jazzy hands journal

Smell Ya Later!

2006-11-12T16:45:00.000+10:00

I'm not going to write a post about how I haven't updated in months. I'm not going to talk about how I've been busy and I'm not going to promise to update in future.

I don't think I have anything to say here any more.

I talk about food and exercise and losing weight here.

I talk about writing here.

That's enough. Goodbye.

Addictions

2006-07-20T13:27:00.000+10:00

If you're a smoker, you'll have seen the new government initiative on cigarette packets - diseased body parts are the most common, but then there's the girl in the call centre (ie. smoking and that's where you'll end up) and my fave - the graph. The graph shows death statistics - smoking = 1 zillion deaths, murder a mere 2oo or so.

Low down on the lists is illegal drugs. I analysed this closely and realised the subtext our government is getting at here. They actually want us to quit smoking and take up more exciting addictions. Good ole government, they are all - cigarettes, you pussy. Get some decent class A narcotics into ya.

But you can't just take up illegal drugs willy-nilly, so I've worked out the pros and cons. I think this is a valuable resource for the kiddies. After all, most drug information isn't that handy. It's all like if you take drugs, you have fun but you die. Hello, what's the alternative? It's not like you *don't* die if you don't take drugs. I mean we are all grown ups. We know everything and everyone dies eventually - Rover didn't really go to the farm. Here is my honest look at your drug options:

Pot

Pros:

-relatively cheap
-can buy it at the 7 eleven (well in the car park anyways)
-organic
-you are still smoking

Cons:
-listening to Bob Marley
-wearing stupid beanies and calling everyone "man"
-paranoid delusions
-having to learn to roll joints
-having to hang around with annoying potheads

Acid:
Pros:
-seeing pretty lights and music
-cheap as chips
-amusing

Cons:
-being thought a fucktard when telling people about the pretty lights and music
-pretty lights and music turning into evil stuff like Satan or Angela Bishop
-having to hang out with annoying acidheads

Cocaine:

Pros:
-thinking you are entertaining and attractive
-makes boring people tolerable
-weight loss

Cons:
-expensive
-delusions about being entertaining and attractive
-needing complete nasal passage reconstruction

Ecstacy:

Pros:
-feelings of happiness and gooey goodwill
-makes sex better
-makes dance music tolerable

Cons:
-isn't as good as it used to be so you sound like an old fart telling people 'you think these are good E's?...'
-makes fluffy legwarmers look like a smart fashion choice
-makes dance music tolerable
-loving your fellow man
-having to hang out with ravers

Smack:

Pros:
-able to multitask by scoring on tram to work (this works best if you catch the No 86 tram)

Cons:
-despite images of attractive junkie rockstars (eg. Kurt Cobain) with good teeth (eg. Kurt Cobain before he blew his head off), most junkies are hideously ugly with scabby skin and sores and stringy, greasy hair
-loss of fashion sense (remember kiddies: death may be inevitable, but parasilk isn't - say no to smack)
-needles - ick!
-having to steal cars and break into houses
-having to hang out with smackies with scabby skin and greasy hair

And there you have it. In summary, cocaine is the clear winner - at least it makes your druggie mates easier to handle. See ya later, I'm going out for a coco now.

Things That Piss Me Off #4

2006-07-19T11:32:00.000+10:00

My housemates! Yeah I know that was last week's rant but those mofo's have upped the stakes again. They broke my frypan then put it back in amongst my other cookware without saying a word. My other housemate also used my saucepan. All cookware is now stored in my room.

When I cleaned up last night, I found a jar of crappy coffee. I put it in the kitchen because I'll never drink it. My Ma reckons it would be illegal to put rat poison in it. I don't see why. I think I'm perfectly entitled to store my rat poison wherever I want and if people are rude enough to steal my coffee, I can't be responsible for the consquences.

Another thing that pisses me off is being so poor that I missed out on seeing the Yeah Yeah Yeahs last night.

Rubbishology

2006-07-11T14:32:00.000+10:00

Would it be overkill to make my housemates sit through a powerpoint presentation on rubbish disposal?

Things That Piss Me Off #3

2006-07-10T10:59:00.000+10:00

Doctors: I frigging hate doctors. If you make an appointment for say 10 am, why the hell can't they see you at 10 am, not 10.30, not 11.00, sometime that day whenever the hell they get around to it. You know why? Because they are The Doctor and you are a lowly not doctor person so you are therefore of less importance than them. You didn't spend 6 years or some crap like that at Med School so you can just frigging wait and wait.

The thing that makes this worse is that you aren't just waiting. You are waiting in a room filled with sick people with contagious diseases. And crying kiddies.

Then, when the doctor finally finishes their fancy coffee and their French souffles and thinks maybe they might get around to seeing a patient, you go in and say 'I have bronchitis, give me antibiotics' and they muck around, poking and proding you then say 'you have bronchitis, take antibiotics' and you think I bet they are glad they spend 6 years and a whole swag of HECS fees getting their fancy Melbourne Uni med degree.

Then you go out to the reception, who charges you a zillion dollars but tells you that you can get like $20 of it back from Medicare so you pay up then instead of getting that bed rest the doctor recommended, you have to lug your sick arse down to the Medicare office and stand in line of sick people get back the money to buy fags for the week.

What a great system.

You know, as much as I love to call the Howard government mean names - like buttmunchers and douchebags, it's good to see they are doing something to improve this situation. See about 92.5% of people who go to your local GP are there because the boss man won't pay sick leave nowadays without a medical cert. Even if you have a cold and you *know* the doctor can do sweet FA, you need that bit of paper to tell the man you aren't faking it.

Btw, has anyone in the history of sickies ever been refused a med cert? The whole med cert system isn't really to prove you are sick, it's to screw up your sickie and give you less shopping/Oprah watching/surfing time.

Good ole Howard though, with his IR laws. Soon no one will have sick leave. The doctor's offices will be barren and when I go in with my diseases, I'll be treated like royalty. Woohoo!

I am in many minds about the IR laws. Like the knee jerk reaction is IR laws = bad, but then I have the 'suffer in your jocks' cos I don't get sick leave so why should anyone else reaction. But then I think deeper and my deeper thoughts are that if no one has stuff like sick leave and holidays, I won't get paid the big, fat contracting dollars any more. It's never as easy as it looks.

But I'm in one mind about this - doctors suck.

Stuff about Me (and other people)

2006-06-30T10:43:00.000+10:00

I've been reading Jason's site for more years than just about any other personal site on the whole wide internet and over the last few years have been watching with interest as his business plans for launching an art's centre in Chicago have evolved.

Well the first phase of the centre is a reality now - complete with a very funky web site that everybody should check out. And, because he's a sweet guy, he's put up one of my stories.

PS

2006-06-28T15:32:00.000+10:00

I got my tea towel back last night. I'm now drunk on the power of my own signage.

Things That Shit Me #2

2006-06-27T14:40:00.000+10:00

My housemates! One of them STOLE my tea towel from the kitchen. My frigging tea towel. Last week one of them stole my sister's cake of soap from the bathroom. I don't know what is worse - that they are stealing stuff or that the stuff they steal is so lame.

So last night I did the thing I swore I'd never do - I put up a sign in the kitchen. A nice friendly sign. But if that tea towel isn't returned by tomorrow, the sign is getting meaner! If it's not returned by the weekend, the "C" word will be used! Still it makes me the kind of person who puts up signs for their housemates. Cringe.

Other shitful things about my housemates:

They never ever put the bins out. They believe in the magical wheelie bin fairies. We have 5 bins (3 regular, 1 recycling and 1 green waste) so putting them out is a pain. Plus they don't fill one bin before using the next!
They put non-recyclables in the recycling bin. How frigging hard is it to get the bins right? One of my housemates put a heap of paint tins in the green rubbish bin!
One of them, and I'm pretty sure I know which one, doesn't flush the toilet. Earlier this year, I asked if the toilet could be flushed after every use and that stopped for a while but it's happening again.
The same housemate has TWO cars that he parks on the street outside our house and never moves and has them parked so that a third car can't fit in (even though if he'd parked properly I could get my car in there and not have to lug my shopping for blocks). I don't think he even drives either car. He just uses them to store shit.
He also uses really smelly soap for shaving and it stinks up the bathroom for ages (plus he leaves whiskers all over the sink - gross).
They use our microwave and never clean it out.
They use my washing machine when I want to use it.
They are NEVER home when I want to yell at them for doing shitful things. That is the most frustrating thing of all.

I don't think my complaints are too demanding. I just need to get some pretty pens from Officeworks because I think if I'm going to put a heap of signs up around the house, they should look artistic.

Things That Shit Me #1

2006-06-21T11:03:00.000+10:00

I've been neglecting this blog like it's a low grade STD or something and that's got to stop (well, technically it doesn't - it's my blog and not posting isn't going to kill me, unlike untreated syphllis). Anyway I've set myself a challenge - to write a post once a week about things that shit me. Easy peasy, lemon squeeze because there are many, many, many things in this world that shit me. The hardest part is deciding which one to write about.

Okay - you know what shits me? Web sites for clothes stores. Have you seen those things? Think about it, if you go to a web site looking at clothes, what do you want? You want to know what the store sells, how much it costs and what colours it comes in. Oh yeah, and sizing would be kinda nice too.

Do you get that? Ha. Ha ha ha. You know what you get -- some fancy arsed flash animated artsy crap that they paid Trendy McWeb-Designer a whole heap of bucks for. For example check out Cue - nice twirling 3D pics that overlap each other so I can't see the clothes properly. Or Portmans - more flash shite I have to wait around for.

Do these people even think about the person at the other end of their site? What they need to do is give me enough information so that I'm tempted to get my butt off my office chair and walk down to their shop in my lunch hour and try some on, maybe even buy it. You'd think that would be the goal of having a web site - to sell clothes, make them some money.

Unless you have the technology for me to upload a perfect 3D model of myself and be able to use that, online, to try on clothes without leaving my desk, I don't care about your technology. I don't care about your animated happy, smiling yong people. I don't care about any of it. Just show me the goddamn clothes.

Oopsy!

2006-06-10T22:52:00.000+10:00

That last post was meant for my other blog... but I'll leave it up anyways.

Dress

2006-06-10T17:00:00.000+10:00

This is my very funky red polka dot dress. Check me out, I look like I'm out of some old B grade horror movie!

You can see the full effect in this photo plus my pink flurry slippers. I think they are a great look together. I might go for this look more often.

I just posted this pic cos I like it.

This is the alternative dress for next Saturday night. I put it on layby today. You can't see it very well in the photo and the furry jacket doesn't come with it - that's an extra $190 that I can't imagine spending.

Karaoke

2006-04-17T10:54:00.000+10:00

Omg... two posts in one day, that hasn't happened on here since 2003, but I realised I've left you all hanging waiting with bated breath (whatever that is, cos it sounds disgusting) to find out what I sang at the karaoke hen's night.

And, der, I've forgotten what the first song was. It will come back to me at some point. Like now. Yep, it was In The Ghetto. The best bit was, as my friend Tim pointed out when I got off stage, I didn't hit the right note once not even by accident. But I was the loudest.

Later, I did Stand By Your Man. The karaoke hostess (how do you get those kind of jobs? I think I'd make a swell karaoke hostess) kept turning down my mic. Since I'm of the 'when life gives you a a dilemma, make dilemonade' school of thought, I took that as a challenge. I was very 1995, very Courtney Love and all up, very fucking loud.

The rest of the night was total arse.

Religious Holidays

2006-04-17T10:19:00.000+10:00

I'm not a big fan of the religious holiday. Sure having time off work is good (but not great since I don't get paid for it and I really need a pair of killer boots) but religion is kinda scary. I actually think I have some kind of religious phobia, which I thought was a freaky thing but is probably more common than I think because people talk about putting the fear of god into you.

I'm not afraid of god, I'm afraid of people talking about god. Don't use the "g" word around me unless it's in a taking-the-lord's-name-in-vain kind of way. If I'm say reading a blog and someone mentions thanking god in a totally serious manner I'll shut that page down as fast as my mouse can click. If I heard someone talking about god, I'll run away.

See my nan is a bit of a religious nut. And she's got nuttier as she's got older. With stuff like going to church and all that, it's okay because you know what you're getting in to and can plan for it (well unless you go to the catholic church - I did that one time when I was a kid to see my friend get confirmed and they passed around the collection plate twice. How was I to know? I spent the whole service freaking that people would think I was a cheapskate.)

But yeah, with church, if you rock up, you know you are getting a couple of hours of god talk with some singing thrown in then you go home and eat roast meat. With my nan, she just springs it on you, anywhere, any time. You think you're safe then suddenly she pulls out the burning in hell and taking jesus as your saviour speech.

I'm particularly vulnerable because, as anyone who has known me for more than five minutes could work out, I'm mighty fond of cussing. My dad used to say that my talk would shame a bullock driver. I dunno what that meant so I assumed it was a good thing. What that means is, around my nan, I'm so busy concentrating on not letting the big ones out - the "fucks" and the like - that often the "goddamns" slip through the radar.

