I can’t work out if I should get a car decal. It’s times like this I look to our lord. Dear god, give me a sign! Should I get a car decal? It could help me promote my business. Or it could damage my car’s paint job. I don’t know which option is better or worse. Anyway, that’s the least of my concerns right now, because my business is floundering and I need to think about my advertising campaign. I’ll think about the signwriters in Melbourne later.
I think I’m going to hire a digital agency to help with the marketing aspect of the business. Being a car wash business, the only promotion we get is people driving by. I doubt we get any word-of-mouth references because the car wash doesn’t particularly stand out or anything. It’s pretty generic. Perhaps I need a marketing strategy to make it stand out among the rest, make it unique you know. Like we could be an all-inclusive car wash for all people. Or we could have cafe there so people can recaffeinate and have a bite to eat while their car is being hand washed. Or I could dress the car wash guys in costumes and turn it into a kid friendly car wash, with a very happy upbeat kind of vibe. Hm, that could be good. If I did go with this idea, I’d have to get some safety signs. Near Melbourne, car washes can get quite slippery, so if people are distracted by the costumes, they are at risk of falling onto the cement. In the end, I’ll be praying to our Lord every time I go to church to keep our patrons safe and sound, no matter which way they swing. All I know is that I’m going to have to take a new direction with my signage.
My husband and I were having marriage troubles recently. It’s our lifestyle differences. He loves to sit at home and vegetate after work, either in front of the TV or the computer. He loves his own company and is also introverted. Me, on the other hand, I’m always having people over. Dinner parties, weekend barbecues. I love going out to bars and nightclubs too but the after-party always ends up at my place. Jason doesn’t like this. He’s usually in bed by about 10 pm even on weekends. We were slowly growing more and more impatient with each other, until I had a brilliant idea for a solution: custom sheds, Tamworth.
Basically, there’s not enough room for the two of us. I need space for my social needs, and he needs space for his solitary quiet time. We’re different people, doesn’t mean we don’t get along fantastically when we’re together. We just needed to find a way to accommodate both of our needs. I realised we could achieve this with a custom built shed. This would serve as my “play pen” where I could have parties and drinks, and it would be sound insulated and well away from the house. All we had to do was call about carports in Tamworth, because we realised my little party pad would serve as our garage to protect the car from the elements.
Ever since we got the party room on our property, things have improved at home. Jason has been sleeping well and I’ve been getting my social fill. You can tell that things are going well in a our marriage. As soon as you stop communicating for any significant amount of time that’s a sign there’s an issue that needs to be addressed. Now that everything’s sorted, I think I could do with a little more sleep.
Last Christmas in July, we had a party at work. It was pretty loose — there was plenty of Elaine-style dancing and even the boss got a few drinks in him. By the end of it, we were all having playful digs at each another.
I was accused of being “sedentary”, which of course is a euphemism for lazy, at which point I turned around and said, “I bet I could beat all of you in a race!” My drunken colleagues were foolishly up for a challenge that their sober minds would promptly cower from.
I may not be the fittest nor the fastest in the office, but I do have a secret weapon — a hyperbaric chamber. Melbourne workers are generally quite disinterested in exercise and do not keep in shape, but as I was putting forth this challenge, I thought back to my grandmother’s hyperbaric chamber which she uses to treat her diabetes injuries. I knew that with this secret I could beat any of my overfed and under-walked colleagues in a foot race.
The challenge was a 2km run on the athletic field. We were to make a day of it, and organised a month after the Christmas in July party. It was a Saturday. The non-participators stood by with the sausage sizzle, and the smell of slowly charring beef made my stomach rumble. While the others had been going for jogs every morning for the past four weeks, I had been “training” by spending 45 minutes every day in the hyperbaric chambers. Melbourne doesn’t have that many good jogging routes that are near me so I was quite content to be snug in my little chamber receiving my oxygen therapy. I was also feeling quite smug in the knowledge that they’d been working their butts off, pathetically, while I did nothing and won the race. I had my sausage afterwards and also won a “Least sedentary employee” medal. Woo.
It was a beautiful day in inner city Melbourne when I’d organised to have the arborists come to get rid of our troublesome tree in the front yard. Its branches were interfering with the power lines and the roots were tearing up the foundations of the house. It just had to go. Anyway, this tree was actually right on the nature strip, so several paced from the house, just to give you some idea of how massive it truly was. Anyway, the guy pulls out his chain saw, ready to cut the darn thing down, when my neighbour rushes out yelling Stop at the top of his lungs.
