Harry's gone now :(

I'm now going to rant and rave and be completely self-indulgent and pathetic so if you don't want to read that, go and make yourself a cuppa or something.

Please don't email me to say we didn't try hard enough or we should have held on to him or we're heartless wenches. It was the hardest decision we've ever had to make. The owners were threatening legal action against us, and we've had no luck finding a new place that's dog-friendly after four weeks of searching.

The real estate agents got their copy of our application to terminate the lease today. They promptly called me up and said sure, we can break the lease, but they want to advertise it on Wednesday and start showing people through immediately. I told them we didn't have a new place yet and that we preferred to deal through the Tribunal. They told me there was no need for that, they were going to let us out of the lease, all they needed from us was a vacation date.

Obviously they don't want to be dragged through the Tribunal process. Obviously they want to get new tenants ASAP because tomorrow is only 6 months til our lease is meant to end. Obviously they wanted to try and quietly screw us over again.

I got Rhiannon to call them back to tell them no deal. We're going to do this through official channels. They were spewing, telling us the Evil Agent in question is on leave for four weeks so she couldn't go to the hearing to defend herself against the "serious allegations" we made.

Well they'll just have to bloody work around that. After everything we've been through, there's no way we're going to let them intimidate us and back down. We never would have been in this mess if they'd just been honest with us. So we want our hearing, dammit.

But they did intimidate me...

(I was feeling pathetic as it was after Harry left yesterday. We took him over to his new house and he was running around the new yard looking quite happy until we shut the gate. Then he jumped up and wrapped his paws round my arm and started whimpering. That little bastard!

Before he left our house, he refused to sit still so Rhi could take a photo of us together. He headbutted me and put his dirty paws all over my skirt. Then licked my forehead in the car. But when we went to leave he went all wimpy and I felt so heartbroken. The little bugger stood there staring mournfully as we drove off.

I was okay til later that night til I saw some leftovers in the bin and wondered why they were in the bin when Harry could eat them. Then I started bawling like an idiot coz I realise we didn't have our four-legged garbage disposal anymore.)

... so yeah, today was okay til the agents called me and tried their stand-over tactics. They're so good at rattling me, at making me feel like I'm the one at fault, like we're causing trouble. Boss Helen asked me if I was okay and of course I chose that moment to start howling again at work in front of everyone most pathetically.

I dunno why it hurts so bad, I thought I'd handle it all better. I am scared about all this, about finding somewhere new to live. And I am angry at those bastard agents who just think we'll let this slide on the quiet. They have no idea of the shit they've caused for us and they don't give a flying fuck. I am trying not to panic but it's all so bloody overwhelming.

All they had to do back in October was say "the tenants don't want pets on this property". We would have said cool, no worries, we'll keep living at our other place. But they were so eager to get a tenant that they decided to deceive us.

I am so sick of this shit. I hate coming home now the yard is empty. There's noone sitting at the kitchen window watching us cook dinner, standing outside the toilet window staring you down, no little paws scratching at my bedroom window at night asking for a pat. Noone to kick me in the head or to bite my toes at the clothesline. And where the hell do I get cuddles now? The source of cuddles is gone.

I don't care if those bastards find my site and see this. I just wish you could comprehend how shitty and pathetic and achy and sad I feel right now. I hate feeling like this. I hate not knowing where I will be living. I hate being such a whiny shit. And I want my dog back, dammit.

This is the day in which women everywhere have a constant look of expectation on their face. Flowers, chocolates, marriage proposals, they're just around the corner, to be sure.

I say this without any trace of bitterness, it has nothing to do with the fact I am home alone while both my flatmates are out on the town being wooed. But why is it the guys that seem to be doing the wooing? Why are the chicks sitting around saying "That bastard better bring me flowers." What are you doing for him?

An example. A conversation between a girl I know, let's call her The Princess, and her boyfriend, with a brief cameo from me:

PRINCESS: It's Valentine's next Thursday.
BOYFRIEND: Yeah, I know.
P: So what are you getting me? It's a special day.
B: I dunno yet!
P: And then after that it's my birthday.
B: I know.
P: And then it's Easter. We'll have Easter presents, right?
B: Yeah!
P: And then it's our anniversary!
B: Yeah.
P: And Christmas!
B: Mmm.
P: And Valentine's again!
B: Yeah.
P: So you have to buy me things. I like jewellery. And perfume.
SHAUNA: What are you getting him?
P: What?
S: A new girlfriend?

If I had a man and I wasn't in fact sitting here alone with some icecream, I would make sure his Valentine's Day was worth remembering...

