Service me with a smile now/You'll get a big tip

I recently found a document through my work-related research which suggested that if some one has a bad customer service experience they will relate the story to anyone who will listen for TWENTY EIGHT YEARS. Which means I only have another 19 years before I can stop telling the story of our wedding celebrant, about whom I struggle to say anything positive, despite my obvious enjoyment of our wedding.

Features of rotten Wedding Celebrants (and how my selection went awry)

1. “The best of a bad lot” is a head-smackingly stupid starting point. The celebrant (who shall be known as “Pepperpot”) who officiated at our wedding was “the least religious one”*. We had originally planned to be married by the Salvation Army, as we could give a (generous) donation to the Salvation Army instead of paying a civil celebrant. However, when we learned that the Salvos wouldn’t remove their references to God in the ceremony, they were struck off the list of potential marry-ers**. If you have to pay Elvis the yodelling celebrant to fly in from Auckland at great expense to the management, this is probably your better play.

2. They don’t like it when you make jokes about finding out that you might be brother and sister while you’re filling out the forms. Okay, so maybe they hear that one all the time. Or maybe, as evidenced by another anecdote***, Pepperpot was worried that IT MIGHT BE TRUE.

3. They’ve got a captive audience. You can have several hours of meetings with your celebrant. You can use the phrase “You know, Mr Fix and I aren’t really religious” SEVENTEEN THOUSAND TIMES and it may make no difference whatsoever to their predilection to the insertion of the words “god”, “heaven” and “holy” into your wedding ceremony. One of your options is breaking your hand-hold with aforementioned fiance and slapping them across the face. The other option is to grit your teeth and live with it. Neither of these things look good in photos.

4. They don’t really listen to what you want. They’ve got a system, girlie, and don’t you think about messing with it. If, for example, you are rude enough to suggest that your father won’t be “giving you away”, that’s your chance used up. Therefore, when you specifically outline to the celebrant that:

a. the groom’s mother is no longer with his father (and in fact that his father has passed away) and
b. that the groom and his mother’s new partner do not get along….

don’t expect that this is adequate reason for the celebrant to cut out of the ceremony the moment where the parents of both partners are asked to GIVE PERMISSION for the wedding to take place.

5. They don’t hold back if they see something they don’t like. I felt pretty good about our wedding. I was going to be surrounded by heaps of friends while expressing my love to my partner. The preparations on the day went well. I had the most elaborate hairstyle of my life. My dress was lovely. Of course, then I was made to sit in my parents’ bedroom for half-an-hour with tissues stuffed under my arms so I didn’t sweat all over my dress and no company****. Then, I flicked the hem of my dress up to pull down the petticoat underneath, SMEARING RED LIPSTICK ALL OVER MY DRESS IN THE PROCESS. The end result of this was my mother’s best friend drying the dress from the inside with a hair-dryer (a great look) and a major panic attack by me. My mother very sensibly decided at this point that I needed to hang out with my friends. She shuffled me outside and put a glass of champagne in my hand. The moment she did, there was a stridently pointing finger from across the back garden and a booming voice cried:

“WHAT IS SHE DOING OUT HERE? SHE CAN’T BE OUT HERE!”

No doubt my long-suffering mother at this point ushered her over to the corner for an unfeasibly large brandy while Pepperpot contemplated how shortened the partnership of myself and Mr Fix would be with all this bad luck and lack of tradition*****.

6. They expect dinner. Were we not surrounded by friends with a drink in one hand and a huge plate of fabulous finger-food in the other, I doubt very much if we could have controlled our irritation towards the celebrant at our wedding. However, we were lucky, as she had another wedding to rush off to*****. I didn’t send her away with a doggie bag.

I have recently found out through a new-ish friend aiming to be a celebrant himself that wedding celebrants are subject to all kinds of rules about “customer satisfaction” and it would have been possible to report her to the “appropriate authorities”. I'm sure there's also some kind of statute of limitations or the like. Whatevs. At least I got a blog post out of it.

