TGIF - Thankfully

Things to be thankful for at this point:

1. It is Friday.
2. Client from Spain sending everything through in Spanish and not being appreciative of me responding with “Ole, you daft fucks, send it again in English. Ole.” but then still making a conversion to the mother-tongue for me.
3. Someone calling me to say they were going to be late into work. I thought we went over this. Hopefully after the email I just sent it is now the last time that will happen.
4. Some eye candy just walked past the window.
5. I got Zooper Dooper icy poles and put them in the work freezer. Now every morning at 10:00am I get a Zooper Dooper.
6. Clients who ask when I turn up to a meeting, “Is that a Zooper Dooper? I want a fucken Zooper Dooper”. Then we have a business meeting with Zooper Doopers, because civilised adults share.

It doesn’t take much for me to be content with my lot in life: Ice, sugar, tits and being sarcastic to my work colleagues.

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State of things and Xmas!

The diet is going well. Stage one revolves around being hungry all the time, angry that the process isn’t happening faster and then after all that, using any excuse in the world to fuck up whatever good work you supposedly did for that week by eating a God damned pizza. Stage two and onwards is exactly the same but the excuses get worse until it morphs into not even bothering with the excuses anymore and suddenly you are just you again. It’s as if the process is a metamorphosis, you enter as giant fat caterpillar and then exit as giant fat butterfly but with gossamer wings made of bitterness and regret.

Also, I am aware of the health stigma at the moment about referring to the process as ‘dieting’. Health professionals are all about reinforcing that it is OK to sit around on the lounge, booze up and eat fried food until I am more regret than man, as long as it is done in moderation. That is the point though, I want to do it all the time and limiting the things I like to an acceptable level is the written definition of a diet you fucking arseholes. Of course I know how childish that sounds, I’m not blind to my own faults, just hungry. And really lazy.

This is how my Xmas will play out.
Now I know it exists.

Since this started off on a dark note, I’ll finish on something positive. People have been complaining about Xmas for the last few months. “Why are they advertising Xmas already?”, “Why are they playing Xmas carols in November” – you know what? Fuck ‘em. This weekend I am putting up the tree, then all the lights and finishing up with the most festive batch of eggnog that has ever been made. My wife will sit there and complain that this shit shouldn’t be done until December and then probably argue that eggnog should contain something else besides bourbon. I just can’t listen to all this negativity anymore, it is Xmas time and come Saturday the kids will the decking the halls and Bon Jovi will be singing carols in the background while I fortify myself with my ‘noggy jug of Xmas spirit.

We’ll also probably order pizza.

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Office Banter

A lot of people work out there in the world, without cubicles, without the sterile atmosphere and the scent of people that have just given up. Also, the scent of some dumb fucker who decided to have fish for lunch. Anyway, assuming you were curious, wondering what was said behind those glass doors, this is pretty much it:

Colleague: Are you coming to the Partners’ barbeque?
Me: No.
Colleague: Why?
Me: I don’t like driving north. It feels, wrong, kind of dirty, you know?
Cubical-buddy (interrupting): His wife said they already have something on that night.
Colleague: Why can’t you give a normal answer?
Me: Because my father took off when I was seven years old. But before he left he told me one thing - “Always fuck with them. Always.”
Colleague: Did he really say that?
Me: No.
Colleague: Did he really leave when you were a kid?
Me: Also no.

Me: So, do you have a husband? Boyfriend?
Graduate that I am training: Sort of.
Me: So, girlfriend? We are all pretty open here, <Cubical-buddy > is a lesbian and <other work colleague> is more camp than a row of tents.
Cubical-buddy: No I’m not, don’t listen to him.
Me (whispering very quietly): She experiments.
Graduate: No, I am seeing someone but it is new, and he is three years older.
Me (attempting to look cool in front of a 20 year old): Older is awesome. My wife is 21 years older than me.
<months later at a team bonding fishing day which included spouses>
Graduate (after staring at my wife for an uncomfortably long time): You aren’t 20 years older than him!
<Wife glares at me>
Me: Yeh, my bad, I didn’t prepare you for that one. I am juggling so many balls I forget what lies I’ve told people.

Cubical-buddy: Do you think <Partner> has had a boob job?
Me: Dammit, I know what you are doing. Stop it.
<after coming out of meeting with Partner>
Cubical-buddy: That was fast.
Me: She asked me to leave.
Cubical-buddy: Were you staring at her chest?
Me: I was staring at her chest.