Then we get the sighing and sermonising and fits of the vapours.

Some noteable religious based talks from my nan include:

The lecture on "keeping myself nice" and not losing my virginity until I get
married. Delivered to me when I was nineteen years
old. I tactfully mentioned nothing about closing stable doors. Let's
face it, by the time I was nineteen, that horse had not just bolted. It
had won the Melbourne Cup.
The one on not taking drugs. That would have been far less amusing if I
hadn't been stoned at the time. I did try to understand the difference
between smoking pot and taking a truckload of tranquilisers but it seems jesus
doesn't mind if drugs if the doctor prescribes them.
A zillion lectures, the reasoning of which I have never understood, on
wearing your dressing gown. WTF? My nan has some kind of
weirdarsed worship of the dressing gown. Like you are a no good slut
headed straight to hell if you don't wear one but you can be the town bike in a
dressing gown and the lord will smile apon you. You get extra
redemption if it is polyester, floral and quilted.

My fave nan moment though, has to be the time she decided she couldn't buy tattslotto tickets any more because gambling is wrong and a sin and all that but, since my mum was destined to burn in hell for all eternity anyway, it was okay for mum to buy them for her.

So happy easter folks and remember, jesus died for your sins.

Parental Responsibility

2006-04-02T08:34:00.000+10:00

You know those survey thingos they have on msn? They have some question like - do you think the rich should pay more tax - yes/no - and you get to vote on it. Yeah, of course you do. Well the question the other was whether parents should be charged for their kids drinking, and this question got me thinking.

Really, I don't think they are going far enough. Parents should be fined for all the annoying crap their kids do. For example: if your kids buy a Ramones t-shirt or say, a Led Zepplin t-shirt or basically the t-shirt for any band that broke up before they were born and, even worse, they buy the t-shirt from some "fashion" shop at the local shopping centre like Jay Jays and they don't even listen to the band featured on the t-shirt. Your kids are wankers and YOU are responsible. You are raising a wanker. I don't think the death penalty is too strong.

If Andrew did that, I'd bash with a log of wood until he couldn't walk. And he'd thank me for it.

Or say your kid comes home from school and wants the latest Brittney Spears single or maybe Green Day or ... I've run out of ideas cos I never listen to that commercial radio shite. Do you buy it for them like some trained puppy? Because if you do, under the Kathryn system, you'd be looking at spending your the rest of your life doing community service.

I know Andrew doesn't have the best music taste in the world, one time I had to sit him down and explain to him that people in our family don't buy Alex Lloyd cds, but he tries and that's the main thing.

On the booze thing, I always tried to be responsible for his drinking.

True story: I was driving Andrew to his year 12 formal and asked him if he planned on drinking.

"No way," he says.

I pulled into the bottle shop and offered to buy him a hip flask bottle of Beam.

"But what if the teachers catch me?" he wailed. "I can't."

So I beat him around the head and told him he was a pussy. Then I threw him out of the car and made him walk the rest of the way. Okay, I didn't make him walk, but I did hit him. And, one day, he'll thank me for it.

Parental responsibility, there should be more of it.

Music Survey Thingie...

2006-03-15T21:40:00.000+10:00

A music question I have been pondering lately:

Is it wrong to love Shivers by the Boys Next Door after you turn 17?
I mean, really love like listen to more than once a day?

Your opinions please.

Note the amusing way I assume people still read my site. By the way, if you are sitting there thinking "didn't the Screaming Jets sing that song?" then don't read my site. That is wrong, wrong like people who think Celebrity Skin is the best Hole album when everyone knows that you say Pretty on the Inside is but really think it's Live Through This.

Oh, another question:

What song/s do you think I should sing at my friend's hen's night on Saturday? Keeping in mind what you can reasonably expect on a karaoke play list.

Note the amusing way I say song/s like there is some possiblity I might only sing one. I have been trying to convince my friends that karaoke is the japanese word for "Kathryn sings and everybody else listens". People think I joke when I say that. They will learn.

Common Sense, Huh?

2006-02-16T20:28:00.000+10:00

I have had to spend a lot of time on public transport lately, enough time to get myself riled up about stupid things - like urine soaked junkies and Eastern subjects public school kids and basically everyone on the train who isn't me or the guy with piercing blue eyes sitting opposite me today. But the thing that makes me most angry is this stupid ad.

See on the trains at the moment, for those of you luck enough to not be familar with Melbourne's public transport system, are a series of ads for people to work at Yooralla. Each one has an essential characteristic with a cartoon to illustrate it. Inoffensive enough except for one.

"Common Sense" - common sense is demonstrated by a bunch of girls in short skirts shivering outside a night club door but in the middle is common sense girl wearing a big, padded coat.

At first glance it works. But I used to be young. I used to go to nightclubs. I know the drill. It's all fine and dandy at the beginning of the night but come closing time, common sense girl will learn her smart arsed tactics have backfired. See, while all the shivering girls head off laughing into the morning sun, common sense girl is the one waiting for hours at the cloak check for some drug addled friend of the owner to find her semen and vomit encrusted coat amonst the debri. See that padded coat makes a mighty fine mattress for a quickie in the back room.

Minutes will become hours as the cloak check person forgets what she is there for, skips off to find his/her dealer, cadges free knock off drinks from the bar staff, works out what after party they are going to then comes back with the wrong coat. Sixteen times. By then, the root common sense girl has pulled has skipped off with someone else, all the cabs are gone, the drugs have worn off and the night club has closed.

The real answer, my friends, the real common sense is to NEVER cloak anything, NEVER wear a coat and, most of all, NEVER go to nightclubs. Catch public transport instead. You can bored shitless and covered in bodily fluids for free.

Big Day Out

2006-01-30T16:52:00.000+10:00

I went. It was big. I wrote about it on my diet blog. David wrote about it too - his is more entertaining cos he wrote about the bands and stuff, not just what he ate. We saw Desci, and she wrote about it too but she mainly saw shit bands.

Anyway this is a succinct summary: The Stooges were great, Rollins were great, Beast of Bourbon were great, Sleater Kinney were great. Everyone else sucked. Not enough people had abortions 16-20 years ago. Camera phones are the tools of Satan in the hands of the kiddies. I had the bestest t-shirt there.

Oh and I did not see one single kid who'd used spray on hair colour then went in the mosh and got all sweaty and had colour run all over him. The 90s must be over.

Housemate Update

2006-01-29T11:21:00.000+10:00

Well I solved one of the housemate issues - dunno if I mentioned this in my previous post but one of the guys in the house doesn't flush when he pees! How fucking gross is that? So they other day the dudes were all in the lounge watching cricket (yawn) and I walked in and told them to make sure they flush the toilet! Woohoo, it worked. No more waking up to the stench of stale pee.

But now I have another issue. They have no idea about washing dishes. Like one of the dudes is in his 50s and he can't wash up properly. They use luke warm water then leave their dishes to drain - that is so hygienic (and damn annoying too because it takes them days to put their shit away).

We all do our own dishes so it wouldn't worry me except I have to keep buying dish washing deterent. What he does is squirt the detergent directly onto his shit then runs it under the tap! Because running some water in the sink is too hard? Arrgh! And, to make it worse, he takes the top of the container so he uses even more. He uses enough detergent on one plate to wash up after a freaken' 10 course dinner party.

Then last night the French chick (who actually may not be French) had friends over at like 12.30 and they stood in the hallway talking. Someone knocked on my door, thinking it was her room, and it was this whore with bad, bad Tina Turner hair. Pretty fucking scary.

But as far as being a pyscho bitch, I've pretty much wimped out. I did, however, catch one of the housemate's friends filling up his bong in the kitchen! The owners are very anti-drugs so I have ammo in the fight.

Home on the Deranged

2006-01-02T21:04:00.000+10:00

I'm having housemate issues. I mean, they are really nice people and all, it's just that they are like bears with furniture who'd wallow in their own filth if it wasn't for me. How hard is it to put a bag of rubbish in the bin, for fuck sake? Apparently the preferred method of rubbish disposal around here is to just keep dumping stuff in the kitchen bin until it covers the kitchen floor. And the whole concept of recycling - it's been around for a while now. We are five people with one tiny wheelie bin. If that bin gets filled with bottles then don't put your regular rubbish in the recycling bins, morons.

I figure there are two ways to deal with this. There is the mature, adult method of actually talking to my housemates about this issues, getting it out in the open and resolving it. But then there's the Kathryn way which involves mostly sitting in my room plotting against them (and bitching about them online).

My plots mostly involve convincing my housemates that I'm a psycho bitch who must be feared. I want to get them to the point that they obey my every command but not to the point where they move out. See in this wacky household, the owners rent out each room separately so I have no say in the new housemates therefore am likely to get even less trained monkeys.

Already I've completed step one - screaming abuse at my housemate for having noisy sex. We aren't just talking a bit of panting and groaning here - we are talking full on wounded sea mammal noises for over half an hour. While I was trying to sleep. They stopped immediately and I've heard no sex noises from that room since. Hopefully I've scarred the boy so he can no longer gain erection. I did tactful resist adding a "and she's faking it...." as a parting shot. But she had to be. I know fake sex noises when I hear them.

But that's only the beginning.

I spoke to my sister about this plan and she was incredibly helpful. She lives with Mum so I guess that makes her a world expert on living with Psycho Bitches From Hell. Her suggestons included writing stuff on their bedroom windows - particularly effective for the housemate has no curtains in his room that faces a major road. And, I swear to god, he had a hooker in his room the other night. I was walking back inside after seeing a friend off and a woman who looked cheap and slutty in a professional manner was sitting in his room.

She also suggested painting satanic looking symbols on their doors in fecal matter.

Then there is the swing in the complete opposite direction and finding religion. Very zealously. A la Carrie's mother. A giant crucifix would really brighten up the lounge room but I'd start small - sticky notes saying "overflowing bins made baby Jesus cry" and such.

Or getting sound bites from the Exorcist and playing them from hidden devices late at night. My sister also suggested having blood drip from the walls but you have to have people give a shit for that to work.

I've also thought about installing web cams and broadcasting their sexual exploits to the world.

These are all very good and workable plans but she had to go too far. She had to suggest something so diabolically evil and sanity-shattering that it was beyond any moral comprehension. I mean, I have my limits. And, let's face it, I can't leave Celine Dion blaring in my room every time I go out without first acquiring said Celine Dion music in some way first.

Now if I get a camera, I reckon I could film this and sell it to commercial tv, as a Big Brother-esque reality tv show. Except, damn, my housemates are all unattractive and, with the exception of myself, lack big knockers (even the other chick - well especially her, a couple of the dudes have a decent set).

Still I'll kept you posted as they fall, one by one.

Disclaimer: my complaints against my housemates are all incredibly legitimate and are in no way related to me being a bitter old crone who is pissed off because they all getting more sex than me. Not one little bit.

Twas the Night Before Christmas

2005-12-24T11:02:00.000+10:00

When I was 10 years old, I had my definitive Christmas - the only by which all other Christmases are compared and fail to measure up. That was the year I got my ABBA t-shirt and a white polyester ABBA cushion with blurry reprint of the Arrival album cover. That was the year I got my purple dragster bike. A purple Malvern Star with the regulation white flower covered basket on the front. That day, and many days after, I tried to learn to ride. I never had a good sense of balance. No other Christmas comes close though some still stand out.

There was the year I got a ride on tractor. I was two years old. I loved tractors. My grandparents had a farm and my grandad would have to drive past the house to the barn. He'd always stop and I'd run out and hop on his knee and drive the tractor back for him. I was much better with tractors than bikes. What I remember about that Christmas was not so much getting the tractor but running into my parent's bedroom, bubbling with excitement to show them what Santa had given me but my Dad was hungover and wouldn't wake up. I couldn't understand why he wouldn't look, why he wasn't excited for me.

Then there was the year my sister and I got rollerskates. We thought we'd be like Olivia Newton John in Xanadu but we forgot one thing. There was nowhere to use them. We lived in the country with no footpaths, no shopping centre car parks, no flat concrete surfaces. Our only hope was the cricket nets at the footy ground. I remember running across the oval with plovers swooping at us in attack.

I remember the year my sister decided at the last minute she wanted to be the fancy dress parade so Mum and I turned my old green school skirt into a Christmas tree costume for her. We put a hoop around the bottom to hold it out and covered it in tinsel and baubles. We made a big gold star and stuck it on her head. It was a great costume but the prize went to some kid who's mother had bought him a "real" costume. I still think we were robbed.

Then there was the year I came home from the pub, well liquoured up. My sister woke up and wanted to open her presents immediately. So Mum made me sit up with her and put together her She-Ra Princess of Power castle. That thing was harder to construct than Ikea furniture but it was better to agree and get Mum back to bed than explain why I was home 2 hours after the pub shut, smelling of cheap sex.

Andrew, Tim and I trying to have a sophisticated Christmas lunch and I cut a chunk out of my finger. I sat through Christmas lunch with it wrapped in a tea-towel but it wouldn't stop bleeding so we decided I should go to the casuality ward. But we were too drunk to drive there We rang around our friends and Bernard was sober, being a non-drinking Buddhist but he turned up with a bottle of champagne so we decided to drink more instead. I still have a scar.

