Today

so I woke up and saw it was going to be a beautiful day

I was pleased I was going to get my car back.

The bill came back as $888 dollars [No, I didn't add the extra eight]

It was still a beautiful day and so I decided to ask someone to the beach

It looked like it was about to storm so we laid around on the couch instead

Saffron msned me and told me she had given birth, she's a mum now. Flabbergasted.

He left the house, angry without any warning.

And then the sun just came out again.

There's never any explanation for days like these.

Losing Friends

So I'm not doing a proper sum up til the end of year [and by end of the year I actually mean January when Christmas is over and you've pulled me out of the gutter with my shirt around my head] .. I honestly feel like I've lost a lot of friends this year and ..

this was going to be a post about Losing friends but then I just got a call from my bestest friend in the middle of a concert and now I'm all warm and fuzzy and realise it doesn't really matter that much.

Screw the long and bitter post, I'm staying with the warm and fuzzies.

Emotional Intelligence. Have some.

Every so often I get bouts of writer's block [or my life gets desperately boring] and I have nothing to talk about.. and then this poor blog gets neglected.

Ok, fine my life is unimaginably boring and I don't have much to write about.

Lately I've been getting into screaming matches with workmates and have just been really horrible to everybody but mostly old people. Also I'm roadraging to the point where eventually my brain will haemorrage thus causing me to lose control of the vehicle thus starting a sixteen car pile on thus causing more road rage. Oh, and my customers have started calling me Smiley to be ironic- which I'm not really appreciating.

So anyway I thought I would take an eq test [Teddy once called me emotionally stunted]

There were questions like:


14. I ask people how they are feeling [Strongly agree- and if you're around me enough I think you'll get sick of it]

9. I maintain good eye contact [Errr.. disagree, for some reason when I'm in conversation with people my eyes tend to drift off. But it doesn't mean I'm not paying attention! Honest! I just feel cross eyed when I stare too long]

21. I often get ideas while daydreaming [Unsure, sometimes I daydream about Harrison Ford in my bedroom.. does that count as an idea exactly??]

58. I don't get involved in other people's business [Strongly disagree- Yeah I'm a gossip. I know]

48. I can usually de-escalate anger and conflict [Unsure, I'm starting to think I'm pretty good at creating it though]

100. Bosses who treat people badly unleash powerful emotions [Ok now the quiz is just worried that I'm going to turn into a postal worker]

130. Bosses who trample over feelings will find their words used against them [What do you have against my bosses, quiz?!]

And then when I got to the end of the quiz, I was expecting a nice little analysis on how emotionally healthy I was.. instead..



They wanted me to pay $24.18 for a report!! on myself! I'm not that self centred! Or rich!

I bet the professors/marketers who thought up this little scheme are sitting around going "If they're going to do a 4 page, 136 question questionnaire on themselves then they must be narcissists! And I bet you those narcissists will pay by the nose to know about themselves! especially since they wasted half an hour filling it out! It's genius! MUAHAHAHAHA"

Seriously, it takes a lot of EQ to just laugh at it and not want to set their [collective] houses on fire. See? Whaddya know, I have EQ! How good is that? You delivered me some EQ unintentionally.. suck on that quiz!

Wipe On Sex Appeal

So I was in the toilets of Shark Bar and I saw this...


If thats a bit blurry, it says "Wipe On Sex Appeal" Wipe On! Sex Appeal!

and it was only two dollars! who could possibly resist? Well not me thats for sure.

So I scrounged around for two dollars and to the bewilderment of my friends, out popped a little blue box.

We all peered at it.. "Why does it look like a Tiffany's tampon box?", it was oddly the same colour as a box from Tiffanys.

Colour is slightly off on my camera

"Open it! open it!"

When it was opened.. it looked like .. well it looked like a condom wrapper.

The back of the packet says: This product has not been tested on animals [ I hope not!]. For external use only.. which makes me wonder exactly where people think they should wipe this thing? Ingredients: Alcohol, pheremone, fragrance and water. Also it boasts an unfair social advantage over other people.. hmm..

"Are you sure that's not a condom?"

" A condom which I'm going to wipe on myself...?"

Coconat looked at me and screwed up her nose.. "What if it gives you a rash?"

"Well if it works properly, then I'll be getting a rash for sure! Hee... Ahem..."

I tucked it into my purse for research purposes. And also Mexicana was coming the next day so I was sure she'd appreciate the pure science of wiping [someone else's] pheromones on myself to attract the opposite sex.

...

Mexicana gives me the most exasperated look "you do realise that everyones pheromones are individual and you wasted two dollars! two dollars!"

"But I want everyone to make kissy faces at me! Like this! "


.."After we camwhore of course..."

So are we going to try this or not? .. Mexicana gives me a look which indicates I may be pushing the boundaries of our [beloved! beloved!] friendship by involving her in a crazy social science experiment.

"Fine"



Ippon looks at me and says "What exactly are you involving my girlfriend in??!"



Me: "I'm asking her to wipe this concoction on her neck so that we are more appealing to the opposite sex"

Ippon: "Huh."


So we [or rather I] opened up the packet and got a whiff of the wipe.



.. it smelt like lemony liquid soap but in a way that somebody had tried to remove the lemons and failed. It also made my nose tingle like a bastard.

I looked at Mexicana worriedly, is my nose supposed to tingle??? Is it going to work on me instead?? Will I go crazy and start humping everybodys leg?!

Mexicana: I don't think you know how pheromones work. No.





So despite my misgivings [and worries about an imminent rash] I start applying it liberally

x

It really was like a KFC wipe. Except drier. And greasier. When I reached up to touch my neck, it was like I had rubbed a kebab on myself. I was literally dripping oil.

Me: Um, chicks? Is this supposed to do this?

Mexicana: Yes, its alcohol.

Me: Not any alcohol I've ever drunk.

Mexicana: Sigh

Don't look so happy, you stupid fool. You smell like munted lemons

So hey pronto! we were greasy and lemon fresh and ready to go. Lets hit the town!

We barely stepped out the door when a forty year old man towing his two kids gave us a look. A deeply perverty look.

Me: He wasn't really close enough to smell anything. I think he might just be objecting to how short your shorts are

We walked up and down George Street looking for an open bar.

Equilibrium- closed [CLOSED?!]

V Bar- There was an empty function going on inside. The bouncer leered at us "you need to pay to get in. I'll give you a discount- make it ten dollars instead of twenty" I think if we had talked to him any longer he would've pulled down his pants and asked us to blow him for entry.

Me: Mexicana, I think your shorts are affecting this experiment.

We continued up and down until Mexi started pouting "I WANNA GET DRUNK. This is affecting BINGE TIME"

I was also starting to think that the smells of George Street [cigarettes, vomit, teenybopper sweat] were starting to co-mingle with my lemony scent.

Fine, fine so we headed to Star Bar [Mexicana officially desperate for a drink] where two [youngish] Indian bartenders served us.

I ordered her three chartreuses.

IB: So you're planning to get drunk tonight? IB starts eyeing up Mexicana appreciatively. Not that I want him or anything but I'm starting to wonder if I should wave my wrists in his face for the sake of experimentation.

Mexicana: Yeah, I am.... BLEAAAAAHHHH.. what is this stuff??

Me: Whoops, forgot you were a chartreuse virgin. Two to go!