Next installment: Preparation is everything - things to consider when arriving at your reception


* The other two can be described thus: Wedding Celebrant Contestant #1 – former vice principal of primary school, frightened children as was missing half-a-thumb through wood-working accident. Wedding Celebrant Contestant #2 – complete religious nutter who was too extreme for local Catholic Church and had taken his very own special brand of fanatacism to new levels. Or as my dad liked to call him, “I’m not having that f—kwit on my property”.

** It’s probably worth noting at this point that I don’t mind other people’s religious services. I just thought it was a bit hypocritical to go that way ourselves, when we are not the least bit religious.

*** I have the same first name as Mr Fix’s sister. At the height of its hilarity, this caused a friend of AV’s severe consternation because he thought that we were a brother and sister with a really close relationship.

**** Bridesmaids had abandoned me at this point to hang out with other friends outside. Typical/understandable.

***** In your FACE, loser….we’ve been married for nine years.

****** No doubt a “better” one than ours.

They could see that Pierre did truly love the mademoiselle...

I have been promising for some time now to do some posts about my wedding and the hilarity that ensued. I'm starting with the wedding rehearsal, but will pick out a few particularly special "themes" and post them over the next few weeks.....

On the day of the wedding rehearsal, Mr Fix and his best man* were three hours late. I had already arrived at my parents house a whole week in advance (ostensibly to help out with preparations, but mostly to annoy my mum and dad while they did the important stuff like setting up marquees, etc).

So the remainder of the wedding party were at least detained by some interesting distractions. Apparently there had been an escape from a local prison. So the police were stopping all cars to make sure that none of the inhabitants were in fact, you know, legging it Prison Break-stylee. Mr Fix and AV were doing nothing of the sort, but the process of checking every single car on the Princes Highway can make the traffic flow somewhat desultory.

Our friend Red however was stopped by the same police roadblock and through the course of his license check was made to pay a parking fine incurred at Monash Uni some six years previously by Mr Fix’s sister. Red was somewhat responsible for drawing the police’s attention – as he was driving a vehicle tricked out for the Targa rally complete with advertising and badging, a car that one might argue was only barely road-legal. Luckily the police had EFTPOS**.

When this erstwhile group of ragamuffins arrived at my parents’ house after my bridesmaid and I had spent the best part of two hours getting slightly boozy and cackling wildly (causing increasing distress to our marriage celebrant, but more about her later) the rehearsal commenced.

Firstly, our celebrant was most irked about my father’s decision not to give me away. I found out later that she had followed him around the house and garden for about twenty minutes trying to talk him into it. Which is amusing when you consider that Dad and I had the following lengthy conversation about it:

Me: Hey dad, did you want to do any of that walking down the aisle or giving me away thing? It’s up to you really.

Dad: Nah, not really. You’re not mine to give away.

Me: Cool.

Then Mr Fix basically refused to take any of it seriously. I suppose there is a question about whether or not you need to rehearse walking out of a house onto a verandah, I would argue that you don’t. Or in any other situation I would, except for the fact that Mr Fix stuffed it up by not coming to get me and walk with me from the house to the verandah. He was so charming though, observing that “I’m always going back to get my bag”***.


It’s these kind of things that combine to make me love him so much.


Next installment: advice on choosing your wedding celebrant


* Best man AV in fact spent some time trying to talk us out of the marriage on the basis that we were too young and also that he knew better. While slightly drunk at his engagement party some years later I may have implied that he was due to receive a tirade both barrels from me about his lack of readiness for the impending wedding. I demurred, because I am lovely, and also because both he and his dear wife are lovely also.


** This is not a word of a lie.


*** In his defence, this is actually true. Although mostly the bag is a black backpack, not his long-suffering partner.

I'm into my life/with no control of my destiny

More randomness.

I've had a few glasses of wine after a hell-mission yesterday to get to MW's pre-baby event, catch up with other friends and visit my former boss while feeling irritated that I hadn't arranged to catch up with "Anonymous".

An anecdote about my sister, who has gone away.