Now I never thought that tree felling in Melbourne could have amounted to a stouch, but that’s exactly what happened. He came out yelling, “How dare you cut down my tree!” I go, “This isn’t your tree, tis’ my tree.” But this irate neighbour pointed to the tree stump and said that it was actually on his side of the nature strip. That’s when I realised that it was close to the border of our two properties, but nevertheless it was clearly my tree because I’m the one who had had to invest all of the time and money into pruning it and taking care of it all these years. I asked him, “If it’s your tree, then where have you been this whole time?” He just grumbled and started rambling about the tree being his again. Not the most coherent argument I’ve heard…
Anyway, the neighbour and I got into a fracas right there in front of the arborists. Close to Melbourne there isn’t a lot of fighting so I guess they were in for a real show. The poor blokes were probably just sticking around to see who would pay them the call out fee.
The tree had been an eyesore since the day we moved in. That was twenty years ago. I wanted to get rid of it but there’s always been something in the way. At the beginning, it was my first wife who really loved it. I had called tree removal in Melbourne and the guys rolled up with their trucks and equipment. They were about to lop the darn thing down when she ran out screaming and crying, tears streaming down her face. She begged them to stop. They looked at me and smiled, knowing that I still had to pay the bill.
I couldn’t cut it down so long as we were married. In fact, I think it might have had something to do with the break up of our marriage. Not the tree obviously but just her uncompromising nature. There was no way I could talk her out of it, or anything really.
The next time I tried to call in the arborist, Melbourne based tree doctors are all over the place. The tree loppers came by, ready to cut down the hideous tree which was getting in the way of the power lines and even starting to dig its roots into the foundation of the house. This time it was my second wife’s mother in law who stopped the whole thing. She ran out declaring that the tree was an apricot tree and why would we cut it down when we get so many free delicious apricots. I looked at the floor where all the squashed apricots were stained into the paving, and I shook my head. Yet another tree felling mission delayed. Needless to say, that marriage didn’t last either. Can’t be stuck with a woman with a domineering mother in law.
The third and last time I tried to get rid of the tree, my new girlfriend tried to stop me. She said that she really liked the tree and could we please keep it? I told her, “Of course, anything for you, darling.”
As a general practitioner in a private practice, I’m always trying to improve my skills. Well, I always intend on it but then get lazy and comfortable. My secretary, Marina Popopoulous is the real engine behind this business. She’s always pushing me to expand my knowledge. If it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t even know what a staph infection was. But anyway, every time she does push me into bigger and better things I moan and groan about it. Like when she booked my my dry needling courses. New Zealand seemed a million miles away, and I really just wanted to spend my weekend relaxing. But then I realised that another professional in my field was going to be there: Dr Tatiana Kristeva, who is not only within the top tier of GPs, but also an exceptional beauty. Needless to say, my initial reluctant transformed into eager excitement.
So I got to the trigger point dry needling course, and there was Tatiana, looking ravishing in her trim suit and stethoscope. I was in love. We started talking, we even studied together, but all the while, I felt that there was something missing. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it…
I left New Zealand and returned to Australia, a little bewildered at why my excursion wasn’t as romantic as it had promised to be. Tatiana seemed really keen. She even invited me back to her hotel for some champagne and strawberries, but i don’t know, it just didn’t feel right to me. When I returned to the office, there was Marina, busily working away, interrupting her jam packed schedule to greet me with a big bear hug. With Mariana in my arms, that’s when I realised that the love of my life was here all along. Who would have thought that it would take leaving home for dry needling courses to bring us together. Ever since that day, Marina and I have been happily engaged. When she books me courses and conferences to go to, I still moan and groan about it. But at least now I know I’m coming home to the loving arms of my fiance.
Perth has had some wild times over the last few years. What with them having that new sports stadium built, becoming the funeral capital of Australia and then there was that one time that Yaival DuMesque filmed part of his new action-drama there and everyone went nuts. It might be all the way out on the other side of the country, but big things are happening way out in Perth.
Now, you might remember that heating grid. What a tumultuous time in Perth, heating services became so overblown that they thought it’d be a good idea to heat the entire city at once. Fair enough, it was (on paper) more efficient than having everyone in the city running their own heating and cooling units. And this way, everyone would have heating, from rich to poor and everyone in between! Well, that was the idea. The local council overstepped themselves, as did science, and the city was almost destroyed…what, three times? Three times, in increasingly destructive and highly cinematic incidents, though personally, even though the stakes were highest in the third crisis, it just felt like treading over old ground. It’s always the third one, have you noticed?
