Post Fifty-Nine: Hello-tosis

So, I don't know how to bring this up but I think it's a pretty funny social circumstance.


There's someone that I work around who has stinky breath. I don't think that's a really big deal, but what's funny is that combined with this they're a really close talker too! I mean, I work with my face about 15cm from a corpses mouth, but this persons pipe is pretty bad.

What's the etiquette in this occasion? Surely, they've broken into my personal space and surpassed that etiquette so I should be able to tell them their airways are rancidly decomposing.

Gah! I pretty much jump over the table and hide behind the fridge doors when they enter my general eyeline. What to do, what to do!?! Any advice is muchly appreciated, and probably enjoyed.

x

Post Fifty-Eight: Me, Cool? Alright Then.

So, this sunglass company Sabre emailed me and was all like "Fill this in, we like you..." I was all like "Ok, because I like sunglasses...."...and this is what happened.

Beware, my face is REALLY BIG on the webpage, its a little scary for me..... Oh, follow this link -------->

TEN QUESTIONS ON LIFE - SARAH O'CONNOR

Peace! x

Post Fifty-Seven: Go Forth, My Friend the Explorer.

This picture is pretty awesome. I think it was taken a couple of years back at a halloween party, and my great friend Lynda and I seem to be doing what we do best (ie. drinking and being stupid.)

I've been thinking heaps about loss this week, both at work and in my personal life. Lynda isn't dying (thank jeebus), but she's moving to Canada to go have general rad times. She's leaving all her close family and friends behind for an undetermined amount of time because she's always wanted to go... but never really worked up the courage to do before now. A few tears fell out when we said goodbye!

I'm super excited and proud of her, and can't really believe she's fitting all of her life into a suitcase and seeking snowier pastures. Her leaving has made me reassess too whether I'm on the right path, working full time, being 25 and having never seen snow

I wonder how many dead old people that I meet actually travelled abroad in their life, apart from their efforts in war time. Did they ever pack up their shit and relocate to a place where nobody spoke their language, or you couldn't find a 7/11?....I know my folks didn't travel overseas until they had baby number two. That shit be crazy! How will I know that I'm not meant to be a Moroccan until I've been there, or maybe I'm destined to marry some Alaskan Goat Herder.

Anyway, be safe Lynda B!
Have wild adventures and seek the mooses. x

Post Fifty-Six: Pretty Birdy.

I really want a pet at work. My bosses are totally against it, but I don't see how they think that this will be counterproductive to improving my work performance.

Just think, how much will it improve my morale, my general work satisfaction, if I was permitted to keep a little budgie on my shoulder while I worked. Apart from the whole pooping situation (I already wear PPE anyway, just the corpses might cop a bit of splatter) I just don't know why it's not cool with the suits up the ladder.

My only hesitation would be if the fumes from some chemicals might get up their little nostrils (ooooo I need to google their nostrils, above their beaks I guess?). That would not be cool. Any vets or animal lovers out there that know about this stuff, could you fill me in?

I'd take him home in the afternoons and weekends and feed him all the fancy seed he wanted. I'd teach him to say cool things and fetch me suture string and cotton....What an amazing idea. Seriously, I need to open my own business!

Happy weekend peeps, love your work.

Peace. x

Post Fifty-Five: Doctors Appointment Confirmation.

[The Doctor : Thursday 26 August] : The drive show, yo. Hyperlinkin through the galaxy...

So, being the technofool that I am, perhaps this is todays interview link??? Quality blogging Sarah. What a dick.

Smooch! x

Post Fifty-Four: The Wardrobe Bandit

I almost wet myself laughing in the mortuary yesterday.

A beautiful little old man was in my care, and I was getting him ready for his last hoorah. He had a really characteristic face and I instantly loved his company. I got the feeling that he was going to play a practical joke on me, and I swear he still had a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his face even though he was very ,very dead.

It was kind of weird, because I noticed in his bag of clothes he had three pairs of pants and three shirts. There were no notes alerting me to what outfit was preferenced so I picked my favourites and set to work.

The comedy unravelled when I noticed that his singlet had another mans name label on it. I checked his shirt, and that belonged to a third man... I wondered if this deceased man spent his last days pinching clothes of other residents of his nursing home as a last little fuck you to his enemies.

After continuing to check the rest of the garments, they all belonged to other gentlemen.... I think there were eight different names in total! What the hell was going on there, my friend the wardrobe bandit!?!?!