When my sister VS was small, there was an Arnotts ad on television that featured harried parents putting their kids to bed before racking out a bunch of biscuits in a way that I have only recently come to appreciate. The jingle that went along with it went like this:

"If you really love your chocolate biscuits (scene: mum sitting down as dad shuffles kids off to bed)"

"If you're a chocolate biscuit kind of sir (scene: dad arrives back on the top of the stairs and givs a "two thumbs up")"

"You ask a couple of questions, before you even test them. You like to know they're what you think they are (scene: Mum and dad open up tim tams/mint slices etc and go crazy)"

"Are they Arnotts, or are they not? etc etc (scene: kids show up and bloody eat the bloody biscuits thereby denying parents any down time whatsoever)"

Did anyone notice what was wrong with the above rendering of lyrics?

For those who missed it, try replacing KIND OF SIR with CONNOISSEUR.

VS, in all her six-year-old charm, can easily be forgiven in my opinion. The shots over the lyrics "connoisseur" showed the dad only, and he clearly went on to demonstrate that he was indeed a chocolate biscuit "kind of sir" by eating a whole face-full of them, hampered only by children.

VS, I salute you. Your rendition of these lyrics in an amusing fashion has given us years of enjoyment possibly rivalled only by our many happy hours of "record players" at the beach.


Also, thought you might like to know the songs I am loving right now:

1. 'Goldmines' - Josh Pyke. If anyone (including Josh Pyke, should he read this blog*) can tell me where the idea to "paint your necks red" came from I will email them a mintie. Interestingly, 'Private Education' and 'Memories and Dust' are Grizzlewick's favourite JP songs, but he thinks 'Memories and dust' is called 'hallyphone' (I suspect he thinks that what the line "how they fall" is. He also sings "memoreeesanDOSSSS").

2. 'Here to stay' - New Order. So good. Makes me jog when I was planning to walk. So a bit like ecstasy in some ways. NOTE THE SYNERGY.

3. 'Release' - Afro Celt Sound System featuring Sinead O'Connor. I have a theory about this song, its lyrics and the relationship that Irish ex-pats have with their country (as well as the obvious themes of grief and loss).

Don’t argue amongst yourselves
Because of the loss of me
I’m sitting amongst yourselves
Don’t think you can’t see me

Don’t argue amongst yourselves
Because of the loss of me
I haven’t gone anywhere
But out of my body

Reach out and you’ll touch me
Make effort to speak to me
Call out and you’ll hear me
Be happy for me

4. 'Foxes' Wedding' - The Clouds. Ah the early 90s. And we thought that they couldn't be defined by a particular fashion sense. How wrong we were.

5. 'Positive Bleeding' - Urge Overkill. Without question the best of all their songs.





* No fair pretending to be Josh Pyke, people. NO FAIR.

Everything is good for you....it's good for you

I got offered another job yesterday.

It was a good one too (although not quite as interesting as the one I’m doing now).

Today I went to a seminar and had several people I barely know introduce me to their colleagues in very glowing terms.

There was the most fantastic chocolate brownie slice at the seminar. It was very, very good (particularly as I am trying to curtail my intake of such things).

I am yet to have a “sharp intake of breath" moment in regards to the conservatism of my newly adopted town.

When will the honeymoon end?

Tips for new players...

Facial waxing can be greatly enhanced by becoming ever-so-slightly inebriated.


Pros:

1. More relaxed
2. No fear
3. Another drink waiting when waxing is done.


Cons:

1. Misjudging the concept of "ever-so-slightly" followed by
2. No more eyebrows
3. Wax covered bathroom
4. Dozing off with the job only half done.

You don't need simple answers/ To the questions that are asked of you

I was completely blown away by Harpo's 'Connections' post. This will be nothing like that, in the sense that it will be nowhere near as good, thoughtful or detailed. But you should read it anyway, because I said so.

Some random musings, somewhat connected:

An hour is not too far to drive for a work meeting if you are being paid to drive the distance and also do it (the driving, that is) in a work car with work petrol.

We have a new car for our personal use. It is our first new car ever It is ace.


Grizzlewick very helpfully told the car salesman to “be quiet, I’m talking to my Mummy”.
We’re probably lucky we still got a good price.