The Christmas Anita and I popped in to wish Tim a Merry Christmas and ended up spending the afternoon watching his Christmas porn.

The year Anita, Tim and I decided to ignore tradition and went to Victoria Street for a Vietnamese lunch instead then ended up drunk and disorderly at the Prince of Wales, yelling greetings out the pub window and dancing in the corner.

This year, Christmas will be a quiet lunch without much celebrating. I wish I still had that purple dragster. I'd ride away with streamers flying out from the handlebars, dinging my bell, and come back when Christmas was over.

Merry Fucking Christmas

2005-12-15T15:09:00.000+10:00

God I hate this time of year. Hate it. I hate those fucking carols they play in the shops, I hate crowds of frenzied shoppers worried that they won't have a gift for Aunty Mabel when she turns up with the giftwrapped Cashmere Bouquet, I hate the bars full of raucous secretaries on their once a year piss up.

I hate that the holiday seasons starts somewhere at the beginning of November and doesn't finish until the end of January. That's a quarter of the year being taken up with Christmas. Ho fucking ho.

I hate that everyone else is so busy with Christmas events - work parties and family get togethers and all the other crap. You want to know how many holiday events I have on my calendar? Zero. Zilch. Zippo. I hate that I am constantly reminded that I'm a social failure.

I hate that my cheapskate family decided not buy any presents this year. I hate that I'm going to have a dead boring Christmas day while everyone else is out having festive fucking fun. Or even festive fucking fights.

Next year I think I'll spend Christmas somewhere else.

Veil

2005-12-04T23:11:00.000+10:00

More wedding dress shopping this weekend.... arrrrgh! I have hit the wall. They all look the same - white and frothy - after 5 hours it just made me want a capaccino.

The worst bit is sitting around waiting for them to pin and primp my friend into the frocks. For a while, I amused myself by trying to find the most inappropriate-for-a-bridal-shop music on my ipod.

That killed a few minutes but, two hundred and fifty three dresses later, the novelty wore off. So, left alone, I thought I'd try on a veil. It felt kinda dirty and wrong - like a nun trying on French knickers. I mean, we are talking about ME. The perpetually single, oldest of maid, trying on a wedding veil. But what do you do when you are left all alone on an uncomfortable bench seat in shop of wedding frockery and you've been through your entire ipod playlist?

You know what? It looked stunning. Of course, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Not many people in this world have the ability to look in headwear - just look at the stupid slappers going to the cup - but I have that gift. I really do. I look damn fantastic in hats and beanies and even wedding veils. So naturally I have a storage space full of hats I never wear. I've even informed the bride to be not to wear a tiara because I'll be wearing one to the reception.

It's just a pity there was no one there to see the historial veil moment. Damn it. I coulda taken a pic with my phone! Because even if, miracle of miracles, I met Mr Not Too Fussy, I don't think I'll wear a veil when we declare our commitment to each other in front of Elvis at the Vegas Chapel O' Love. And I definitely won't be shopping for a white, shiny dress.

Something Old...

2005-12-01T21:20:00.000+10:00

On the weekend I went wedding dress shopping. No, not because some mysterious and gorgeous man has swept me off my feet with promises of love, honor and hot sex. I was the support person for a friend (ie. not bridemaid, thank god, but the bridesman lives overseas so I went along).

Because of my total and utter undesirability, I've avoided anything bridal thus far in my life. It's a whole other world out there, folks. A strange and scary world.

First off, you need an appoinment at most places. Because the wedding dresses are so busy out partying and having a good time they can't see you unless they know you are coming. Or maybe it's so the bridal frock shop owner can concentrate on giving you the hard sell.

So we got to Yarraville but couldn't see the dresses. We pressed our noses to the shop window to sneak a peek then decided brunch would be a better idea.

Back in the city, we went to another shop. One for which you do not need an appointment. The dresses hung in rows and rows all in plastic covers. Let's face, plastic wrapped white phoofy things all look the same. So we waited for one of the saleswoman to be ready to see us. Sharletta didn't seem to interested in us once she found out we weren't ready to lay down the cold, hard cash on the spot still my friend managed to find a few frocks to try on. They all looked big and white and shiny.

Once Sharletta dismissed us, we thought maybe we'd look through pattern books at Lincraft - getting something made would be a cheaper option. My friend didn't like any of the patterns. I still don't see why she so easily cast aside the mini-at-the-front, train-at-the-back option. I guess she doesn't have my legs.

Next stop was the Mariana Hardwick clearance shop in Fitzroy. A few more dresses were tried and dismissed. It was there I found my dream dress. A black Victorian frock in purple complete with bustle with a black lace jacket/sleeves type thing over the top. It was only $5000. I think I need it. Sure I have no plans to get hitched in the near future but I could wear it for other things - cleaning the house, going to get the mail, drinkings with Sugar Lips.

We headed around to the front, non-clearance, part of the shop were we could look at the dresses without an appointment but couldn't try them on. It was a veritable salon for nuptual-clad females. And there we found the first dress. For only $4,000. Yeah the price of an overseas holiday or a secondhand car. We are going back next weekend so my friend can have a fitting.

So now I know more than I ever wanted to know about the innumerable shades of white and about petticoats and about beading. I have yet to fit out what delustred satin actually is but I'm sure I'll find out over the next few weeks.

People are MoFos

2005-11-24T08:56:00.000+10:00

Yesterday I applied for a job. This morning, I received an email from the agency saying "Unfortunately, based on the criteria set by our client, your application has not been successful." What the hell does that mean? The job involved simple Excel shit. I feel like ringing the agency and screaming down the phone -- "What part of Excel guru do you not understand? Mofos!"

I could do that job with one hand tied behind my back while reading extensive webpages,writing a novel and catching up on personal phone calls (hell that's how I do my best work).

Then I remembered that going to work might cut into my heavy spider solitaire playing schedule so I put the phone down.

Talking of mofos - you know how are total and utter arseholes who just have any protuding sexual organs removed? My neighbours! Not all of them, just the ones who think it is a good idea to have an all night party on a Wednesday. That is so not cool. If I had any idea which neighbours they were, I'd go do something mean to them.

In non-MoFo news: a comment by the lovely Aimee I remembered I used to run an online mag of steamy erotica, Lustre. I had a further heaping of guilt when I realised it is actually listed in the Australian Marketplace book. So I'm thinking of relaunching - bigger, better and differenter. The site will be up soon. Stay poised by your computer. By the way, if you have writing/editing experience or talent and are looking for an unpaid way to put those talents to use, let me know.

Me!

2005-11-17T09:42:00.000+10:00

I've put my writing site back up and it is here. Not a lot of new content because I've been concentrating on my novel for the past many months.

Hello... is anyone there...

2005-11-13T20:23:00.000+10:00

I hate people who don't update their blogs for ages then they post with a big apology, like the world is sitting in front of their screens pressing the refresh button, just waiting for them to update so no apologises from me. I realise the only people who are waiting for me to update are those comment spammers and I'm far too lazy to put verification on.

So here is a quick cheatsheet to ME:

Job: gone, done finished. Now I'm a writer. Yeah, you know what that means.

Weight: down.

Sex: yeah right, as if.

Hair: copper.

That's it. That's my life at the moment. Blah blah blah.

Question

2005-10-15T09:36:00.000+10:00

Last night I met up with friends to see a show called Clique (or something like that) at the Speigeltent. While we waited and waited and waited in the line to get in, I had a rant about stuff. Stuff mainly about the Ticketek office in the city and how they are only open from 9-5 so how the hell are you supposed to pick up your tickets after work... and how wants to schlep from one end of the city to the other in their lunch hour. Bastards.

So my friends asked for what was I picking up tickets.

The wrestling, I said. WWE.

And that was met with the usual response. Eye rolling and head shaking. And the obligatory... you do know it's all fake, don't you? They rehearse all that stuff beforehand.

Der.

So we get inside the speigeltent and the show starts. It wasn't quite what I was expecting. Last year we saw a show called, I think, the Burlesque Hour, which was mighty entertaining, and I expected something similar. But last night was far more straight circus/acrobatics with a few twists. You know something, acrobatics bore me senseless. Sure I can appreciate that these people are doing amazing with their bodies but it isn't entertainment. And sure, the finale - a dude in a bathtub, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans hoisting his extremely toned body around the stage - had appeal. I don't there were many dry seats in the tent for that performance, and not just from the water he was splashing around.

But mostly, as I watched the show, I thought - what's the difference? I felt like rolling my eyes and asking my friends - you do know it's all fake, don't you? They rehearse all that stuff beforehand.

Why does the mention of wrestling have everyone rolling their eyes while a bunch of dudes in tights swinging on ropes gets 'ohs' and 'ahs'? Is it because we are sitting in a fancy German tent sipping wine rather than the Rod Laver arena waving giant foam hands? It takes as much, if not more, skill to be a pro-wrestler than to twirl on a bit of rope. The show has as much theatrics, as much dramatics and far more chair breaking.

I don't pretend to understand culture. I'm a simple country girl. And that's why on the 29th of this month, Sugar Lips and I will not only be sitting in the stands, chanting abuse with the rest of the yokels, but we will be standing in that queue at JB for the afternoon waiting to meet our favourite wrestling stars.

A Jazzyhands Record?

2005-09-25T03:36:00.000+10:00

No one has probably noticed this, but I've been working in my current job for over six months and haven't yet posted, not once, anything about how much I hate my job. That must be a record for me. Maybe I don't hate my job. Novel concept.

Happy Birthday to ME!

2005-09-12T22:52:00.000+10:00

This year is shaping up to be my best 25th birthday ever. The Kathryn Birthday carnival started last Friday when I realised I'd lost 20 kilogram - an event planned for next Friday but who's complaining.

The festivities continued tonight with a special birthday hair colour, then tomorrow is the birthday leg waxing. Thursday is dinner with the family where I shall receive either a) receive my special birthday ipod or b) hurt them a lot.

Then Friday is the big day - I am celebrating by taking the day off. I'll start with a special birthday breakfast then a session at the gym. Next is a shiatsu, that's who massage then lunch with mum and my sister where I will either be a) glowingly grateful or b) sullen and miserable.

That night I will wine, dine and rock at Revolver with some of my favourite people.

Saturday is dinner and maybe, just maybe karaoke with my two sisters and mum.

That is mucho ME time yet not nearly enough.

Rejected

2005-09-05T21:26:00.000+10:00

I had my Australia Council grant application returned today. I didn't meet the publishing credits part of the eligibility criteria, so I leafed through the returned application to see what had been disallowed.

Seems the Literary Board doesn't count fiction published in Playgirl.

So maybe it Playgirl isn't one of your more elitist literary journals but screw them. Playgirl pays in cold, hard cash and sends you a magazine with your story wedged between pictures of well hung men. Find me a literary journal that does that and I might become literary.

Resolved?

2005-08-31T19:54:00.000+10:00

Since this year is almost 3/4 over, I thought I'd revisit the resolutions I wrote at the beginning of the year and see how I was going:

Financial:

Save 10% of my pay. Because I work as a temp I have realised that I need to save in order to have sick days and holidays. Sounds obvious really but I'm a bit thick about these things. Ideally I'd like to have about a month's salary set aside to tide me over. As if. I am still catching up on debts from Jan/Feb this year when I went through the Great Financial Disaster. Because I got further into debt, plus had to borrow from family and friends, sorting out that mess has been a greater priority. Must remember to save. 0/10

Get out of debt. Not so acheivable but necessary. Getting there. 6/10

Look for a permanent part time job that pays enough to support me. Not yet, still working on the two above. But my contract has been extended to the end of the year and I think once I've worked that out, I'll work on finding something part time. 0/10.

Find a cheaper place to live. Done. My current rent is almost half what I used to pay and includes bills. I am a champion on this one. This move was going to be a temporary thing but I'm settling in here. Not only is the price right but, apart from adjusting to communal living, I like the place. 10/10

Writing

Submit 12 stories. I've submitted some, but not really written any new stories. More a case of "here's one I prepared earlier". I haven't kept good records either because of being between computers for part of the year. Maybe I've submitted about 6. 5/10

Finish the first draft of my novel. Getting there. It's about 3/4 done. It's taking forever. But I'll have it done by the end of the year if it means typing my fingers off over the Xmas hols. 5/10

Health

Lose 10 kgs. Big ticks. I've lost 18.4 kilos. Exceeded expections. 20/10.

Get blood sugar levels stable. Done. I have the bsl of a regular Joe. Now working on reducing medication. Woohoo! 10/10

That's it. A 56 out of a possible 80. That's damn fine. Maybe I'll make it up to 100% by the end of the year. If I win Tattslotto or get a sugar daddy or something.

I think this is the only year ever that I've gone back over a resolution list and been able to tick stuff off. See that weight loss - exceeded expectations. Every year I make the same list - lose weight, get out of debt, write stuff. Normally I would put "lose weight" without setting a specific goal. And I'd fail. I wouldn't even lose a single kilo (because technically that would be not failing). Setting your goals low works wonders for me. Maybe I should remember that for next year.