The IB is impressed with her gusto, but she starts looking a little bit wobbly on her heels. Oh boy.

Moving onto Shark Bar before IB drags her out the back to hump her leg.

In Shark Bar, to my disappointment the only bartenders there are women and one strangely effeminate blonde guy. I look around and realise that even if this stuff worked [and I don't think it did] these are all eighteen year old high school students! I don't want to go to jail!

I gave up and played pool clumsily instead. Which is I think more fun than unobtrusively waving my wrists in peoples faces.

Results of the experiment: One extremely greasy lemony girl and her trashed best friend had no takers: an interested bartender, a pervy old man, an even more skeevy bouncer and many high school children which we didn't even bother to look at. Now that you put it that way.. is there a man drought in Sydney that I'm not aware of??

Two bimbos and a taxi

So me and Coconat had just finished having dinner and we were heading back to my car to go home. As we were walking up the street we spied a taxi trying to fit into a teeny weeny space in front of my car. Coconat and I looked at each other and I went ohGodohGod, there's no way he's going to fit...

CRUNCH.. [melding of bumpers noise]

Oh shit.

The taxi started to accelerate and move off. The bastard was going to hit and run!

So Coconat and I flew down the street and started hollering "OI! OI! You!! Stop now!"

The taxi driver hesitated for a second and and when he saw two angry girls bearing down on him, he stepped on the gas double time and zoomed off.

"Wait! You.. you... you.. fuckstick!!"

So we're standing there panting .. hurrrr.. hurrrr.. hurrrr [the two of us need cardio apparently] and I turn around to inspect the damage.

"Um...Coconat? That's not my car"

"Holy crap. It isn't your car!"

"Where is the car?" The car was safe and sound on a parallel street, undamaged by any taxis. We headed home, feeling extremely sheepish and just a little bit stupid. We certainly scared the nuts off that taxi driver.

I hate Unwired

I use Unwired because I'm renting. There are very little possibilites for internet for people who are renting and don't want to use a phone line. And so I use unwired.

I opened my computer up at 10:00pm, I have been disconnected from the internet once every three minutes for the last hour and twenty minutes. It is now 11:22pm. Which means I have been logged off the internet about twenty six times. I am starting to think I have the patience of a saint. I should be canonised. Saint Mush of Sydney, for not hurling the modem out the window at my neighbours cat. For sitting through twenty six disconnections and constant IP drop outs without kicking the wall in.



While I've been waiting for my internet to stabilise itself [at eleven at night] I've become very good at passing time on things that don't involve internet.

They involve:

Playing endless games of mindsweeper and or spider

Recreating starry starry night on paint program

Cleaning the keys on my keyboard

Imagining syphillis on the CEO of Unwired. Long and painful syphillis which involves his penis exploding with pus at the same rate of my disconnection.



I'm just waiting for my landlady to extend my lease and when she does, I'm going to switch to naked DSL. I am going to pee on the modem and send it back to Unwired in 500 pieces, in fact, I'm going to have a *peeing party for all my friends who've struggled to talk to me on msn for the last year because of constant cut outs. There's going to be so many people who are going to want to take it out on modem that there's not going to be enough modem to go around.

[If you're wondering, yes I did take it to customer service and their advice? Sell the modem to my friends if it's not working for me (really, I don't hate my friends that much). That advice cost me 45 minutes waiting time and a sixty dollar bill. Please canonise me. Vote now]

Push ups

I haven't been very healthy lately, I've still been taking all my vitamins and everything but my two minute noodle intake has risen by about 500%.

So I thought I would do some exercise but unfortunately it was raining outside, so why not improvise?

I started off by doing a twenty minute run up and down the stairs.. which was kinda fun in an incredibly dorky way. Up.. down.. up.. down.. by the end I was fatigued and I tripped up the stairs and tumbled onto the landing. This was not just any tumble. It was a somersault and a half. I lay on the floor stunned and then I just laughed at myself for five minutes. Good thing I'm living by myself and no-one could see me sprawled in hysterics on the floor.

next! sit ups! the muffin top is still there.. I guess that can't be helped. By twenty sit ups. I might be expecting too much [You know.. the Hello Kitty tattoo is only a year old and it seems to be faded already, should I be going in for a touch up or something?]

And then push ups. It's been a long time between push ups [actual push ups and not sexual push ups, you sick puppies] and I found that I couldn't do any "men's" push ups anymore and I could only do those "girly" ones.

Let me explain the difference, "mens" push ups are the ones where you lift up your entire body weight by arm strength. "Girly" push ups are the ones on your knees where you push forward [even in exercise the girls are on their knees...]

I can't put my finger on really why this irritated me, other than the fact that I'm unable to lift my own body weight.

I was bemoaning this to Mexicana who just said in her sensible way.. "you're a girl, it's a girl push up. " .. "But.. but I used to be able to do a men's push up!"

None of this, of course, was helped by the fact that Minnie kept attacking my face thinking I was trying to play with her. "Leave me alone! I am trying to exercise! GHDFHGDFHD"

Clearly the elements are working against me and don't want me to exercise.

[oh Sex on fire by Kings of Leon is an excellent song to workout to.. "whoaaaaaa! your sex is on fiiire!"]

D is for Desmond

When we were seventeen, Alphabeta and I had a friend called Des. We had seen him briefly in person but we talked to him mostly over the internet. This was put down to what we assumed was extreme shyness.

One day Alphabeta sat me down and said that he wasn’t shy but he was traumatized. Des was in the city one night with a friend when they encountered some youths who demanded his wallet. His friend handed over his straight away. But Des refused and was put into hospital as a result.

He never talked to his friend again, he regarded it as a betrayal. And from that he slowly slipped inwards, he never really left the house unless he had to.

From my seventeen year old mind, I didn’t really understand [well of course I’d also never been beaten to a pulp] and I was frustrated with what I perceived to be his stubbornness in getting back out and living his life. Rainbows, butterflies and trips to the beach. How could he be so blind and not see these things??

So I thought I would take the hard tack and I told him that what he was doing was an utter waste of life. That he was a coward for hiding out and living his life from his bedroom.

Des never talked to me again after that

http://www.smh.com.au/news/national/balcony-fall-teens-parents-travelling-to-sydney/2008/10/28/1224956014962.html

I read this in the papers today. It broke my heart. I think of her just trying to get through the experience. I think of him who has to live with so many scars physically and emotionally, and I wonder if he will become like Des. I wonder what Des is doing now.

One for the road

Q. Why did the woman cross the road?

A. Who cares why?! She shouldn't have been let out of the kitchen! Chain her back to the sink!



[This is only funny when I tell it. Nobody with half a penis should ever attempt to tell this joke]

Feeling wistful lately

Toast

So today is a new day and despite everything I have to get up and live life as per normal.

I have to eat. And I haven't eaten properly for two [two!] weeks now so I decided to hack into some toast.

Halfway as I was eating, it occurred to me that if there were any miracle Jesus faces on my toast, it would be all gone now and it would be a downright waste of miracle [that is if God was sending me any to cheer me up]

But then I thought about it, and I felt sorry for those people who spend all their time studying their breakfast as opposed to eating it.

Wouldn't it just ruin your breakfast if you received Jesus toast and then every morning after you popped more bread in the toaster.. nothing? It wouldn't be such a great start to the day.
Breakfast of course being the most important part of the day [says the food industry].

