today is my birthday!

2012 Begins*

2012-01-09T09:05:00.015+13:00

*like Batman.

Hello! Belated Happy New Year! Belated Merry Christmas!

Just a very quick post* as several people have emailed to make sure I'm still alive as they have not heard a peep out of me. This is the peep. Peep! Peep! I'm not dead, I've just been alternately away, internetless, ill and full o' excuses.

*ha ha, no it's not, it's really long and now you have to read it all

I'm moving house in 18 days! It will be lovely. House is in Chatswood (or Birkenhead, if you're a real estate agent who can't read maps) and is surrounded by native bush ~~like a delightful urban clitoris~~. It is at the bottom of a hill in a cul-de-sac. I have just Googled "cul-de-sac" and apparently the direct French translation is "butt of bag", which is why Tolkien used the name Bag End. In ancient Athens and Rome they were useful because you could herd the enemy into them then fall upon them mercilessly, although I doubt they do a lot of that in Chatswood. Sometimes I think people just hop into Wikipedia and make stuff up.

Anyway, the house is in a butt-of-bag and has a native reserve on one side and a bunch of neighbours on the other. HB and I did a drive-by the other day - sadly the neighbours were not encouraging. One looked about 65 and furious with the world for keeping him alive that long, and the other one had a boat in the driveway. It was called "Wet Dreams" (the boat, not the driveway). I'm not sure how classy our new neighbourhood is. House photos to come!

Library internet keeps disconnecting mid-post, annoying. Ooh! The computer of a Chinese gentleman sitting about three tables down from me just spouted, "Engagement Ring" in quite loud robot English. I wonder if he is planning to propose?

Anyway, here are some holiday photos! HB and I did road trip down to Christchurch, which is 9 hours car, 3.5 hours ferry, 5 hours car. Sadly the bunks in the ferry are too narrow to entertain any suggestion of joining the nautical equivalent of the Mile High Club (the High Seas Club, perhaps). Has anyone joined the High Seas Club? Tell me, I will be impressed.

We played a lot of alphabet games, one of which was so involving that HB missed a turnoff and we went to Raglan by mistake (one does not go to Raglan unless it is by mistake, generally) and had to double back; we also played Tractor Horse Beehive, which is a game where you have to see a tractor, then a horse, then a beehive and then you get a point (similar to the games of Tractor, Horse and Beehive, but vastly more complex). When you see them you shout, so that everyone knows they are yours.

The game started slowly because of five hours of no beehives (we added in llama, plane, moving train and mating animals as surrogate beehives, but there were not many of these either) until on the second day we hit a rich seam of beehive just above Marton. HB saw it first. I was not happy. Luckily, I made up for it by making an immense amount of puns about Bulls. Have you been to Bulls? The town slogan is "Herd of Bulls? A Town like No Udder" and they have charming signs on all of the businesses, as follows:

Sorry about the poor quality photo, it was out the car window. There are also signs on the police station ("Const-a-bull"), the Subway ("Submerge-a-bull") the RSA ("Respect-a-bull"), the $2 Shop ("Afford-a-bull"), the real estate agents ("Live-a-bull"), the doctor ("Cure-a-bull"), the pharmacy ("Indispens-a-bull") and many, many more. You're just lucky the library internet will only let me upload three photos today, because I took photos of all of them. I will show you the other ones another time.

We also went through the delightful town of Whatawhata, the Maori pronunciation of which inspired a minigolf business ("Whatawhata Putter") and the English pronunciation of which inspired a country song about heartbreak in small town New Zealand ("Whatawhata Shame"). HB refuses to move there and open Whatawhata Putter. He said I was Whatawhata Nutter and I snorted out my nose and said "Travers-a-bull" and he almost put me out of the car.

There are actually quite a few good country songs to be written about small towns in New Zealand. Offhand I thought of "It's not Levin without you" and several more which I have now forgotten but wrote down and will share with you later, when I find the piece of paper I have written them on, although I suspect HB has thrown it out.

Anyway! Here is an arty photo I took with new camera (Christmas present from HB for himself, but I am allowed to use it also):

It is of a waterfall. I think it's very Zen. It is slightly blurry because life is slightly blurry.

On the way back up (don't worry, I have to go to work soon so this post is almost finished) we stopped at a beach on a little side road. Someone had been there before us and arranged a whole heap of driftwood sticks standing straight up in the sand, like this:

Photo by HB - it out-Zens my waterfall but I am trying not to feel miffed about this.

While HB was up one end of the beach taking proper grown-up photos, I was busy with my own project down the other end. It is tentatively titled "Crab Graveyard" and it is probably the best art ever:

Other prospective titles include "Watery Grave" and "We Will Fight Them On The Beaches".

(I don't know why the photos are a bit fuzzy, I think I might have saved them in an odd format. They are actually really sharp and good! You know, in case anyone wants to purchase a print.)

Anyway I really do have to go now. Backson! With more photos! I am going to go and peer over the Chinese gentleman's shoulder to see if he is proposing yet.

Wieners of the Week (Month)

2011-12-08T09:24:00.004+13:00

Man I have not blogged in AGES. Sorry about that.

Here's a new crop of Wieners of the Week, which should probably be Wieners of the Month. Up to you. They're your wieners.

Eduardo - Eduardo is a miniature kune kune house-pig! Currently he exists only in the minds of our flatmates, but if he existed in reality he would look like this:

Or possibly like this:

I know. You are wondering how such a blatantly delightful little beast could be a wiener of the week. It is because he has caused RUCTIONS. Flat ructions. Here is how we all feel about the Eduardo:

Fleur: came up with the whole idea. Has visions of joyous pig-gruntlings dancing in her head. Imagines us tucked up on the couch on a Sunday night watching Downton Abbey, Eduardo nestled between us, little piggy snout resting gently in a half-eaten avocado.

Ben: has had a house-pig before, but a full-sized one. It was called Mr Pig and he used to condition it in the bath, "so it was cuddly". Ben backs the idea of Eduardo but in a slightly more practical fashion, mentioning things like calling other people who have bought Eduardos to ensure that their pig, three years on, is still a miniature pig. (We do not want to purchase a masquerading piglet that then becomes enormous).

HB: thinks that miniature pigs, even ones as sweet as Eduardo, should live outside. He does not seem to realise that this invalidates the entire purpose of a house-pig. HB has visions of coming home to a bathroom floor covered in suds and pig dirt, with Ben sitting in the bath with Eduardo, joyously shampooing his (Eduardo's) hair and singing a little pig song - while in the other room Fleur throws out the remnants of the shoes Eduardo has destroyed and cleans up the many, many messes of Eduardo.

HB is probably right.

Sausage Korma - This is what we had for dinner on Tuesday. We should have gone to the supermarket.

Mmmm, delicious.

It was actually quite nice, but we should probably still have gone to the supermarket.

iPhone Autocorrect - It always corrects 'its' to 'it's', regardless of grammatical correctness. (If anyone comments to say "But shouldn't it always be it's?" then you aren't allowed to read my blog any more.) The other, more puzzling autocorrect is that 'reading' always becomes 'Reading'. While I am sure Reading the place is very nice, I do get a little more use out of reading, the verb.

As a side note to that, Internet Explorer's habit of announcing, "You've opened a new tab!" is also fairly wienerish. I know, IE. This is not a surprise to me! I did it! Just then! On purpose!

