If you don’t want my peaches, baby, why’d you shake my tree?

In other words, if the world doesn’t want me to get angry, why does it keep doing STUPID THINGS?!?

So. I emerged from a nightmare of bureaucratic horror this morning (a bureaucrat being defined (by Dictionary.com no less) as “an official who works by fixed routine without exercising intelligent judgment”). I’ve been trying to get my passport renewed, which has been made difficult by the following facts:

1. The passport office is only open until 12 on weekdays.
2. It’s a labyrinth of paperwork and authorisations.
3. I’m really lazy so haven’t done the work in the months leading up to the deadline of the 8th of November.

Ok, first there are the forms. I fill them out, and hit the first roadblock. I don’t have a guarantor. A guarantor is classified as a banker, minister or lawyer who has known you personally for two years or more. I refuse to associate with these people, except my mother, who doesn’t count due to having birthed me. So there’s another form to fill out. And get notarised. Now, this morning, I was meant to start at 11 am. I cleared it with Rick to come in later if need be due to all the running around. So. First thing’s first. I’ve got to get my passport photos.

They take the most wretched photo I’ve ever seen. Say it’ll be 30 minutes. So I hang around Newtown waiting. Come back. Instead of giving me the photos in the legally required format of four-square, they’ve cut the photos individually. I say no, I need them together. They say it’ll be another 10 minutes. I wait, grab the pictures, and then go to the courthouse to get the ill-tempered Justices of the Peace there (Justice-of-the-Peaces? Justi of the Peace?) to notarise all the documents (which include a photocopy of my passport, despite the real passport being in the pack, because hey, I refer to the passport in a different sub-section of the paperwork).

I ask them to sign the photos first. She taps a sign. “WE DO NOT NOTARISE PASSPORT APPLICATIONS OR PHOTOS”. Fuck. Well, who does? She says she could print me a list, and then disappears back into the cubicles. I wait. Another guy asks if he can help. I start to explain, but he taps the sign again and says “We don’t sign photos.” “I KNOW! I just need to know who does.”

So he prints me a three-page list of JPs. Just phone numbers. No names. It is at this point I realise that the photos were not stamped on the back with where they were printed and when, making them invalid. I go back to the camera shop. They stamp the photos. With difficulty.

But before I do this, I call Tanja. Saying it’s all a fucking shambles. That I can’t get things notarised. And now I don’t have time to go to the consulate today.

She says I probably should have been better organised.

I reply incredibly rationally to this comment. I’m so calm it’s scary. I deliver a treatise on bureaucratic socialism and economic reform (Ok, no, I ranted and raved and was stupid, but give me a break).

So I come in to work, remembering a throwaway comment made by Rick that the Big Boss is a JP. I see the Boss on the way in. No, he says, I’m not a JP.

At this point I went numb.

So anyway, I’m relating this to Tanja via email that no, Big Boss can’t notarise stuff.

Tanja: "It's just ridiculous, isn't it. Can you call the consulate back and see if they can verify everything for you? I think I saw that on the paperwork that they will do this, but charge an additional $50 for it. Perhaps you can just take everything in and sort it out then and there."

Me: *furiously telephones the consulate in the two minutes left before 12 and finds out that yes, you can do that* “Hey, we can!”

Tanja: “Whosaclevergirlthen!”

Yes, she is.

They're gonna put me in the movies...
They're gonna make a big star outta me....
They've wrote a role for a man that's pissed and angry...
And all I have to do is... act naturally.....

Running! Sort of.

Man, making today the first day to attempt to Cecil-style run to work was not a good idea. First, it's fucking hot. Second, since I had changed into board shorts and a t-shirt, I was carrying work clothes in my bag. Which made my bag heavy. Too heavy, in fact, to run. So I walked quickly. And then I forgot to lock the front door. So I went back, dug my keys out of my very-full bag (damn board shorts having no pockets!) and locked the door. And left again. Then had to come back because I forgot the passport paperwork I had promised Tanja I'd bring. Then had to dig out my keys to UNlock the door. And then on the way to work I saw my Dad outside of where he's staying. He waves at me, and I cross the street. "Hey." "Hey Dad. Can't talk, I'm going to work." "This late?" "I start at 11 today, Dad. I've gotta go." "Why?" My father, ladies and gents. So Despite being all late to the point of ridiculousness, I only arrived like 5 minutes late for work. Whew.

Tidbits

I put on Monty Python's And Now For Something Completely Different last night, despite Tanja's boredom at The Holy Grail. She laughed uproariously at the little old lady getting blasted out of her socks in the opening. My intellectual girl, ladies and gentlemen. Of course, this is the same woman who bought chocolate chip hot cross buns yesterday. They're an atrocity! A yummy atrocity, but still!

Rented Red Faction II for PS2. I'm a bit meh... graphics good, but the weapons are either too good (grenade laucher makes you damn near unkillable) or useless for various reasons (the machine guns can't hit shit, even when you're right in front of the guy, and the big weapons like the railgun fire beams so narrow that you have to be dead-on-balls-accurate to hit anything). Also, no manual aim OR auto-aim! There's a crosshairs at the centre of the screen which moves with your guy. It's frustrating. Oh well, back to TimeSplitters 2 for me!

Someone send a memo to the people of Australia: YOU CANNOT BE ELECTROCUTED BY BEING ON THE PHONE IN A THUNDERSTORM! It's an urban legend! I had never heard of this until I got here, but everyone in Oz is paranoid that if they have anything electrical running when it's raining, they could die. How stupid is that?

On a sadder note, Daddo from work has decided to give up the telemarketing game for his return to Uni. I'll miss his punk ass, but also, I'm jealous. Want better job!

I'm downloading whole albums of Radiohead, Led Zeppelin, and the Rolling Stones! Fear my musical wrath!

Must go buy broccoli. Oh, and some thing came in the mail that says that I'm a permanent resident. Or whatever.


OH, and Shaun of the Dead is coming out on DVD the 24th of March. Aboot fuckin' time!

Ups and Downs Part II

A quick post-script to last entry: once I got to Immigration, at 3:45, I saw the doors were shut. Big sign on the door says "Open until 4, Mon-Fri". I thumped the door loud enough to get the attention of a security guard, who informed me it was actually 4:25 and my watch had stopped. Bugger. And no, I wasn't allowed to leave it for the case worker, so he shut the door in my face. Upside, I was able to get to work early and get the seat I wanted.

So.

You know how yesterday I said that if the interview went well, we'd go watch dead Brits?

Well.

Today we watched dead Brits. Aw yeah.

Then we went down to the Rocks and drank sparkling wine and ate antipasto in front of the Harbour Bridge to celebrate. Very good day.

Title!

At the moment I'm procrastinating writing my statement for the Immigration Permanent Residency Visa application tomorrow morno. It's like I have to justify why and how and to what purpose I am inlove/not in love with Tanja. It's hard, damnit.

If we do ok and are done quick, I'm taking The Tanj to see Shaun of the Dead. Again for me, first time for her.

Here's hoping we're seeing dead Brits by tomorrow evening *clink*