The ex-wife

We decided that we want to go to New York for my holidays, because the boy wants to see his daughter and I want to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art (amongst other things). It'll be expensive due to the exchange rate, and slightly risky due to the possibility of being hijacked and crashed into a tall building (or similar), but it'd be damn exciting. And it's summer over there too.

There is one small obstacle. The boy's ex, and the mother of his daughter, objects hideously to my presence in her city. This is because he and I got together really soon after the two of them split up, and she therefore has lots of bitter and twisty feelings about me. Other than that, it seems to me that she's being utterly unreasonable. He is the litle girl's father, after all, and it isn't even as though I was planning on visiting her with him. I was expecting to be wandering around a museum, art gallery or department store while he and his daughter get re-aquainted. And that pisses me off a little, that she can make such a fuss and he'll actually take notice of what she wants even when it makes no sense.

the year ahead

I had my performance review this morning. I'd already had a look at what my boss had written down about my work, and I'd interpreted them as criticisms i.e. things I wasn't doing enough of. During the actual meeting, it turned out that some of those things weren't criticisms at all but were in fact praise for what I was already doing right.

So for the next 12 months I can look forward to an increase in systems-type work, which means looking after the website, the iPac computers etc. This is fine by me, I'm reasonably au fait with that kind of thing and it's useful experience if I want to be a systems librarian or web content manager.

I realised last night that I have only two more weeks to complete my assignement, a report on whether it would be a good idea to have a professional association for information managers of all disciplines e.g. archivists, librarians etc. It's not a subject particulary close to my heart, but if I can produce something which is readable and useful then maybe I can be proud of my writing ability :-)

That documentary on David Lynch

I was watching Pretty as a picture last night, the doco on Lynch. I was a bit disappointed at how boring it was. The highlights were the excerpts from his very early short films, Eraserhead (still my favourite), Blue Velvet, Twin Peaks and Lost Highway (the most recent of his films which was mentioned in the documentary). Other than that, the only interesting bit was the sight of Lynch looking like a cross between a rockabilly musician and a member of The Cure.

Maybe if Lynch had directed a documentary about himself it would have been much more fun to watch.

It has, however, reminded me that I would really like to rent the videos/DVDs of the Twin Peaks series. Back in the 90's, I only managed to see the very weird and wonderful pilot movie (on video); I hadn't been able to receive the channel which screened the series and never got around to getting someone to tape it for me. Or maybe I can get the boy to buy the DVDs for an early birthday prezzie...

How to spot a clucky woman

We went over to my brother's place today - my mother, my boy and I - to see my brand new niece. She's only two days old, and really quite tiny. She was sleeping at the time, and her face went through all sorts of grimaces and smiles (she smiled when my mother placed a red envelope, containing lucky money, on her chest - the boy said it was the Cantonese half that smiled).

My niece still hasn't got an English name, although my mother has already received a list of possible Chinese names. The problem is this - the actual names are written in Chinese, and these are translated into English meanings, but none of us can read Chinese well enough to know how to pronounce them. So we have to find someone who can read the names while I try to get the sounds down in English.

I quite like the name Isabel, myself.

Afterwards, the boy and I went into town for a spot of 'bimbling' (this is apparently an English word which means rambling about town with no particular purpose). I tried to look for a copy of The Golden Bough, which was recommended to me by a library customer interested in folklore and mythology. It wasn't to be found though, so I satisfied myself with a copy of Philip Pullman's Northern Lights. I couldn't help noticing the various babies and toddlers with their bimbling parents; I am definitely getting clucky.

Work whines

In three weeks time, I will be on the verge of my holiday. And in less than two weeks time, A will be back from her world trip which means that I will no longer be on the library bus four days out of five. This is significant for two reasons:

1. I will be able to dress in clothes and footwear which are quite impractical for doing the bus run. I'll be able to wear my flashy boots, and skirts even. It must be the Trinny and Susannah influence.

2. After A gets back, I will not have to do the Thursday morning bus run any more (unless the roster changes, which it might). This means that lust-lorn Mr M will not be able to gaze at me (his object of lust) any more. Whew!

