Today at the mall:
1. I saw Che Fu in the foodcourt. He was with his wife/girlfriend/paaartnaaa and two kids. He brought them over a tray stacked full of McDonald’s. It reminded me of when I was a girl and going to McDonald’s was the ultimate treat. Then I grew up and realised that McDonald’s wasn’t particularly appealing any more because a) it’s not such a treat if I can get it whenever I like, and b) it doesn’t work well as a satisfying meal.
2. In the supermarket I was perusing the cans of flavoured tuna. Amid the little 95 gram lemon pepper tuna and sundried tomato tuna I saw a can of fancy seafood delight. Upon closer inspection I discovered that the fancy seafood delight was a can of gourmet cat food that had somehow been snuck in the tuna section. It was disturbing to note that the actual cans were identical in size and features. But it was also amusing, because canned tuna has always seemed like cat food for humans.
3. I saw “Win a date with Tad Hamilton”. It was nice, but I kept feeling that all the characters apart from Tad Hamilton were miscast. Begone, attractive blonde chick and attractive boy-next-door! Go back to Hollywood!
4. My car failed its warrant of fitness again. Boring. This time it’s the front left tyre. It doesn’t have enough tread, apparently. Hey, it’s just as well I’ve started a new job that pays $2 more than the dole so that I can go and buy a new tyre. The mechanic attempted to claim that my battery was rooted because he had trouble starting my car. I don’t know what he was doing, because I’ve never had trouble starting it (touch wood, etc), and indeed it started up perfectly after I got the car back.
5. Speaking of the dole, it’s fun ringing up Work and Income to report my weekly earnings. Two things always happen. 1. The call centre personal always mispronounces my case manager’s name. It’s Ros (pronounced Roz), but it either gets said Rose or Ross. 2. The call centre person asks me what my job is and gets all excited when they hear I’m working in the exciting, fast-paced world of television, and even more excited when I say I’m a captioning editor. I let them be excited and don’t mention stuff like having to figure out if Reagan’s would-be assassin was Mr Hinkley or Hinkly or Hincklee or Heinghckleigh-Amber (sorry, I was slipping into teenage mother baby-naming mode).