Songs About Whores

2005-08-30T20:15:00.000+10:00

Once Sugar Lips and I had a routine. We'd go out for drinks (well a drink, cos we are financially restrained) and much chat and merriment until the small hours of the morning in a Northcote drinkery (that I shan't name because it would then become packed out with my screaming hordes of fans and internet stalkers).

But lately we have been seeking new adventures, moving out of our comfort zone to find people and places to explore and mercilessly mock. Last weekend was a spontaneous trip to Melbourne's wonderland - the Crown Casino. But I'm not going to mock Crown here. It's too easy.

This Friday, we were on the hunt for fun again. We ended up in one of the few unspoilt pockets of St Kilda, the Greyhound Hotel, playing and winning games of pool, playing and losing games of pool, listening to some good old fashioned rock on the jukebox and learning about the true meaning of In The Ghetto.

But before ending up there, in the actual process of journeying there, we spotted several ladies of the evening causing Sugar Lips to break into a sound of Girls on the Avenue. Much later, this expanded into a game called Songs about Whores. Of course, we got through the obvious ones - Private Dancer, Roxanne, Teenage Whore by Hole. Then Sugar Lips, as is his want, came in with some damn obscure ones that I can't remember. Then he followed it with some just plain dodgy ones.

These songs are not about whores, no matter what Sugar Lips tries to argue:

Luka, by Suzanna Vega
Lola, by the Kinks
Superstar, by the Carpenters

And, technically, any song written about Courtney Love is a song about whores. Don't you agree? Just to digress, Courtney is pregnant again, what the fuck!

So we ended the night driving past more whores - girl whores and boy whores and a very ugly horse face whore (who was snapped up surprisingly fast). Then we came home and had coffee. Adventures are tiring.

Things that perplex me:

2005-08-24T20:46:00.000+10:00

1. Giftware: How does something exist solely to be a gift? That makes my brain hurt. What is the point of a gift that's primary purpose is in being a gift? Surely that makes it redundant once it's been given? Like giving someone a pre-stratched scratchie? The only thing you can do with it is give it to someone else as a gift who can give it to someone else. And that just perpetuates the cycle of stupidity and redundancy and makes everyone sad. Never purchase anything from a shop that sells giftware. Giftware is evil, I tells ya. Gifts should be good and useful things like booze and cigarettes.

2. People who, when catching trams to work and two trams come along concurrently (as they tend to), get on the first tram. This is most of Melbourne. It is much biazzre and I don't get it. Maybe people like crowded, smelly trams with no seats. Suits me fine, I just get on the second tram and have a whole seat to myself.

3. Where to buy a decent mat for my room without spending a shitload of cash. Your sensible suggestions most welcome.

4. Why my hairdresser couldn't copy a simple photo instead of reinterpreting it to her own liking. You would think the word "layers" would be very much in a hairdressers vocabulary. Any suggestions on hairdressers around Melbs also appreciated.

5. Brown. Why is it still in fashion? Why was it in fashion in the first place? Why was it ever teamed with pink? It isn't the new black, it's the new lime green. Go away brown, maybe to a forest or something, you tree-hugging hippy of a colour.

That is it for the moment, I think. Tackling these big issues has made me sleepy.

Ever Fallen In Love?

2005-08-17T20:53:00.000+10:00

Have you ever fallen in love? In love at first sight? The first glance enough to know that this is forever? Except it isn't forever. It isn't even for now. Elusivenss just adds to the allure, but as the first glance turns to a second and the second to a sigh, you curse your foolish self for only seeing the shiny surface.

Yeah it happened to me. Recently.

They sat in the window of a retro clothes shop on High Street. The perfect pair of black shoes with a T-bar strap. In my size. I had to have them. In those shoes, I'd be at least 10, maybe 15 percent cooler. In those shoes, I'd get laid and be in the gang with the cool kids. In those shoes, I'd get offered free beer and finally understand why people like The Pixies.

But as is the case with your typical retro cool store, it was never open when I was around. Even for the whole week when I was off work sick. And no, I didn't chuck a sickie for the whole week just to buy shoes.

I'd walk past and gaze loving through the window, drool dripping from my chin. Then the next time they'd be gone. Those cheeky minxes. Toying with me. Knowing they had me hooked. Then they'd be back. Still the shop was never open when I was around.

So Sunday it finally happened. Sunday I got to hold them in my hand, caress their soft skin. But before I could make them mine, before I got sink my rock hard, blood-engorged foot inside the slinky softness of their skin, I realised they were a sham. Imitation leather. Not on my feet.

I sat them back on the shelf and walked back out onto the cold streets to look for a pair of shoes more worthy.

Still Still Sick

2005-08-11T15:45:00.000+10:00

And I have not got quite enough sympathy. I didn't realise the flu could go for this long or be this bad. I have been going insane, in that limbo where I'm not sick enough to just sleep all day but too sick to do anything constructive. Normally when I'm ill I can at least use the time to write or catch up on other projects but at the moment I am lucky if I can sit at the computer for more than an hour. I have agonising pain in the back of my thighs and my eyes get all sore and burning. I'm a wreck, I tells ya.

Luckily I bought my handy little dvd player on the weekend. I have never had a dvd player of my very own before. It is weird going to buy or hire dvds knowing that I'm the only person going to be watching them. Woohoo for not having to take other people's tastes into account.

Hey, I just realised... I can hire/buy/borrow/steal movies with EXPLICIT SEX scenes in them without worrying that my son is going to walk through the room while I'm watching them. Bring on the porn. But not now, when I'm feeling better.

So this is what I have watched so far this illness: (* = I own them)

Season 1 Buffy*
Hotel New Hampshire*
Rocky 3 *
Donnie Darko *
(that is all the dvds in my miserly collection - apart from Starsky & Hutch which my sister got in Bali and won't play on my dvd player and Zoolander that I can't stand thought of watching again)
Season 1 Northern Exposure
Puberty Blues (my all time favourite Australian movie and if you don't like it you can shut up, ya fish-face moll)
The Royal Tennenbaums

That's it. I thought it was more. I am now going to watch season 2 of Northern Exposure while snuggling up to my hot water bottle.

Oh and does anyone know a good place to get rugs (that's Rugs, no "d")? I have wooden floor boards have realised over the last couple of days that they have huge gaps between them, esp near the computer. It is ever so drafty.

Damn Them All

2005-08-09T22:02:00.000+10:00

Why does Coles have people working on the cigarette counter that know nothing about cigarettes? It is damn irritating. It is bad enough that you are restricted to one stupid checkout aisle to buy fags (and don't get me started on non-smokers who use that checkout) without having to waste precious minutes of my life explaining to some stupid girl the difference between menthol and real cigarettes. Seriously, I'm a smoker. I have less minutes of my life to spare than other people. Go waste the time of the Pink Lungs, they have life-minutes to burn.

You wouldn't employ someone who didn't know the difference between pork and beef to work in the butchers, you wouldn't employ someone who didn't know the difference between fetta and jarlsberg* to work in the deli so why do it on the cigarette counter?

*Disclaimer: this is Coles who aren't known for the competency of their staff, so this may in fact be a regular occurence but I have never experienced being given jarlsberg when I ask for fetta or vice versa.

Blah

2005-08-08T18:08:00.000+10:00

I went to Ikea. It was full of people with kids. This might not be a nice thing to say but I am sick of other people's kids. Like they are fine on an individual basis, when you go to visit a friend and their kids are polite or funny or cute but as a mass group, they are just annoying.

So I think that the people in charge of such things should declare a No Kids day once a week or even once a month. A day when people can go shopping without kids being around. How lovely. No screaming and wailing. No having to dawdle because some stupid woman with a pram is walking down the middle of a walkway making it impossible to get past her. No anklebitters running around irritating me with their presence. Ah, bliss.

Ikea was shite. Don't they do catalogues any more? I wanted a mat but the only large mats they had for under $500 were white. Who the fuck has a white mat? Not people with kids that's for sure. Or people with pets. Or people with shoes.

Still Sick

2005-08-08T10:11:00.000+10:00

The nose is dripping, the mouth is coated, the throat is tickly. I'm fed up with myself. Being sick gets real dull very quickly. I've got the window open, airing out my room because for some reason it reeks of cigarette smoke. Dunno how that happened since I'm not supposed to smoke in here. Oops. I wish I could air myself out, hang me out and get rid of the cobwebs.

I think I might take a health-inducing trip to Ikea. That would have many benefits, including Swedish Meatballs. I just checked their website and if I'd got my shit together earlier, I could have had a slap up breakfast for the whopping great sum of $2.50. Some other time maybe.

I love Ikea when it's quiet. During the week when the hordes of browsers with their ill mannered children are somewhere else. Where I can wander the display rooms imagining that I live in a place of simple Swedish elegance, with clever design and ingenious storage solutions. There is something peacegiving and zen-like about Ikea when it's quiet.

Ikea is to me what Tiffanys was to Holly Golighty. Yes, I think I'll go to Ikea.

Sick

2005-08-05T23:38:00.000+10:00

I've got the flu so I've taken to my bed. Well except for now when I garnered my strength to get online and tell the world I'm sick and thus get a flood of sympathy and well wishes (yeah, you, I'm talking to you). I also ventured out twice before. Once to get cigarettes (I know) and diet pepsi then again to get the cough lollies I forgot the first time.

Luckily I've got plenty of books to read. Just finished - Heathcliffe, Return to Wuthering Heights. Who could resist that on the library shelves. Man oh man. It was everything I was expecting.

The worst of being ill is that tomorrow I get paid for the first time in five long, miserable weeks. I wanted to go out and spend, spend, spend as you do when you get money unless you are one of those miserly saving folk. Now I'm not so sure that my will to shop is strong enough. I might just make it to JB to buy myself a telly and dvd player. And I need new pyjamas - my old ones all so big as to look like clown pants. Oh yeah, and I need food. And a pretty, party dress. Yikes.

Men!

2005-08-01T22:30:00.000+10:00

I haven't posted about internet dating in a while, mostly because I haven't been internet dating. but I still keep my profile up on some sites.

So...

About a week or two ago, I got an email from a guy that sounded promising. I emailed him back then he emailed me. The usual story. Then he sent an email with a long list of questions. I read it but didn't answer it immediately because I didn't have the time. Two days later, I sat down to answer and I'd received another email from him. An email demanding to know why I hadn't answered his previous email.

Okay, so I answered, explaining that I'd been busy and hadn't had time to get back to him. That day I got another email with a very patronising reprimand about my lag in responding. I was pretty damn angry, let me tell you. Apparently email ettiquette demands that if you aren't going to answer an email immediately, you email to let the other person know. Well, excuse me.

I wasn't sure what to do. I mean if this was how he acted after three emails, imagine going out with this guy... a real barrel of laughs.

The thing is, I have this fear in the back of my mind that if I say the wrong thing in these situations the guy will get really angry with me and there will be consequences. My first thought is to avoid making them angry. Weird, huh?

Then I thought about it. For starters, this dude has no concern about pissing me off. Secondly, he doesn't even know my real name. And last, but way not least, why the hell shouldn't I tell this guy to fuck off? Seriously, I don't have to email, talk to, go out with or do anything with any guy if I don't want to. I have no obligation to someone after a few emails and if he can't handle that then that is his problem.

I think guys use this fear sometimes to make women, especially me, do unwise and wimpy things. Well no more. I am going to be stronger and more assertive. What do I have to lose? A couple of dates with big knobjockey jerks, that's what.

From now on, any man that wants me (and sure there isn't exactly a queue around the block) will have to win me. Flowers graciously accepted.

Characters

2005-07-30T10:09:00.000+10:00

Have you ever read a book that has a character in it that you know is played by Hugh Grant in the movie? And as you are reading the book, you don't see the character as the character but as Hugh Grant? Kind of weird, isn't it.

I was thinking about this, see Hugh Grant isn't the kind of actor that is known for the diversity of his acting roles. There is a "Hugh Grant" character, much in the same way there is certain font that seems to be used in the title for most of his movies (my sister and I call it Times Hugh Roman because we are extremely witty).

People aren't just writing books with characters that just happen to suit Hugh Grant. No way. They are writing books and all the time thinking to themselves, this is the Hugh Grant character. I know this because I'm a writer and I'm writing a book and in my head I'm thinking this is the Hugh Grant character - kind of charming but rakish and untrustworthy.

On a similar note, the new Harry Potter - I don't know if you read it but to me the characters seem to be more in line with the movie characters. It must be weird writing something when you have already seen the interpretation of your characters by two different movie directors. It's got to influence what you write.

Idol

2005-07-27T15:44:00.000+10:00

I had to watch Australian Idol last night, even though it meant a trip to the gym to do so (still don't have a telly, damn it). Okay I would have gone to the gym anyway but it meant listening to it though my dodgy walkman radio and having to miss bits while I went in the other room to do my legs and other HUGE sacrifices. Pity me.

