scrubber: hmm - well that's not right at all. I was going to write the urbandictionary.com definition for scrubber here to describe how i've been dressing at work lately, but it is most certainly not the case that I am a woman who 'throws herself at any man's crotch while wearing revealing clothing'.
i'll write my own...
scrubber: someone who wears unladylike clothing ie; trackpants, stay at home jumpers and runners. Unflattering. Goes into work without a second thought to dirty hair. Tries to pass it off as being appropriate youth worker attire (ok this is no longer a general definition)
I have gone from corporate to (my version of a) scrubber in 6 months. People used to compliment me on what I wore all the time, and now they compliment me only... actually they don't at all anymore!
my mum is so angry - she is getting into fights with me every day because of the way I've been dressing for work. My hair, my chipped nail polish, my addiction to runners, my addiction to comfy-stay-at-home-and-watch-dr-phil jumpers.
I told my co-workers, J. and S., and we've decided to make mondays, tuesdays and wednesday 'no runners' days. If i can't wear runners, i can't wear trackpants, and if i can't wear trackies it means i'll be looking a little better. it's a start anyway.
J. and I were in favour of a 'runner-in-lieu' option... if on a thursday or friday we had to go to a meeting and wear heels we could then transfer our runner day to another monday, tuesday or wednesday, but S. put her foot down and stopped us with our organised planning.
so as of next week... we'll see if i go back to getting compliments
:)
(hope so... otherwise it just means that not only have i become a scrubber, but i've also become fugly!)
Friday, May 23, 2008
Thursday, May 8, 2008
call that exercise? PFFT!
what a joke and a half. i joined a gym near work a few months ago with my co-worker and it included a 'kick start' program which included 3 free half hour personal training sessions. i hadn't gotten around to using them cos I'd been having a little bit of vertigo and i didn't want to do an intense session while dizzy. what a joke... i could have done it while in labour (easy to say that now.)
the trainer has been calling me trying to book me in to see him for the first session and we've been playing phone tag for ages. i finally spoke to him and agreed to 6pm tonight. at 4.30 this afternoon i forgot if it was 6 or 6.30 so i called him, and he got off the phone with me with the parting comment of 'bring your towel, cos WOW i'm a hard asse!'
i actually started to stress a little as i was leaving work... what if he pushed me so hard and I couldn't go dancing tonight? worse still, what if i was so injured and I couldn't go to Ormond Hall on saturday night!?
ok, gripe numero uno: he talked waaaay too much. i LOVE talking, but i do it for free. no one pays me to talk. ok, i know he was free but i believe that I pay enough with the gym membership to expect that he will SHUT UP. and he's male so it wasn't like he could do two things at once; if he was training me and talking i would think it was alright, but not only did he stop but he insisted on stopping me so i could listen to his crap stories.
secondly - he kept on going on and on about how he was a 'bad asse' and a 'hard asse' on the people he trains... i began my training at 6pm and am writing this now (on my lovely mac) at 2am WEARING THE SAME CLOTHES because i didn't break out in even the tiniest sweat. i was so comfortable with how i smelt (i didn't, basically) that i even went dancing in these clothes.
and C - he just kept on saying stupid shit. like he had to reach up high to fix a part on the equipment, and he put down his clipboard, pulled down his tshirt, tucked his tshirt into his elasticised pants, pulled his jumper down over his waist, then turned to me to explain 'sorry, i'm really paranoid about people seeing my undies.' WHO SAYS THAT!?
and finally he just thought he was way tougher than what he was... he stopped me in the middle of one of my reps and said out of nowhere 'wow, you know... woah, gee, i coach under fourteens boys in soccar... and gee! do i feel sorry for them... you should see what i make them do!' and i asked what. and he literally said the following, word for word:
'well... wow... i just make them do heaps, like i am such a hard asse on them, you have no idea... like, for example, they are meant to do, like, 15 push ups, and, cos i'm such a hard asse, i make them do, like... 20! and i say to them, i say nine... eight... seven...six... five... five... five.... five.... five... five... four... you know, like i put in an extra 5 when i'm saying 5 and i push them all the way to 20.'
when i used to do boxing and three different venues three times a week i did probably around 4 to 5 thousand push ups and sit ups.
oh yeah! and lucky last - when he was making another appointment with me in the office his boss came in to ask him a question, and he turned to her and said 'so, like, when am i getting my glamour shots done?' she rolled her eyes and walked out. he turned to me, and in fonzie style said sleazily to me, 'you know... i'm a model.' i didn't know what to say, so i quietly asked, 'really?'. he threw his head back, slapped his knee and laughed, yelling 'i can't believe you believed that! nah they're just taking my picture to put on the wall with all the personal trainers. they're dressing me as superman and suspending me from the ceiling and making it look like i can fly and they're taking a photo.'
again, i was dumbfounded... 'really?'