Grizzlewick has taught himself to slide down a pole. Surely it’s only a matter of time now before he joins the CFA.

The theme song for Fireman Sam has changed since the last time I saw it. And Fireman Sam now has a goddamn fax machine*. What is going on in the world of claymation?

There are no fires whatsoever in our area at the moment although it has been very hot.

Yesterday we fled the beach as we feared being caught in a storm, only to have our desire for some overnight rain (only while we were sleeping) completely dashed.

Mr Fix is not happy in this weather unless we are ordering and consuming copious amounts of fish and chips.

I worry that eating too much fish and chips will not be good for either my waistline or my cholesterol level. I also prefer hamburgers, most of the time.

My neighbours are fast considering me some kind of fitness freak after I have encountered two of them in the last week while out and about walking. One expressed surprise that it was necessary to walk each morning, bike to work AND go to yoga.

I’m not sure I understand why the rules for yoga are different while menstruating, but I’m not one to turn away a supportive bolster for my head while undertaking dog pose

Mr Fix’s mother was telling me on the weekend that she has friends who speak to their dogs in French because they are French poodles. That is frankly goddamn weird/wanky.

Camille’s album 'le fil' is absolutely awesome.

I am contemplating buying ‘Sam’s Town’ by The Killers as ‘When you were young’ is growing on me like some kind of feral bacteria.

My my, but Medium was scary on Wednesday night – that 19th century dude is clearly quite the bonkers.

I can’t decide whether or not I like Medium. I don’t particularly like Patricia Arquette, and I’m not sure I believe in psychics. So it’s really lose-lose in some ways, but for some reason I find myself watching it each week.

I did however very much enjoy ‘Human Nature’. MW and I saw it in a little theatre in Avignon and it was the only film in English available. We also saw ‘Happy Accidents’ with Marisa Tomei and Vincent D’onofrio, which I don’t think was released here in the cinema and I have never seen it on video (oops, I mean DVD)

I don’t like Marisa Tomei either. And I never had the crush on Goran that everyone else I know seemed to, particularly my friend Choirgirl.

Choirgirl has just moved to Darwin and I haven’t heard from her yet. I wonder if she is liking it. She became somewhat renowned for complaining about the heat in that stretch of hot weather before Christmas, so it’s possible she is not liking it much.

Mr Fix and I are contemplating taking young Grizzlewick to Vietnam for a couple of weeks next year. My parents have been ever year for the past five and love it. They could probably give us heaps of contacts and possibly even semi-arrange our trip for us, which would be quite good.

I love it how the Vietnamese people call the war of the 1960s/70s ‘The American War’. I wonder if Iraqi people will do the same on day down the track (assuming that is a conflict that ever ends).

Peter Garrett is learning the hard way why many journalists (particularly opinion writers) don’t’ become politicians – too much evidence of opinion that is easily accessible. That said, at least his lyrics are a little bit more interesting than Athol Guy’s. Plus, whatever the community perception of the inconsistency of his views on issues, I’ll bet they’d still back Garrett in a head-to-head “Who is the Aussiest” competition with Howard. No matter how many akubras that man wears, he’s can’t hold a candle to the lead singer of “the Oils” for claim to impact on Australian cultural history.

I never stop at historical markers. I am a history nerd, so I feel like I really should. I want to, but then when I’m in the car I’m always on my way somewhere, I don’t drive in a random way that allows for bulk roadside stops.

There have been a hellish rash of car accidents in our area recently. I had a minor panic attack about this this morning when driving between two towns.

I thought that the meeting I was going to this morning would be a waste of time and it turned out to be the most valuable meeting I have been to yet while working in this project.

If I don’t stop this stream of consciousness I may end up a wizened old crone stooped over my computer for all eternity.

Have a great weekend all.



* Also Bob the Builder has not only a band but also tiny claymation EFFECTS PEDALS to match with his guitar.

Five things you didn't know about me

INCraig (tagged by Aussie Rock Chick) was lauding people who haven't yet done this meme to do it. Because I am pretty lazy and used up all my wit on that last post about John Howard, I thought I'd get in on the act (also figured I could do one post a week and the blogosphere would still find it difficult to narrow down the things it doesn't know about me to just five). So here goes....