I'm getting my first performance review on Monday. I really really hate performance reviews. No matter how many positive comments are in there about my work, there's always something in there which I can improve on. This is no doubt par for the course for most employees. I, however, am a bit sensitive with criticism, even when it is wholly constructive. That's just one of those personal foibles of mine (I just love that word, foible).

I can see already that I'll get one of those remarks about how I should be more proactive. I know I can be proactive; just that many tasks are too uninteresting to me, for me to be proactive about. I was the one who thought of creating a bookmark for newcomers to chicklit, after all. Too bad no-one liked my idea of celebrating Library Week by coming to work a la librarian (hair in a bun, granny glasses, tweed skirts - even the guys).

Dressing like a librarian

I was watching Extreme Makeover last night (as you do), and one of the candidates was a young librarian in Colorado. She had lots of fat sucked from her cheeks, one eye de-drooped, lasik eye surgury to correct her vision, liposuction on her tummy and something done to her face to fix her acne.

She also dressed kind of frumpily, in the most boring trousers-and-shirt combos imaginable. Apologetically, she said she dressed like a librarian. I choked a little, thinking that Well-dressed Librarian wouldn't be very kind to her for saying that. So the rest of her makeover consisted of makeup (which she never wore), a haircut (to chop off the hair which was hiding the acne) and a bit of What Not To Wear-style dressing i.e. femininity-plus by way of dresses and heels.
In the end, I think she was just dressing like a normal person.

Boy, was there a lot of fat in her cheeks.

Libraries - the good, the funny and the dodgy

I'm in a pleasant mood today. I've decided that I have made the right choice in doing what I'm doing. I just have to be patient and remember what it's all about, and stop eating cake and sweets all the time (it's probably what's making me tired all the time).

Library humour - here's an article about the new alphabet, which is a chortle-inducing exercise in political correctness. Brought to you by the Warrior Librarian.

I have an admirer. Mr M is a regular patron of the library bus; he was ever so concerned one Thursday morning when my shift was taken over due to my being sick (actually I had to take my mum to the doctor). Next time I saw him, he was all smiles and put his hand on my wrist as he told me he hoped I was feeling better. This morning, Mr M asked me whether I live in the area - his disapointment was visible when the answer was 'no'. He admitted he was hoping to come and visit me. I told him that my boyfriend would not appreciate the competition.

Oh, did I forget to mention that Mr M is seventy years old, has never been married and currently works part-time as a caretaker at a local primary school? Anyway...

'What about A**? She's married but she's more your age', I suggested. Apparently A** is too old for him (she's in her forties I think).

It was all very sweet until, just before he left, he boldly said that I 'excite' him...

a creative burst

With so much time being spent driving the library bus, I haven't had much chance to do anything creative or interesting. This morning I did get to spend a couple of hours doing something fun. I was getting stuff for a display on the Maori New Year, which is called Matariki. It's at the first new moon after the first sighting of The Pleiades, which is 18th of June this year. I went to the observatory on the way to work, and chatted to a really nice young guy about his posters, then went to work and looked Matariki up on the Internet for more ideas and information. Display work and reference work are definitely the highlights of my job. If they were all I had to do I think I'd be almost totally happy with my job (except for the long commute and the low pay).

Last night my boy and I had a long discussion about my ever-changing attitude to my career choice. He played devils advocate to my defense over why I don't have to be a library assistant in a public library to in order to become an information professional. I said there are lots of careers which are information-related. He said well, everything is information-related, so it's a meaningless description of a career. He was probably right.

It's time for one of those positive-thinking lists

Because I've been a bit down lately, I'm compiling a list of things I should be thankful for or happy about:

1. I'm about to get a niece
2. I have two weeks holiday coming up
3. My gym workouts are working, and I can now where sleeveless tops without shame (except it's now verging on Winter)
4. I can wear full-length boots and they look damn good
5. I'm an A-student (though there's been only one assignment thus far)
6. My boyfriend is still yummy and still claims he'd drink my bathwater
7. My ears are clean and wax-free
8. I'm confident that I can get a better, and better-paid, job if I want to.
9. My mother hasn't asked to live with me yet, and it's my brother's duty anyway
10. I've got new friends (as well as the old ones)

Better stop there, before the gods come and take me away. (Umm..that's supposed to be the reason why Chinese parents don't ever praise their children in front of them; in case the gods punish the parents for their pride by kidnapping the offspring. Either that or I really can't make 'em happy.)