Our Office - Not the people in the office, most of whom are quite pleasant, but the office itself. Many people and computers plus a small space and no aircon has managed to transform the whole floor into some sort of wonderful holiday resort for bugs. They come into the building up the nose of someone from editing, step outside into the office and think, "Cor, ain't it luvverly in 'ere!" (They are sort of Cockney germs.) And then they set up camp in the keyboards and the telephones and the air conditioning vents, and mutate into larger, better versions of themselves, and as they stand around at their weekly Germ Life Coaching meeting, congratulating one another on the life they've built for their children in this carpet-walled utopia, I begin to sneeze.

We had a Health and Safety person come round once, but as soon as she stepped inside the office her head started to spin around and ectoplasm shot out of her nose.

Library Toilet Chatter - this was a woman who had obviously decided to be polite and not answer her phone in the middle of the library - which I approve of - but for some reason had ducked into the bathroom, thus creating a very odd social situation which ended up with me sitting in a stall for 30 seconds counting my fingers, then going to the downstairs loo.

The Takahe - it is an endangered New Zealand bird. It is, in fact, so endangered that it thinks it's entitled to eat other birds. It ate a duckling. I realise that duckling are not endangered and takahe are and circle of life, blah blah, but a duckling? That bird is a jerk. There is an article about this hideous act of birder (bird-on-bird murder), if you need more information. The headline is "Footage emerges of bird eating another bird" and I think this is the best headline ever. It's so... tabloidy.

That is all the wieners we have time for today! Because I have to go to work, and also nag HB about buying a bucket to put the Christmas tree in. He is handsome, but not very good at remembering to buy buckets.

Forgot to feed the larvae.

2011-11-10T09:10:00.005+13:00

Hello! I am a busy bee.

The thoughts of a busy bee.

I've been super busy with home and work and learning to polymorph (so that when I go into work and someone says, "Oh, can you please write up this article about the debt crisis?" I TURN INTO A DRAGON*) but things are starting to settle into a nice routine.

If we had a magic clock like the Weasleys of Harry Potter fame do, my hand would spend a lot of time lingering on Library, Work, 'Up to Fucks' (which is my colleague's delightful way of saying 'not doing much': I think it is short for 'Up to Fuck All') and Doing 15k on the Motorway.

Vaguely related question: Does anyone except me take a vitamin?

Handsome Boyfriend (HB, like the pencil) insists I take a multivitamin every morning, presumably so that I don't crumble up like an Egyptian mummy (or, in fact, a mummy of any nationality - did you guys see that story about the Russian man who dug up 29 dead bodies, dressed them, and kept them around the house? I forget if he mummified them himself or if they came pre-mummified).

The multivitamin thing initially annoyed me because I felt like a show poodle or something but then I realised it helps with the polymorphing.

Between getting dropped in town at about 8.20 (HB starts work at 8.30 and we carpool as a) his work pays for his petrol and b) I do not have a car) and starting work at 12 I tend to muck about in the library, because it has free internet!

The only annoying thing about the library is that if you need the bathroom you have to pack up your computer and bag and charger, etc. etc. And that is what I am going to do now.

***

On the way to the bathroom I walked past a display on Crafts (including a book is called 'Indie Crafts', because when one is crocheting, it should be clear that one is crocheting ironically) and my eye was caught by a book called 'Maskwork'.

I know you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but I totally am because the cover promises a level of awesomeness rarely approached by books on crafting:

Mask entitled 'Help! My Beard and Mohawk are on Fire!' or possibly, given the staunch pose, 'My Beard is on Fire? Fuck You.'

My favourite mask was Fig. 108. 'Raven with Two Beavers.' I think I might make it later.

Why would you sad when you were wearing Raven with Two Beavers?

That's it for library news but now, the New Zealand corner! Cue powhiri.

Firstly: if you're voting in the election and don't know which voting system to choose, I have written a helpful and humorous guide over here. It discusses MMP, FPP, the other ones and the Baboons of Inequality.

(Colleague came over yesterday and said, "What are you working on?" I replied, "Funny article about voting systems." She said, "Voting systems aren't funny." I said, "Well they will be." She thought for a bit then said, "You're sort of like a monkey... in a cage, aren't you. And every so often they come and poke you with a stick and say, 'Be funny, monkey!'")

If you don't give a shit about the elections but aren't done reading stuff on the internet yet, there is an NZ version of the Onion, called The Pigeon. Sometimes I think Pidgeon should have a D in it but then some people spell hamster 'Hampster' and no-one invites them to dinner.

*No-one makes dragons write up articles on the debt crisis.

Camping

2011-11-04T11:14:00.002+13:00

It's turning into summer! This is great except I'm not really a summer person. Every year in about October people start making excited noises about going camping and I start ignoring them.

Despite the multi-faceted delights of running to the bathroom in the rain while every sandfly in a five-mile radius tries to fly directly up your nose, I kind of hate camping. Especially the bit where you arrive at the bathrooms, going 'ACK ACK THHBBPPT' and spitting sandfly bits everywhere, and suddenly there are four half-naked German backpackers who are determined to shower before you and use up all the hot water. And then you have to wear jandals in the shower and there is just something really gross about wet jandal.

Last time I covered myself in bug spray but forgot about that bit of skin that is exposed when you bend over and your t-shirt rides up (I believe it is called a 'muffin top'), and by the time we finished putting the tent up I had a sandfly bite tramp stamp, which more or less ruined my chances with the half-naked German backpackers.

Our family used to do annual camping trips! We don't any more. It is the combined fault of me and Gerry the Giraffe.

Our final family camping holiday was a) at Pakawau Beach Park and b) ghastly. My sister Kate and I, who were smallish, fought the entire time. We were little beasts* and I would not have wanted to go camping with us either. We were driving somewhere scenic when Dad announced that to get rid of the constant whinging from the back seat, he had created The Complaints Book.

It was several squares of paper stapled together. The idea was that instead of complaining out loud Kate and I would write our frustrations in the complaints book, and Mum and Dad would arbitrate later in the day (which did not end up happening).

I kept the Complaints Book - a lot of it is fairly standard stuff ("Kate hit me," "Ally pinched me," "Kate is writing lies in the complaints book") - but the incident which I suspect finally broke our parents' camping spirit is immortalised in its pages. It is the incident of Gerry the Giraffe.

Gerry was a small and faintly giraffe-shaped piece of driftwood that Kate had picked up on a beach during the trip and become peculiarly attached to. I did not immediately warm to Gerry, because he was a dick.

Grry's exploits are well-recorded:

"Kate hit me with her piece of wood."
"He is not a piece of wood, he is Gerry."
"Kate hit me with her piece of wood called Gerry."

Gerry was well-behaved for a bit in the middle of the book while a brief and ridiculous fight raged over who ate all the chocolate bits out of the scroggin ("Ally accuses Kate of eating all the scroggin." "Kate is scroggin hoggin." "Ally accuses Kate of scroggin hoggin!") but sadly he could not control his urges.

"Gerry hit me!"
"Gerry is annoying me."
"Gerry keeps hitting me."

At this point Gerry attempts to make some excuses -"Gerry was just being friendly!" and "Gerry does not hit or hurt, he only taps," but ultimately it was too late, because when you turn the page...

"Ally has thrown Gerry out the window!!"

I had! And we never went camping again. In hindsight I am very very sorry, but also Gerry totally had it coming.

Let's not ever go camping.

*Kate says I threw my breakfast on her, but I don't remember that so I'm pretty sure it didn't happen.

Halloween. Bees. Country.