Oh....and I hope y'all caught me on jjj this arvo, sorry I didn't announce it or anything but I'm a bit of a retard with that sort of stuff. To be honest, I forgot because I bought myself my first bottle of gin last night and had a little bit too much fun getting loose. I have now learnt never to drink on a school night as hangovers in the mortuary are not desirable. Repeat, I will not drink on a school night again yo!

You'll be able to grab the chats with Linds as a podcast that will no doubt be up soon, tomorrow, tonight??? Who knows.

Peace. x

Post Fifty-Three: Excuse Me, You Have Something On Your Shoe.

Mondays, why are you so mean?

I started the day off with some gangrene. Oh my, it was not pretty! Gangrene is the pits yo!

Then, in the afternoon my aspirator hose flew off the tap whilst in use, sending stomach contents, mine and the deceased's, across the room. It was like a scene from Dexter, seriously. I knew there was a lot of mess, but for about 15 minutes I didn't notice the wad of intestines on my gown and my boots. Sorry lady, but It looked like I was wearing your insides as accessories!

Hmmpph.

On a brighter note, I'm keeping my mind in a happier place...In October I'm heading down to Melbourne to see Mariachi El Bronx. Needless to say, I'm super excited and I can't stop thinking about it.

Thats all folks. Boring one day, thrilling the next.

Peace. x

Post Fifty-Two: A Proposal, Seriously.

I know who I want. I want you, Michael Cera.

Out there, wherever you are, you should be here with me. I don't care that you seem to play the same roles all the time. That role is perfect.

You make me laugh. Plus, you seem nervous all the time (or you are at least good at pretending) and that makes me feel ok about being nervous all the time too.

So, I want to marry you. Cool? I don't care if I don't know you. I think I'm ready to take that chance. Well, I only care if it's all a big lie and you are a dick (But I just can't see how this is possible as you have cool friends and laugh about good things). We could at least date for a while and go skating and make cookies and play guitar hero?

Note: I just watched Paper Hearts, a fun mock-doc(?) movie starring the glorious Charlyne Yi and Michael Cera amongst a pretty cool little cast. I love love loved it. Charming and artistic, hell funny...all without being too indie. Yes, I loved it.

Peace. x

(why is the weekend over!!!!)

Post Fifty-One: That Time With The Reaper, Him and Me.

I almost died once. Actually, twice.

The first time was in Western Australia on Mothers Day in 1987. Poor mum.

I decided that, being the dickhead toddler that I was, I'd escape from the house and the questionably watchful eyes of my older sisters. We were at my mums friends house in Balga, and I vaguely remember walking around the front yard looking at this womans flower garden and picking up rocks to add to my collection...I collected pebbles and sometimes still do. I guess chilling out in the gutter on a busy street isn't a particularly safe activity for a small child?

Apparently, mum and dad were going out for a mothers day luncheon with mums friend and her husband. They thought I was safe inside so they got into this womans car, mum and dad buckled up in the back. As they reversed down the curb they felt a little bit of a bump, then heard what I guess was me screaming my little head off. Literally. They'd reversed straight on over me, the wheels narrowly missing my tiny body but the number plate smashing my head open as the car dropped over the curb...

I don't know if I've reconstructed the memory or whether it is etched into my brain. I feel like I can see the underside of the car when I close my eyes. I think I tried to push up on it, to get it off me, but I don't know if it would have even been over me for long enough for me to react like that. I can see my dad screaming at the woman, telling her to "shut the f*ck up and drive me to the hospital".

The poor lady was hysterical (as you would be). My dad craddled me in his arms in the middle of the rear seat with my mum next to him his right, so mum was holding my oozing head. Then, I think I blacked out and I can't remember any more of the journey or the operation to follow.

After this, I remember (or have built the memory of) waking up in a cot in the hospital ward. I thought it was weird that I was in a cot, because I slept in a big bed already. My head felt huge, and I cried out in the dark to the nurses that were illuminated in the hall but no-one came. Only the sounds of high heels and air conditioning surrounded me. I felt like I cried for ages, but I realised that I had a new teddy that someone must have given me, so I decided to chew on his ear for a while instead. That is all I remember, but I have a nasty scar, a triangle skull and a bald patch to jog my memories. Oh, and I still have my hospital teddy.

My second narrow escape came in December 1999 at Maroochydore Beach, QLD. I was 15, awkard, introverted and desperate to grow some boobs. I'm still all of those things, apart from 15. Oh....shit.