When the aftermath is worse than the math

I had a bit of a cry last night – I won’t go into details – and I’m still suffering from it now. This morning, the eyes were still a bit puffy (having bee-stung lips may look sexy, but bee-stung eyes are not). Now it’s the following evening, and I still have the headache and the burning in the eyes. It’s as though my eyes are allergic to tears, or something.

Boring movies

We watched the second Charlie's Angels vid last night. I thought the first one was dumb. But for the sequal I decided to approach it as a silly movie. I'd been talking to one of my classmates about film reviewing according to genre, and Charlie's Angels should be viewed as a silly movie rather than an intelligent one.

Unfortunately, this didn't help me to enjoy the movie any more than before. It was obviously supposed to be over-the-top and tongue-in-cheek, but I thought it went too far. The Angels were like a trio of Lara Crofts - they were two dimensional and you didn't have to care who won the fights because you knew that they weren't going to die (or even get their hair mussed).

The second movie we got from the video shop is more promising; it's a documentary on David Lynch.

A veritable maze

I went to visit my sister-in-law this afternoon, who's pregnant and due to be induced in a couple of days.  The hospital is quite close to my house, so it was a matter of minutes to get to the closest entrance.  Getting the rest of the way to her ward however, was another matter.

 

There are several tower blocks, all connected by corridors (or tunnels); each has multiple entrances, and the interior of each is, well, clinical.  Identically pale plaster walls, pale lino floors; floors which are lettered rather than numbered; arrows which point to a promising location, only to mysteriously lead one to a large sign which says 'Unauthorised persons prohibited'.

 

The hospital interior would be an excellent site for an orienteering competition.  For people like me, who cannot read maps and have no sense of direction, it's an anxiety-inducing exercise.  I started to wonder whether it was possible for someone to live at the hospital without anyone ever finding them.

 

Luckily, I'm not averse to asking for directions.  After the third ask, I was able to find my way to the tunnel which connects to the right tower block, get to the right floor, the right ward, and the right cubicle.  She wasn't there.  She caught my eye from the tv lounge, and my journey was over.  My sister-in-law was pleased to see me and my pile of glossy magazines, though they weren't going to give her quite as much pleasure as the one in her hand - a Woman's Idea (or something), the cover of which featured a picture of a starlet in full pregancy-mode puffiness.  It's true - we females do enjoy seeing celebrity beauties at their physical worst.

Bloody bank fees

I didn't really appreciate the perks of working in a bank until after I left my bank job. Since then, I'm become ultra-aware of the humungous amounts of money bank customers are being charged, for the privilege of leaving their money with someone who gets to use it to make even more money. I was only two measly days late with paying my credit card bill (in full). Two measly days, and I got charged about twenty bucks interest.

And another thing - banks use lousy grammer. I saw a poster advertising some bank, and it read 'Pay less fees'. Surely it should be 'Pay smaller fees' or 'Pay fewer fees'? Besides, I think it's aimed at the under-30s, so perhaps it should be in 'txt' anyway.

a common personality

I was flicking through a book based on Myers-Briggs personality types, and it seems that I am an ESFJ. This means I'm a nice, caring person who likes to organise things in advance and get things done. No surprises that there are heaps more female ESFJs than male.

How boring. I don't mind being extroverted, but I'd rather be flighty and exciting than reliable and organised. People I know who are the former get to lead interesting lives and be able to manipulate people into doing their dirty work for them. I do dirty work because it has to be done.

It must be time for an extreme personality make-over.

photoblogging and sleep-talking

Hmm..I just had a go at the new free photoblogging facility. I had to download Hello first, and then I wasn't too sure how to use it. But second time lucky, eh?

