dad 2

We're just back from Bruges where my dad has been admitted for "emergency surgery" (as my mum so proudly and bombastically claims in her worry). Apparently the retina or the cornea (honestly, they're not making sense anymore at this point, they're using both words and they're different things, but still...) is tearing further and sticking to something and whatever the hell. There's something of a 70% shot that this operation is enough, otherwise... well, my dad didn't bother to ask about the "otherwise".

Hospitals these days, it's like going to the butcher's. You take a number to have your little "hospital pass" made. Then you can go see a doctor, then you go back downstairs and take a differently coloured number to get a bed. Oh, what fun.
And the behaviour of some of the staff... And I do stress "some"...
- A nurse comes in, without introducing herself, drops your file in a little basket attached to your bed and asks you to put on your hospital gown.
Of course, La Pigleta -"patients' rights now! I took a course on open reporting, so fuck off"- starts reading the damned file to get a fucking clue of what's going on. Because no-one tells you. "When might he go home?"- "oh we don't know". The file says 2-3 days after surgery, if nothing goes wrong. So now I know.
- Then someone in a white uniform with a face like he's having the worst day of his life comes in (try being in my dad's shoes, arsewipe) and starts pulling the bed. No "hello, I'm Arsewipe", not even "hello", not "are you Mr Piglet's Dad?". You could be taking the wrong bloke, you idiot. Not "I'll be taking you to the OR". No, he might have been dragging my dad away, bed and all, to the roof of the hospital to proclaim his undying love.
And don't get me started on the cafeteria lady and the Special-Bus-to-School-lot who jumped the queue.

My dad's hopefully already out of surgery by now. No one bothered to tell us how long the operation would take or how long he'd be sleeping afterwards.... Let's just hope the operation succeeded.

|

Baloo


I didn't know Baloo and Jacques had pictures in mid-dance. Must have been at the last Trouble...
Anyway. I didn't put this photo up to mock His Studliness. Nor to study his dancemoves. Oh no.
My motives were a lot simpler altogether.
We're getting old, Dear Sir. If Jacques was looking for a twink, he'll be halfway out the door by now. Watch that lock, Baloo. There's always dressing up in schoolboy uniforms if that's what it takes.
I wish you a happy birthday...

|

Dad

My dad's got a tear (as in a rip) in his cornea ("hoornvlies"). He'll need surgery as soon as possible, possibly Monday. In bloody Bruges. Or Ghent.
I've been looking on the internet, but I can't find a lot of information. Only about retinas and what can be wrong with them.
I'm worried.

|

pervert

I felt like linking to a photo of the gorgeous Shiri Maimon (Israel, ESC 2005)... because basically... I'm a bit of a Dirty Old Woman.
So here it is.

Shame I couldn't find a cap of that gorgeoussssss naked back of hers.
(EDIT: I did find one...)

|

Ow

Last personnel meeting before I'm off into the sunset. They thanked me. In public. Elaborately. And gave me an H&M voucher.
I may not handle rejection well, but I'm no better at handling praise! If I could have crawled under my chair, I would have.
I nearly cried, for god's sake. Bastards.

No flowers this time.
I think it's Gay Sleeveless Supervisor's influence, he knows what a girl really wants.

As of tonight: I am on holiday till November 7th! Fabulous.
Now I just need to find something constructive to do with my time off (don't suggest cleaning!)

|

sexual intimidation

I was "felt up" by the Gay Sleeveless Supervisor on Thursday... for another temp job in another team at work, starting in February. Would I like to do it. Only part time, temporary of course ("it's the internal rule of our organisation to only hire Bachelor's for a job that requires no higher degree, unless it's a temporary position, blablabla"), a different department closer to home, not nearly as troubled as "my" "team", ... until the organisation wrote out a complete selection process somewhere next summer.
I was feeling rather ambiguous about it all, but what the hell, it's work, so I probably would have accepted.
Only apparently they hadn't consulted the team yet (idiots), and the team would prefer to have someone new start straightaway. It makes sense. Why have a replacement for a few months, when you can have someone permanent straightaway. So with probably (hopefully) red cheeks my Big Boss had to phone and tell me he "perhaps should not have been leading me on", et cetera et cetera.
No. Perhaps not eh.
"But they'll definitely keep an eye out for work, I've done a great job (I'm just writing this down because I'll deny he ever said that if I don't) and they're very grateful".
Cute.
And hey, changes are good. Especially for me.
But why do I have the sudden urge to listen to Coldplay and hide in a cocoon of blankets then?