It was school holidays and my family and best friend Jo, along with her parents, were vacationing at the Sunshine Coast. We did this for about four years running, and I remember being excited about it for the whole year. I always thought I was going to have a summer romance and finally kiss some blonde haired surfer boy, but this was never the case. I didn't have my first kiss until I was 16, no 17! (I got drunk on Red Bear vodkas at Cassi Devine's (her real name!) 18th birthday party in Redcliffe and made out with a seedy hip hop loving guy from the local state school. Ugh, we made out on the trampoline in front of everybody and I'm pretty sure he wanted to have sex with me. It was very, very gross and I regretted it for years.... I came home with the worst hickies, wore a turtle neck for about a week and my mum smirked at me for days.

Anyway, Jo and I decided to go out for a swim in the surf on the second day of vacation. It was a picture perfect Queensland day, but the surf was a little rough. I remember wishing that I wasn't so peer-pressured into wearing triangle bikinis because I had no boobs and if the surf got too rough I'd end up with the yellow top around my belly button. Jo had an amazing rack, blonde long hair and was pretty much a babe, so when I hung around her I pretty much tagged along wishing to sink into her shadow.

I remember being in the water up to my knees, and the next second I was under over my head. Apparently, we found ourselves swept out in a crazy rip which I didn't think was possible in that type of depth. Seriously, the water was kiddy deep.

Quite a few people were caught in the rip too, and I remember hearing a heap of yelling for a while before things went silent. Jo sure was pretty, but she was a lousy swimmer. She grabbed my arm from the right and started panicking and before long she was pushing me under to get herself some buoyancy. (bitch).

I do know, at this point, I thought I was going to die. About six huge dumping waves washed over us and with each one I lost a little more hope. After that set, Jo was washed a couple of metres away from me so I had a moment or two to breathe. I looked out to the shore, which was by now so far away, and the people standing on the beach were tiny little dots. They looked so pretty, like little colourful jewels. I said to myself "Huh, cool. I'm gonna die. " It was very serene, very calm, and I was ready.

Then, and this is the weird part, a really cute blonde surfer guy grabbed my hand out of nowhere. We did the egg-beater together (this is not a euphemism), and after the next set of dumpers he managed to get out that his name was Luke and that he was a fucking life saver from NSW that was on holidays! He too was stuck in this mega-c*nt of a rip, and we waited clenching hands, in the washing machine moments that seemed like forever, until the life-savers that were on duty could get out to us. Only one life saver came, Luke stayed out in the surf for a moment while I was thrown onto a surf board and pushed back alone on a wave to the shore.

I came out with the biggest wedgie, and the biggest crush imaginable. I remember walking out of the water and I couldn't hear anything because I was in shock, but no one ran up to hug me. It was weird, as I imagined everyone on the shore would've known that I almost died. No one really noticed me so I dumped the board and ran behind a sand dune to gather my thoughts (and pride).

Later, I found Jo. She was already over it and I could tell she wasn't willing to talk about the fact that she did try to drown me to save herself. I let it slide because she had met up with Luke and his other hot friend Jai and we were apparently going to hang out with them that night. Swoon...

It all ended pretty miserably. I think Jo made out with at least one of them and I awkwardly stood around as the nerdy geek friend and watched them both drool over her. But, and I'm thankful for this, I didn't die.

Peace. xxx

Post Fifty: Sarah E. Everett.

Wanna get in my head right now?

Do what you need to do to get these sounds in your ears right NOW!

Loving it beyond comprehension. Caught the gig at the Tivoli on Friday night and now more than ever... I gots me the E fever.

Peace. x

Post Forty-Nine: Morning Mutiny.

That's it! I've taken a day off tomorrow. I'm frazzled. You know why?

I don't do Nescafe.

I'm generally a begger, not a chooser....but I can't drink that worst of the worst instant coffee. We used to get that moccona stuff at work I'm sure of it. When the caffeine is free, I ride high on that baby to get me through. Someone has changed brands in the kitchen and I can't cope.

What to do! I can't afford to buy coffee every day. Someone call an intervention.

Peace. x

P.S. I really have the day off for 'professional development'. I'm trying to win me an education scholarship as I do have a mind under this hat, somewhere.

Post Forty-Eight: Fashions in The Field.

Obviously I have largely pre-planned my own funeral in the case of my unfortunate early demise. Plans need to be in place for the hoe-down (is that seriously spelt hoe?) if I spontaneously combust, right?. I'm a pretty horrifying driver because I have terrible visuo-spatial awareness, so maybe that might be the end for me. Similarly, poor impulse control coupled with acute unco-ordination is a recipe for tragedy.

However I go, all I know is that I want to be dressed in a monkey or skeleton suit. I'm not sure which one yet....