2011-11-01T19:15:00.005+13:00

Hello! I have the laptop charger back! But there is still only internet at the Library.

I love living out in the country and looking up at the stars and smelling the fresh air and listening to the dogs down the road go mental every time a cyclist goes past at 8am on a Sunday morning and the farmer next door's 'Music to Tractor By' country CD (I assume that is the name of it, you have to have it up quite loud to hear it over the tractor) and the bull in the next paddock bellowing for three straight hours about the sexy lady cows and the wooden windchime my flatmates are going to wake up to find stuffed up their nose one morning. I do.

But despite these many country joys, I can't wait to move into a house that has internet! At the moment we can barely get 'telephone'. Before we can get broadband we have to wait until someone else moves out of the area because there is, I guess, only so much internet to go around. Also, I lent someone my computer for the morning (dumb idea) and now it has Chrome and Firefox doesn't work any more and everything is slightly weird.

The country also means that we didn't get any trick-or-treaters last night, which is good because I don’t like children at the best of times and the best of times is definitely not “knocking on your door in the middle of the news, demanding lollies because they bought a mask from the $2 shop”, but not so good because I had the high-pressure hose all set up but never got to use it.

Living out in the country also spared us the egging bit of Halloween as well, because it’s a bit too far to walk to the next house and we don’t want to egg ourselves. Also, there really is only so long you can egg a cow before it gets boring. (Thought: the reason Halloween isn’t widely celebrated in NZ is because the people in charge of organising what we celebrate are highly eggable.)

On the Halloweeny topic, the Police sent an email out yesterday reminding people that Halloween “is not an excuse to commit a crime,” which rather put a damper on my plan to dress up, rob a bank and blend seamlessly into the Halloween revellers, just one more giant banana in the crowd.

Strangely, the Internet already has a picture of this.

I assume the email was directed at the sector of society who think “Ooh! Halloween! I’m going to egg my neighbours’ house and put toilet paper in their trees and fill their letterbox with bees*”, or whatever it is that people actually do at Halloween, but I don’t know. Maybe Halloween crime is massive.

Maybe people are constantly dressing up in gorilla suits and defrauding government agencies under cover of darkness.

Maybe small children dressed as pixies are distracting homeowners at the front door while their mums whip round the back and take off with the silverware.

Perhaps it is small-scale crime: maybe teams of small, uncostumed children roam the neighbourhood with baseball bats, ready to standover and extort the loot of better dressed trick-or-treaters.

ANYWAY this is all irrelevant because I am going to paint my butt like a pumpkin and moon passing motorists, even though it's not Halloween any more. That is the trick.

*Disclaimer: please do not actually fill anyone’s letterbox with bees. If you fill someone’s letterbox with bees, it is not my fault.

The Banana Dog of No Bees

Backson!

2011-10-29T10:00:00.000+13:00

My laptop charger is properly broken, so until the new one arrives (early next week, please to be crossing the fingers) I am severely internetally limited.

It is iPhone or nothing and the screen is small and my fingers are big and it frustrates the CRAP out of me (figuratively speaking, but that would have been a better sentence and/or mental image if I was one of those people who doesn't know what 'literally' means) and usually after five minutes I throw my arms up in disgust, holding onto the iPhone as I do so because those things are not cheap, and go back to playing Oven Break and thinking idly about Christmas.

I hate not having constant internet access, it feels like having one arm tied behind my back. Communication-wise; it does not affect my balance. I just checked to see if having one arm behind my back actually affects my balance and the answer is "no, not really" but let's just pretend for the sake of that last sentence that it does.

I was going to say it feels like having no legs but that would be disrespectful to people who have no legs and ~~even though I'm not too bothered about that because what are they going to do, kick me~~ it always pays to be polite. (I promise I don't actually discriminate against amputees, except when it comes to porn because that's just weird.)

Speaking of, (socially unacceptable comments, not porn), one 3 News commenter just called another 3 News commenter a 'lying bag of turds'.

Ahhh, the glamorous world of media.

See you soooooooon.

The Mighty FNBA

2011-10-21T14:48:00.003+13:00

Hello everyone! This is going to be a short post as my laptop charger is having some issues, the main one of which is that it's not charging anything, but I felt I had to let you know about the Five Nations Beef Alliance.

I thought the best Unnecessary Organisation of Foodstuffs was the New Zealand Egg Council, which sends delightful press releases with titles like "KIWIS REASSURED SIX EGGS PER WEEK IS OK" (I did not make that up and also, wow, that is a lot of eggs and also, I think they should have specified that in this scenario you eat the eggs) and have the happiest logo I have ever seen:

"Eggs!" - The Egg Council

But then I got a press release from the Five Nations Beef Alliance, which is exactly what it sounds like: 5 nations (NZ, Australia, Canada, America and Mexico) united in the pursuit of... beef.

The release was something to do with young farmers and ranches but I was too taken with the concept of a gang of meatcentric superheroes to read it properly.

Sausages! Mince! Ribs! Steak! Jerky! Our powers combined, I am...

MEATRON!

I will use this photo at literally every faintly relevant opportunity.

I am thinking of writing to the Five Nations Beef Alliance and offering them the use of Meatron as a mascot, but it will have to wait because my laptop is about to run out of power.

Apologies for short post, I hope you are all well and happy and eating your six weekly eggs (if you are a New Zealander, that is: the Council refused to speculate on the egg consumption capacity of other nations. Know your egg limits).

May the marinade be with you!

Subliminal Trumpet

2011-10-11T08:33:00.008+13:00

The other day I was sitting on the Google and looked up 'trumpet album cover', mainly because I wanted to find something like this.

There is a small and socially unacceptable part of me that really wishes a) this was a real album and b) I owned it, because there are few things more romantic than standing in the lounge in your nicest lingerie, ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ poised to go on the stereo, arms in third position, waiting for your boyfriend to come home from work.

Lamentably I didn't find any air trumpet but I did find this:

Yes! It is a CD that teaches you how to play the trumpet without actually requiring you to play the trumpet.

Or, as the website puts it: "Our subliminal mp3 album develops, and reprograms the areas of your brain responsible for learning to play the trumpet."

Excusing their erroneous comma, it would seem that this is indeed a miracle. Just in case you think it is not a miracle and is in fact bunkum, they assure you it is not:

"Many other “Subliminal Learn How to Play The Trumpet” mp3s are merely subliminal aids to increase MOTIVATION. They do not directly improve your capability to learn the trumpet."

But this one DOES.

It works (apparently) by repeating soothing phrases into your subconscious mind, at a frequency the human ear is unable to pick up. Presumably if you play this in the lounge, your dog will suddenly become very good at the trumpet.

The messages go deep into the areas of the brain which controls 'goodness at playing the trumpet'. How they isolated these areas is anyone's guess.

All you, the prospective trumpeter, hear is "soothing ocean sounds" (I would rather hear air trombone anthems, if we're being honest) but here are some of the things your trumpet-brain-areas hear:

I practice regularly

I will learn the trumpet

Playing the trumpet is easy

Playing the trumpet is fun

"I WILL learn the trumpet. I WILL learn the trumpet."

Once I'd settled down from the excitement of subliminal trumpet messaging I had a poke around the rest of the site and it gets better, because once you have become a trumpet god you can also become telepathic. Subliminally.

"Are you becoming skeptical about your psychic potential?" the site asks. Well, not any MORE!