Who the fuck is that Kyle dude? I know he is on some woeful commerical radio show with that skankola hag, Jackie O (how overexposed is she getting at the moment? You know how much of Jackie O I want to see on my tv/in my magazines/anywhere? Zero. Less that zero. I want to see negative Jackie O. And she is supposed to be the voice of the thinking Australian woman for some shampoo company? Why does shampoo need a "thinking" spokesperson anyway? Aren't they supposed to be dealing with the outside of my head, not the inside? I'd rather have some brain-damaged retard presenting me - oh wait, what's the difference?) What does anyone on commerical radio know about music anyway? Huh?

Anyway, now I am torn. It's like, I want to like the mean judge. After all, they are about tearing down people's dreams and destroying their lives. And I like that. That's why I watch Idol. Come on, admit it. So do you.

If some talentless little bimbo has spent her life being treated as such a princess that her parents and friends won't even tell her she sings like a billygoat shitting in a kerosene can (one of my dad's favourite expressions) then she deserves to be humilated on national television. It is right and character building.

But, on the other hand, I can't like Kyle. He is like vomit in human form. I would love to see a disgruntled auditioner stab him in the guts on camera. Everything about him is wrong. And he's not even shaggable like Dicko.

And what is with everyone wanting to be the quirky Asian guy this year? That's just a bit old hat and boring now. Do something new. Be the quirky Quatemalian dude or something.

Where In The World Am I?

2005-07-24T12:56:00.000+10:00

Failure

2005-07-23T12:19:00.000+10:00

Sometimes the realisation of failure steals softly into your life, like a lover's caress before they creep off in the dawn light, sometimes it comes in a letter or an email or message. By far the hardest though is when failure hits you like a brick between the eyes wrapped up in two little words uttered in all innocence.

I've never said I was the best mother in the world. Sure I've been a little negligent in some of my motherly duties. I worked hard and partied hard though my son's formative years but along the way I thought I'd at least taken the time to teach him life's basics. The minimum knowledge you need to get on in the world. But apparently not. In two words, one question, he shattered any illusions I had about teaching him well.

"Who's Mossy?"

We were in the car discussing bands who have recently released albums and are therefore Big Day Out possibilities when I mentioned that Mr Moss has a new album coming out. As the words to Tucker's Daughter filled the car, Andrew asked the near-fatal question. I say near-fatal because I almost crashed into an oncoming car in my shock.

"Mossy," I answered thinking no further explanation was necessary.

"Yeah. Who is he?"

"Ian Moss. Mossy." Thinking he was just hard of hearing.

He looked at me with a blank face. Not that that is so unusual. He's a teenage boy for god sake. But this was exceptionally blank.

"You know, Tuckers Daughter, Telephone Booth on the Highway...."

Still blank.

"Guitarist for Cold Chisel."

Finally a response, albeit lukewarm. We drove on in silence for a while as the daggers of failure permeated my heart.

Share House Living

2005-07-21T22:15:00.000+10:00

You know, this is the first time I've shared a place with people I don't know, not that my living circumstances are really like sharing. More living concurrently in the same space with people. I don't really have anything to do with them.

Anyway, I'd been getting really annoyed because someone has been leaving the kitchen in a pigsty. A real pigsty. Like chunks of meat all over the benches and dirty dishes chucked in the sink. That bugs me. I mean, why put your dirty dishes in the sink if you aren't going to wash them? It just means that I have to move them when I want to wash my stuff.

I thought it was the dude who lives in the house and have been giving him the evil eye but today he called me over for a private chat when I was putting out the rubbish and asked if I'd noticed the state of the kitchen. He's pissy about it too. We figured it was one of the other girls and we are pretty sure which one. But she's moving out soon so hopefully we will get someone relatively tidy.

Other things that bug me: people not replacing the toilet paper. I don't mind doing it but I shouldn't have to do it every time; people thumping around at night; other people having sex; people having a piss in the toilet at night and not flushing - I think they think the flushing will be annoying at night but it's not nearly as annoying as waking up to a toilet filled with someone else's stale piss.

Other than that, it's good. Especially now I have the internet. Still no telly but I don't miss it. If I need tv, I can watch it at the gym. I like Northcote and I love my gym and I love my room with it's bay window and ornate fireplace. It's starting to feel a little like home. Tonight after work, I walked in the door and thought "it's good to be home". That's a first. I must be putting down roots.

Where The Palm Trees Have It Hard

2005-07-20T21:42:00.000+10:00

Tonight I had to go to St Kilda. I don't get over to that side of the city much any more. When I first moved to Melbourne, I spend the first six years or so in St Kilda, well the St Kilda area (including Balaclava, Elwood etc). I only left to go to work or occasionally into the city. I thought Carlton was like the outer suburbs and didn't know the difference between Smith St and Brunswick St (and couldn't get there without a Melways).

All my friends lived in the area. I went out in the area. I ate in the area. I had no reason to leave. The only black spot on my lovely St Kilda horizon was the influx of summer tourists from far flung 'burbs filling up my space. Blocking the roads, rubbernecking and not knowing how to go around the Acland Street roundabout.

But all good things come to an end. By the time I left St Kilda, the place had gone to ruin. The Prince had the sticky carpets removed and the fake wood panel torn off the walls. The smackie bar out the back had become a vodka bar. The staff had gotten progressively more trendy. The Espy has held off longer but is going the same way.

Last year I was working at a bank and one of the guys that I worked with epitomised the "new" St Kilda. He was proud of his new townhouse and wanted to go to "nice" wine bars where you didn't have to deal with "those people". "Those people" being the people who lived in the area when he wouldn't have dreamed of living there. Blerk.

Tonight I realised that everywhere in that place has some emotional resonance, every I looked has memories attached. Nothing exciting. No stories to entertain you. Just memories of people and times that are gone. Walking down to the breakwater on a sweltering summer's night with a few beers, a million dinners with cheap and nasty house wine at La Porchetta, a zillion $1 pot nights at the Prince belting out Supremes and arguing over who was Miss Ross, nights in the gutter and nights in limos.

Whenever I think of Home, I think of my flat in St Kilda. I bitched about it when I lived there but miss it a lot. I miss those friends, sneaking stubbies into the Prince, playing pool on a weekday afternoon; selling quilts and handbags in a run down shop; popping pills in Catani Gardens; walking home dressed in drag on a Sunday morning; down and out on Fitzroy Street; drunk and talking shit at the Greyhound; listening to Nirvana on the jukebox at the Grosvenor.

Good days but they aint coming back, good friend scattered. Time to make new memories I guess. It's weird to go back though, it makes me homesick.

Woo - fucking - hoo!

2005-07-18T18:05:00.000+10:00

I am writing this from my room, not a smelly old internet cafe reeking of stale fart, not from someone else's house, not from work - from my own house and my own computer. And I'm using the services of fascist pig dogs Telstra either but mobile interneting... look ma, no phone lines!

Guess who the most excited girl in the world is right now? Yep, me.

The Tale of the Bad Pants

2005-07-14T21:11:00.000+10:00

About a month or so ago, maybe 2 months, I can't remember, I was in Katies and I needed some work pants and they had some pants on sale for $18 and they weren't great pants, not even good pants but they were passable pants so I bought them cos any pants are better than no pants in winter.

The pants were too long, far too long. So I took them to the tailor shop near work and got them taken up. I didn't even think of the cost, it was just some plain hemming. So, $22 for hemming later, the pants aren't looking so cheap.

The pants have a big metal rectangle buckle that is supposed to go lengthways and never sits right. It digs into my belly when I'm seated, which is a considerable part of my work day. I get red belly marks from the pants. The buckle is not decorative but an intergal part of the stay-up-ability of the pants so I can't remove it.

I hadn't worn the bad pants for about 2 weeks but I wore them today. I had little else clean for work. The pants are now too big. Bad pants. They are the kind of pants that look dreadful too big. Sad and saggy, not cute and baggy.

So I have a pair of bad pants that cost me a total of $40 that I can't wear any more. They are truly bad pants. I might try to sell them on ebay so someone else can have bad pants.

Bastards

2005-07-10T17:53:00.000+10:00

I'm posting this from an internet cafe because my Iburst mobile modem didn't show up on Friday as promised. I could tell you a long and boring story about the cuntiness of courier companies but I won't cos I have run across the road and put my washing in the dryer and this internet cafe reeks of fart.

Confession

2005-07-06T22:43:00.000+10:00

There's something I have to confess. Please don't hate me for it. See, unlike the rest of the universe, I don't give a shit about Angelina Jolie. That's right. Couldn't give a rat's arse. About her or Brad Pitt or even Jennifer Aniston or whatever that bimbo from Friends' name is. If they disappeared off this planet, I wouldn't even notice except that someone else's mug would be on the cover of the magazines as I walk past the news stands.

You know if Angelina Jolie invited me to her birthday, I probably wouldn't even go. Unless there was free booze. But I wouldn't buy her a present. And if it was cold and rainy, I probably would just stay at home with a good book.

Wanna know something else. I don't care about Big Brother either.

You do still like me, don't you?

Flow

2005-06-29T17:24:00.000+10:00

Hey girls, have you ever had that feeling, that warm, fuzzy feeling deep in the pit of your heart, when you have looked into the smiling face of some man and realised that this is The One, this is the real thing, the thing they sing about and write sonnets to, the thing that is our reason for existing?
Have you ever glimpsed this man creature and wondered how you ever lived without him? Cried and ached because you couldn't? Hung around like a love sick puppy?

Have you done all this for a crazed and demented 2 days then woke up on the third morning with rat's gnawing at your gut and nipples that feel like they have had a run in with the cheese grater and realised that, yes, it's that time of month and the whole lurve thing has just been hormonal?

Aint periods a bitch?

Before I go any further, if the mention of menstruation is too salty for your delicate ears (or eyes) then stop right here. This is just going to get worse. Much worse.

See there are some women who talk about the beauty and wonder of being a fertile woman, a procreating Goddess, a fully functioning Earth Mother. These women tend to be ethereal, Stevie Nicks type creatures in white flowing gowns and crowns of daisies who squeeze out a few delicate drops of menstrual blood before going back to commune with the woodland animals gathering herbs for healing poultices.

Not me, no siree-bob. I'm like the mighty Mississippi, the Niagra Falls. I am an unstoppable force. The real reason I left Tasmania was because the government had such a penchant for hydro-electricity, damming any kind of natural flowing fluid. I was scared I was next on the list after the Gordon and the Franklin. Seriously, I had Greenies camping out in my bush, chaining themselves to...

But that's more about me that you ever wanted to know right? Let's just say this: those of us with high IQs can join Mensa. Well the way I bleed, I could join Menstra. S

ee dudes don't understand. They don't know that moment of horror when you are in mid-mense and you pop in to visit a dear friend. Your bosum buddy takes you into the lounge and invites you to make yourself at home on their brand new snow-white sofa. Yeah, you know the drill. You sit with your legs crossed, running to the bathroom to change your tampon every five minutes. Cos there no book of ettiquette ever advices you how to tackle the 'I just perioded on your furniture' situation. I mean, you could punch yourself in the nose and pretend you had a nose bleed or contort yourself so you slop your coffee on the exact spot of the stain. Or maybe just swathe yourself like an Eyptian Mummy to prevent any chance of accidents.

And you know why dudes don't understand? You wanna know why? It's because while OUR unfertilised reproductive fluids are meant to be icky and disgusting... hidden away and not talked about... they think we love their emissions. We love them so much we want to bathe in them, not just swallow up gulp them down, rub them all over our faces and breasts and bellies. Think about it, how many web sites do you see devoted to the male enjoyment of female emissions (okay, there probably are some and you don't need to send me the links, but they would be minisucle in comparison).

So what's the point of this rant? I dunno, don't ask me, I don't want to talk about it and why the fuck do you wanna know anyway. Go away, I'm on my rags.

Crazy Days

2005-06-25T16:45:00.000+10:00

Omg... since Andrew's left home, he's doing wild things I'd never, ever imagined him doing before. Things beyond my comprehension. He went to the library and got out books. For his entire life, I've only known him to read like 2 fictional books that he didn't have to read. Oh, and the Harry Potters. Andrew reading, what next?

Life in general

2005-06-23T21:26:00.000+10:00

I don't have much to say at the moment, I am never online enough to spew my usual rantings on the page. You can't plan these things for a moment of net time in an internet cafe, you know. You have to move when the rage strikes.

I do have one golden moment to share with you, my reader (singular at that). On the tram the other night a family sat behind talking about their day in court... seems most of our legal system are overweight vaginas... when the mother turned to her son with these words...

You have your father's smile; that's how I know who he is.

Oh, public transport. You gotta love it.

Speaking of which, my car is going now. Woohoo! I love the mobility. Mobility rocks. Petrol prices, however, don't.

***

I dunno if I've mentioned this before, but I hate monthly pays. Monthly pays were invented by Satan to torture us all. A month is too, too long to budget for especially when you have many financial commitments. So this weekend will be spent hibernating or freeloading I feel. Next week, I shop.

How frigging cold is it? I think the first thing I'm going to buy when I get paid is a big assed heater. I love heaters.