1. I’m intimidated by the idea of pressing myself onto people in social situations. I can be very friendly and chatty with people at a networking level, but I have cold sweats about whether or not it is appropriate to ask some one around to my house for dinner, or if they want to meet for a coffee. My friend MW claims that the people I am friends with are the ones that have “forced me to be their friends”*, although “Anonymous” disagrees with that assessment. It certainly was the case with blogging that I had to be cajoled into it. I suspect it’s a level of insecurity that others find irritating.

It is also a marked difference between me and my friend Clara, who moved back to the area I’m living in at the same time I did. In that time (two months, I judge it) she already has a seven-thousand strong contingent of friends from “the good old days” and spent a lot of time trying to hunt me down when she heard I was back in town. More evidence that the above observation is a real phenomenon, but also compounds insecurity that I am a rude wench for not having done the same.

2. I once fancied myself a Goth. I wasn’t very good at it – I liked the clothes but have always been a bit of a co-ord when it comes to make up. Plus I could never bring myself to be as pessimistic as was required. Also I like the beach, quite a bit. That was a no-no. At my last workplace we had a 16 year old fully-fledged Goth come to do work experience and she hated my guts. That was my own fault – I found her darkened demeanour wryly amusing, and I was probably part of “the system” she was trying to rebel against. On the other hand, if you’re trying to impress your workplace supervisor, probably best not to scowl at them every time they ask you to do something, and taking days off when you’re only supposed to be there for a week is probably bad form also.

3. I am really, really going to miss my sister who has this morning headed overseas for two years. She and I are very close and I am trying to pretend that she isn’t really going so that I don’t get too upset about it. Sniff!

4. One of those Australian Diamond Company sandwich board guys in Bourke Street Mall once bribed several of my friends with lollies to give him my phone number. To the best of my knowledge they took the lollies and did not cough up the number. I don’t know how it was that they started that conversation, or how it was that I didn’t hear about any of it until later.

5. When Grizzlewick was born it took me a long time to relent to cleaning all of the goop off his wizened little head. I had quite a few stitches in the aftermath, during which they laid him across my (ample, at that stage) chest and only gave him a little bit of a sponge down. He had some quite large patches of grunge on the top/back of his head that stayed there for about 24 hours. I think I was too frightened to touch that particular part of his head because it was so soft. But also it was hard to let him out of my arms for long enough to do the cleaning that needed to be done. I guess you could call me selfish. Or a bad mother. Or both.



* It’s worth noting that MW has also been known to tell people that “she doesn’t have time for the friends she has now” when they try the same thing on with her.

Oh, sit on it Howard

So apparently, the ALP thinks that John Howard is just like the Fonz.

It’s certainly clear that the Howard Government has jumped the shark.

My friend “Anonymous” and I decided to test that theory*

Here are some possible characteristics, other than being unable to admit they are wrong, that the Fonz and our dear leader might share….

Is it possible that John Howard…..

1. Holds all his most important meetings in the mens’ toilets (well, he's no fan of Affirmative Action)

2. Has it off with every woman he meets (ew. Let’s not)
3. Surrounds himself with timid yes-men
4. Has an annoying and short cousin who thinks he is a lot funnier and sexier than he is and will go on to have a less successful spin-off project (paging Tony Abbott – please don’t wear those shorts in public)
5. Calls his landlord Mr C (actually, that’s what people call him, but never to his face)
6. Greases back his hair
7. Is more proficient with his thumbs than his brain
8. Rides around on a big machine to make up for his small dick/short man syndrome
9. Can't ever utter the word "sorry"

I'm worried about pop culture allusions though. If Howard is the Fonz (who we all seem to agree is or was reasonably cool despite his obvious gender politics deficiencies and low level violent tendencies) who is Rudd?

OMG he's Richie Cunningham, isn't he?

Right, that's it. I'm stopping right there, before the whole Happy Days crew is matched with Federal MPs and I have to go an have a good lie down.

* Not Anonymous Lefty, who I have never met.