More amusing work-related things More work whining:
- I obviously survived my car drive and "park-on-my-driveway" adventure with Gay Sleeveless Supervisor. The man has scarily straight taste in music, but also appreciates the new Madonna song. Well, at least someone does then. (I'm joking, Cecil, it's growing on me)
- My Macho Christian Colleague found nothing better to do than to print out an e-mail on my colleague's computer (we have old, loud printers) when she was on the phone with the Big Boss. If I hadn't been in the room, he would have been dead by now.
- A meeting my Back-from-Sickness colleague held was so loud I had to concentrate to hear myself think. One floor up from the meeting. That should teach her to do her job and also visit the father of the children, as opposed to just the foster parents. Muhaha. It's Evil!Piglet time.
- I learnt a lot about scar tissue on wombs and other illnesses I might look forward to as I grow up to become a woman.
- I think Gay Sleeveless Supervisor is scared of me now he felt me up but left me just hanging. (I really should stop the analogy)
- I've gone over my "allowed" amount of overtime. Fuck the system!

The author apologises for her liberal use of bold text, but she's been writing reports all day and emphasising keywords has become her second nature now

|

Nerves

I'm going back to school tomorrow. Since a few people at work are off on holiday there's a free seat for the lecture day on "report writing". Ooh-er. It means I get a day in Ghent, with my esteemed colleagues.
My experience with lectures reminds me that I used to fall asleep during some in the mornings, so I'm hoping for a good night's rest. Apart from that there's the dilemma of where to drink my afternoon-Red Bull and how to peel tomatoes from catered sandwiches without too many people noticing. It's not easy being a Piglet! Social life is all good and well, as long as there's not too many people around you.
More nerve-wracking than all of the above however is the fact that I'm carpooling with Gay Sleeveless Supervisor and that we're meeting at his house.
My dirty car will grace the street He lives in.
I shall converse with Him until the next carpool-stop.
Oh dear.

Let's hope he doesn't start off by asking me what I thought of the teambuilding through fear day last Thursday. How many synonyms for "hell" are there?

|

Bad karma

The gods hate me. I have done something to royally piss them off. Is it that one old lady at the zebra crossing I didn't brake for? Whatever it is, did I truly deserve to make one tiny mistake when programming my VCR?
While the Sweetie and I were at a restaurant for our anniversary, safe in the knowledge that Eurovision was being taped at home, well... well... let's just say I don't think the gods want me to eat out ever again.
I didn't tape the 50 years of Eurovision-show.
I must have done something wrong.
Am puzzled to what Ronan fucking Keating is doing there or why Johnny bloody Logan got to promote his crap latest song. So I'm guessing the show might not have been all that great.
However if anyone's got a tape of the show. Or knows how to copy said tape to another tape. Or knows when the DVD of this show is coming out... please please let me know.
I'm a Desperate Dyke...

|

Ce soir

I just realised that I haven't blogged about the big 50 years of Eurovision
"Congratulations" show yet!
And it's this Saturday!
I guess with the lack of excitement of obscure Croatian and Bosnian entries one can forgive me for not going too mad about it.
I mean, honestly, they didn't even invite Deen! As if his shirtless performance wasn't the highlight of many a European (and strange Australian)'s year in 2004.
I am disappointed.
But still, I urge you all to sit in front of your TV screen Saturday (or fly to Copenhagen. And take me with you) and rejoice in the splendidness of Eurovision.
You'll even get to see Sertab again... let's hope she brought her German lady-dancers... miaow...

|

The drugs don't work

Well, this is it. I'm succumbing to my nature as never before. This afternoon I'm going to a nerd geek Sci Fi and Fantasy Convention somewhere in Ghent.
It all happened rather subtly, as I imagine these things do. First they offer you some stuff for free and before you know you're hooked, it's the same old story. As always, my friends are the culprits. Occie and Spike mentioned they were going to this Convention. Of course, like any sane individual, I pulled a brave face and politely informed about it: Star Trek, Battlestar Galactica, you know the kind of stuff. The thought "oooh klingon warships" briefly (very very briefly!) crossed my mind, but that's where it ended.
Until Spike mentioned "and Buffy stuff, oh, and Harry Potter of course, yeah, it's a Fantasy convention as well"...

Slytherin. Merchandise.
Perhaps Willow-lookalikes.

I have to be honest, The Girlfriend literally forced me to go!

