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There's nothing like a little snarky workplace poetry to make a girl wonder why she came in at all. I'll never understand the thought process which results in the following literary abortion:

To those folk who leave dirty dishes behind
I find it very timely to remind
No one is paid to clean up after you
It is something that the user must do

So to help make this kitchen a nice clean place
To ensure that for all there is plenty of space
Wash and wipe your dishes and put them away
The Karma you receive will lighten your day

To those who like to leave a mess behind
Sooner or later I am sure that you will find
Not a clean plate, knife, fork or cup to use
And only yourself who you can accuse

Surely the effort of finding/composing, printing, and LAMINATING such a godawful specimen is greatly in excess of what you'd spend rinsing a smudgy glass. But a person who can't find a consistent meter in a poem of 12 lines is no friend to logic.

It's the smorgasbord approach - tetrameter, pentameter, hexameter? Yes please! I don't know what you call a line with 5 1/2 feet, other than the definition of dancing to your own drum. Which you made from the skin of the innocent. That or you foolishly allowed an amputee to join your conga line.

Here's a poem for you, oh bard of the dishrack, which I think captures the office kitchen zeitgeist somewhat more efficiently.

I hate you
and myself.

The Secret Fears of Us

I wonder how wise it is to be posting my number one fear, in case the unscrupulous use it against me in the future. I hope I don't know anyone that terrible.

Behold the terror:



Well, not so much this, as this:



or this:



and I don't even want to contemplate this:



When I was little, my sister would have balloons at her birthday parties. Straight after the party I would creep around and bite a tiny hole in the knot of each balloon so it would quickly deflate. This meant I had to put my face right up into each balloon, but I took the risk because I wouldn't be able to relax until they were all deactivated. I will never understand what makes balloons associated with good times. If I could, I would ban them forever.

People find this fear hilarious. Well, guess what! You probably have a stupid fear which I find hilarious. Spiders? Snakes? Blood and guts? Bah. I watched a lung transplant, and if the theatre tech had offered me a toasted cheese sandwich I wouldn't have said no.

Stupid fears are such revealing and human things. A friend of mine faints if she takes her own pulse. Another is scared of escalators. My flatmate is terrified of jewellery. And my sister screams if she sees that jelly which congeals on the bottom of a roast chicken.

These people drink, smoke, overeat, drive cars, and cross the street - all activities which are far more likely to kill you than chicken jelly. But it's not death we're afraid of, when it comes down to it, is it? Everyone has something that they secretly feel is worse. Post yours (unless it's posting on blogs, in which case, just relax, breathe deeply, and think about unicorns).

Eh?

I've had a nasty bout of the flu and am currently deaf in one ear.



Being half deaf isn't that bad. It's a license to squint at people and call them 'sonny'. But the best example of the deaf-advantage was discovered by a friend of mine back in Christchurch.

She (we'll call her Wendy, because that is in fact her name) was walking home from work one evening along the tram tracks on a quiet street in Christchurch city. Christchurch has trams, but they are a tourist attraction rather than a genuine means of transport - as they are slow, expensive, and run on a pathetically small loop around the cbd. When she got to the end of the street she casually glanced behind her.

Bearing down on her was an angry looking tram driver and a lot of impatient tourists. They had been stuck behind her as she ambled along the street. Her first instinct was to blurt out

I'm deaf!

and gesture at her ears. She even did that deaf voice. You know the one.

Feigning a disability as a reflex action certainly has its merits. Tourette's could have its uses, as could selective dyslexia.

Because what kind of motherfucking asswipe shit cunts fine someone for parking in a 'Postponing' zone?

Smile!

Ninafat's Man On The Street excitedly reported spotting a van this evening. Exciting news in itself (everyone loves a good van), but this wasn't just any van. This was a Google Maps van!

It appears that we are soon to be on the map. In astonishing detail. As-you-undress-tonight-I'd-stay-away-from-the-windows level of detail. People have recognised their cats from these maps.

The cats were doing what they always do, which is the beauty of cats. People get caught doing things they wouldn't like to admit they do because they are inferior animals unable to live as they please. Cats never get caught doing anything surprising because they do what they like right in your face. In fact, they subtly prefer it.

Oh the unsuspecting denziens of Melbourne, how many illicit trysts, how many joints behind the bike sheds, how many underwear adjustments have been captured for the world's amusement today?

Since my life is currently devoid of anything other than as the crow flies orthodox behaviour, I have nothing to fear. Which is a bit embarrassing in itself. I believe that every day you should do at least one thing you hope no one saw you do.

Otherwise, when you're abducted by aliens and put on display in an extra-terrestrial wildlife reserve, you won't miss anything at all. And that would be a shame.