One of the best perks of being a mortician is playing dress ups with my clients. This sounds weirder than it is, but I do get a kick out of putting a dapper suit and bow tie on an old guy. That is, unless he has a mad tan from wearing ruggers and thongs and it's obvious he'd never worn a suit in his life. Likewise, when ladies are buried in beautiful silk vintage dresses my heart swoons. I often wish I could have a chat with them and ask them if they could leave the dress for me and perhaps go in something that wouldn't be so valued in my own wardrobe.

People have asked to be buried in the nude, because thats how they were most comfortable. I've put a 98 year old in a lace g-string bodysuit. About a billion corpse brides have come through. Plenty of footy jerseys, not enough band shirts....

What would you want to be buried in? I suggest you make a note if you have preferences, you wouldn't want someone to pack your holey holy undies, or would you?

Peace. x

Post Forty-Seven: Hark, My Obtuse Heart.

I've spoken before about Eulogies, but today during a particularly moving tribute a new introspection was hither born. Hither!

A theme pounced out into my brain that previously hadn't inspired too much personal reflection. It seemed that, by all accounts, the best thing that had ever happened to this man was that he fell in love. Big time. Once. Married a woman, and loved and loved and loved until he died.

Without getting too personal, I don't understand love at all. I don't think it exists as people generally construct, but I am interested in relationships that last 60 years or more...

I like the idea of happy and harmonious co-dependency. That is probably love, yeah? The way I see it, there is nothing harmful in wanting to 'hold hands' with implausibly beautiful people either. Combine the two, and that might be what's going on. As I get older, I think I generally get more fearful. Perhaps the fear of getting closer to death, and closer to fragility, will push me towards someone so much that cuddling only them and never leaving is the only way forward. Just a thought...

I think I've fallen in 'love' with every one I have kissed. It just happens. Again, it's probably too personal, but I've never been a pash n' dash girl. Trust me, I wanted to be, but that crown was already taken at school. Cripplingly awkward. And I have a screwed up jaw that makes things all the more awkward if a kiss isn't premeditated. Basically, I doubt my strengths and know my weaknesses.

I think about what it would be like to be romantically involved with most attractive people that I meet. Attractive, or funny. Equal measure is also great. Friends, neighbours, the guy that makes my coffee, the girl that works at the IGA, the cable guy... Is this weird?

It seems that before I have kissed someone in the past, I generally had pre-planned that if they were to make that move or vice versa, I could see myself getting seriously involved. It's because I think about my options so much. There has been a general agreement within myself that if I think the person is a lot of alright they are more than permitted to be up in my grill. Grill = face, just so we're clear. This is assuming that at the time I haven't been in a relationship, I'm no cheater floosy. But even in relationships, I still think about who would be suitable suitors. Ha.

The story goes, so far, that my instant love has seemed to be unoffensive . Co-dependency loomed closer and closer and closer until I shook hands with each lover and jumped across to the next footpath to the future. Always with honesty, always with intent, always with humour, but not with 'the one'.

When do you know to stop skipping in the playground, or do you need to?

P.S. And don't just answer "You just know."

Peace. x

Post Forty-Six: The Post.

I have a new plan. If I get sick of this whole mortuary/death thing, I'm going to be a postie. It was raining today and I imagined how fun it would be for me to be zooming around in the wet, delivering all sorts of shit. Bills aren't so cool, but postcards and ebay stuff would be a buzz, right?

I am not logical or sensible, and I love running around in the rain. I am excited by puddles and melting mascara. Dogs chasing me would be a fun game and I like scars.

This is all. Oh, no it isn't.

I booked a flight to Japan! I'm off to Tokyo for a month in February, which is very cool. I haven't been overseas in forever! I guess I'm not getting a new computer now.....but the adventures begin!

Peace. x

Post Forty-Five: You Tricky Trickster.

I hurt.

I severely overindulged on the weekend and my immune system is all like "Screw you bitch! So you think you can drink all night, two nights in a row!... flouncing around in the cold with next to nothing on....well, be prepared for the cactus that I'm going to plant in your mouth pipe, and that's only the beginning!..."

Thank you self.

Anyway, someone at work is fucking with my mind. It's either a staff member or a bad ass poltergeist. I think I've only told one or two people, and they don't even work with me, but I routinise most activities from 8am to 4pm to the minute. I think it's one of the only things I do that might lead people to think that I'm stranger than what I actually am.

