (so in a way I’m totally smashing that recap at the same time) when I was moving out of The Bra and back to The Beaches.  Since DTM already had a bed, my queen bed seemed suddenly unnecessary and I needed to come up with a plan for said bed.  The plan seemed foolproof – hire a van, get The Marge to drive it to The Bra, pick up the mattress and bed frame (dissembled into 4 big wooden pieces, 3 metal poles, a bunch of slats and a box of legs and screws and other things), drive it 3 hours north to Nelson Bay, dump it in The Marge’s garage (the mattress made its way inside the house) and drive the van back to Sydney.  And as far as I recall that all went very smoothly.

So I spent a year on DTM’s ridiculously large mattress (with so much extra latex cushioning it requires “super queen” sheets, yeah that’s really a thing) and a less-than-impressive ensemble base.  I appreciated that his mattress was newer and fancier than mine (though am still not entirely convinced that it’s actually more COMFORTABLE than mine) but I longed for my nice white wooden bed frame, to which every other piece of furniture in my room was bought to match.

Out of the blue when DTM suggested we move out this year (to be fair I had been suggesting it for a long time but lost hope that it was actually going to happen) I briefly thought maybe my bed would get to make an appearance at the new digs.  I soon realised that wasn’t going to happen as I certainly couldn’t be bothered driving all that way to get it when we already had to take a trailer load from Forestville and could just take DTM’s bed from there.  When moving day rolled around DTM’s Version of M-Dizzle helped us out by driving the trailer and providing some much needed muscle.  When we got to Neutral Bay, The Bass Player was also on hand to help us empty the trailer and cars.  I was left to man the trailer while the boys spent what felt like an eternity carrying the oversized mattress up to the 5^th floor.  I still maintain that I had measured the lift and measured the mattress and it should have fit but they prefer to just outright disagree with me instead of admit they may have wasted a lot of time and energy carrying it up the stairs when it could’ve just taken a quick trip in the elevator.

After that lengthy effort, they concluded there was absolutely no way the base was going to make it up the stairs.  Since it was heavier and less flexible than the mattress, they figured it was not worth attempting as the mattress had made its way up with lots of bending and resting on heads.  I also agreed that its lack of flexibility meant it wouldn’t have fit in the lift (unlike the mattress!) so it seemed like we were gonna be sleeping on the floor for a while.  And then it hit me…this was the perfect opportunity to get my bed back in my life!

So after a week and a half of sleeping on a mattress on the floor (which admittedly was almost normal bed height given the thickness of DTM’s mattress) I made plans to head up to The Marge’s and see how much bed I could fit in my car.  I had thought I would drive up on Saturday after work,  have dinner with The Marge, spend the night and drive back sometime Sunday so that the 6 hours of driving wouldn’t seem so bad.  Unfortunately they had some guests staying from Queensland and subtly suggested that I wasn’t really welcome that weekend.  And that’s how Tuesday came to be such a shitty day…

Just before 5pm on Monday I left work and got in the car to begin my long commute north.  I was about 45 minutes into my drive when I started hearing a strange noise in my car.  Granted, that’s not all that strange for my lovely 1991 mazda but since I was driving 110km/hr and still had a good 2 hours to go I thought I should try and locate the source.  I assumed it was my air con but sadly the noise continued even when that was turned off.  I soon noticed a bit of plastic trim flapping around in the wind (not a completely new occurrence but more on that later) but that also didn’t seem to be the cause of my mystery noise.  It sounded like it was coming from behind the dashboard somehow and just as I was getting concerned, it stopped.  For the next couple of hours the noise was on and off but I got used to it and just turned the music up and hoped for the best.

I was semi concerned that my flapping plastic trim might finally detach (despite my best efforts of taping it up months earlier) but I was determined to get there before dark (since my dash no longer lights up, driving at night is a bit scary) so pushed on and ignored the flapping plastic outside my window.  My car and I made it there just before 8, still able to see the dash and with plastic trim hanging on by a rubbery thread.  It was a rather stressful drive and I was ready to just have a nice home-cooked meal before heading to bed.  Just as The Marge was serving up the spaghetti , The Sailor casually asks me if I remember how to put my bed together.  I assured him I did, and proudly recalled buying a set of Allen Keys from the hardware store in Collaroy when I needed to dissemble it 2 years ago for the move to Maroubra.  He went on…

“I noticed that the slats are only half a bed length…”

“Yes…”

“So is there something that goes down the middle to hold them in place?”