again, he pissed himself laughing, but this time he cried 'i can't believe i just ripped you again.'
i am a DICKHEAD MAGNET.
the trainer has been calling me trying to book me in to see him for the first session and we've been playing phone tag for ages. i finally spoke to him and agreed to 6pm tonight. at 4.30 this afternoon i forgot if it was 6 or 6.30 so i called him, and he got off the phone with me with the parting comment of 'bring your towel, cos WOW i'm a hard asse!'
i actually started to stress a little as i was leaving work... what if he pushed me so hard and I couldn't go dancing tonight? worse still, what if i was so injured and I couldn't go to Ormond Hall on saturday night!?
ok, gripe numero uno: he talked waaaay too much. i LOVE talking, but i do it for free. no one pays me to talk. ok, i know he was free but i believe that I pay enough with the gym membership to expect that he will SHUT UP. and he's male so it wasn't like he could do two things at once; if he was training me and talking i would think it was alright, but not only did he stop but he insisted on stopping me so i could listen to his crap stories.
secondly - he kept on going on and on about how he was a 'bad asse' and a 'hard asse' on the people he trains... i began my training at 6pm and am writing this now (on my lovely mac) at 2am WEARING THE SAME CLOTHES because i didn't break out in even the tiniest sweat. i was so comfortable with how i smelt (i didn't, basically) that i even went dancing in these clothes.
and C - he just kept on saying stupid shit. like he had to reach up high to fix a part on the equipment, and he put down his clipboard, pulled down his tshirt, tucked his tshirt into his elasticised pants, pulled his jumper down over his waist, then turned to me to explain 'sorry, i'm really paranoid about people seeing my undies.' WHO SAYS THAT!?
and finally he just thought he was way tougher than what he was... he stopped me in the middle of one of my reps and said out of nowhere 'wow, you know... woah, gee, i coach under fourteens boys in soccar... and gee! do i feel sorry for them... you should see what i make them do!' and i asked what. and he literally said the following, word for word:
'well... wow... i just make them do heaps, like i am such a hard asse on them, you have no idea... like, for example, they are meant to do, like, 15 push ups, and, cos i'm such a hard asse, i make them do, like... 20! and i say to them, i say nine... eight... seven...six... five... five... five.... five.... five... five... four... you know, like i put in an extra 5 when i'm saying 5 and i push them all the way to 20.'
when i used to do boxing and three different venues three times a week i did probably around 4 to 5 thousand push ups and sit ups.
oh yeah! and lucky last - when he was making another appointment with me in the office his boss came in to ask him a question, and he turned to her and said 'so, like, when am i getting my glamour shots done?' she rolled her eyes and walked out. he turned to me, and in fonzie style said sleazily to me, 'you know... i'm a model.' i didn't know what to say, so i quietly asked, 'really?'. he threw his head back, slapped his knee and laughed, yelling 'i can't believe you believed that! nah they're just taking my picture to put on the wall with all the personal trainers. they're dressing me as superman and suspending me from the ceiling and making it look like i can fly and they're taking a photo.'
again, i was dumbfounded... 'really?'
again, he pissed himself laughing, but this time he cried 'i can't believe i just ripped you again.'
i am a DICKHEAD MAGNET.
Monday, May 5, 2008
inappropriate conversations topics
i've worked with kids for so long and the best part of the job has always been the day after, with other workers, teachers, my cousins. when we all sit around and share our hilarious stories of what the kids did and how hard we had to stop ourselves from laughing.
but now, with the kind of kids i'm working with... it's no longer cute. D. was telling us a story how one of her grade ones wrote 'i rub my dik' instead of 'i ride my bike' because he mixed up the direction of the b's and d's and stuffed his vowels up.
Her sister B. then told a story about a kid who responds with yelling 'HELP!" no matter what she says to him... as in that's the only word she's ever heard him say.
hahahaha!... they looked at me expectantly for a story.
'oh, uhm, what happened today... well i'm kind of lying in my case notes at the moment because two of my girls have found full time employment at a massage parlour with happy endings and i don't really want that to be connected with me... ' i laughed weakly. they just sort of looked at me then busily stirred their tea.
nope, not the same!
but now, with the kind of kids i'm working with... it's no longer cute. D. was telling us a story how one of her grade ones wrote 'i rub my dik' instead of 'i ride my bike' because he mixed up the direction of the b's and d's and stuffed his vowels up.
Her sister B. then told a story about a kid who responds with yelling 'HELP!" no matter what she says to him... as in that's the only word she's ever heard him say.
hahahaha!... they looked at me expectantly for a story.
'oh, uhm, what happened today... well i'm kind of lying in my case notes at the moment because two of my girls have found full time employment at a massage parlour with happy endings and i don't really want that to be connected with me... ' i laughed weakly. they just sort of looked at me then busily stirred their tea.
nope, not the same!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