You and me are floating on a tidal wave

I don't know how to condense eleven years of memories into an appropriate essay. My skills as a writer are failing me.

I mean this to be a goodbye to my best friend. Who listened to me patiently everyday for the last eight years. Who saw my physical flaws and didn't flinch. Who steadfastly put up with every family dinner, every crazy fight and every unreliable friend.

For sharing my tears
For being my backbone when I had none

My words fail me because I cannot aptly put into words how much these eight years have meant to me, for you to have been with me every step of the way. I can't adequately express it.

It's time for me to go it alone.

I love you.
Please take care of yourself.

Old ladies, hills, directions.

I was walking back to work chewing my roast beef sandwich when a little old lady in a clown dress and a hat stopped me to ask for directions. She was holding a map and muttering. And I asked her what was wrong.

"The taxi dropped me off and I can't find twenty one. Twenty one. twenty one" [Oh, that Sam Sparro song is in my head now. Damn]

I gave her a look and said there is no twenty one on Nichols Street. She brushed me off angrily and kept walking.

I stood at the entrance for a bit deciding whether I should help her out. And against my better judgement [five years of catholic school- unwasted], I dumped my sandwich on the desk and headed back onto the street.

She was still walking up and down the street talking to herself "no-one can help me" and getting angrier and more frustrated as she paced.

"Look, lady. I don't know what you're looking for.. but that building over there? is 13-29. There's no twenty one on Nichols"

And she gets even more pissed off [adding to my multitude of sins, I'm pissing off old ladies] "Yes there is!"

Me: There is not. Thats 13-29. Unless your twenty one is inside.

Her: Twenty one is a house!

Me: That's clearly not a house

Her: No-one can help me! I'm walking up and down and no-one can help me!

Me: I'm providing you with all the help I can possibly provide! [Starts thinking of my sandwich. My poor sweet sandwich]

Her: no-one can help me!

She walks past and continues her fruitless search for twenty one on Nichols St.

I go back in and chew my lunch. That's something I also learned in catholic school, sometimes you have to stop and listen to people otherwise you'll be ninety five and walking up and down hills trying to find a house that doesn't exist. Also at ninety-five if you're still feeling sorry for yourself. She's right, no-one can help you

Rubiks cubes are hot!

So anyway I was talking to Mexicana about what I really like in a guy and one of my prerequisites is fluidity in movement. Not fluidity as in terms of dance but being able to take off a shirt in one go, opening a bottle with one hand that kind of thing. That kind of thing really makes me die a little inside. I think it's because I myself have no grace to speak of. And also I think there's a projection of confidence that comes with it. .. [Is it hot in here? I think so]

So she was telling me about her boy Ippon

Mexicana: oh u know what I find really hot? watching Ippon solve a rubix cube.

It's fluid and intelligence in one!

Mush: WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.. [at this point I rolled off my chair and hurt something]

Ok we'll go to the Rubiks cube convention when it comes around

Mexicana: theres one? omg. I will prolly have to bring my vibrator with me.

The first time I snowboarded

[Look how happy I am. I'm obviously the idiot who never went boarding before]

Those of you who have actually seen me walk will know that I am the most ungraceful creature this side of the southern hemisphere. I don't know if I'm just careless but I have a habit of bumping/spilling/fallingover and just generally causing mayhem wherever I go. I knelt over on the street to do my shoelace once and someone tripped over me, like tumbled straight over in some fantastic aerial trick.

So try putting me on a snowboard and watch the apocalypse begin.

Well ok.. that was a bit dire. But it wasn't pretty for anyone involved.

So we were standing around having lessons in a line. And we had to slide down the [mini] hill one at a time. Everyone else was sliding down just fine and I was just constantly on my hands and knees [I don't need this degradation! I can provide my own degradation!] or I would slide and slide straight past the instructor. Whoops. I should've stopped seven metres back?

And then I would have to drag my butt back up the hill. Have you tried walking with a snowboard attached to your foot? Its heavy and I'm not particularly athletic so it took me about six minutes to get back up the hill and I kept getting in the way of the people in line! I was starting to feel sorry for myself but mostly I was starting to feel for the people [also beginners] who were trying to avoid me! Foot go this way, no? ok.

So after this rather embarrassing interlude, the instructor said "Everyone to the ski-lifts!" and everybody just boarded their way there while I slipped and slid and just generally went the wrong way. When I got there, everyone was waiting patiently [and nicely] for me. That made me miserable.

We get to the ski-lifts and I cannot board it. I'm holding onto the side and I'm trying to get on and I cannot. And the guy is like "let go! let go!" I'm about to pull a Stallone cliffhanger with the ski-chair. He pulls me off and we both heave big sighs of relief, him because he doesn't have to watch me hang on for dear life, and me, because I don't have to hang on for dear life. For the next forty metres.

You can see how enamoured I am with the boarding. I took my board off [sweet ankle freedom!] and stomped over to the cafe and vowed never to try anything that would likely kill me ever again.

Of course I tried again in the afternoon [I'm no quitter!] and well .. knees? meet ice. Sigh, I gave up and made snowmen instead. The moral of the story is? Don't invite me anywhere that involves balance, co-ordination or heights. Invite me somewhere that involves eating and sitting down. [If you choose to invite me somewhere to eat, please don't point and laugh at my jiggly thighs from lack of exercise. Thanks]



There are no photos still. Blame Dylmah for breaking my camera.

American Apparel [I go on a rant. Another one]

Some images are not safe for work ok? ok.

So here I am on a Wednesday afternoon surfing through the internet when I stumbled across this ad [I'm not American, so I'm late to the party]



Can I just say? wow. That does not make me want to buy socks! And I cannot believe those advertisers think the consumer is so stupid that we'd buy those socks. Orgasm socks. Hold on let me try and put my finger on what else is bothering me so much about this ad [other than the orgasm socks thing] This is a girl, her name is Lauren Phoenix- she's pretty in a wholesome looking way, she's accomplished [as far as I can tell some sort of actor and director. Hopefully not in porn.] and they've stripped her naked to try and sell socks! IHFHVJKDHVSHVNKJSV

That was the sound of my head exploding. Onto the keyboard.

Right, let's simplify what the marketers were thinking [Occams razor a go]

a) we need to sell socks.

b) people don't want models! they want real people!

c) get me a real person!

d) what else sells? sex sells!

e) so get me a real person and we'll pile on the sex! Those socks will go flying out the window! We'll have to triple order on the socks!

GDFGDHBFDBJBNG. My head is not doing very well in this equation.

I don't know which is worse that advertisers think we'll somehow identify with the 'real' girl who is orgasming in socks. Or that in this modernfandangled world, even a tube sock can be sexualised. Look out soon for that erect penis to advertise a jar of peanut butter.

Oh, she is a pornstar. What.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lauren_Phoenix

Moving on, shall we? [That wiki photo needs a bra. Sigh. I guess American Apparel didn't give her one]

So I thought I would google some images, you know maybe I'm too harsh on old AA? Maybe I'm getting old and turning into a prude. I mean the human body is a beautiful thing, why shouldn't it be used in sexually explicit ways to sell us clothes? or batteries? or jam jelly donuts?? Won't somebody think of the children?!