“Yes, a long black metal pole with plastic bits coming off it for the slats to slide into”

“Right, I don’t recall seeing that…”

And just when I thought my afternoon/night couldn’t get more painful, it had.  I wasn’t too worried initially as I assumed they just hadn’t looked for it and it must surely be somewhere in their garage.  After all, where else could it be?  We had our dinner, watched Revenge, and then had a quick look in the garage.  The metal pole was nowhere to be seen but The Marge was confident we’d find it in there in the morning, or possibly somewhere else in the house.  I was less confident.

I woke up early on Tuesday morning to try and find my missing pole and get on the road while it was still early.  The Marge made me a lovely breakfast and I tried my best to be positive about my bed.  When she left for work it was up to The Sailor and I to find the missing bed part.  It was as we looked through the garage for what felt like the millionth time that I realised all 3 black poles were missing, not just one.  Suddenly things were looking even worse.   After rearranging the garage and checking all 3 wardrobes upstairs and under the beds we came to the conclusion that the poles were not there.  Where they were was anyone’s guess.

Then I had to decide whether or not to take the remaining parts of my bed back to Sydney or keep them stored in Nelson Bay.  Since the bed was pretty useless without the 3 black poles, I figured I might as well take it to Sydney to be useless with me, rather than leave it in their not-so-reliable storage facility.  And so with a bit of seat adjusting and rope fastening, the 4 wooden pieces of my bed and the bunch of slats were secured in my car and ready for the 3 hour drive back to Sydney.  Thanks to a roll of insulation tape which lives in my glove box, my plastic trim was also once more firmly attached to my car and by 9AM I was ready to leave.

I hadn’t long been on the freeway when my plastic trim started flapping once more.  The mystery noise had also returned and I decided to stop revive survive at the petrol station/McDonalds half way point to assess the situation.  I got my tape out of the glove box and stood there in the car park taping my car back together.  I got back on the road and hoped that my next 90 minutes would go by without drama.  No such luck.  The mystery noise that seemed to come from behind the dash continued as my speedo needle seemed to be shaking around the 110 mark.  I assumed it was just because it wasn’t used to these speeds and the car itself can barely handle it so I didn’t think too much of the shaking.  It was when it started randomly jumping to 150 (a speed which I definitely wasn’t going) and then back to 110 that I started to get concerned.  It happened a few more times, I was happily cruising in the middle lane between cars when all of a sudden my speedo would say I was going 40k faster than I was.  I doubt my car is even capable of going that fast if I wanted it to.

Needless to say I was relieved to be off the freeway and back to a more normal 60km/hr.  I was on the home stretch and what else could possibly go wrong?  And that’s when it started to rain.  It was one thing trusting my insulation tape to hold my car together when dry but it was quite another to trust my flapping plastic and tape concoction in the rain.  And so there I was, after 2 and a bit hours of driving with some large useless wooden bed parts; I had my window partly wound down and my arm sticking out holding my car together while rain streamed down my arm and into the car.  at traffic lights I would briefly bring my arm in, dry it off and readjust before having to stick it out in the cold rain again.

Driving was ok but indicating was a challenge given my indicator is on the right of my wheel and I was driving left handed while my right hand held the plastic trim in place.  I finally managed to get home just before midday and to top it off discovered that The Sailor had packed my bed parts into the car in such a way that they had spent the previous 3 hours scratching each other.  And so I was home finally with a cold wet arm, some scratched bed frame parts, some very loosely attached plastic trim on my car and a very noticeable absence of metal bed poles.

To top it off, on Monday afternoon before I commenced my drive north, I noticed a big white scratch on my car and dinged up looking white car parked behind me on the street near work.  So thanks to the driver of BK65PM for contributing to my shittastic 24 hours.

*nb: this photo was taken months ago, it no longer looks this slick as the plastic has broken into multiple pieces and I don't have all of them anymore