I will have a draught please

Friday night drinks with work people is a corporate tradition that most tend to embrace frequently when they first start a new job and then it kinda drops off as they realise that they don't really like the people in a working capacity and that pretty much spills over to the social side of things as well.

Friday night drinks start at 4pm at my place of employment. From my pokey, dark little storage room (they put a computer in there and now call it my office) I can see all the geeks and accountants trundle from their desk at 3:58pm in time to pull the first beer out of the fridge at exactly 4pm. My generous employers also have a huge cupboard stocked with chips in 5 flavours and twisties (only cheese). It is not uncommon to see a bloated, pale geek with 2 large bags of crisps and a six pack of beer wander past my office door every 15 mins until about 6pm.

Tonight I have allowed my arm to be twisted into the consumption of a stubby of Carlton Draught. I chose draught because not only do I like the taste over most beer, it also has trivia questions in the bottle top. This allows me to contribute to the small gathering in my department without really having to get personal or *yawn* talk about work.

After my 15 mins of social interaction with work people I am thinking of going shopping with GB to check out Macbooks. I really want one. But I also want a cool space to use it in. Ie: new house with a new computer room. NO cat pee soaked carpets and godawful sea green walls. That may be asking too much.

So much stuff happening at the moment - family stuff. Oh, how articulate am I!

I spent most of the day with my Internet research tool of choice "google" reading about Golden Staph infections and the treatment. My niece was recently rushed to hospital with an infection that had spread through most of her lower body. She is OK now - getting better and taking her medication etc. But the Internet as always provides the extreme. The horror stories and the miracles. I was feeling a little bamboozled by the statistics surrounding the number of deaths - 625 per year in Australia (more than double that suffer from the infection without the very serious side effect of death). Then the yucky feeling of knowing that my dad was added to that statistic a couple of years back. He is part of a number.

ughh.

I think that I will leave it there - my train of thought is scattered at the moment.