***

So, that's my life. Work is slow but steady.. steadily boring me to tears that is. But it pays. I still don't have a telly so I'm missing the intellectual stimulation that is Big Brother but I'm going to the gym regular-like. All the staff know my name! Who'd have guess, huh?

***

So, readerly folk, that's it until next time. Oh yeah. The second thing I'm going to spend my hard earned cash on, after the big assed heater, is getting the internet. Yep, more regular Jazzyhands updates - it will be like Metamucal for the soul.

Mobility

2005-06-18T15:35:00.000+10:00

My car is fixed. Hoorah! I have wheels. I can drive all night listening to bad country music. I am free.

It is kinda embarassing when the mechanic has to clean your car. Even more embarassing when he tells you that you left a cigarette burning in the ashtray and the guys refused to work on your car until the smoke died down. Most embarassing of all is remembering that the handcuffs your friend gave you as a gag are still in the back of the car.

If my life was a porno, the mechanic would have been hot and he would have been leaning on the doorframe swinging the cuffs in his hands when i went to pick up my car but, alas, my life is reality and mechanic was kinda gross.

Simultaneous

2005-06-11T21:47:00.000+10:00

I flew home to Tassie for the long weekend. It is nice, you know. I can use my sister's internet and smoke at the same time. At my new house, I have no internet and I can't smoke. I can go out and use the net or I can go out and smoke but simultaneously. It is the simultaneously that makes all the difference. Simultaneously rocks.

Tasmania is so green. The greenness amazes me every time I come home. I mean greenness in the sense that everything is so green, not that it is full of greenies.

I sense I will post more about Tassie later. Right now I have to maximise my simultaneous smoking and net surfing time.

Paris

2005-06-08T22:13:00.000+10:00

If you read the covers of women's magazines in the supermarket check out line like I do then you might be aware that Ms Paris Hilton is engaged. She says god bought them together. Hey bitch, hasn't god given you enough? Like money and thinness and fame and stuff (although, as we all know, Paris must have missed out when god was handing out cock-sucking ability). Damn, Paris. Bitch.

You know what though, I'd like to open those magazines and see this quote (it might not be true but it should be: "I know it's true love because he hasn't sold tapes of our sex life on the internet... yet."

You are here.

2005-06-08T21:58:00.000+10:00

Hey, guess what? My life doesn't suck for once. Sure it aint a bed of roses but things are moving along nicely. I've got a new (secondhand) pc and will be getting the internet connected soon. I've been paid and got some cool new threads. I'm going home for the long weekend to be nestled in the family bosum. It's not great, but it's getting there.

There is so much more to say when life sucks.

Other Things

2005-06-03T18:25:00.000+10:00

Do you ever think that if you didn't have tv and the net sucking up all your time you'd have so much more time for Other Things? All those dreams you could achieve? Worthy and meaningful things?

Yeah, you think, man, I should ditch the telly, unplug the net and get into the real world and things, Other Things. Without net/telly I'd have hours aday for working on my life.

But all those Other Things you dream of doing - like writing a novel or reading a novel or going to the gym or learning to knit or helping the elderly - they are just feeble pipe dreams - they don't exist. (I could get all preachy and let you know that if you wanted to do them, you'd do them regardless of telly or net or life itself. You'd miss Big Brother to write, leave your email to rot for an hour while you worked out, maybe even skip the 100th repeat of the Monorail episode of the Simpsons, but you don't, do you?)

These plug in resources are your only friends, your only solace. They aren't distractions from your life, they are your life. So face up to it, you weakling. Instead of disparaging your need for electronic entertainment, embrace it. Hold it tight for all it's worth. Make love to it but never cum in it's mouth or creep out in the cold light of morning.

For one day, my friends, you might be like me and have all your techno-crutches torn away, like a foetus from your womb (or rather, you are the foetus and the toys your nice warm uterual home). You might be aborted into the harsh world of "your own devices" and you will learn the hard way.

After living 6 weeks with no net and no telly, I'll let you in on a secret... there are NO Other Things. There is a wall to stare at and there is a phone that doesn't ring. The outside world is as cold and sterile as the bucket into which they drop that aborted foetus. It is as empty and as stark.

Tomorrow, I get paid. Tomorrow I get a computer and a telly and all the happiness money can buy... until I run out that is. Tomorrow I am like the foetus that crawls out of the bucket and slides along the operating room floor. Slowly but determinedly, I will snuggle myself back into the womb from which I was harshly thrust. Tomorrow I will plug back in.

Metal City Meme

2005-05-27T18:06:00.000+10:00

1. You're stuck inside Fahrenheit 451. Which book do you want to be?

The Great Gatsby. The soul of the jazz era. Beautiful, decadent and fleeting. Just like me. A life spent pursuing a lost dream. Just like mine.

2. Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?

Suzie the bear from Hotel New Hampshire. The main character in every book by Haruki Murakami. David from Metal City.

I was going to say Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights but David would laugh at me.

3. The last book you bought was...?

Dance, Dance, Dance by Haruki Murakami. It rocked.

4. The last book you read was...?

Looking for Andrew McCarthy by Jenny Colgan. One of the funniest chick lit books I've ever read. I sat up all night chortling. Now my housemates think I'm psychotic and that's just the way I like it.

6. Five books you would take to a desert island...

I don't know what happened to #5... mmm, David, what's going on?

Well, if I was going to a dessert island, sorry desert island I would take something like the Dummy's Guide to Getting Off a Desert Island And Finding One With A Swim Up Pool Bar. That would be essential reading, I'd think. But, if that hasn't been written then I'd go for quantity over quality. Even the best books get boring after repeated reading. So how about:

1. The bible. Lots of reading in this and it is pretty funny in parts.
2. War and Peace. It does have some long winded and pretty boring bits in it but it would fill in the time.
3. Valley of the Dolls. At the moment I'm hopelessly addicted to trashy novels and this one is the trashiest of them all.
4. mmm... brains dead... will finish list later.

7. Who are you passing this stick on to and why?

I dunno. How reads this site anyway? If you do, quick put in dibs.

Crud

2005-05-26T21:05:00.000+10:00

Today I thought I'd try a variation on the whole "my life is shit" thing. Today my life is crud. You know, crud. Like that stuff that isn't' big enough or worth enough to actually hate. It just exists and you'd rather it didn't. That's my life, folks.

So what's going on:

I live in a house full of people who are rooting and I aint' getting none. Don't tell that's fair. I hate them all. I hope their private parts shrivel. At times I think it is a race in life between my next shag and death... and death is kicking arse.

My job is blah. I don't hate my job (for a change). I'm in a routine - get up, go to work... blah blah blah. I do get to have lunch with a spunky man occasionally though. But, and this is a big but, bigger than the butt on this chick we used to know who looked like she was wearing one of those hustles under her clothes. She was like one of those rap guys girlfriends... The but is this - I get paid monthly. So over the past 6 weeks I've only had 2 weeks pay to live on.

That means I have no telly, no computer, no internet. You remember when JK Rowling hit the spotlight as an writing megastar and there was the whole thing about her writing HP at the kitchen table as a struggling single parent? Yeah well I have to go to internet cafes. How good is that going to look in the bio? I will have the public by the heartstrings for sure. I mean, sob sob, kitchen table. You can smoke at the kitchen table. You can't at a net cafe. Net cafes suck. They have dodgy keyboards.

Hey, remember how they had that law where you couldn't overtake a tram when it's stopped in case you like, run down people and killed them? What happened to that?

Anyway, back to the no telly shite. I finally get to watch some tv at my friend's place and it was Big Brother uncut. Some ugly inbred dude talking about his sex life (which more than likely involved the pigs on the farm) and showing his big, white, flabby thighs. Imagine if some chick was sitting around the BB house showing her flabby thighs. It would be a national uproar. TV.. who needs it?

So that's my life. Nothing thrilling, just crud.

Fear

2005-05-19T19:58:00.000+10:00

So I'd been planning to have cheap and meaningless sex with random strangers off the internet but when I stopped to think for a minute, I realised I couldn't. It wasn't morals that held me back or a longing for intimacy or any of those finer qualities. Nope. I looked deep in my heart and realised that I am afraid.

Totally and utterly afraid.

Like Rocky, in Rocky 3 after losing the championship fight with Clubber Lang, I can go through the motions but my heart isn't in it because I am afraid. I've lost the eye of the tiger. Even with my own personal Apollo Creed at my side, I've traded my passion for glory.

What to do? I don't have an Adrian to see me through this. I don't have the memory of my departed manager, Mickey. I just have me. Can I do this? Can I get back in the ring? Do I have the strength to regain the world heavy weight root rat title?

Doom and Gloom

2005-05-12T13:01:00.000+10:00

Do you ever feel like the whole world's against you? Well you would have to be excessively paranoid and delusional. See the world is too busy trying to get me to have time to worry about you, my friend.

I finally got my pay (the 2 weeks of pay that has to last me a month and went to the wrong bank account, yeah that pay) and paid lots of bills and things on net banking (from work because some damn arse wipe tried to hack my account when I used net banking at an internet cafe) and the good ole Comm bank fucked up my transactions (and the rest of Australia's, but hey, they aren't me and me is all I'm concerned with here) - so I went to use my account and it was OVERDRAWN. Bastards.

It is fixed up today but that does not extinguish the emotional damage caused. I am a very damaged creature at the moment, fragile and delicate. I don't need this shit. I really don't. But I'm also a trooper. Instead of curling up in bed and dying, I went to Pilates class. Well, to be honest, that kind of exercise isn't so good for me in some ways. It ended up being more like a Pilfartes class at my end.

Anyway, must go and see what other shit this world has to throw at me.

Hello... is anybody out there....

2005-05-08T13:37:00.000+10:00

A quick recap on my life over the past few jazzyhands-free months:

Car broke down
Got evicted from my house
Lost my job (on the same day)
Got car started
House hunting and nervous breakdown
Packed up house in most haphazard manner involving making rash decisions about items I would no longer need.
Car broke down... in Yarraville, filled with packing boxes
Moved stuff into storage space
Moved into friend's spare room
Got car going
Looked at assorted but freaky share houses
Found Andrew a place to live
Found me a place to live
Got a new job
Started new job and found out pays are monthly... yikes
Car broke down
Finally supposed to get paid but pay not in the bank.

I think that's about it. Also been writing, drinking, desiring shoes, not having internet, not having phone, not having telly.

So, how you'all been?

.... bye bye...

2005-03-28T01:30:00.000+10:00

I'm tired of this.

I might be back later or maybe not.

Meanwhile read porn or keep up with my doings.

Adious.

Car

2005-03-26T21:19:00.000+10:00

I got my car going. Well the man from the RACV did. I thought I'd used up all my free call outs for this year but I rang them anyway and they said that this was my last one - woohoo!

So, he got it going but he said I absolutely needed a new battery. He wanted to sell me one for $130 but I spurned his overpriced batteries. When I am cashed up, I'll walk down to K Mart and buy one and carry it home, because I am all buff and muscular now and that's what Rocky would do. Rocky would probably have pushed the car home instead of calling the RACV though. Still.

The other good thing I discovered is the bus goes almost literally past my door then to my work. How convenient. Even if I get my car going, I might catch the bus. With petrol at $1,000,000 a litre and going up, I can't afford to drive any more. Yeah, Rocky would prolly jog to work. Maybe I'm not so much like Rocky, ok.

Damn It

2005-03-26T13:52:00.000+10:00

Just when things start going well, my bloody dickwad car had to break down. It won't start and I'm fearing it is something serious. I hate that shit. I can't afford to fix it either.

I'm going to have to catch the stinking smelly bus to work, I guess I should be grateful that there is a bus service at all. Man, oh man. My life is the sucks.

Work...

2005-03-24T20:32:00.000+10:00

I'd forgotten how time consuming work is. Drat the thing. And today was the worst. Firstly, I got lost on the way to work. It looked easy in the Melways, straight up Geelong Road. Well I got almost to Hoopers Crossing then turned back, still couldn't find it. Eventually I realised that the road I needed didn't cross Geelong Road but went over it. D'oh.

Then I had to take an early lunch and drive to Tullamarine for an interview then race back to work. That was exhausting.

The good bit was that I got to knock off at 4.00.

When I got home I had a letter telling my appeal about my rent was on the 30th. Also the cops came with a letter saying we had to be out of here by the 30th. I rang the cops and they said to ring my real estate agent. So I called them and they said I could prolly set up some kind of payment plan to fix up the back rent. That still involves going to the court on Wednesday though. While all this was going on, I got a call about another interview for a different job. This one is a long term contract which could lead to permanent work and is good money.

Trouble is that means taking more time off my temp job which could get very annoying for them. I managed to time my interview so I can get from that to the court on Wednesday afternoon so I think I'll just take the whole afternoon off work. Not the best solution but the only one I can think of.

At least I'm not going to be living in my car in the immediate future.