And...... good thing I don't have children, because they would be wearing blindfolds. In a room with blank walls with only E.B. White stories on cassette.
But seriously, she's mooning the reader. How adorable. I would probably like those pants if they were on her and I could see them.

Lastly but not leastly, my favourite topic ever! The fetishisation of young Asian girls to sell bathing suits which don't fit properly! I don't know this girl and I can tell you that there's one thing that we have in common at this very moment in time, we're both carrying identical expressions of boredom and disdain.

So what is she thinking? It's rather cramped inside her head, it's filled with dimsims, men and diet coke bottles. It runs a little across the lines of... "Look photographer boy, this is really cold and uncomfortable and its sitting on my nipple rather awkwardly, can you start clicking already? Oh shit, I think my period just started. In a silver leotard. I hate my life. How come seventeen is not considered underage anymore?"

And here is what I would say to her if she was standing in front of me. "What the hell are you doing? Are you aware that only one of your nipples is for show on a national campaign. You look bored and cold. If you're going to render all of your fellow yellow sisters fifty five thousand steps backwards with that submissive crap, do you think you could do it with some enthusiasm?"

See identical expressions of disdain and boredom. Thanks American Apparel! I do have something in common with one of your models! I might go off and buy one of your tube socks online!

Reading on the bus

I am so much less emo in the morning. Thats the last time I post at three in the morning. How embarrassing. My eighty four year old neighbour can probably by now sing all the lyrics to Death Cab for Cutie, it probably permeates her dreams and she wakes up singing 'Translanticism' or something. Also something to stop doing at three in the morning.

This morning on the crowded bus [did I mention I miss my civic? Did I?!] there was a guy standing next to me reading a paperback novel. And for some reason the novel was wrapped in white paper. What the heck right? So I figured it was American Psycho or some other novel which you don't want people to know you're reading at eight in the morning.

[There actually would be something wrong with you if you decided it would be fun to read American Psycho in the morning on a bus full of people. I bought my copy at seventeen and its never ever occurred to me to go back and re-read it. It looks good on my shelf though. However the number of people who have flipped through it? Zero point zero. So who cares right? it's a good-looking dust collector. Ok I just wanted everybody to know I have a copy and I'm still normal. I did skip the killing sections though, that might've helped. Anyway. Long tangent. Sorry]

So I'm trying to read over his elbow and everytime I peer at it, he moves the book! This happens enough times that I suspect that he's intentionally trying to hide what he's reading. [I'm rubbernecking on a bus. Look at what my life has been reduced to]

And so now I'm curious. What the heck is it? Is it porn? The anarchists cookbook? what? I spy a subheading 'The Great Time Machine Hoax'

I come back to work and google it. Hoping it'll be something cool like Chariots of the Gods or something.

Here is what wiki came back with: The Great Time Machine Hoax is a science fiction novel by Keith Laumer, in expansion of his novelette serialized in Fantastic magazine under the title of "A Hoax in Time" from June-August, 1963.

Chester W. Chester IV inherits a run-down mansion and millions in back taxes. In order to pay the taxes, he initially decides to auction off the mansion and its contents, including a massive computer (the Generalized Nonlinear Extrapolator, or "Genie").

To sum up, he invents a fake time machine which becomes a real time machine and gets stuck in the past.

Um, wow. That was disappointing. That was disappointingly geeky. No wonder he had to cover it was white paper. Its for people to think the book is much more exciting than it is. That'll teach me not to read over people's elbows.

The metaphorical heart

I keep parts of my soul in storage. Like an old coat, I will take it out periodically and dust it off. After a while, you can't remember why that old favourite was hidden and you carefully place it in your pocket.

On Friday night, I took a piece of it to Coffeeboy and he used it to wipe his feet. It can't be helped he didn't know what it was for.
On Saturday morning, Sb took that same piece and he used all of his hurt and frustration to hurl it across the room.

I picked it up and looked at it

I cried because it was now torn and tattered. I couldn't recognise it. I sat on the floor putting it back together.

Mexicana saw she had a piece in Canberra, kissed it and handed it back to me.

I went to work

Blondie said to me "I know you're doing it rough", she then put a chocolate in a spot where there was a hole.

Teddy looked at it, saw that it was flat and propped it up with his hand and a coffee cup.

I went home

By the end of the weekend, it was clearly damaged and no kisses or chocolate could repair it fully. Devastated, I returned it to its box. When the tears finally dry, I will take it out and inspect it, I will promise myself to be more careful with it, I will forget why I hid it in the first place, I will put it back in my pocket and keep walking.

Funny funny

This actually made me snort coke up my nose and I got the giggles. The manic faces. The stunned expression on the postman's face. I think that transmitter is going to go where no dog has been before. So much to love in a single panel

Midori Illusions are not interfering with my ability to detox

So anyway I was talking to Md on the phone and I mentioned my intention to detox. [Because really I am looking fifteen types of haggard lately- if I don't it's because I'm using about twenty different types of foundation, a diffuser and wearing a hat. Why would I be exaggerating? I don't exaggerate. I digress] and she was all interested and said

"well how long have you been detoxing for?"[ie. how long have you been off the drink for? phew. Mush is not actually turning into Amy Winehouse]

"Uh.. since Friday?" [Crap, why didn't I say for two years? it sounds longer]

Md bursts into laughter "Three days is a long time!"

Nuts.

Anyway to get to my point over a long digressive introduction. I was having dinner with Betty last night and I was poring through the menu when Betty says "Ooh! Midori Illusions!"

and I'm Midori Illusions? Didn't they go out with the [old] Spice Girls and troll dolls??



I seriously haven't had one in about eight years. I remember the days of sitting with Tatergirl and a group of friends in front of Oneworld Sport and ordering them in the big jugs for sixteen dollars. We really thought we were so cool and of course, I've moved onto other drinks, Tatergirl is MIA and Oneworld Sport turned into a restaurant/bowling alley/night club before shutting down completely and nobody even thinks to serve alcohol in jugs anymore. Damn. Except maybe in Thailand.

I haven't seen them in eight years, so I'd presumed that they'd been pushed out of the market by infinitely more yummy drinks such as Smirnoff blacks.

So when I ordered one [most hesitantly] I was thinking there was a good chance that they're going to pull it out of the cellar where it rolled under the fridge and they're going to have to wipe the dust off it.

When it approached, I was thinking that bright lime-y green colour is also indicative of its radioactivity.

But surprise! It tasted exactly the same! and it had a valid use by date [ not one added by the waiter in texta marker]. How odd. And the taste memories which apparently never really die came flooding back and all of a sudden I was eighteen again and in the sunshine drinking Illusions because I thought they were cool.

Of course when I came out from my reverie I was across from Betty in the cafe at night time who is probably by now used to my descents into la-la land. Whoops, I was supposed to be detoxing. So duly I checked the label to see how much alcohol it had in it and whether I should start eating lemons by the box.

4.8%!

4.8%!!

There's more alcohol in a tiramisu! Or a baby wipe!

a Jim beam black holds 9% and a smirnoff black holds 7. The difference is simply gobsmacking. Betty saw me looking at the label and pronounced it lollywater. Thats right, you keep right on drinking that because in fifteen minutes it will be like it never existed. No wonder I spent so many of my younger years being good and sober, it's because I was drinking the alcoholic equivalent of a kfc cleansing tissue.