If telepathy isn't your thing, there are also CDs to control your World of Warcraft addiction ("I value my social life") or, if it is a special occasion like your wife's birthday, you can buy her the slightly creepy Oral Sex one, including messages like "I always satisfy my partner through oral sex". In fact, because she can't hear the messages you could just buy a $5 Ocean Sounds CD from the Warehouse and swap the cases! Genius.

If it's YOUR birthday, you can buy yourself the slightly creepy Seducing Women one ("Seducing women is my right" and "I am the best choice that any woman could make".)

Personally I'm going to combine my favourite three into one powerful mp3 - the trumpet, the telepathy and, of course, my personal favourite...

"My breasts are pert and firm. My breasts are pert and firm. I enjoy playing the trumpet. I have psychic potential. My breasts are pert and firm."

Drugs n' Sneeze

2011-10-06T07:50:00.004+13:00

On the motorway today we were following a car with the numberplate 'I LAMO I.' If this is your car, please be aware that we thought it said 'lame-o' and not whatever you meant it to say.

In other news, I look like someone who knows how to buy drugs! (While some people might react to this by thinking "Oh God, I need to change my hair" my first thought was, "I could totally be an undercover cop." Who's watching Rookie Blue? Yes, me too. Yes, they are totally going to hook up. Yes, it is on a bit late for a Tuesday night.)

ANYWAY, I was walking through central Auckland yesterday morning - in proper work clothes, for those of you who were wondering just how seamy I was looking - and saw a guy about my age hanging about looking slightly dodgy. Clean-shaven and wearing a shirt, but still slightly dodgy.

Because I attract nutters* he wandered over and asked for the time, then sat down (I was sitting because sometimes txting and walking at the same time is a bit much and I am a hazard to other pedestrians) and said, "Are you from around here?"

I sort of am so I said, "Sort of. Are you trying to find something?"
"Yes," he said. I suspected that it was not the library.
"Do you take drugs?" he asked.

Picture of a sketchy-looking dog just seemed appropriate at this point.

"No... no, I'm probably the wrong person to ask. Sorry."

He was fine with that and chatted for a bit before wandering off in search of someone more underworldly than I. It was interesting - I always imagined if I was asked about drug procurement it would be by someone aggressive and threatening, not someone who sounded like they'd forgotten how to get to the bank.

I did briefly panic him, though: he asked where I worked and I said, "3 News" because I do, and he started and said, "You never met me! You never met me!"

Good God, man, you aren't news.

You know what is news, though? My sneeze has changed. It used to go "ahh-HEEESH-cha!" and make my workmates giggle and say, "Is there a kitten in here? Who brought that kitten in here?" but now it goes, "ah'SNRK" and does not make anyone say anything.

Is this something I should be concerned about? Is my nose going to explode? I'm worried my nose is going to explode.

*when I worked in classified advertising, I got more than my fair share of calls from nutters who wanted to call and rant about the many sins of the newspaper.
I also got the people who a) had never heard of the internet and b) assumed that a phone number associated with the newspaper is a general information hotline:
Me, in faintly helpful manner: "Welcome to Classifieds, you're speaking with Ally."
Them: "Is it Daylight Savings this weekend?"
Me: "Hmmm?"
Them, urgently: "Daylight Savings! Is it this weekend?"
Me: "Yeah, I think so."
Them: "Do the clocks go forward, or back?"
Me: "Forward?"
Them, fervently: "Thank you."
*click*

Back for Proper

2011-09-29T10:37:00.003+13:00

Hello everyone! It has been a traumatic couple of weeks - not only did I fail to crack Oven Break (it is a game where you are a gingerbread man called Ginger Brave and have to escape from an oven by, inexplicably, collecting jellybeans), but the nice people in charge of the television annouced that they're switching Coronation Street's timeslot with Masterchef Australia - but I am now stumbling back into the sunlight.

I know! Coronation St at 5.30? It's unheard of!

There is good news though... after 5 months of working split shifts, starting at 6am and finishing about 10pm with a break in the middle (which creates two 'work-home-eat-sleep' cycles in one day, like some sort of weird bat) I'm finally doing normal hours!

I would recommend no-one ever does those mad hours because it robs you of your mojo (as it were) and your weekends (they are for sleeping) and also your ability to deal with people ('sir! sir, would you kindly rock out with your cock firmly encapsulated in your trousers?'). And you get sick and grumpy and tired and see and do everything through a filter of constant exhaustion.

The other day I cleaned the lint filter on the dryer, then found myself sitting on the floor stroking the soft ball of lint and saying slowly, "Liiiiiint is niiiiice".

But enough of that! New hours mean no more early starts and no more sleep madness.

It also means I'll have time to blog again! Like we did last summer.

Not right now though, because I have things to do. Packing-type things! I am moving House. I'm sure you can imagine, based on how well I pack for a five-day trip (hint: abominably poorly) how this is going. Also I think I have more things than suitcases.

Unrelatedly, here is a lovely piece of writing about Iceland - it's short, for those of you who are scared of long things (like snakes, and full-pressure garden hoses which you just let go of the end of by accident and are now thrashing about the lawn shooting water everywhere) and very good.

Sweet Poesy

2011-09-21T12:41:00.003+12:00

A few years ago my Bestfriend Andrea and I used to break up the monotony of our day jobs by hopping on Google Chat and writing little poems, taking a line each and saving the haphazard results for later amusement.

I rediscovered one of the better ones the other day, stuffed in a clearfile folder of assorted 'paperwork', and thought it deserved reproducing. It is an inspirational poem which you can read it to yourself or, in fact, to your children (leaving out lines 58 and 78).

Andrea is a published novelist and well-followed fashion blogger and I, as you know, am a Serious Journalist, so you would expect the resulting poem to be an epic love story, a heartwrenching portrayal of emotion overcoming adversity, a Beowulf for our times...

You would be right.

Bill the Duck
Andrea and Ally, August 2007

In a cottage, on a hill,
Lived a duck whose name was Bill.
Bill was small and had a limp -
His friends all called him Gimpy Shrimp.

He always got picked last for teams,
Which crushed his sporting hopes and dreams.

You see, Bill had a secret wish;
To swim just like the fastest fish,
To represent his ducky nation
In the worldwide swimming competaytion!

But however hard he tried,
He lost... and then at night, he cried.
How could he fulfill his dream?
His soul let out a tortured scream.

And then Bill had an inspiration
Of how to reach his destination:
"Huzzah!" he cried. "I have a plan!
I'll visit John!" And off he ran.

Now John lived several miles away.
'Cause Bill was slow, he took all day.
Finally he reached the pond,
And there stood John, all tall and blond.

Bill's heart skipped a beat and started to glow,
John saw Bill and thought, 'Hel-lo!'

They clasped each other with great glee.
John said to Bill, quite roguishly,
"So Bill, what brings you here today?"
"I want to SWIM." Said John, "Okay...

And where do I fit in this scheme?"
"You train me to achieve my dream!"
"Of course!" cried John. "Let's start at once!"
And so the master taught the dunce.

They started with some basic stretches -
Bill so unfit they brought on retches -
And then they tried some harder things,
Which tired out Bill's little wings.

They carried on for several weeks
The distance shrank between their beaks...
We never said John was a duck!
He is, which is a stroke of luck.

Their romance grew, as did Bill's muscles
And the tension in their 'friendly tussles'.
Soon Bill was buff and set to go
To the championships, with his Romeo.

John was all puffed up full of pride -
And many other things beside.