After work, I was going to go to Tae Boxing class but I was so exhausted. My weight loss has come to a standstill and I think the main reason is my complete laziness. So I dragged my sorry arse to class despite my exhaustion. I'm glad I did even though my arms are about to drop off from a zillion evil push ups. I could actually see that I'd lost weight looking in the mirror during class, and the waistband on my skirt was definitely looser than it was last time I worked, but when I was on my hands and knees doing those situps Mr Gravity wasn't being kind, let me tell you. Oh well, I'll get there eventually. By my birthday in September, I'll be one hot chickie babe.

Highs and Lows

2005-03-23T14:49:00.000+10:00

This morning, like most mornings, I wandered out to the mail box around 11.00 still in my pjs. There was only one letter, a nice change from the usual pile of bills. I opened it and didn't really understand that it was saying. I rang the rent tribunal for clarification. They told me there had been a hearing last week about my overdue rent and that now the owner had the right to evict me, ie. turn up on the doorstep with the police and boot me out then change the locks. I asked the girl what would happen to my stuff and she said I'd have to work that out with the landlord.

So, I locked the doors and turned out the lights and made 'not at home' type arrangements then typed up a fax to appeal the decision. That will buy me some time. Man, I should not have ignored those letters the landlord sent me. But, back then, I thought I'd be working by now and would be able to get it all cleared up. I never thought it would come to this.

After the panic wore off, I worked out a plan of action:

1. Appeal to buy myself some time.
2. Look for a new place to live. I need to do this anyway. The rent here is killing me.
3. Make arrangements with the landlord to pay off the rent arrears.

I think I can do it. I can get a bond loan because I'm not working and I can scab up enough money to move if I call in some favours.

Later this afternoon the phone rang. As I ran to answer it, I thought what is the best thing this phone call can be - my temp agency calling with work for me. And, wowsers, it was my temp agency with work for me. How scary but good. I'll get a day's work in before Easter and a day's pay next week. It's a month contract too so it might make a dent in the debts.

Anyway folks, I'm off to do some fun run thing this arvo. Lordy, yes. I told my friends I was doing the mother's day one and they suggested doing this one today... it's at the same place and I can compare my times.

2005-03-22T08:39:00.000+10:00

Sometimes I wish I was an "A-List" blogger. Not because I want legions of adoring fans and massive amounts of traffic to my site, well not just because of that, but so I could blog about my obsession with random insane shit and then go off and do a google search and see how many fools full for that shit.

Like I could say, at the moment I'm really into wearing a piece of tin foil around my neck and, if I were an "A-List" blogger, within a week my google search would reveal people all over the globe wearing tin foil around their neck. You would have to love that.

I think the reason I've never had power in this life is that I'd definitely use it for evil.

Questions...

2005-03-21T19:37:00.000+10:00

Were the dwarves in Snow White and the Seven Dwarves meant to be brothers or were they just random dwarves drawn into co-habitation by their diminuative stature and their bonding over being given weirdarsed names?

Who would name a child Dopey or Grumpy? Or even Sleepy or Bashful? Talk about labeling your kid before they get a chance to develop their own personality.

Why have I decided to enter a fun run? Most of my life has been spent mocking fun runners.

5 random facts about me!

2005-03-19T08:48:00.000+10:00

In which I am too lazy to think of anything real to say....

1. When I was at uni, I yearned to get my degree so I could put letters after my name. Since graduating, I've never actually done it... never written my name with the B.Bus. included. Phht - B. Bus. what a stupid name for a degree.

2. My mum won division 1 in tattslotto once. It was in a work syndicate and there were a lot of winners that week so she was never a millionaire or anything like but it was still exciting.

3. I once got my eyebrow pierced and, five minutes later, decided that facial piercings were really lame and passe.

4. The one and only time I've played my games obsessed son at Street Fighter I whipped his arse. Of course I was very sensitive to his feelings and did not gloat one little bit. Hahahahahahahah!!!!!!

5. When I was in Grade 5, I won first prize at a CWA cooking competition with a teacake.

There, don't you feel like you know just a little better.

I Have No Son....

2005-03-18T10:24:00.000+10:00

Last night Andrew was doing whatever he does on the computer and I was waiting for him to finish so I could do my shit when he casually mentioned that he's going to a Comedy Festival show in 2 weeks time.

'Well you know what you are doing between now and then, don't you?' I asked.

'Wot?' he replied without turning around.

'Finding somewhere else to live.'

He swung around on the computer chair and gave me a look that was 75% bemusement and 25% pity and asked:

'Why do you hate comedy so much? Is it because you spent too much time around them went you worked on The Loft?'

I sobbed.

For those of you who don't know, which I'd guess would be ALL of you, The Loft was a show on Channel 31. For several years I worked on the crew. It was also the television birthplace of Rove McManus and his gang and other lesser local comedic identities. Yes, that isn't a typo. I did say LESSER. Aha.

'But you like Ben Stiller?' he asks and how could I deny it after watching Zoolander a zillion times.

'Do itttttt,' I replied.

'He used to do stand up.'

'Well I like him as an actor not as a stand up comedian.'

'The do ittttt guy was part of his stand up act.'

'Shut up and let me use the computer.'

Jazzyhands Guide To The Melbourne Comedy Festival

2005-03-11T07:22:00.000+10:00

I noticed that Desci has up her guide to the Comedy Festival and decided to jump on the bandwagon and post my own guide.

1. Look at comedy festival programme

2. Remember that 99% of comedians because they are pompous, egomanical rodents who waffle endless about their "Art". Also remember that stand up comedy is contrived and usually rather boring, on the same level as plays and poetry readings.

3. Wonder if the true value of the Comedy Festival is that you can take out more comedians with less bullets.

4. Go back to sleep.

Grrr

2005-03-11T06:44:00.000+10:00

Last night I noticed the council had parked some road resurfacing machinery in my street. I didn't really think much of it until this morning when they started the machinery up then left it running for half a frigging hour. What the hell is with that? At 7 am! Do they not realise some of us need our sleep. Damn council mofos.

Work

2005-03-08T16:19:00.000+10:00

I got a call from an employment agency today. They had a copy of resume and wanted to know what I'd been doing for the last couple of years. I told the guy and he asked why I hadn't put it on my resume. When I checked, it looked like I'd overwritten my current resume with an old version. Oops. Then I checked my sent mail and realised I'd sent this off to quite a few people.

I'm so glad that guy took the time to ring me. Now I know why I haven't been getting the responses I expected.

I'm such a dill pickle sometimes.

Limbo

2005-03-06T10:22:00.000+10:00

I feel like I should update but really I have nothing to say. Nothing. Not that I've ever let that stop me before. This is the life situation:

Job: I've had a few discussions about various positions and an interview last week. Nothing definite as yet. I really want to keep away from admin work and try to get something in the IT area. The thought of doing data entry again makes me want to curl up in a little ball in the corner.

Money: Ha ha ha. What money?

Love: There is no love. My life is barren and loveless. I think I emit a love repellent, maybe even a 'second look' repellent. Is the world full of boring men who are only going to reject me if I lower my standards enough to go out with them?

Home and Family: Blah, nothing's changed. Andrew can't move out cos we have no money. My sister was supposed to send him money for his birthday but she hasn't. Bitch.

Health: I've lost 6 kgs. Woohoo. My goal for the year was to lose 10 kilos so I'm doing well. I've been exercising everyday - walking or swimming. I am the fitness nut now.

Writing: You would think with all this time on my hands, I'd be writing lots but you would be wrong, my friend. If you think that then you ignore my inherent laziness. I did get contacted this week by someone who wants to use one of my stories to make a short film.

That is my life at the moment. It even bores me.

Sane

2005-03-03T20:56:00.000+10:00

Because I've been feeling a bit down lately, I went to see the shrink today. We chatted a bit and, at the end of the session, he told me I had NO psychological problems. I am not depressed because I'm insane, I'm depressed because my life sucks. That's what he said, paraphrased a little.

Like Homer Simpson, I am sane. But without the wacky dude who thinks he's Michael Jackson. I was a little indignant. Both my sisters have need heaps of counselling at various stages and I had way more childhood trauma than either of them. I felt like yelling at the dude - check me out, I'm as insane as anyone - probe deeper, you are sure to find something. But, as he said, my problems are practical ones. Big enough to depress anyone. They aren't mental.

So, he's given me some places to check out that can provide the practical help. I tend not to trust these places. I've been through the system before. You front up and wait for a few hours to see someone to discuss your $Zillion monetary crisis and they make you fill out a mountain of forms so you can get a $0.30 contribution towards pay it off. Still I guess anything is better than nothing.

Everything else he told me was EXACTLY the same as the astrologer I went to see last year. Almost to the letter. Pity she didn't bulk bill.

ps. Maybe I should have told about the times my mother tied me to the piano leg and gave me enemas.

Grrr

2005-03-02T08:20:00.000+10:00

Yet again, I haven't been paid by my agency. I rang them this morning and they are going to get someone to call me back. This is like the zillionth time something has stuffed up and I haven't been paid on time. It drives me insane - why should I have to ring and chase up my pay? They make me feel like I am asking them for a big favour or something.

Meltdown

2005-03-01T20:52:00.000+10:00

Still no job. I've been avoiding going into full meltdown mode by not thinking about the whole money thing or the 'I still owe rent for January' thing or any of the other bad things. I guess there is no point dwelling on that stuff anyway since I can't really do much about it.

Today I was busy-busy getting the next issue of Lustre up and running. I decided this morning, after much frustration and hair-wrenching, that I wanted to use some kind of content management system instead of doing everything manually. Manually is not my friend. I had checked out a few content management packages in the past and none of them met my needs. They were too complex and not really appropriate. So today I set up Word Press and chucked everything into that. Still some changes to be made but the bulk of the site is done, excluding archives.

Now I need a project for tomorrow. Oh yeah, maybe write my novel. Der.

My son is a man now...

2005-02-28T09:50:00.000+10:00

it is a fact written in cake.

Yet he is still living at home. Why?

I haven't updated in a while but nothing has changed - no job, no man, no life.

Blah.

D Day

2005-02-24T23:23:00.000+10:00

Well Andrew has been officially an adult for 24 minutes and he hasn't moved out yet. I can hear him thumping around in his room, and not that move out kind of thumping either. This wasn't part of the plan. He's never going to move out. It's going to be like Mother and Son.

At least things are going better tonight than they were 18 years ago when, around about now I was woken but my water breaking.

Life

2005-02-24T10:48:00.000+10:00

I am enjoying not working. Maybe I should get one of those husband-things who can support me while I live a life of leisure instead of living in this fool's paradise of not thinking about the rent money I owe or the other bills.

At least I've had time to write and have been working hard on the next issue of Lustre - lots of juicy new stories coming up next month so keep an eye out for it.

Work

2005-02-22T19:52:00.000+10:00

Today I walked out of my job. I walked out while some woman ranted at me about my "slyness" and "laziness". She wasn't my boss or in any position of authority. She'd just decided I spent too much time sending emails. So I picked up my handbag and walked out the door.

I was thinking of having a smoke and coffee and calming down but hey, I'd only had enough change in the morning to get a 2 hour train ticket and it was about to run out so I went home.

On the train, before we'd even left the city loop, my consultant from the temp agency called. They'd called her and told I'd had a "confrontation" with another staff member and that I spent all my time sending personal emails - a total of 48 in the month or more I'd been there. That number again - 48. Oh my lord, that's more than 1 a day.

They knew all about my personal emails because they'd printed them out and read them. They didn't want me back. Ok, I do know better than to call my place of employment a stink shithole in work emails (that should be a stinking sh1thole - had to get it past the profanity filter) but I didn't really care. They didn't want me back. Good thing really because I had no intention of going back.

I am annoyed about many things. For starters, no one has said that maybe, just maybe this woman should not go around having a go at people when it is none of her business. Apparently she has been watching me for a while - nice to know that she is so busy concentrating on her own work. Hey, it's not right to waste time sending personal emails but spending your day spying on other staff - that's a legitimate usage of work time.

Oh yeah, and every time she saw me working I was flicking between windows on my computer so therefore I must be doing something wrong. Even though the work I've been doing for the last week or so has involved the challenging and rewarding task of cutting shit out of word documents and pasting into their database. But that wouldn't require flicking between windows now, would it?

Secondly, my temp consultant was a complete cow about the whole thing. I have spoken to her twice about the work situation, asking her to find me another assignment. She was very unsympathetic. Then today she told me I should have discussed the situation with her. She also put all the blame on me and my "unprofessional" conduct. This is the second time I've had problems with her. You might recall an incident around Christmas time where I didn't get paid for weeks while they sorted shit out. At that time she tried to make me take responsiblity for a situation I'd advised her about also.

I get the feeling that she just can't be bothered acting on things I tell her, then they become issues and she tries to pass the buck.

Thirdly, they READ my personal emails. Now maybe they had a legal right to do that as I'd sent them from work but morally that is so dodgy. It makes me sick just to think about it.

Fourthly, 48 emails... how much work time would that actually waste. Even if I spent one minute on each one, it is only 48 minutes of work time. I will gladly let them dock the tuppence from the meagre amount they are paying me. And mostly it takes less than a minute to write a three word email.