Anyway, I am not counting that Illusion as a dent in my detox [that was a dent? that was like a soft brushing. Of a cat] and my detox continues unabated. Well until I try smirnoff Ice Wild grape? What the heck is that? and where can I get me some?*

[*I'm kidding. Although oohhhh. Grape. Yeesh, don't bombard me with emails on how I'm turning to Amy Winehouse or I'll pour passionpop onto your shirt and elbow you in the ribs]

Its a quarter life crisis on a Wednesday afternoon

What I am doing on a Wednesday afternoon:

• Blatantly ignoring the truckload of work in front of me [Yoo hoo! Says the Indesign layout with my name on it]

• Sharing a packet of potato chips with Minnie- I wish I still had a camera so I could capture her chewing. Its fricking cute.

• Youtubing Jason Mraz. Please give him some love. The boy is a genius.

You and I both- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CTUfx2p69zY

• Trying not to disappear back into my bed and sleep.

I wonder if I thought that my twenty five year old life would be more exciting than this. I thought it would involve me sipping maitais around a pool in a pair of high heels while a bevy of tanned waiters fed me grapes as I ordered people around on my mobile. [Apparently I'm a twenty five year old Naomi Campbell]

I did not believe it involved living in the most suburban of suburban suburbs without a car. Not even a snippet of hunky half naked waiter to polish my toenails or even feed me a grape. My dog has eaten my mobile so that it can neither be considered stylish nor sexy. It is also too cold for any sort of pool weather. Its yeti in a sweater weather.

What happened to my dreams and ambitions? I need to really sit down and re-evaluate what I want from life, of course this can only happen when I finish doing layouts. Sigh

Why I miss my car and why I hate bus guards

I miss my civic. I seriously just want it back so I can pat it lovingly on the bonnet never to part again.

So I was waiting for the bus this morning and my bus didn't show [as it does] so I got on the next bus which read CITY. It was not my normally numbered bus and I was a bit worried that it was going to do a gigantic detour through north Queensland before heading into the city. So when we got to Macquarie Centre, I decided to do the sensible thing and stick my head out the back door and see where the bus was heading.

As I moved my head and half a foot back in, the bus driver started shrieking like a banshee.

"BACKDOOR! SHE'S COMING THROUGH THE BACKDOOR!" [of course not many banshees drive buses but I digress]

and then a whole bunch [maul] of guards came and were like "Get off the bus!" and I'm "I have a ticket!"

So I got off the bus and dickhead guard 1# says "Give me your ID, you're copping a hundred dollar fine for coming through the back door"

".. But I have a ticket!"

"It doesn't matter."

Seriously getting huffy at this point, I dump my bag on the bench and pulled out my ticket.

The guards pass it around each other incredulously [like it's a hallelujah Jesus miracle] and say awedly "She's telling the truth"

By this time, I'm in borderline hysterics I am about to kick them all in the nuts with a swift roundhouse kick.

"WHY THE FUCK WOULD I LIE TO YOU?!!!!"

And then they all awkwardly shuffle around and look at their feet.

Dickhead guard 2#: Look, people lie to us all the time. Out of a hundred people a day, only one will tell the truth.

Dickhead guard 1#: Its a sad inditement of society.

[I put my head in my hands, I'm getting a headache]

Dickhead guard 2#: Don't get upset.

Me: [In my best refrigerator voice] why would I be upset?

Dickhead guard 1#: I've crossed your name off in my book! No fine!

Me: Thanks [fuck you, buddy]

Dickhead guard 2# Are you late for work?

Me: Yes [no thanks to you, your cronies and the shrieky bus driver]

Dickhead guard 2#: well, look you didn't have the ticket in your hand

Me: [death stare]

Dickhead guard 2#: Errr.. we'll put you on the next bus. No charge.

And that is why I miss my car and I hate bus guards. So bus guards are maligned and everyone lies to them. So they act cynical and condescending in return. They deserve a good swift kick to the nuts.

Take the world upon your shoulders

I do love that song.

I think because it's so gothic and melodramatic.

"All the bridges in the world won't save you
if there is no other side to cross to"

It helps when you are staring blankly at the screen trying to write a press release.

[Sorry for the lack of updates. I still love you all. Sort of. Some of you. Not you.]

Still Alive!

Still alive and still kicking, though am somewhat sleepy. Look how white our teeth are. Odd.

In the moment

I'm at work, staring at the screen mindlessly, shifting images around and around.

And I'm listening to the Romeo+ Juliet soundtrack on the ipod. It's playing 'Kissing you' by Des'ree.

The music suddenly soars "touch me dear.. pure and true". And the sun suddenly comes out and shines on my face bathing me and the screen in gold.

Life is not perfect, but it sometimes sends you these little moments which you savour.

Appreciating the drunk dial

Well I don't know about you, but when I'm drunk I'm a flagrant smser. It used to be phone calls "Hi! I'm out at Mink/Space/Random horrible club! Do you loooooooooooooooooooooooove me??" And when they didn't profess their love straight away [Saffron, SB I'm looking at you] I would get upset and the night would end in tears, so I switched to drunk smsing which was less likely to end up with the person on the other end shouting "I CAN'T HEAR YOU! .. LOVE..?"

Anyway, I don't know why but I really appreciate people drunk dialling me. I know most people find them annoying and they usually come at 2am on a saturday morning [when us good, clean people are sleeping.. ahem] but I really really like them. I think for some bizarre twisted reason it shows me that they care and in the middle of a slushy brain that they are thinking of me. Also you usually hear things you would never hear in 'sober' time during a drunk dial- like how much the person misses you or random giggling over the word cucumber or something. Cu.. cum..ber... well they are randomly giggling, you just smirk and think how much fun it is to tease them tomorrow.

And then in the morning you say: hows your head? Do you remember any of last night?
And they always say: No, what happened last night?! what did I say? OMG. What did I say?

Dr Phil is not helping

So I have a week off work and I have Dr Phil playing in the background because I miss crappy daytime tv. And I can vaguely hearing him lecturing some poor woman on overfeeding her child junk food.

I can hear.. wrong.. junk food.. blah blah.. rubbish.. tacobell.. chicken.. chips...bad... food..

I don't know if his intended effect was to make me run for a packet of deep fried chips but it did. Don't you think it's a complete failure on his part if just listening to his speech makes me want to eat junk food?

There used to be Taco bells everywhere, and for some reason Australians don't like Mexican food. So they didn't they packed it up really quickly, but I miss those chips with the mayonnaise and the tomato toppings.

To the makers of photoshop. Please die.

And now you know how badly I despise it, when I post the title in caps. And how often does that happen? NEVER. Do I sound distressed? I'm distressed.

WHY CAN'T YOU JUST FUCKING MOVE TYPE IN PHOTOSHOP? Oh, sure you can type but you can't fucking fucking ever move it again. It just sits there like a dead monkey on a beach. So you have to delete the whole goddamn layer and retype it TO REALIGN IT??? So what I'm supposed to spend the whole day typing and retyping paragraphs until it sits properly?? Get fucked photoshop.

WHY CAN'T I JUST DRAW A GODDAMN RECTANGLE AND FILL IT IN WITH THE COLOUR I WANT?????? NOT BLACK. Stop automatically filling it in for me, you piece of shit cocksucker. I don't want black, I want blue I'd like my outline to be blue. Do you get that? Do you? Why make it so GODDAMN hard for me to draw a FUCKING RECTANGLE??? A COLOURED RECTANGLE. I'm trying to FUCKING DRAW A RECTANGLE not send rockets into space.