In any case, there’s enough material to create an entire library of books on the subject. The incident/s are still fresh in the minds of the general public. What I propose is a distillation of the entire thing, so that we can create one coffee table book that deals with the issue using grace, tact and sensitivity, while still making it a wild ride for the reader. It would be an ambitious venture, but all we’d be doing is reporting facts in a slightly exciting way. It wouldn’t be hard, and I even know a few professionals in the Perth heating and cooling industry who’d be happy to give us some inside details. And pictures! You know you want this book. It’s a sure-fire bestseller.
My wife reckons I should get a job. She thinks I’m bored. She sees me peeking out the window spying on the neighbours and she tells me I ought to occupy my time better. She thinks she’s so smart. She always has to be right. What she doesn’t’ understand is that I’m accumulating knowledge. I may spend a lot of time in the vicinity of our humble abode but that doesn’t mean I’m not still learning, improving, growing. For instance, we recently we had to hire the interior painters. Near Melbourne, where we live, the air can alternate from being quite damp to quite dry, which has the effect of damaging your house paint.
Anyway, the painters came around the other day and I watched them while they worked. The did a brisque and faultless job on the walls, and not a drop on the carpet! — so I asked them to come back to do the roof which was looking a rather sorry sight. The missus came back on her lunch break to check up on us, under the pretence that she’d forgotten her lunch a home. She obviously didn’t trust me to supervise the operation. She reckons that busier you are the more you get done, but I reckon slow and steady wins the race. So I’m watching these guys work on the roof. What they did was use this fascinating high pressured hose to get rid of all the dirt, debris and chipped paint from the roof tiles. After that they did some touch ups by checking for renegade nails poking out and misplaced tiles. It was awesome, I reckon these guys are as good interior as they are exterior painters. Melbourne residents must be clamouring for their services.
After hosing down the roof with that miracle hose (wouldn’t mind using it on the kids from time to time) they painted the roof twice. It was brilliant. No mess, no fuss. No ladders in inconvenient places, no getting in the way of our daily lives.I made myself a tuna salad sandwich and came out to watch the show, sprawling my deckchair onto the front lawn.
I’ve known since I was six years old that I wanted to run my own restaurant. I think it stemmed from my desire to be the manager of something, since even at that tender age I was chafing under the authority of my parents and I desperately wanted to be the boss. And if I was the boss of a hotel, then I would be the boss of everyone in it. And it wasn’t like being the boss of a restaurant, which has people in it sometimes and not other times. No, a hotel is always full of people, so I’d control all of them, and send them off to bed when I like!
Of course, that dream has matured somewhat, but I’d still love to manage a hotel, or at least some beach apartments. Somewhere in Lorne perhaps…lovely beach accommodation, not too bustling, unlike Sorrento in the summer. You’d have to have some serious chops to manage something out there in the rush months. My only experience comes from having watched the entire series of Salty Towers, which is really no experience at all, so I’m betting there are some courses I can do to learn how it all works. I’d expect there’s an entire elective on how to multitask, since hotel management sounds like a minefield of forgotten tasks and employees running this way and that, doing whatever they please in forgotten corners. Or maybe I’m just letting my enjoyment of Salty Towers colour my actual expectations. There’s still plenty to deal with, however.
If I went the beach apartment route, perhaps that’d be best for a beginner. I’d still be looking for a course to manage all the finances and such, but I really think I could start off with just that. People come along and just live in apartments like they would normally. No room service or front desk, just online and phone bookings. Maybe I should take a trip down to the Great Ocean Road and see the accommodation, ask people what’s involved. I really feel like I ready to make the step into business.
I am so proud of my mum, you guys. She’s just been through so much and she’s doing so well, it’s absolutely heartwarming. She’s such an inspiration, and for that, I’d love to share her story with you all here today.
When I was two, my daddy died in a car crash. He was driving home from work out in the country late one night and must have swerved for some reason because his car veered off the side of the road and hit a tree. He was killed instantly, the police report I was given when I was much, much older said. So mum was left to take care of me on her own. All her family is in America, and she could have easily run home back to them, but she chose to stay here. So she worked three jobs she hated to have enough money to send me off to school, but now that’s finished, I’m glad she realises it’s finally time she do something for herself.
Ever since I can remember, mum has wanted to work as a beautician. I know, it’s a bit of an odd career choice to pluck from thin air, but hey, it’s her dream not mine. But of course, to work as a beautician, you need to have a diploma of beauty therapy. Melbourne has a lot of amazing beauty therapy schools, that was never the problem. The fact of the matter is, well, was, that mum could never afford to do both. But with me to help out around the house, now, she finally can. So she enrolled in one of the best beauty courses in the country for next semester and, of course, got in. She’s finally decided her dreams are worth it and has made the commitment to follow the. You can see why I’m so proud, right? Go mum!