I get up at about 7am and head into work pretty early. You see, I sit at work for a half an hour or so before I start so I can eat some breakfast, chill out and smash down some caffeine. I usually have either oats or two boiled eggs on toast....I know this is a stupidly boring piece of trivia but for the last couple of weeks someone has been stirring my psyche by messing around my morning ritual. It makes me a little tweaked for the whole day!

Firstly, my oats keep being moved so I can't find them. This forces me to go with the egg option. The egg part is fine, but my toast has been burning because someone moves the button thing (what do you call that knob, the intensity knob??? oh dear ) all the way up to the highest setting, to char to satans liking. Argh! I have been moving the setting down to a reasonable level after wasting about four pieces, and I put the oats back in the same cupboard when I find them again, but the cards keep being dealt. I always thought the cases were unrelated until today, when I realised how often this has been happening. I think it was the misery from the hangover induced flu that made me think negatively enough to string the incidents together.

So, after my failed attempts at a peaceful breakfast, me and my swollen glands had to get to work on some lovely customers that I'm sure saved up all of their gases and excrements for me....Nothing like a monday morning with a sensitive stomach and a banging head in a mortuary.

Peace. x

P.S. Congratulations to the boys from the Mercy Beat for the release of their debut album, 'How to Shampoo a Yak.' You played superbly, your supports were off the hook, and I love you. I don't, however, like how much you inspire me to undertake a character study of an alcoholic groupie. Yay!

Post Forty-Four: I Couldn't Have Stopped Him.

I'm totally bummed. It's so close to the weekend and I'm gearing up for some raucous behaviour, but at work today I couldn't really pull myself out of gloomingdales. I even turned down a Dr. Pepper with lunch, and I think I'm considering a diet. (My dentist told me to cut down my sugar intake because I'm holey, I'm getting fillings in filling'd teeth!) I have the gloomies. And I love Dr. Pepper.

Anyway, It's because I think I reached a new level this week. I've had at least one suicide case a day all week, and today I had two in a row. It tires me. I wish I could stop them from coming in, but in death stats they are a big morbid contender. Blurgh.

Mental Illness is prolific in our community. I think we are (very slowly) seeing a change in the way people view mental health issues. In the next elected government I hope more emphasis will be placed on support for those suffering from mental diseases, including aid for the families and carers involved. Go team, right? Bring in the troops.

I'm pretty pissed off with myself that I haven't involved myself in mental health related support organisations since I left uni. In fact, I studied alot about them, but did I ever help? Probably not. I'm going to get onto that. I'd like to help someone consider life instead of suicide. I want to braid peoples hair when they're alive too god damn it! (P.S. I'm a sloppy braider).

I understand pain and suffering, I think, enough to know that sometimes it feels like things will be easier when you're out of the picture. Things can get overwhelming to say the least. The world is shit a lot of the time. The truth is, life in unjust. I cling to Dr. Pepper.

A final thought, consider changes in perspective from sources of wisdom. Sharing is a start. People like me, across Australia, want to help.

Peace and love. x

Post Forty-Three: The Shameless Plug for Thems That I Love.

Ok, the only thing this post has to do with death is that, if you come to the above gig, you will die of awesome! If you don't come, you'll die with an unholy regret. Yup.

My favouritist local Brissie boys, The Mercy Beat, have made a stupidly awesome album. It's so good I feel like even if I didn't know them personally, I would stalk them down and make them love me.

Come along! They will shake your hand and write on your boob. I will also do this.

I'm gonna get me drunk! (responsibly?)

You can check them out @ www.myspace.com/themercybeat.....

Peace. x

Post Forty-Two: I Musn't Speak of This!

Wowsers! I had the craziest experience of my life today! What sucks a bunch though, is that because of privacy (and my own safety) I can't tell you what happened....crap huh!

I'll tell you loosely in about six months when things have settled down and the tale can seem more random.

It pretty much consists of violence and guns and emotions and lots and lots and lots of blood and....and of course....death!

Sorry to be so elusive y'all.

Peace. x

Post Forty-One: Poor Fido

How much do you love your pet?

Enough to euthanase it and drag it to the afterlife with you?

If you're on your death bed and you can't bear to be parted with your beloved pomeranian, I figure you can pretty much ask for whatever you want and people should try to provide.... but I just don't know how I feel about ordering it to walk the plank! Alack and a Lassie (lol), it happens.

It happened today in fact. A lady is going down in the dirt with her dog AND her cat. Double homicide, let's call Ace Ventura.

Peace. x

P.S. My computer is officially on its last legs. It's taken me two days to post this. RIP vaio.