Layers. Layers. Layers. I have five items on my page and twenty layers, I'm thinking that my intensely simple webpage is going to have fifteen hundred FUCKING MILLION LAYERS by the time I've finished. FUCK OFF WITH YOUR FUCKING LAYERS, YOU HOEBAGS.

Please makers of photoshop, won't you die in a fire so I can throw popcorn in and laugh as you burn? I hope all your descendants are hideous mutants and have to use all the profits from your SUBSTANDARD product to fix their faces. I hope every car you ever drive crashes. And every thing you eat has hair in it. You will never be happy- you abysmal profiteering pissheads.

Love, Mush

Too Much Information

So I finally have a day off and I'm lounging around the house waiting for Mexicana [which by late afternoon I'm starting to think is a lost cause] and I'm calling everybody I can think of who would be free on a friday morning.

Well I haven't seen Lamp girl in a while. Ring ring ring. Nothing.

Five hours later:

Me: Hello?

Lamp girl: Hi babes, you were looking for me?

Me: Oh yeah, I was wondering if you were free this morning but it's ok now

Lamp girl: Oh I couldn't pick up this morning cos when you called I was having sex.

Me: [pause.. pause.. pause].. Haha! Well you get back to it! Bye!

All hail the reigning queen of the awkward silence, me. Maaaaan, why just randomly come up with that? Shouldn't you at least have some sort of buffer about the weather? I'm no prude but I have to get warmed up for penis talk, you just can't put it to me on the 2nd sentence in. Ok, maybe I am a prude. I'm a nun. Nuts.

Play Ball!

So Bear and I were messing around in the cafe yesterday and we thought we would amuse ourselves by talking in code. However at the conversation went on it became less of a code and more of a really longwinded sports metaphor.

Me: The ball is in his court!

Bear: Yes, it is in his court. You are no longer holding the ball

Me: I don't want to hold the ball!

Bear: Well, he's holding the ball and he's going to woink you in the face with it!

Me: So we're playing dodgeball? I haven't been woinked in the face yet

Bear: No, the balls are whizzing right past your head

Me: ..

Bear: You're in the game! This is a game!

Me: What game??

Bear: Whether you like it or not, you're in the game! And I'm the audience.

--At this point, a co-worker walks by and gives us funny looks

Me: Oh, so you're on my side?

Bear: Yes, but I think to some degree he's right as well.

Me: You make a crappy spectator, how can you just switch sides like that??

Bear: I'm a uninvolved spectator, I can switch sides anytime I want, but don't worry I'm cheering for you!

Me: Well thanks. I'm so confused, I don't know what to do. I've never played this game before.

Bear: I can see. You think you're playing tennis but actually you are playing dodgeball. You are standing in the middle of the field not knowing which game you're playing. There are things flying by your head and you look puzzled!

Me:.. Well I'll find out next week won't I? Next week will be half time!

Bear: Or second innings. Hopefully, for you there will be no second innings.

Me: Game called on account on rain!*

Customer [confused]: Boy, you two are quite the sports nuts!

*Yes, this is how we talk at work. We have to find new ways to amuse ourselves

Guess what I'm [not] drinking?

Last week I was at dinner with my parents and I had decided to give up soft drink, I had succeeded for about a week [six days?] and by the time dinner came around, I had massive coke cravings.

After a while I started to stare longingly at the bar and their coke fridge, when my mum asked me what was wrong.

Me: I'm giving up soft drink, I really want a coke. Bottled coke....mm..*trails off into misty silence

Mum: Oh, is that all? Just order one!

Me: Err.. I'm giving it up.

Mum: I'll order it for you!

Me: No!

Mum: How about diet coke? fanta? lemonade?

Me:...

And then last night my mum and stepdad show up with a sixpack of coke in their hands. For me.
what? I can't drink that! Of course SB automatically says: I'll drink it! while I give him death stares. I'm starting to think my parents are soft drink enablers. I will blame them when the enamel from my teeth is missing.

I am sitting in front of my computer staring at this bottle of coke deciding whether I should drink it. Damn.

Dancefloor injuries

So I was at the Argyle on Friday night. I started to walk up the stairs and I must've passed an idiot woman wearing the worlds longest skirt [to a bar. Ok...] because as I passed her I stepped on this highly inappropriate skirt and I felt myself sliding backwards and because I was on her skirt, she was also propelled backwards and our heads went KA-DUNK.

Holy Mother of Og. That really hurt.

I just cradled my head and kept walking, not looking back to inspect the damage. I'm thinking she probably thought some random stranger punched her in the head. It would be likely if she kept wearing wedding dresses to a rowdy lounge.

---

I talked to my [new! brand new!] boss today and he is also down for the count, he apparently did his ankle in on a disco dancing injury. A disco dancing injury. I didn't ask but I'm imagining massive flailing. And possible spinning. It's much funnier in my imagination. Although I'm not really one who should be laughing since sometime in the last two months I've elbowed a midget in the mouth and headbutted a woman in a wedding dress.

Compulsory work blogging

For the highly observant, yes I've jumped forward in time and am posting on a Friday slot on a Thursday night. What will happen if I post tomorrow.. will it be Friday on blog time or it will have jumped to Saturday? I think I just broke time-space. For the non-observant [and the people that don't care] you can totally disregard that last paragraph.

So I went to a work interview today [for work experience] and apparently one of the conditions of ..staff entry was that all staff have to maintain a blog! well strike one for me! Hooray!

Oh, and also he'd like to make sure that I'm writing in the blog. About the company. Oh crap, now I'm under pressure to write something really nice and constructive. Hey Nick, if you're reading.. nice hat?!

What am I going to do if I need to vent?! I going to need a separate [secret] blog for work venting. Ah crap.

Or I could just moderate the whiny-ness. That could work. [Millions of people around the world suddenly wept tears of joy]

No really, it looks like a really cool company. I'm very happy to be working for them*

*I'm not sucking up. Shut up.

The deluded Lattanzi's and the housing crisis

So I was watching a youtube clip of Matt and Chloe Lattanzi [respectively the ex-husband and daughter of Olivia Newton John] don't ask me why I was watching it, I just was.

So goes this little bit of hilariousness

Chloe: [stressed because she has to sing a Britney song in front of an audience]
I just want to be alone! far away from everyone judging you. Everyone judges you!*

Matt: [completely po-faced] This is why I live in a teepee.


WAHAHAHAHA

Oh, Matt. Matt. Matt. We judge you more because you live in a teepee.

*I'm paraphrasing, there's no way I'm watching that crazy weepy shit again

Mush is a doofus #45454093094

While making coffee:

*ching* I hear money falling onto the floor and being the good citizen that I am, I say to the couple standing in front of me

"Excuse me, I'm not sure if you heard but I think you might've dropped money on the floor"

The guy smiles at me and picks it up.

Later on when he orders coffee, I realise that he is actually deaf.

Whoops.