Erm no. No, that's unfair, it's not the girlfriend, it... it is I. How can I resist??!!!
The only problem now is what to wear... geekoutfits are of course nowhere to be found in my closet. But then what. I could go in all black, like a true... er... distressed person. But subconsciously I put on my yellow t-shirt and bright red cardie this morning noon.
I just realised... no one is going to take me seriously wearing a gryffindor outfit!
Aaack!
The first Gryffindork that bothers me is going to be in for a surprise... I'm a slytherin who's so sneaky she's in disguise...

|

fabulous

We have no hot water upstairs.
Cold showers are not my thing.
My hair is disgusting.
Now what?

|

statistics

In memory to my university days: some statistics. The data of gay and lesbian weddings are out and the results are shocking (no, nothing about divorce rates yet). In 2003 1018 pairs of poofs got married, and only 690 dyke-duos.
In 2004 it became 1267 shirt-lifting couples compared to 940 female lumberjacks.
What is going on ladies?
Why aren't we all getting married?
It could be that we are still arguing about whether or not to wear a dress, but come on ladies. We have our honour to defend! Get married! Now! It'll give you a chance to get cutlery from your friends and family. Enjoy your great-aunt drunkenly dancing with your butchest ladyfriend and completely falling for her. Your conservative colleagues staring at your fag buddies and the DJ trying to find alternatives for KD Lang and Melissa Etheridge.
What could be greater fun?!

Another remarkable difference is that between Flanders and Wallony. In 2004 there were 1529 gay weddings in Flanders and only 327 in Wallony.
Is the Walloon population that poor that they have no money to get married? Is there truly only one gay in each village and do they just never meet each other?
Or, on a more serious note, could it be that gay rights are just not so widespread south of the language border?

|

beste Belgacom-mensen,

Al een tiental keer hebt u gebeld. Als mijn liefste opneemt, zegt u gewoon dat u "wel eens terugbelt als Mevrouw Wildebeest er is". Nochtans heeft de schattie ook het één en ander te zeggen in het huishouden, hoor. Maar goed.
Daarnet heb ik u voor de tweede keer aan de lijn gehad. Mijn weigering van de vorige keer om op "happy time-whatever" over te schakelen, was blijkbaar niet overtuigend genoeg. Ik ben op een lijst geplaatst met "poging 2"-customers. Deze keer ging u voor the personal touch. "ik heb gezien dat u geen grote beller bent", "u hebt ook een adsl-lijn bij ons", "we hebben uw factuur bekeken en gezien dat dit goedkoper zal zijn voor u". Euhm... belgacom is toch een bedrijf? Jullie willen toch winst maken? Wat interesseert het jullie of iets goedkoper is voor mij? Duurder, ja.

Dus na 17u en in de weekends bel ik gratis naar een vaste lijn. Interessant. En vóór 17u? "Dan belt u aan slechts 30 cent per minuut. Dat is toch echt veel goedkoper".
En hoeveel betaal ik nu?
"Als u nu naar telenet belt, betaalt u 15 cent voor de eerste minuut. U ziet toch dat dit u veel goedkoper zal uitkomen."

Ik ben dan misschien een beetje dom, maar 30 cent lijkt me toch meer dan 15 cent. Maar ik mag het op mijn gemak eens nalezen op de belgacom website.
Dan bellen ze volgende week wel eens terug...

Zie je, mijn argumentatie is niet slecht, maar mijn assertieve weigering moet nog beter...
Straks die site eens uitpluizen, want ik geloof er geen bal van dat ik daar winst aan zou maken. Betere argumenten vinden om krachtig doch beleefd "fuck off" te zeggen. Die meisjes doen immers ook maar hun werk.

EDIT: net op de site gekeken. Momenteel betaal ik 5 cent naar een vaste lijn van belgacom, 11 naar telenet, in de piekuren.
They must be fucking kidding me. Mag dat, liegen aan de telefoon en blijven aandringen?

|

Dear Alanis,

When I was 15 I'll admit to singing shouting along to "you oughta know". Well, I was 15 after all, and a Scorned Woman to boot. After all, had the love of my life -a spotty boy named Xavier- not just dumped me for the biggest braindead big-haired bitch of our class? Exactly. I had reasons to shout along to that song.

What you're doing now is another matter entirely. First there was that annoying "naked" video (by the way, when are you going to cut that hair?) for that annoying, boring song. But now... Look, I understand you can have writers block. It's not easy being an artíste, La Pigleta knows. But releasing acoustic versions of all your hits... now that's a bit cheap. Following that up with a cover by a perfectly fine song-that-never-needed-to-be-covered... well, that's worse.

I hope you get headlice.

|

I am NOT amused.

