Inanimate objects

I love giving inanimate objects names, and shouting at them. Shouting at inanimate objects shows them who is the boss.

My ipod, which got stolen out of my car was named Iggy Ipod, after an old boyfriend. My ipad is named Paddy. My navman was also stolen out of my car. It was called Navi, which isn't short for navman, it is named after a friend's little brother, we called him Navi which was Ivan spelt backwards. It was not long after that that I realised that my navman was possessed by Ivan Milat. It was always trying to send me into desolate state forests on unmarked roads and through other dodgy places as it tried to murder me. That will fix the thief!

My last car was called Barney, because he was the colour of a Barney banana ice cream. I haven't named my new car yet, not sure why, but my Kia Rio was called Arty, because his number plate started with RT.

My red esky is called Frosty and our toolbox that we used when we were selling jewelry at markets was called Stanley, partly because of the brand, and also because of Stanley Yelnats from the film Holes.

The best of of all is our kettle. It's name is motherfucker. It is one of those kettles that instantly delivers hot water when you press the red button. It makes an er er er er droning noise as it steams up and dispenses, very similar to the beat of the song Motherfucker by Obie Trice on eminem's Eight Mile CD. When Claire was a teenager, we went through an eminem phase and Mark used to question my parenting skills when he would hear some of the lyrics and say stuff like 'Nice stuff you are listening to here, imagine if one of the grandmothers gets in the car'.

The phantom spoon pig

One day I will post some of my whacky conspiracy theories, but for the moment, I have been blocked from accessing my blog from work, which I feel is part of an illuminati plot to silence me - how rude!

Here is a copy of a Facebook update about my hobby of leaving dirty dishes in the work sink.

Today's complaint about me received by work email.....

Congratulations Guys,
We are now down to 1 teaspoon left in the kitchen.
Today, I have already plucked it out of the sink twice!!
Remember, if it is in the sink, the boss will throw it out.
It seems that some people just don't care, but it will be the same people that will complain when we have nothing left in the kitchen.
We are all adults, so please do the right thing, wash the bloody thing and put it away!!.
PS: yes, I am a bit annoyed!!
Regards, disgruntled workmate

 It was sent as a result of this one...

All,
Anyone think the dishes they leave on the Kitchen bench will wash themselves???????
If they are there in 1 hour I will bin them.
It is pretty simple - if you use a cup or a spoon - wash it.
If you make a mess - Clean it up.
Do not leave anything in the sink for someone else - It is rude and Lazy!!!!
Regards, The Boss

A glass coffee cup , A Coffee Mug and 2 spoons are now in the bin.
IF YOU USE IT WASH IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and this one...

After running well for a couple of weeks we have had another mug and three spoons heading to the great dumping ground in the sky. We will run out of spoons.

Yesterday after leaving the spoon in the sink a couple of times for entertainment (I sit behind a partition next to the kitchen and can hear everyone whinging about the phantom spoon pig), I went in to make a coffee and as I rugby tackled a workmate that was in my way, I accidentally flicked a spoon out of the dish rack and it flipped over and landed in the sink with a TING like a tuning fork. Immediately, I started shouting 'teaspoon in the sink, teaspoon in the sink, sound the warning sirens'. And then I cackled for the rest of the day. I do have a list of potential activities, super gluing a spoon to the sink, drilling a small hole and attaching some fishing line and giving it a good tug over the partition as soon as I hear someone at the sink, going to the op shop and getting random items and leaving them in the sink, or the best one suggested by another anti social friend was to leave a dirty spoon out until it was green and caked with mold and put that in there. 

Special delivery

Every day in winter, the canteen at work delivers home made soup to my desk.

The man that brings the trolley around is Indian and his name is Govinda.  As he walks up the stairs to put fresh milk in our fridge and my soup on my desk, the little bell that he carries tinkles (you can see it in his right hand below) and I hear it so I start shouting out "Yay it's Govinda, Govinda is here everybody".  The men I work with get cross because my lunch is hand delivered and they have to walk downstairs and choose theirs from the trolley.  They say it's discrimination.  I tell them its because no one likes them.

I needed breakfast one morning and I rang the chef to see what was on the menu, but he said I can make you whatever you like. I said I would like a surprise for breakfast and he said he would get Govinda to deliver it. When Govinda arrived I made my usual fuss over him and my special delivery, he even wrapped it up for me. His 'bon bon' contained a ham, pineapple and egg muffin.