My weeknd in mathematical numbers

Things I gained and lost over the long weekend: [Lets pretend I started off Thursday with 30 points]

-Lost dignity on George Street -20 points

-Lost sim card also on George Street- 5 points

-Borrowed a tremendously cute costume +10 points

-That costume had a missing zip and the skirt kept falling down -5 points

-Was having fun at work +15 points

-Sb's workmates were nice and sociable +10 points

-Didn't drink at all [I couldn't], so they thought I was soft -5 points

-I think I forgot to say goodbye to the birthday boy. Whoops -5 points

- Another night and no drinks -10 points [well there was minor drinking but I was still in recovery from Thursday]

- Dylmahs friends were also nice and sociable [although one of them was so boring, I almost cried into my vodka red bull.. but she was nice] I'm lucky all the people this weekend were friendly +15 points

- Dylmah apologised for not coming with me on Thursday and I never get apologies from him [they're like fairy dust] so +5 points

-But then he broke my camera! -15 points.

-I really did like Moulin Rouge. That was some funky club +10 points

-I left early -5 points

-St Marys Church is actually quite cool at 3:30 in the morning. Its peaceful +5 points

- Work was hell on earth and I scalded my hand and cried into people's coffees. Salty. -5000 points

End result: -4970 points. God, work always ends up ruining my weekend. Damn I was coming ahead as well

When I think about you I touch myself!

So I was running late to work this morning and to get to work I need to cross the Darling Harbour bridge. Normally this bridge is packed with tourists but it was wet and cold and generally blah.

So I'm huffing and puffing by, when I spot this girl [aged about thirty, short haired, European] walking past and there was something odd about her..

Holy Shit, her hand is down her pants and she's going at herself!

For the undelicately eared among you. Holy Crap, she's masturbating!

Good thing there were not too many tourists around, they might have taken photos.

Europeans are such exhibitionists.

So I get to work and I'm deeply deeply disturbed. Look I'm all for open sexuality and public discussion of sexual taboos, but there are some things I don't want to see, and lady you rubbing your coochie is one of them.

I've gathered my co-workers around and am relaying my coochie woes.

Co-worker1: She could just be itchy!

Co-worker 2: It was cold today, maybe she was just warming her hands

Me: Her hand, and no.

Co-worker1: Maybe she was adjusting her underpants.

Co-worker 2: Maybe she was adjusting her menstrual pad.

[Long pause]

Everybody: Ew.

Pink Toaster!

I found it!

So lets all squee for my pink toaster!

SQUEE!

My life is an anecdote

Me: Hello Sir, what would you like?

Customer: Do you have cwanbewwy?

Me: [Straightest face ever] Yes, we have cranberry

Customer: Well, I would like some cwanbewwy and wodka

He's having me on right? This guy was 5"9 and built like a tank and he talked like Elmer Fudd.

---

So I crashed my car on Wednesday and I dragged my fender all the way home. I'm thinking when my cousin Matt sees it, he's going to wish he put it in storage. Anyway, I was upset but its nice that when the chips are down [or at least horribly dented] that there are friends who will go out of their way to help you, I had not one but three offers to help me to take it to a smash repairer. Aww, much love to you guys.

---

This bartender [I'm thinking he was in jest] called me the angriest person he's ever met. Seriously? I'm probably in the running for most sarcastic and I'm coming in third for most self-conscious but the angriest? I have yet to kungfu kick anybody in the nuts or whomp someone on the head with a beer bottle. Sif angriest.

---

So I went with Mystic Meg to see a psychic yesterday and its a store connected to a day spa connected to an organic hairdresser. Anyway, I was waiting for her when all of a sudden this Russian [?] man comes up to me and starts pumping my hand.
"HellomynameisMichelandImgoingtolookafteryoutodaythankyouforcomingwhatwouldyoulikedonetoday?"
And I'm trying to interrupt this little speech, but he's talking at full speed still holding my hand, when this lady coughs and says "Er, I think you're after me", he lets go of my hand at sonic speed, turns around and delivers the almost same speech to her! "HellomynameisMicheland...."
I guess that hairdresser is not absorbing any psychic vibes coming from the shop.

---

I picked up a pendulum in the same shop and was playing around with it. Not to be skeptical, but surely the wind affects how it moves right? If it moves side to side then its a boy, and its moves round then its a girl. Not that I'm pregnant or anything. But I'm curious to have someone explain to me exactly *who they think is pushing the pendulum. [yes, the wind. Shutup]

---

My stepdad bought my mum a ten dollar toaster and of course [of course!] it doesn't work properly so I offered her my one [Its a designer toaster!] and went to Myers to look for a pink toaster to match my pink spatula/saucepan/teapot [I'm aiming for a completely pink kitchen]. I remembered seeing one ages ago so I asked the saleslady about it. She told me that it had been discontinued and replaced with a fawn colour. A fawn colour. Erk, a fawn colour.. who uses brown toasters?! People who want to match the toast to the toaster.

List of people that probably would enjoy a fawn coloured toaster:
Hunters
People who decorate their kitchen in varying shades of brown.
Colour blind people.
Nutsos.

The saleslady was very nice and thought she remembered a toaster that may have had a pink border. No, that was also replaced by fawn. Look for my puke, it will also be fawn coloured.

I left completely bitter as not only did they not have my pink toaster but they also didn't sell Indiana Jones action figures. Stupid store.

So many Mushes, what to do?

*Ring ring [Thats a ringing phone.. ]

Dakota: Hey Mush, guess what?

Mush: [lottery/accidents/marriage..] ..what?

Dakota: I was in the city and I saw a girl who looked like you! Down to the boots and the hair.

Mush: Oh? Apparently there's a lot of me roaming around

Dakota: So I ran up to her and smacked her on the butt!

Mush: WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.. erm.. did she like that?

Dakota: She said "What the fuck?!"

Mush: Maybe her friends don't smack her on the butt as often as my friends smack me on the butt!

Dakota: I apologised, then she got really pissy and stomped off.

Mush: WAHAHAHAAHAHA..

Dakota: Lucky I didn't grab her ass.

[Aww, my poor clone.. can't even walk down the street without being molested!]

Randomnessly..

-I still love Indiana Jones. He can enter my temple of doom anytime! [Or my temple of lurveeee.]

-I've started reading crime novels. Am currently reading "The Devil's feather"- the problem is it's not scary.

-I've also started liking champagne. As I grow older, it tastes less like cat pee.

- The three types of footballs for the three types of football are Sherrin, Gilbert and Steedon [Shit, I hope thats right!]

-Poker nights are always better when you wear jeans.

-Having your eyebrows waxed doesn't really hurt that much

-I drove all the way to Chatswood and back.. by myself! I'm so proud, I'm patting myself on the back.

-My supe Dan gave me a fridge magnet. Its a Star City fridge magnet. What am I going to do with a Star City fridge magnet?

Sometimes you just have to refrain from the jokes

So I have this friend called Mystic Meg. We are calling her this because 1) I'm playing altogether too much Phoenix Wright on the ds and 2) She is the believe-iest person I have ever met* She tells fortunes, sees psychics and not in the light hearted way. That girl is into that stuff. She doesn't really joke about it, and sometimes I have trouble not joking about it. Observe.

---

Over a lunch of chicken foot salad [for real] and tomato sea snail vermicelli [also for real]

Mm: So I went to see this group of psychics and one of them was just staring at me!

Me: Why?

Mm: Well I went to ask her and she said "You're an angel."

Me: An angel? What?