I never realised I talked in my sleep. I know my brother does; I remember when we were kids sharing a bedroom he used to talk in his sleep. Last night I apparently had a whole conversation with my boy while we were both in bed and I was fast asleep. Actually, I do remember trying to say 'the books are at Central' a couple of times before vaguely realising I was asleep, and then letting myself doze off again.

So it seems I'm still dreaming of work.

OOh - my mum phoned up tonight to tell me that my heavily pregnant sister-in-law is in hospital and they're going to induce the birth on Monday. I'm going to have a niece! I hope that doesn't stuff up my plans to go on holiday in four week's time.

Let's try that again. 

Here's a life drawing I did way back. 

Holidays

I managed to get two weeks holiday for mid-June until early July, which falls right in the middle of the study break between trimesters one and two. It's also one week after one of my work mates gets back from her enviably long world trip (six weeks, but it feels longer - to me anyway). That way there'll still be 3 bus-driving library people, and my boss won't have any worries about who'll do my bus run while I'm away.

So now we just have to work out how to spend this precious non-work time. I thought it would be a good opportunity to show my boy the South Island. He thinks it would be a great time to go to New York to see his daughter from his previous relationship. I have no problems with him seeing his daughter, especially in New York; I've always wanted to visit there and see all the museums and art galleries. However, since there's still more or less a war on between the US and Iraq (and possibly other anti-US groups), I'm not sure it's a good idea to be in the States - especially on a plane. Perhaps the air fares will be a little lower, if everyone has the same worry. Perhaps any discounting will be offset by increases in travel insurance and security-related surcharges.

Do you think we should take the chance and go to New York? Or stay in New Zealand?

Having a 'senior' moment

My friends and I used to joke about having 'blonde' moments, but perhaps it's a little more appropriate now to be joking about having 'senior' moments. At my age, even natural blondes would have darkened to dirty blonde.

This morning I arrived, with the library bus, at the first stop. It's a long stop, from 9.30am till 10.40am. As soon as the door opened, I was inundated with a class full of young kids (plus a few brave adults). Once they'd left, I had a quick look at the time (it was 9.45), then a look at the timetable, to check how long I had there. I saw 10.40am, yet for some reason my brain told me the bus had to leave at 9.40am. Silly me rushed all the loose returned books onto empty shelves and the bus roared into action. I'd gone several blocks before my brain actually started working and told me that that had been a suspiciously short stop.

So it's true what I read somewhere about how we process the information we read. Apparently, when we read something we believe it and then analyse it. And the faster we take in information, the worse it is. I must slow down my reading.

Asian woman driver fulfills stereotype

That's me, though it only happened once - today (normally I drive as well as everyone thinks they drive). Every Wednesday afternoon around 3pm, I take the library bus to the parking lot of the New World supermarket. There are four car parks there which are designated for the library bus, and this is marked by a small, high sign posted on an adjacent pole.

Usually the designated space is occupied, and usually by only one car; this is obviously enough to make it impossible for me to park the bus there, and I end up stopping alongside a fence at the far end of the parking lot. (This is when I get out the pink slip advising the driver that he should just leave the damn space for the community service which his rates have paid for, and put it on his windscreen).

A couple of weeks ago, I thought I would get my second-ever opportunity to park in the proper place. But just as I swerved around to get there, a shopper swooped in and took one of those four parks. I decided it was too much trouble to stop the bus right where I was (and maybe hold up traffic) to tell the driver to leave; so I simply parked at the usual back-up place.

Well, this afternoon I was really excited to discover another one of those opportunities. The whole four spaces where completely vacant. And in the excitement, I didn't quite swerve around enough to allow me to position the bus in the right place. I ended up backing up, driving forward onto the kerb, backing out again, driving forward onto the kerb, etc. I must've beeen shifting backwards and forwards for five or six minutes. I found it funny, but only because I could laugh about it with the workmate doing the shift with me. If I'd been on my own I would've been really embarrassed, especially because a bunch of supermarket boys were having their coffee break and watching, just a few feet away.

Just so you know, I got the bus there in the end.