Partner: Did you call <Manager of another team> a cunt?
Me: Before you start shouting, it was situationally relevant.
Partner (now shouting): How could the situation call for that?
Me: He was being a cunt.
Partner: Please don’t do that again, I now have to go and respond to an official complaint.
Me: Fine, but since I’m scratching your back, how about you do that thing for me. You know, the thing I like.
Partner: Fine <turning to Cubical-buddy> go make him a coffee.
Cubical-buddy: He doesn’t even drink coffee!
Partner: Just do it. I will be busy with HR for a while.
Me: Oh good, can you please ask them how my sexual harassment complaint is coming along?
Cubical-buddy: When were you sexually harassed?
Me: I was groped in front of the lifts yesterday.
Partner: Jesus, I just bumped into you and it was an accident.
<Cubical-buddy gasps dramatically>
Me: I know, right. Uninvited physical contact. Her boob rubbed right against my arm.
<Cubical-buddy gasps louder>
<Partner walks off swearing>

Cubical-buddy: Someone used some of my butter in the fridge.
Me: Communal fridge, it happens. Don’t let the man get you down.
<Me, after Cubical-buddy goes to a meeting, sends long winded firm-wide email out condemning the butter theft, reiterating that Cubical-buddy has five children she needs to feed and educate, which is difficult enough, but also her husband ran off with his secretary so she is doing it alone>
Colleague from another team to Cubical-buddy: Look, sorry, I took some of your butter and to make things right I’ve brought you some things, to help out a little.
<hands over a bag of assorted groceries to a confused Cubical-buddy before walking off sheepishly>
Cubical-buddy (for some reason only now noticing the email): God fucking dammit, you lying asshole. Now I need to give this back.
Me (looking through groceries): Fuck that, we got cookies!

This image was mislabeled, obviously. I'm going
to allow it though.

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Status update: Everything is just swell

I wouldn't say everything is great, I lied in the recounting of events below, but right now I am sober so I suppose headway is being made. 

Colleague to me: “So, how’s the diet going?”

Me (recalling going out for breakfast)…..

Me to waitress: I’ll have a strawberry thickshake.

Wife: No.

Me: Milkshake.

Wife: No.

Me: Cappuccino, three sugars.

Wife: No.

Me: Fine. Coffee, black, no sugar, just bland as fuck. But could you please serve it in a milkshake container? *winking at waitress and making universal gesture to hook up a brother*

Wife: I can see you, and no.

Me: Why can’t I have nice things?

Wife: *pokes my fat stomach*

Me to waitress: A glass of water and a side of shame, please.

 Me responding to Colleague’s original question: Great! Motivation is buoyant and the wife is really supportive.

#7: How to order Getta Burger from UberEats

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It begins. Again. I Guess?

I’m not a fan of dieting, I haven’t been a fan of it previously and I’m not a fan of it now. This is mainly because my hobbies, while being extremely active in one sense, involves a lot of inactivity in another sense. I’m referring to computer games and drinking at a pub while eating fried food, but not at the same time, obviously. Although, should that be obvious? Combining those two pastimes sounds pretty damn awesome. Which just illustrates the state of my health I suppose.

In any case, some of the gang wanted to amp up their lifestyle and become fit, possibly because, just like me, they were sick of their wife constantly making jokes including “I ate a baby” references. I happened to be in the room at the time they were having this conversation and due to their excitement and probably being drunk, I got all swept up in the moment and made agreements which, on reflection, I should have instead responded with, “Fuck off, you stupid bastards. I want no part in this”. Promises were made and dates were set. So now, a few days in, I have a sore back because it isn’t used to doing any of this shit and I’ve just had a salad for lunch. I tried pretending it was KFC, because I can see KFC through my work window, but it felt like I was chewing plastic so I guess lunchtime is just dead to me now.

The main sweetener in all this is the goal. Each week we weigh-in and the person with the highest percentage loss for the week gets treated to a schnitzel at the pub. With whatever topping they want. This may sound counter intuitive but I don’t want to hear your fucking arguments – the schnitzels are that good. The losers for the week are allowed to eat as well, although I preferred the option where they had to watch the winner finish the entire plate as a form of encouragement.

I’ll try and keep up the status and weekly results but with a current workload and just feeling hungry all the time there is very little motivation or energy to do anything more than crawl into bed each night, sobbing quietly and dreaming of eating a little burger inside a bigger burger inside a much bigger burger – tarducken style dining, but inside two buns.

This is like porn for me. Until I

look up other porn. Obviously.

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