Although interestingly MY Anonymous is coincidentally a lefty. Hi Anonymous!

* waves vigorously *

New words for a new millenium, Episode #1

One of the things I like to do recreationally is to find words that describe something heretofore not perfectly encapsulated in the existing lexicon (and just re-reading that sentence it's a wonder that I feel the need to).

For many years, my sister lived in South Yarra. She was delightfully close to Chapel Street (if you like that sort of thing) and we spent a lot of time sleazing down there for ice cream and the like in summer. And this is when we came across an opportunity to add to the English language a new collective noun. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you

"PUBE"


Pube (noun)

Collective noun for a group of teenage boys wearing latest fashion polo shirts, exhibiting excessive hair-style products and a hanging fug of aftershave or cologne

Pube (anthropological)

Pubes are often to be found roaming Chapel Street throughout the summer wearing the latest fashion sunglasses and tight jeans. Pubes behave in a loud and aggressive manner and show scant regard for the authority of other groups or individuals.

Well into the winter months, multiple pubes will appear in socially desirable locations without changing their appearance save a coating of goose-bumps due to lack of adequate clothing. The interaction of distinct pubes can sometimes be difficult, particularly when individual pube members are intoxicated. Warring pubes will often clash in the streets causing disruption to traffic and local harmony. Members of a pube will often travel together, squeezed into cars which feature exceedingly loud stereo systems and flashing lights


Pube (public warning)

If you see a pube, do not approach. When provoked, they may become belligerent and aggressive, believing as they do that they are immortal, the world revolves around them and you are merely a speck on the windscreen of their lives, eh.

Unexpected headstone inscriptions

1.
I'm with stupid
-------------------------->


2.
Here lies little Timmy O'Toole who died doing what he loved best
disobeying his parents


3.
My other resting place is an urn


4.
Cremated remains do it next to a roaring fire


5.
My immortal soul went to heaven
and all I got was this lousy headstone

I'll tell you for the money, the simple life sure looks good

What's not to love about....

1. A display in one of the local antique dealers featuring the National vibrator*, a 1950s/60s vintage sex toy with a neato carry-case and groovy bakelite hand-held control. I suspect when Peter Costello implored us all to "have one for the country", this is not what he had in mind. Incidentally, I did a google search on this term, and was unable to find an image of it, disinterested as I was in surfing through acres of porn to find it. Of course, when people google it again and find my blog, they will be similarly disappointed.


2. The local graffiti. I walk past the local high school every morning (early) and the other day I paused as there was some new graffiti on the sign outside. In black texta, some enterprising soul has written (predictably) "[insert name of school here] SUX". Meh. That's what I'd expect. However, a couple of flat surfaces away, the same person has written

"MORRI IS GAY WITH DOGZ"

Clearly "U R GAY" is no longer considered adequately offensive in the world of teenage boys. Nearby, some one has also scratched "MULL" into the concrete while it was still wet. I can't really decry the youth of today for that one - could have been there for 15 years for all I know.


3. Colourful cuisine. You don't need to go all the way to another country to experience quaint spelling. I took my dear friend for a drive to another small town on Sunday and walked past a quasi-Chinese restaurant that was advertising

"PRAWN CRACKS" - $2.50

That's amazing. I wonder how they get the cracks out of the prawns? They must have some kind of crustacean gynaecologist on staff. I'm thinking, considering how small a prawn's crack must be and the difficulty in extracting one, that $2.50 is a bargain basement price to pay for such a delicacy.


4. More grammar fun: One of the local businesses is truly called "Just Poles and timber" Frankly, they should make up their minds. Either they're just poles, or they're not. This is similar to the hairdresser near Mr Fix's old mechanics, which claimed to "specialise in all aspects of hair". I would argue that if you cover all aspects, you can't really specialise. Surely that's what the delightful phrase, "jack of all trades, master of none" was designed to address?
On the other hand, another business is called "JF McDoofus' & Onions" so I guess anything is possible.

Also: I love it that this is a google-based product and the spell-checker doesn't recognise google as a word.


* That's National the brand, not "national" in a Hugo Chavez-type way.