He drove Bill to the swimming pool.
The day was hot, but Bill was cool.
"Thank you, John," he said, elated,
"When I win I'll feel so vindicated!"

John smiled and blinked away a tear
As the starting time for the race drew near.
"Good luck, my l-" he stopped and smiled,
Tension was high, emotions wild!

Bill pulled on his sparkly Speedo
And raced off like a small torpedo
The gun went off, the swimmers dived,
Through the water wee Bill knived.

He quickly passed the other ducks,
Who quacked out shits and damns and fucks
And then, just metres from the finish,
Bill felt his strength at once diminish!

Then a beloved voice rang out,
"Don't give up, ducky!" John did shout.
Inspired by John's impassioned plea,
Bill motored on to victory!

He was, of course, placed number one.
Bill lived the dream! His tale is done.
But wait! There's still his love for John!
Oh yes, you're right, the tale goes on.

Duck civil unions are still new,
But down the aisle Bill and John flew -
They had become the ultimate team,
Those lucky ducks who dared to dream.

The moral of this tale is clear:
Ducks like to take it in the rear.

Elephants and Swans*

2011-09-20T22:40:00.004+12:00

*No elephants. Sorry about that. Was going to put some in for the sake of it but they were just too... irrelephant.

Hello everyone! Just a very quick thank you for all the links left on the last post - extremely helpful (and also wildly entertaining).

We had a chap on the news this morning, Polar Explorer Robert Swan, who was a) talking about Antarctica and how we need to not mine it but keep it as a place of scientific research for ever and ever and b) introduced as "the first person to walk to both the North and South Pole on foot".

Two questions:

Where did he walk from? Base camp? The edge of the ice? The equator? His snowmobile, parked five minutes away? I want to know exactly how impressed I need to be.

Also, he walked on foot? How else does one travel on foot?

Robert Swan, first person to walk to both the North and South Poles on a horse.

I put this question to two of my friends, T and S, and here is how the conversation went. S was a bit quiet because she was working, so it starts off (as all good things do) with solid T & A.

T: Robert Swan, the first person to walk to both the North and South poles…………equivalent on a stairmaster.

A: Robert Swan, the first man whose last name was also a type of bird to walk to both the North and South poles.

T: Robert Swan, not to be confused with Edward Cullen, the first man to walk to both the North and South poles.

A: Robert Swan, not to be confused with Rupert Bear, the first man to walk to both the North and South poles, although Rupert Bear went to a castle once.

T: Robert Swan, coming soon to a pole near you, the first man to walk to both the North and South poles.

A: Robert Swan: Out of Poles

S: Robert Swan: Aimlessly circling the equator in search of east pole

T: We're clever.

I have some great friends. They are the friend equivalent (in terms of awesomeness) as this squirrel, who has apparently outfitted himself with battle armour.

Having imparted these marvellous gems of wisdom it is now time for me to do some more work.

(If you want to listen to Robert Swan talking about Antarctica - it is quite interesting - then here is where to do that.)

Help! Also, a landwang.

2011-09-12T11:40:00.007+12:00

Hello everyone! Very quickly, I need your assistance. No no no don't click away!

At the bottom of the post there is a picture of me and a horse. I know. WHAT an incentive.

Anyway, as you may know New Zealand has a total boner for rugby and is currently hosting the Rugby World Cup.

Is that a peninsula on your coastline, or are you just pleased to see me?

During the World Cup I'm doing a daily "Not Rugby" article about a variety of things, none of which are the You-Know-What (I'll link to this when there's a feed set up) in addition to regular work.

Mondays are 'link to a whole bunch of interesting sites on the Internet' days, and that is where I need your help - the World Cup goes for six weeks (when I had this bright 'daily content' idea I thought it went for about three) and I don't want to link to the same sort of sites (i.e. my favourite sites) constantly for the next six weeks.

Please, if you ever loved me at all, leave a couple of links to your favourite sites in the comments - can be absolutely anything at all as long as it's something you think is good.

*Not porn.

One request: no content aggregation sites please, would prefer something with a subject. Apart from that anything goes: webcomics, photo blogs, word blogs, humour, political analysis, sport of the non-rugby variety, motoring, celebrities, dating advice... anything.

Thank you very much! I know it takes time to go into the comments box and it is honestly greatly appreciated.

Also, on second thought it can totally be porn. I could use some new porn.

And now you can look at the picture of me with a horse.

Unless you didn't leave any sites in the comments, in which case close your eyes and hit the Back button because you do not deserve this treat.

The horse is bigger than me, but I have better hair than the horse.

High-Heeled and Half-Assed*

2011-09-08T11:11:00.004+12:00

*this would be a pretty solid title for my autobiography.

This post is mostly about Fashion Week but some of it is about Other Things like giraffes, and the giraffe part is in italics so you and I don't get confused.

Last week I went to New Zealand Fashion Week for work! This was a surprise as my sole qualifications were being one of two girls in our team, and having watched enough Project Runway to roar "One of you will be named the winner... and one of you will be OUT!" at inappropriate times (hint: almost every time).

The initial thought process was as follows:

1. Holy shit, Fashion Week!
2. Oh. I don't know ANYTHING about fashion.
slightly later:
3. What the fuck am I going to wear?
slightly later:
4. Oooh! There might be goody bags.

Whenever I go and cover events for work (not very often) I always feel like someone's about to jump out from behind a curtain, point at me theatrically, and shout, "SHE'S not a real journalist!" I mean, I am, technically, but sometimes I forget*.

This was especially true going into fashion week because quite honestly what I know about fashion could fit onto three squares of toilet paper, and that's barely enough for a wee.

I knew I was out of my depth when on the first day a beautifully dressed woman - who was the editor of some magazine or other - said my dress was gorgeous and asked where it was from.
I invited her to check the tag, which in hindsight is probably not the done thing, and she paused then said... "Jay Jays".
Jay Jays, for those not in the know, is a rather inexpensive chain store.
I giggled and said, "Shhh! Don't tell anyone! It's Fashion Week!" because that is what a serious journalist does.

*Last week I went to the zoo to see a giraffe being transported in a crate, and interviewed his keeper - I was prepared and had many Important Serious Questions about vaccinations and travel times, but sadly most of these were forgotten in the excitement of asking things like "do giraffes get seasick" and "are there any animals which do get seasick" and "what happens if you put a gorilla in a plane" (answer: you don't).

I took this photo while following a giraffe through central Auckland in convoy. My job is cool.

Main piece of advice for Fashion Week: don't go by yourself.
I had the lovely @angeebabiee (that is her Twitter name, she is not one of those people who had 'alternative' parents) at my side for most of the week, and also a small but perfectly formed Fashion Posse of @rosie_dawson and @StudioWeir for wine breaks (Fashion Week revolves largely around wine, possibly to distract from any dodgy fashion), which was nice.

The times I was there on my own were fun, but daunting. Fun because you're wearing your best outfit (because you're at Fashion Week) and wandering about feeling important (because you're at Fashion Week), but daunting because there are SO many people and almost all of them are more important and better dressed than you (because you're at Fashion Week).

Also, prepare to be shoved out of the way in queues for shows, tickets, and (especially) drinks. Many fashion people are not very polite. There were a lot of Toyotas with Rolls-Royce badges. And a lot of mutton dressed as expensive lamb. And a lot of lamb dressed as expensive lamb. And a lot of mutton dressed as some sort of bizarre disco mutton, especially in the Moet lounge.