Mm: Well not exactly an angel. But more like a pixie.

Me: You're a pixie.

Mm: Thats what she said! I have a bright light around me.

Me: Chicks, you're not a pixie.

Mystic Meg then looks at me like I stepped on a baby or something.

Sigh.

So introducing Mystic Meg! The only person I know who knows what epsom salts really do [truly, I thought they woke people up from fainting but actually you use them to bathe. See? you do learn stuff on this blog. Occasionally] It makes life more fun and more interesting to have friends who have varied interests .. No I'm not harping on you, my fifteen medi-science friends.

* She officially trumped Lovey who once told the people at work that her psychic said that her children were angels who hadn't been born yet. But that once they relinquished angel status then they would be coming down her fallopian tubes. I didn't know what to say to this. This really mean girl said openly to her face that it was ridiculous. And.. not good form ok? Upsetting people is bad. Upsetting nice people is extra bad. Don't do it.

Dear Coldplay

Dear Coldplay,

You're back. Omg. Why are you so awesome? Do you know your awesomeness is making my head explode?

Mush

P.s You've reduced me to a gibbering fangirl. Again. I must lay at your feet.

P.p.s I took my love down to violet hill
There we sat in snow
All that time she was silent still

So if you love me
Won't you let me know?

Life goes on

So a couple of months ago, Sb and I caught a bus [yes, he caught a bus. Its amazing, I know], we boarded and I was just daydreaming random thoughts out the window. [Peanut butter/coloured pencils/world peace/the taste of blu tack] when the bus stopped and on boarded four girls about my age.

Well no big deal right? I watched them for a little while- and they were just four ordinary girls laughing, talking about boys and work, maybe going somewhere to eat.

There was all this closeness and camaraderie being taken for granted. And I swear I have never been struck by this sensation before [I'll try and describe it properly for you] but I felt envy. I was choked and blocked off by this envy- in fact I could feel myself physically getting nauseous, I was trying to swallow this bile and I knew I was going green [see? I thought that was a myth, but you actually go green]
Sb shook me a bit and asked me if I was ok because I was looking a little pale.

They got off at the next stop, and when they left, the envy dispersed and all I felt was incredibly sad. The fact that the three of us would never ever do something so simple and ordinary again, we would see each other again for sure but something so everyday was not going to happen and if it did, it would not be for a really long time. When we got off the bus, I had to stop and have a little cry for that loss.

Every now and then, I think of those four girls and I have a little twinge. Last night I thought about how much more self sufficient I've gotten since they've left, I stood up and brushed myself off and headed home. Life goes on, but it doesn't stop you from having a twinge once in a while.

Mush the social butterfly on Saturday night

Saturday night

6:00- Sb is flailing wildly "We're going to be LATE. Hurry Up! Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiish!" [repeat that sentence about sixteen times during the course of five minutes]

6:05- I'm frantically trying to ignore him, end up jamming my legs into two pairs of hose which incidentally have about nine runs in it. Three which look like wolverine has taken a swipe at my knee. And a massive hole on the thigh which is about the size of a burger.

6:07- "Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiish!"

6:08- Oh fuck it, I'll just go with these tights. They're going to be under boots anyway and no-one will see them so who cares right?

6:09- SB: "Errrr, what happened to your knee? It looks like you got into a fight with Wolverine"
Me: "Shut up. Or I'm heading back to get changed!"
SB does the sensible thing and doesn't remark on it anymore although he'll occasionally furrow his brow and look at my legs and sigh. Not longingly.

7:10- After racing to get there, and liberally swearing at every [Asian] driver that we see. We arrive!

7:11- Hmmm.. its awkward already. Why are the tables divided like that?! They've joined two round tables together like a figure eight and the first table is full while the second table is like the leftover table. We've been consigned to the kids table! Man, I'm glad that I wasn't in charge of the booking because I would've ripped that hosts ears off his head and made him eat them.

7:20- Mrs Moo gets up and tries to make conversation with me, it starts off with "You still have a cold! Last time I saw you, you had a cold!"
Me: "Its cold?"
Ok neither of us are going to win awards for beautiful conversation flow.

7:22- I'm on the other side on the big table talking to Mrs Gold about my eyelashes. I would really rather talk about anything else other than my lashes. Chinese politics, serial killers, whether the smurfs are overrated, something anything.

7:24- There's only really so much you can talk about lashes. I've covered two minutes worth.. I'm starting to get really awkward. I mean its boring for her [who wants to hear it?!] and its boring for me.

7:25: Mrs Moo releases me "You look quite embarrassed, maybe you want to go back?"

7:25- Back in my seat, I never realised how much I love my seat. I bet this seat never felt so much love.

7:35- Wheeee! Dakota is here! Wait, thats not Dakota. It's a pink, puffy version of her
She's completely sunburnt. It's sort of hilarious, she's like a beacon.

7:45- 8:30: While I eat, Dakota and Sb mock squabble. I'm enjoying the mock squabbling, except when they get really excited and lean and do it over my food.

9:00- We were going to tip the waiter out two dollars but we were nice and upped it to six.

9:10- Standing on the street deciding what to do.

9:15- Still deciding.

9:16- 9:30 We're going to Eric's place and subsequently I have an in-car meltdown.
Sb: Whats wrong
Me: we're going to Eric's place? Does that mean we have to take off our shoes?
Sb: Yes, we're asian
Me: I CAN'T TAKE OFF MY SHOES. * Yoinks a boot off and lobs it.
It is revealed that my tights have now accumulated more runs and more holes and now look like something even Oliver Twist would be ashamed of ["Tsk. tsk. Madam, your appearance is detestable!"]. There are even runs on the toes. How you get runs on the toes, I don't know. I was sitting the entire time
Sb: Whoa. Do you want to go home?
Me: *snippy, No we will go and I will sit awkwardly.

9:26- We arrive at Eric's place, where I speedily jump on the couch arrange my skirt over my legs and sit uber awkwardly.

9:30: Oh, the legs they are killing me.

9:45- Ahoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooga! The legs, they are beyond pissed off.

9:45- Oh forget it. I commandeer Sb's jumper and wrap it around my legs. Oh sweet relief. What a waste of yoga class.

9:46- Sb complains he's cold. Ha

10:05- It's cake time! Oh, crap I have to walk over. I shuffle reluctantly to the dining table and perch awkwardly on the edge of a chair. I'm walking so slowly that I'm thinking that they're thinking I'm being anti-social.

10:06- Return to my spot on the couch with strawberry cheesecake. I'm starting to feel bad about not mingling.

10:30- Mrs Furter falls asleep on the couch

10:45- Mrs Moo falls asleep on the couch [it's a big couch]

00:00- I'm starting to fall asleep .. zzz.. The only person still awake on the lounge is Mrs Ken. The boys are playing poker and taking shots. Darn, I want to drink shots and play poker. Stupid tights. I wake up to the tv playing a trance song which involves women having milkshakes being poured on them in a sexual way, except it doesn't look sexual -it looks gross. I feel sorry for those girls I hope they get good commission.

2:00- Time to go home! Oh God, I'm so bleary. On the way home, SB accuses me of being anti-social. I wearily pull another hole in my tights for his benefit and he doesn't say anything, we are both wishing that I wore jeans tonight. [Well, actually he was quite smooshed so maybe I'm projecting. I definitely wish I wore jeans]