I worry about my butt. It never really occurred to me before just how much time I spend sitting on it. The life of a Content Monkey doesn't involve much running around. Basically I am in front of the screen all day long, cuttin' and a-pastin'. I walk the dog and go to the gym, but the majority of my day is truly spent just sittin'.

Sometimes I feel like my butt will become Germany, circa 1938. Hitler's at the helm and he's making plans for expansion. It would start out innocently enough, a few troops in the Rhineland, the jeans getting a bit snug. But next thing he's annexing Austria, invading Poland, seams are bursting and chairs are breaking. Suddenly there's the map of Europe with swastikas peppered all over the place and I have nothing to wear but a mumu.

It's just the nature of so many jobs these days, we are chained to the desk. We are slaves to the cubicle. I do try and counteract this by flinging myself around at the gym. I also eat healthily, but what choice does my poor body have but to send it straight to my butt if I spend most of my day perched in a chair?

Let's take yesterday for example. I got up off my butt and out of bed. I took the hound for a brief walk, which is a good, non-sitting activity. Then I sat down on my butt to eat breakfast. Then I got in the car and let four spinning wheels trundle me along to work, like some indulgent Roman emperor. Then I took the lift up to my cubicle where I sat on my arse from 9 - 5, with a few wanders to the bathroom, a trip outside for fresh air, but like I said. It's mostly sittin'.

Then last night we all met International Supastar Blogger Miss Kristen (who incidentally turned out to be a lovely, lovely person with a charming accent and fiancee, and by no means all a serial killer, unlike most people you meet off the Internet).

During this meeting I spent even more time sitting on my arse. About two hours worth over dinner. Then mercifully, we did have a little bit of a wander through Civic, looking for a place to have coffee. In other words, another place to park our arses.

Then after we bid Miss Kristen and her Fiancee farewell, I returned to my car in which I once again sat down to drive.

I got home at around 11 o'clock, when again I sat down on my arse to check my email and watch a bit of The Ice Dream.

As I toddled off to bed later, I thought to myself, gee my butt feels kinda numb. It must have been exhausted from all that sitting around.

Then I got into bed to lay down for about 8 hours and do absolutely nothing, all in the name of slumber.

It was then it occured to me just how bloody long I'd spent sitting around. I started doing some frantic calculations in my head:

I go to the gym about 4-5 hours per week. Plus 2-3 hours of Harry walking. Plus incidental activity, like to the pub, or to the fridge for some icecream. Maybe 2 hours a week. So that's 10 hours physical stuff per week.

Then you have 8 hours a day at work, x 5 days = 40 hours.

Then 8 hours of sleep per night, plus about 10 or so hours on the lazy weekends = 60 hours of slumber.

Everyone knows Shauny's suck at maths, but it seems for every hour of gruelling grunty labour, I have 10 hours of inactivity.

Is it any wonder I am paranoid about arse expansion? How can 10 hours of lung-bursting physical activity compete with 100 hours of sloth?

I fear I have years of this ahead of me, as I can't see my career moving away from the desk-bound realm any time soon. That is why I have dreamed up a way to combine endless toil at the computer screen with rigorous physical activity:

If I fail to get a patent for this invention, I hope I can negotiate a Non-Aggression Pact with Herr Hitler.

I just lodged our application with the ACT Magistrates Court to have our lease terminated.

We now have to wait up to 14 days for the Tenancy Tribunal to read our application and send a copy to our real estate agent. 14 days? It's only been 14 minutes and already I feel violently ill. My mind is churning over the possibilities of how the agent will respond. What if she manages to tear down everything we've said?

We're going to have to have a hearing and everything. If we win, will we be able to find somewhere to live? If we lose and have to stay, will she make our life hell until the lease ends?

I just have to keep reminding myself, we've got a strong case and I'd never forgive myself if we didn't try. I've never done anything so official before, it's scary. Aarrrgh. I feel so sick with nerves that I want to hide under my desk, for up to 14 days.

I just feel sick inside. Everything seems to have turned to shit all at once. Why does that always happen?

I am terrified that we don't have a case. I'm terrified the agent will find a way to tear down our evidence, or that the tribunal will say we have no proof, or that we win and won't find somewhere else to live, or we'll lose and be stuck in that horrible house. I'm terrified that the agent will get away with snuffing out my doggie. I know we have to try though.

Update: Your comments are brilliant and really firing me up! I just read them all out to my sister. We will FIGHT! FIIIGHT, I tells ya!

The latest exciting update has been moved to the Harry Saga page.

But first have a look at Harry wrestling a giant dog with a mullet.