On an actual work front, writing about shows was heaps of fun and also a massive learning curve, because I'd never written anything about fashion before (except "jeggings are shit" which, while true, doesn't really count) . Thesaurus.com had a workout finding synonyms for 'diaphanous' and 'draping' (and 'trousers') but it all turned out okay!

Here are some of my more accomplished sentences:

"Fur coats and pussy-bow blouses dominated an elegant collection from Helen Cherry that revelled in femininity and easy luxe."

I'm not really sure what easy luxe is. Also, real fashionistas probably don't get slightly uncomfortable saying 'pussy-bow'.

"Asymmetry and one-shoulder designs lifted the collection from confident to accomplished."

Yes, they sure did. Wait, what? What I mean here is, 'I thought the one-shoulder designs showed a design confidence not apparent in the rest of the collection.'

One day there will be a Nobel Prize for bullshitting and I will receive it.

"The colour story remained grounded in blacks, greys and charcoal, with yellow and blue adding striking highlights and white making a brief appearance in tailored separates."

It turns out that I LOVE saying 'colour story'. "The colour story was dominated by jewel tones." It sounds so... fashion writery! (It is statements like that that make me worryabout the person leaping out from behind the curtain.)

"Shift dresses in orange and black with purple panelling stepped away from the clearly defined tailoring, but definition continued in strong colour blocking."

I don't know what colour blocking is, but references to colour blocking lifted the review from confident to accomplished.

Blehhhhh

2011-09-04T23:44:00.005+12:00

Hello everyone! I am exhausted after long week at work and lovely weekend away in Kaikoura and this is more or less to let you know that I am aliiiiive, albeit a little bit battered. Like a nice piece of cod. A nice, self-aware piece of cod that is really sleepy and also quite hungry and should probably have eaten something at the airport.

In news: last week I went to Fashion Week, courtesy of work - more on this later - and also had fleas, courtesy of my flatmate's cat. I would recommend you never, ever get fleas. You may have that advice for free. I should write an advice column:

"Dear Ally,
My boyfriend/colleague/yoga coach is behaving weirdly after I mentioned a new position I was interested in. I feel judged. Should I talk to them about it, or just not mention the Reverse Cowgirl/Accounts Administrator/Downward Facing Dog ever again?
Sincerely, Desperate."

"Dear Desperate: IT DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER JUST DON'T GET FLEAS"

And now it is time for me to take off my makeup and go to bed, just like this.

Night night, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite!

OR THOSE FLEA MOTHERFUCKERS

Wieners of the Week

2011-08-26T18:37:00.008+12:00

(with apologies to Sophie Rosalind, who is expecting the currently-under-the-radar John Mayer to feature, which he does not: but he is still Wiener Emperor.)

Note: post contains one picture which is not suitable for work, small children, or people with high blood pressure. Please read the label and use only as directed.

A Wienery Winery - De Bertoli have a space on their label for 'Wine Type.' On their Merlot it says 'Family Selection'. Hmmm. Seems like a weird thing to write on a wine label. Seems a little...wienery.
"Even Little Timmy will enjoy this full-bodied Shiraz!"
To be fair, the merlot itself was quite drinkable.

People who describe wines as 'drinkable' - of course it's drinkable! It's a fucking liquid! When Winecritic McStuffyNuts says a wine is "highly drinkable" what he really means is, "This wine is neither poisonous or frozen".

Unhelpful Helpers - those people who offer to do something nice for you and then never get around to doing it. Ever. Until it is completely unhelpful and you wish they'd never bloody offered in the first place.
Say, hypothetically, that you happen to mention you need cream cheese.
"Oh," they say, "I'll pick some up on the way home from work! No bother!"
You say "Great!" and are highly appreciative and begin to imagine taking your breakfast bagel to a whole new level and yet that night they return from work and the cream cheese does not appear.
"Sorry," they say, "I forgot."
"Don't worry about it," you say, "I can get some."
"Oh, no no no! I'll get some tomorrow."
But when they come home the next night, there is still no cream cheese. But they still insist that they are going to buy it! And this goes on for YEARS in a horrible recurring dream of cream cheeselessness until eventually you start to feel like Horrible Cream Cheese Nagger and then one day go, "Oh for fuck's sake I will get it myself" and then you come home and slam the cream cheese down on the bench and they're all offended because they were just trying to do something nice for you.
Never take these people up on their offer to feed your puppy while you're away. You will come home and he will be so, so thin.

Wheeled Shoe Girl - I was at the mall today. Malls tend to make me ragey anyway because there are far too many people and they are all enormous wieners and somehow they are all walking exactly where I am trying to walk.
One mallwiener - teenage girl - whizzed past wearing those shoes with the wheel in the heel: I kind of like the shoes (I am a sucker for novelty value, as evidenced by my wardrobe and romantic history), but she had a haughty look on her face which said, "My daddy owns this mall, and I am mall royalty. I am a gliding shoe princess, get out of my way."
Madam? Madam, get that superior sneer off your face, you are wearing novelty footwear.

The Official Rugby World Cup Everything - I can understand the RWC having an official beer, an official clothing brand, an official sports drink. But the "Official Watch of the Rugby World Cup?" The "Official Car of the Rugby World Cup? Come ON. Somehow "Land Rover: RWC Sponsor" seems so much less silly than "HOLY CRAP this is the car you totally need to be in when you are playing and/or watching a game of rugby, because that is apparently what people do now."

Although I note that Dole is a sponsor. OFFICIAL BANANA OF THE RUGBY WORLD CUP?!

Wool fetishists - Just when I thought I'd stumbled across all the weird fetishes on the Internet (that originally said 'come across' but I thought it best to change it), my Bestfriend Andrea emailed to tell me about wool fetishes and HAHAHAHAHA OH GOD.

This is why your nana knitted all those jerseys. Because otherwise your granddad would've made her knit him this!

Ladies and gentlemen, your literal wiener of the week.

Airport wieners - specifically, those holding up the boarding queue, when we are all trying to get on the plane. I was stuck behind a family once - mum, dad, two small boys - who were halfway to the gate when they suddenly remembered the pre-flight bathroom check and stopped in their tracks, taking up the entire aisle, to make sure everyone was plane-ready and wouldn't do a Depardieu during the safety demonstration.
Mum: Has everyone been to the bathroom? Michael, have you been to the bathroom?
Michael: I don't need to.
Dad: Are you sure? There's a bathroom just over there.
Michael: I don't need to go!
Mum: Aaron's been to the bathroom.
Aaron smirks.
Mum, pushing Michael in the direction of the bathroom: Go on, go quickly now.
Michael, resisting, loudly: There is a TOILET on the PLANE!
Quite.

The British Association of Dermatologists - not so much wienery as poorly thought out; their website is www.bad.org.uk. Which makes me wish they were the British Association of Dermatologists And Skin Specialists.

0800 numbers you can't call from mobiles - It's annoying when, as a customer, you ring a company's 0800 number and are told to hang up and call a landline, which will charge you. I understand on customer service lines where there could be queues and long calls, but when it's a large company (I am looking at you, IRD) and it's a fully automated line you're calling to confirm your details (I am looking at you again, IRD) and the company can probably afford it (you are losing this staring contest, IRD) it is bothersome.

Although that does lead me to my bonus Not Wiener: whoever is behind BNZ's Twitter account.