Fifthly, prior to this I know people had been talking about me. Have you ever been a fourteen year old girl and had some spread rumours about you? Have you lived through that schoolgirl backstabbing stage where you know they're talking but you don't know what they're saying? Yeah, that is how this job has been for the last week or so. Not a lot of fun.

Sixthly, I almost took this site down today in case they find it through my internet history then I thought fuck them. I don't care if they read anything I have to say.

I never have to go back there ever again and even if that means living in my car off food scraps out of bins it would be better than setting foot inside that rat hole with that bunch of bitches.

So I went and had a lovely lunch with David and a relaxing day. Tomorrow I will call some new temp agencies, try to work out what to do about my time sheet from this job and mourn over the loss of my drink bottle that I left on my desk.

Art

2005-02-21T17:37:00.000+10:00

Today I sat at work and coloured in my phone message pad with highlighter pen. I looked at it - the way the green melded into the yellow, the harmony of lines - and I thought I could be onto something.

This outpouring reflected the ennui of the modern office worker. So much could be read into it - the tedium, the meniality, the frustration of a wasted life. Surely this was the natural child of Pop Art, the love child of Dada. I would become the saviour of modern art.

Then I looked at it again. I don't really have time to become the saviour of anything and the reason I dropped out of Art school many years ago was because I grew disillusioned that people put so much value into something so intrinsically worthless, that Art was about creating "things" that had no purpose, that just created clutter.

To me, true art is about making something useful, beautiful unless it is a alliance of asthetic and ephemerality.

So I threw my masterpiece in the bin and fire up Seek to look for work as an ice sculptress.

Bored

2005-02-19T23:55:00.000+10:00

Another Saturday night, sitting at home alone. I'm sure my life used to be better than this. I used to have adventures and excitement and good times. I don't know where all that went.

I was supposed to go out and meet up with a group of people for lunch today but, when I got there, I decided I couldn't be bothered going inside. It's so hard to make conversation with people you don't know and I just wasn't up to the effort.

I think that once I believed that these things were worth making an effort for, now I just think why bother? It will only end in the blahs anyway.

Rant

2005-02-16T20:00:00.000+10:00

Now I might be going off half cocked here, but I want to rant about something that has been really bugging me. Trouble is I don't want to like research shit or anything like that so if I have my facts wrong, be gentle.

My rant is this... if you live in Melbourne, and probably the rest of Australia, you would have heard about the woman that got locked in the car boot and the subsquent discover of her swinging lifestyle. What I want to know is firstly how did the media find her online profile and secondly, what right do they have to splash it all over the news?

Excuse me but I thought we had such things as privacy laws in this country? Just because someone puts up a profile on an online contact site doesn't mean they want it published in the media.

I have personal information, very personal indeed, scattered around various online sites. Doens't mean I want the world to know I'm into that shit. That information is given with the purpose of finding a man who can pleasure me, not to amuse the world.

Who gave out the information anyway? What's going on here folks?

Proof

2005-02-15T22:16:00.000+10:00

On the weekend, I went to Midsumma carnival with my friends and we rejoined JOY Melbourne. As part of their Midsumma promotion they had a lucky dip from which I won a t-shirt and they both won CDs. In the drunken debauchery that ensued, I ended up with the bag that had their CDs in it.

So, the reason I'm posting this is that if anything happens to me between now and when I return their CDs tomorrow night, there is some proof that the CDs AREN'T MINE.

I have been having anxiety attacks that my house will burn down or I will crash my car on the way to return them and you can bet your hot patooti that the only thing to survive will be the Danni and Brittany Spears CDs. Hell, I feel dirty just having them in my house. And I can just see the newspaper headlines - above the photo of me: GIRL IN ICKY INCIDENT FOUND WITH DANNI AND BRITTANY CDS. You would almost hope the accident was fatal.

So if I do come to an untimely demise before tomorrow night, pretty please with a cherry on top, let the world know the CDs aren't mine.

2005-02-15T21:28:00.000+10:00

Your Heart is Black

What Color is Your Heart?
brought to you by Quizilla

Nicked from Goss

Blahs

2005-02-15T16:37:00.000+10:00

I've got the blahs big time at the moment. I had a whole $3 to my name today and had to buy my lunch becuase we had no bread. If my pay isn't in the bank tonight then I'll don't know how I'll get to work.

My contract for this job runs out on Friday. They have me down on a roster until the end of the month but somehow I don't think they are going to renew it. When you've worked as a temp for a while you come to recognise that chill in the air when your contract is up. In a way, in many ways actually, I'd be pleased but I really can't afford to be off work for even a day at the moment. It's difficult.

Today at work one of the managers came over to me and asked if we had an envelope sealing machine. I told her no so she asked how we sealed the envelopes. I told her to unfold the bottom flap because it was sticky. She was amazed. How does someone survive without knowing how to seal an envelope? How does someone get to earn more money than me, me the one that was supposed to have the golden future, without knowing how to seal a frigging envelope?

Blah.

I Hate Valentines Day

2005-02-14T17:06:00.000+10:00

Valentines Day - what a crock of shit, huh. Why don't they just call it "I have a partner and you don't.. nah nah na nah nah" Day? The whole city was filled with bitches carrying around their smarmy flowers and looking all self-satisfied. I wanted to poke them in the eyes with the stems of their roses.

I mean, if it's all about love and romance and all that guff, why do people get flowers sent to their office? Because it's all about the show, that's why. What's the point of expressing your love if the whole world doesn't know about it. Seriously, my friend works in a florist and NO ONE sends Valentine's flowers on a weekend. That's because the rest of the girls in the office have to see the flowers or it doesn't count. And yes, people do send flowers to themselves.

On top of that, I went to a job interview this morning and, yet again, didn't get the job. Yet again, they liked me but decided to go with the other person. And it really sucks.

It is like the whole world is sending me this message: you just aren't good enough. You might be adequate but, when it comes to the crunch, we're going to pick someone else, someone better.

More....

2005-02-12T12:52:00.000+10:00

On the dating front, I was chatting to a guy online for a while, sending a few emails back and forth, when I told him I lived in the Western suburbs. In his reply he told me that he lived in a suburb where everyone spoke English and he'd lived in the West for a while but got sick of talking slowly so that people could understand him. Ok. I was kind of shocked by that and was going to ignore him but I've decided on a different tactic. I'm going to email him back and tell him that it doesn't worry me because I'm actually half Vietnamese. I think that could be a conversation killer.

Oh and if you actually give a rat's arse, not that I imagine you would or anything, about reading further about my dieting progress, I do have my weight loss blog over here --->>>

It's better to be looked over than overlooked.

2005-02-12T07:31:00.000+10:00

This poor old blog has been a bit of a neglectarooni lately so today I thought I'd bitch about my love life just to push you right over the edge.

I don't know what it is with me and the guys, you know. It is like there are two types of guys out there - the normal, sane kind - and I know they exist, I've worked with heaps of guys and they are all sane (well most of them) - and the crazed fools I end up meeting. I still haven't worked out if I just attracted the loons or if there is something in my dna that makes guys act a bit insane when they get a whiff of romantic involvement around me. But lately even the crazed loons have been thin on the ground.

All I know is that it is extremely difficult to write about sex when the closest you get to it is having some dude knock against you on a crowded peak hour train. Recently I've been feeling about as sexually desirable as a wet Chux. Maybe less, cos there is probably a whole swag of guys out there with wet Chux fetishes. Those wet Chuxes are probably being banged like there's no tomorrow *sob*.

I used to get chatted up once. Really I did. Guys would want to buy me drinks and would do that 'I'm more interested in talking about you than I am about the footy score' thing that guys fake when they want to sex you. They did. I remember it.

Now I don't even get a second look. Phttt. I don't even get a first look. I don't even get checked out by the dirty old men that sit on the bench outside Liquorland at Footscray Plaza.

The mojos gone, people. And there wasn't a lot of mojo there to begin with.

Maybe I'm sliding into middle age with all anonimity that brings. It's scary to think that this could be the rest of my life. I should get a hobby, maybe breeding some type of small dog.

I think I need to buy me a push up bra and a low cut shirt and a bottle of hard liquor.

Titbits

2005-02-10T20:24:00.000+10:00

I've lost 4 kgs - woohoo - and all done without leakage. Well a slight case of crook guts did help but most of it was pure healthy eating and exercise. I'm starting to like exercise - what's going on here?

Seriously though, I need to find a new job. This one is driving me insane. I tell people that but they don't take me literally. Trust me, this is no exageration. It is driving me insane. Today they were stocking up on beer for a launch tomorrow night and I was considering sneaking off and getting pissed. Hey, if I got caught and lost my job it would only be a bonus.

Supermarket

2005-02-08T21:40:00.000+10:00

I had a strange and pleasant experience at my local Bi-Lo tonight. I was in the express lane, the only lane open, when the supermarket dude came over and told me he was opening another lane and to come on over. So I turned my trolley around but in the meantime the guy behind me raced over and got there first.

So the supermarket dude told him that I had been waiting longer and to let me in first. Woohoo! The pushy guy apologised and walked off while I thanked the supermarket dude profusely.

Nice One

2005-02-05T21:18:00.000+10:00

Those I WILL boost my diet ads got me wondering, so yesterday when I popped into the chemist to get a script filled I asked about them.

These tablets work by preventing your body from absorbing fat. Sounds good, huh? Only drawback is that the fat has to go somewhere and this, my friend, is politely referred to as "leakage".

At $75 for two weeks worth, I'd rather just not eat the fat in the first place.

Swimming in a Sea of Despair

2005-02-05T14:43:00.000+10:00

If I must exercise then I've got to swim. It's about the only physical activity I enjoy. Trouble is my bathers - you've seen balloon that have been deflated? All puckered up and unattractive? That's what they look like. The top of my tankini hangs down around my knees.

So being the girl of little means that I am at the moment, I waited to get some new togs cheap at the end of summer sales. Smart thinking, you might say. Except for one teensy problemo.

In every shop in town I have two choices - size 8 or size 24. All the in between, womanly curve type sizes are gone. So this is the deal - I either have to gain a helluva lot of weight or lose a lot. Sure I could go to one of those year round swimwear stores but then I'd miss out on the bargains.

Gaining weight is so much easier but could end up being a false economy considering I'd have to buy extra food and all that. Maybe a good dose of anorexia could do the trick.

And...

2005-02-04T07:06:00.000+10:00

Last night Andrew complained about how far it will be to travel from here to his Big School.

What?

I can't believe that. There will be NO travelling from here to big school, I told him. There will be travelling from the house you share with your friends to big school.

Why does he say these things?

I almost forgot

2005-02-03T23:09:00.000+10:00

The other big news around here is that Andrew got into the course he wanted in the second offers. Very exciting.

In less exciting and more annoying news... he has bought a megaphone on ebay and it arrived today. I must have been hideous in past life.

Things

2005-02-03T17:57:00.000+10:00

The dude from last night's weird text message is online. I sent him an email asking what the hell it was all about but he hasn't answered. I think I need to do some freak-pruning from my life.

You know, I don't really like to bitch about work online, it can lead to all kinds of trouble, but at the moment I don't really care. I've been working at this company for a couple of weeks now and have nothing to do. Nothing. I'm lucky if they give me a few hours to do each day. So today I got back from lunch and was checking my email when one of the women asked me if I had anything to do. I told her I didn't, thinking she has some work for me. But no, she gave me a lecture about how when she was a temp, if there was no work to do, she went home otherwise you are just ripping off the company you're working for and other shit about how I should tell people I have no work.

I told her that I constantly told people I had no work to do and that my supervisor keeps sending around emails asking for work. I also told her that I had to do some training that afternoon so I couldn't go home. What I should have told her was that it was none of her business and to shut the fuck up.

What is with that? I am going mentally insane sitting around doing nothing without that kind of shit being added to it.

I did get some excitement today though. After the training, I can do data entry work. Woohoo.

Oh and the other shitty thing. The training was on this Access database they have just had developed by an outside contractor. Thing is, the database is shit. I don't get it. Why aren't I the database developer? I could do create a better database in 2 days with a hangover. Have these people not heard of normalisation? They don't even have autonumber keys on records (even though it is just a plain sequential key).

The whole thing is driving me insane. I need to get out.

Disturbing

2005-02-03T01:46:00.000+10:00

Tonight I got a text message from a guy I know. I don't know him all that well. We've gone out a few times but he's a player and into some weird shit so I don't know how to take this.

The message said: I want to hurt myself.

I tried to text him back but got a message saying the number doesn't exist. Not that it was disconnected or out of operation, but that it doesn't exist.

I don't know what it means and it has really been freaking me out. It could be part of some kinky game and sent to me by mistake (he has sent me text messages intended for other girls before, that young scamp) but then surely he would have said I want to hurt you or I want you to hurt me. And it doesn't explain the number not existing.

This is really freaking me out. I feel like I should do something but don't know what. As I said, I don't know him that well. I only have a mobile number and an email address. He's not the kind of person to play games (well, sexually, yes but emotionally, no).

Now it's 3 o'clock in the morning and I'm sitting at home listening to the wind and rain and wondering if he's ok.