My eyes are droopy. My nose is running (aaack, chase it), my head is stuffed and my ears itch. Yes, they itch.
Whoever did this to me, better watch out or I'll ... I'll er... ah fuck it, who cares. I'll glare at you from the sofa with my droopy eyes. That'll teach you!

|

Zaterdag

Alsof iemand ooit op blote voeten in den Twieoo zou kunnen dansen en er geen enge ziektes aan overhouden.
Alsof Warskinny 's rubber t-shirt door de hitte en het zweet niet aan zijn lijf vast zou gesoldeerd zijn.
Alsof La Merlina ook maar zat kan worden van breezers. Daar is ze veel te stoer voor.
Alsof Den Spike alleen naar huis zou geweest zijn, zonder aan elke arm een Woordvoerder.

We zaten gewoon in de cinema.

|

amai

Zo'n volk gisteren in den twieoo, niet te doen. Toen de Spike samen met ons en enkele illustere onbekenden die anoniem willen blijven, de zaal betrad kregen we het gevoel dat alle ogen op ons gericht waren. Het kan aan mijn Els-van-Vive La Fête-outfit gelegen hebben. Of het handballshirtje van Merlina. Of het spannend marcelleke van Spike. Misschien het rubber T-shirt en speedootje van Warskinny, of ja.. natuurlijk, de gepatenteerde outfit van anonieme onbekende 3.
Soit, tijdens de gekende Mylene Farmer live versie van den Diejeey (die vent heeft nog altijd de studioversie niet gevonden, ocharme) lieten we ons helemaal gaan. Den Spike speelde zijn marcelleke uit, ik sprong rond op mijn blote voeten en Onbekende 2 was druk de diejeey een tong aan het draaien uit dankbaarheid voor de wereldplaat. Spike moest de kastnichten en woordvoerders van Wel Jong Niet Hetero van zich afslaan en de pubernichten keken vol bewondering naar mijn outfit. Eentje vroeg waar ik het gehaald had. Wou het ook gaan halen. Ik heb je wel herkend, Atari.
Toen het weer licht werd gingen we naar huis, stiepelzat. Ik van de cola, Merlina van de breezers, Illustere Onbekende 1 had weer aan de witte wijn gesipt en Spike van de echte pinten. Zoals een echte stoere vent. We lieten de meeste van zijn groupies en de illustere onbekenden-die-niet-kunnen-toegeven-dat-ze-naar-twieoo-gaan achter ons en ik zette me aan het stuur van zijn lease-auto. Net geen cabrio, maar het kon ermee door. Ik denk dat ik hem thuis afgezet heb, maar het is allemaal een beetje wazig. En waar heb ik Warskinny ook weer gedumpt? Och ja.
Spike, als je kater weg is, laat eens iets weten.
The rest of you in den twieoo, we'll be back.

|

And now, my dear Piglet?

- computer still dead, though in the capable hands of Doctor Spikey (you know, that's not really a name for a doctor...)
- replacee is back. With a vengeance. Oh boy, she is indeed "dominant". Though also probably good at what she does. And smart. But damn. Barely out of sick leave and she didn't keep quiet the entire team meeting. Look for me in a corner, huddled in blankets shouting "get away".
- I think I might go into long term sick leave, it seems like the thing to do. And then come back with a vengeance.
- Am sharing an office now. My table leaves barely enough room for an A4 sized sheet of paper. Scared to make phonecalls with other person listening. Feel like I'm being watched. Oh hang on, that's cos I am. Colleague has nowhere else to look. Anyone with "cellmates" know how to handle this?
- We're babysitting. Meanwhile I'm also going to the vet (vaccination), grocery shopping and staring blankly at the walls. It's a matter of priorities.

|

I am not

Pure Nerd 82 % Nerd, 47% Geek, 39% Dork

For The Record: A Nerd is someone who is passionate about learning/being smart/academia. A Geek is someone who is passionate about some particular area or subject, often an obscure or difficult one. A Dork is someone who has difficulty with common social expectations/interactions. You scored better than half in Nerd, earning you the title of: Pure Nerd. The times, they are a-changing. It used to be that being exceptionally smart led to being unpopular, which would ultimately lead to picking up all of the traits and tendences associated with the "dork." No-longer. Being smart isn't as socially crippling as it once was, and even more so as you get older: eventually being a Pure Nerd will likely be replaced with the following label: Purely Successful. Congratulations! Also, you might want to check out some of my other tests if you're interested in any of the following: Buffy the Vampire Slayer Professional Wrestling Love & Sexuality America/Politics Thanks Again! -- THE NERD? GEEK? OR DORK? TEST

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 95% on nerdiness You scored higher than 69% on geekosity You scored higher than 65% on dork points

Link: The Nerd? Geek? or Dork? Test written by donathos on Ok Cupid

Well, this is a bit pretentious isn't it. "exceptionally smart", tsk, I wish.
But finally a test that's of interest to most the people who visit this blog... oh yeah... you know you are...
(through Littlemoose)

|