I bank with BNZ because they have great home loan rates and are the only bank with FlyBuys - ha ha, no, I bank with them because they used to have a small pig as a mascot and I am exactly financially savvy enough to find that really appealing. (This becomes important to the story later, like the horribly insignificant character the CSI team interview first who then turns out to be the murderer in the last 10 minutes of the show.)

I tweeted about 0800-WIENERLINE. I said it was especially annoying when it was companies like the IRD and BNZ. And BNZ tweeted straight back to say they did in fact have an 0800 number I could call from a cell!

I said I liked to think the tweet was sent by a small ceramic pig... and they said "Absolutely. Here's me at my desk, working hard" and sent me a picture of a small ceramic pig tucked up behind a keyboard.

And now I have a bit of a crush on my bank.
Perhaps, after all, it is I who is the wiener.

Polar Dare

2011-08-24T11:02:00.003+12:00

Did anyone else play Polar Dare when they were little?

That game was so good and yet so frustrating. You had some penguins (I think maybe... three? six?) and you were tasked with getting them across a whole heap of ice floes by skilful rolling of the dice and avoiding the polar bear.

The good part was that if you rolled a... three? six? you got to be the polar bear and eat other people's penguins.

If board game boxes were accurate two of these children would not be looking so happy.

Anyway, I was reminded of this because New Zealand is almost rid of penguin rockstar Happy Feet. He is going home. Hopefully no-one rolls the polar bear.

Next week he will embark on his journey back to the subantarctic where, after many months of heavy financial and emotional investment from the people of New Zealand, he will no doubt last about four minutes before being eaten by a leopard seal.

No! I mean he will pull himself up on an ice floe and see his lovely penguin girlfriend - who has waited faithfully for months despite Happy's penguin buddies telling her he'll never come home - then waddle into her outstretched flippers and promise to never leave her side again.

I am keen to watch Happy Feet's Green Mile, which is probably not what the media are going to call it when he leaves his enclosure for the last time.

Will he walk? Will he run? Will he fly? (No. Penguins can't fly.)

He's flying on the inside.

Promise proper post later in the week, can feel a Wieners of the Week coming on - suggestions welcome! Was going to say 'wieners welcome' but suspect some of you might get the wrong idea.

The good news is that my crazy split shifts are drawing to an end and soon I'll be back. Austrian accent. Get in the chopper.

A plan Dumb: Abstain for the Game!

2011-08-18T11:24:00.004+12:00

Embarrassing moment walking home from work today: I was trotting along, singing under my breath without really realising I was doing it, until all of a sudden I was producing really quite a loud rendition of O Mein Papa (I was going to have lunch with Dad), sung in a metallish sort of a way and in what I think a German accent sounds like.

It wasn't helped by the fact that I don't really know the words to O Mein Papa and was just sort of making them up as I went along:

O Mein Pa-PA To me he ist so vun-dah-VUL
O! Mein PA-BA To me he IST. So GUT.
Gone! Are za days! Vhen he vhould holt me ON-HIS-KNEE

And then some people popped out from round a corner and I had to very quickly look like someone who hadn't just been roaring at themselves with Germanic intensity.

Speaking of embarrassing (segue!), who has seen Telecom's 'Abstain for the Game' campaign? They pulled it this morning after international ridicule (no, seriously) but now it is out there.

In the campaign, rugby legend Sean Fitzpatrick urges New Zealanders to abstain from sex during the Rugby World Cup campaign, as this will help the All Blacks ride to victory on a wave of sexual frustration.

In the first ad, previewed last night, Fitzy (for that is his nickname) rides a car in the shape of a giant fist, and sports a black rubber ring that people can wear to show their celibate support.

It makes sense because when I see a giant fist and rubber rings the first thing I think about certainly isn't sexual deviancy.

He is not rooting for the All Blacks.

Telecom said the campaign was meant to be taken tongue-in-cheek and appeals to what they think is the Kiwi sense of humour. Everyone else said it was ridiculous.

Best theory: the person who thought it was a sneaky attempt by Telecom to drive up phone sex, and therefore call times, and therefore profit.

Here are my favourite comments on the story:

"I'm right behind the abstain campaign and will fully comply. My wife, however, is not a big rugby fan and and has just left in a low cut dress on an unrelated matter."

"A better slogan would have been 'On your Back for Black.'"

"People around the world will be laughing at us not with us so it is a plan Dumb."

It was indeed a plan Dumb.

If you want to watch it, the story is here.

My Week + Profanities

2011-08-16T08:49:00.000+12:00

Well, I have cleaned the fridge! And that's about it for my achievements today, or even this week. Also this week:

I was sick
I went to the doctor (who was unhelpful and wearing green trousers, which in my opinion is not the sign of a reliable medical professional)
I went to work and found out that, hilariously, I'm part of the team covering Fashion Week
I poked my toe through my last pair of stockings and ran out of foundation, both things which only ever happen on the week before payday.

It's been that kind of a week.

Also, it very nearly snowed today and now I am wrapped in a blanket. It has snowed excessively this winter (not where I live because we are at the top of the country and therefore closer to the sun) - which is nice, and got the newsroom more excited than I've ever seen them (all the investigative journalists were outside investigating the potential snow) - except if they close the airport I won't be able to visit Christchurch this weekend.

So I would like to second this sign:

Anyway, speaking of work: the other day I read the most delightful job description! One of work's more interesting aspects is reading the Employment Relations Authority decisions*, in which the employee says he should not have been fired and he would like some money and the employer says fuck off, you drove a digger into the office - and the ERA sorts it out.

And some poor junior is sitting there typing these things up, wondering how on earth to say everything politely.

Anyway, I was reading one the other day that read, "John Jones was employed at the time as a team leader on the vegetable polishing machines section..."

A vegetable polishing team leader! Well, I certainly have a new career goal.

"So, what do you do?"
"I am a vegetable polishing team leader."
"What... wow. What sort of vegetables do you polish?"
"Well... dirty ones. You name it, we polish it."
"Apples?"
"Yes."
"Courgettes?"
"Yes."
"Radishes?"
"Yes."
"Zucchini?"
"Same as courgettes."
"Oh." Pause. "Potatoes?"
"No. No tubers. Everything but tubers. And peaches."

I think he was dismissed for fairly boring reasons but in my mind it went like this:

"Rupert! Rupert, these capsicums are only 90% shiny, this is simply not good enough."

*interesting because, being legal documents, reports of work disputes have to be phrased formally, leading to sentences like this: "Although Mrs Smith says she does not remember calling Mr Wilson 'a two-faced c*nt' she admits that she may have, as she thought he was one." As she thought he was one!

(I thought long and hard (tee hee) about the presentation of The C Word just there, because it is The Worst Word Of All and I wasn't sure if I should put in the little *. So I decided to spare you to game-changing 'u'. Let me know if you would rather have had the full word.)

(On a related note, got a press release the other day from family watchdog and general mouth-frothing moral crusaders Family First about the Boobs on Bikes event - which for the uninitiated is pretty much exactly what it sounds like - and they titled it "Bo*bs on Bikes," thus sparing the delicate eyes of the media the trauma of seeing the Boob word. Thank you, Family First!)

The Economy *

2011-08-08T11:32:00.013+12:00

*is not very interesting

Hello everyone! I'm still fairly sick and have just come home from work for food and nap before returning to work to spend 5 hours doing half-hourly updates on the world markets as they react to the US credit-rating downgrade.

I know! It is exciting.

I'm a bit concerned about the Economy. Not the state of it, the fact that I have to write about it.

When presented with a statement about the economy ('GDP figures are up but the high Kiwi dollar continues to affect commodity prices') I treat it in the same way as I treat any statement I know I really should make the effort to understand but really can't be bothered understanding -

(other good examples of statements like this include 'fat is a feminist issue' and how to correctly calculate a percentage)

- by frowning briefly and going back to whatever I was thinking about before, usually something along the lines of "If hippos were hallucinogenic, would Africa be a global superpower?"

Yes. The little one alone would be worth a fortune on the black market.

So my understanding of the global economy is limited, and what I am going to write about the markets is really anyone's guess. See? Here is the state of the world's finances, if various global economies were adorable toddlers.

Europe

America

China

New Zealand

Globally speaking, NZ is quite possibly the kid who eats paste.

What? I was a music student.

Anyway, I'm not going to write about this, but it looks like they need Meatron.

"Did you mean Megatron?"
No, Google Images, I did not.

(For those of you who can't be bothered clicking the link, Meatron is a Transformer made entirely of meat and invented by me, who goes around fixing economic crises with his meat magic. Also, he is a friend of Monkey.)

That's what I'm doing! I hope you are doing something more exciting.

Upside Down

2011-08-02T12:28:00.006+12:00

Hi everyone! Thank you all for your birthday wishes. I had a lovely day apart from being sick - if I was being paid for mucus production over the last week I would take you all on a nice holiday to Fiji - and am already regretting not doing more with the blog's Annual Day of Truth.

On Sunday we went to Rainbow's End - we being me, handsome boyfriend, my sister, her friend visiting from Christchurch and a couple of my close friends.

A more technically correct slogan would be, "NZ's Premier And Only Theme Park"

I took some pretty good photos but have yet to work out how to transfer these from my iPhone to the real internet so sadly you can't see them.

We started with the relatively tame Pirate Ship ride, where you sit in a ship and swing back and forth. (To recreate this at home, tie a string round the ends of a banana then hoist it lengthways between two books and take turns pulling on each end of the string.) The most notable part of the ride was my sister's friend interrupting the various pirate-ship-related squeals and yells to roar, "I got a txt!" in the middle of the ride.

My favourite was the Invader - I was initially worried that I would vomit ("Can you scream and vomit at the same time?" "Yes, but it goes up your nose and burns") but it was awesome. Look at it. It is magnificent.

I sat next to my friend, who became hysterical in a Laughing Policeman fashion out of some fun/fear combination the minute it started and quite literally didn't stop until the ride did.

HA-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

HOOOO-AHHH-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

It only got better when during all the laughing I forgot to swallow and managed to drool out the corner of my mouth slightly and feel it fly away in the wind! Gross. Which was only bettered by glancing at the person next to me (on the non-laughing side) at the exact moment a booger whipped out of their nose and spun away at high velocity. Eeeeww.

I also went on the Fear Fall - one of those things where they hoist you up a pole then drop you again - and the rollercoaster, an abandoned-mine ride I forget the name of but quite liked and the Power Surge, a horrendous bastard of a ride which very nearly gave me a Vomit Surge.

I took one look at it from across the park and went "No thank you".

FUCK NO, THANK YOU

My original aversion was because I don't really enjoy being upside down or falling backwards, and there is a lot of being upside down/falling backwards/falling backwards whilst upside down so only a pathetic unitog of a harness stands between you and ridiculous death involved in the Power Surge.

What you also can't tell from the picture is that each pair of chairs spins round and round as you go - not in any organised fashion, just depending on where the weight falls as the central wheel goes round and how much your knuckle-clenchingly enthusiastic seatmate wishes to flail about.

We approached the line. The ride supervisor was practicing the Robot, blissfully unaware of anything happening on the enormous machine behind him. This was less than confidence-inspiring. My sister dropped out because she is wise. I expressed a desire not to go on the ride, but my charming boyfriend picked me up and put me in the queue, and my friend pointed out that there were small children going on the ride who did not appeared worried in the slightest. Yes, ok, but it's fine for children! They don't understand things like gravity and hydraulics and death!

Anyway, I got on the ride and it went in the air and began to kick me about like in a tumble dryer and, instead of screeching in terror like a normal person (although there was a bit of that too), I started vocalising very clearly exactly how much I was not enjoying myself, mainly by shouting "I am not happy!" and "I don't like being upside down!" and "¡uʍop ǝpısdn buıǝq ǝʞıן ʇ,uop ı" and sometimes even "I am breaking up with you the second we are back on the ground for making me go on this stupid ride!" and ooh, flashbacks.

Man, it was such a fun day. I think I'm going to organise some sort of a work trip.

It's weird though when you're wandering along the road the next day, having apologised to boyfriend for being midair nutter (but to be fair I was upside down, and anything you say while upside down doesn't count) and trotting happily off to pub and then you think: "This time yesterday we were... way up in the air. And upside down."

You name me one animal that voluntarily spends most of its time upside down and is not a sloth or a bat. See? No animals. Upside down is not a natural way to be.

Today Is My Birthday!

2011-07-29T13:35:00.004+12:00

This is the one day of the year where the title of this blog is actually TRUE.

I am 24 years old! I have not achieved very much but I have many pairs of nice shoes.

This morning I started a political party so it's been a big day already.

Worked this morning and working this evening (the good thing about working on Birthday is that you can look mildly offended whenever anyone asks you to actually do any work, then mutter "Birthday!" in an injured tone until they sigh and ask someone else to do it) so it is now time for an episode of Coronation Street and a little nap.

Birthday nap.

Thank you all for reading this blog for another year. It makes me feel like:

In a good way.

p.s. you should go and read about the political party. It stars Happy Feet and has the best election billboard you will ever see.

The Big Issues

2011-07-24T19:35:00.005+12:00

The other night my flatmate and I had a heated discussion after she inadvertently revealed that she wears underpants under her pyjamas.

I think underpants under pyjamas is unnatural and wrong. She finds my night-time pantslessness is equally disturbing.

So I conducted a survey* into this and the results are in:

For those not in the know, 'freeballin'' is when you aren't wearing undies or jammies (or, if you prefer, 'jammie dodging') and 'other' covers answers like "magic mormon undies" which from my extensive research** appear to be some sort of righteous pyjama/underpants combination and therefore cannot be put into either category.

Notable comments include:

@gavinbarron: acceptable clothing levels: none. exceptions: a) not your bed, b) bed partner is not a pelvic affiliate c) it's damn cold

@baghabit: yes. I wouldn't go commando under my jeans for a week - don't think jimmers are any different.

@2manyk9s: NO! It needs an airing sometimes.

@citizen_parable: No no no. One has worn them 12 hours already. Fester in them for another 8? No no no. Perhaps a clean pair, but why bother?

@ianhowarth: I certainly don't wear them OVER my jammies. I'm not Superman.

Feel free to leave your personal preference in the comments, pelvic affiliates.

* "Asked friends and Twitter"
** Google image search

Squid Band*

2011-07-18T21:20:00.003+12:00

*there would be a comma in that title but I was really taken with the idea of a squid band. I was going to Photoshop I mean MS Paint a picture of this, all these squid standing about with hipster glasses and guitars but then I accidentally googled 'squids' and from the level of hilarity this provided it is apparent that I really need to get some sleep. Also it's not like they could use electric guitars underwater, so they would either have to be land squids, which I do not believe exist, or an acoustic hipster band, which I wish did not exist. Ah, 'squids.'

If I could be any sea creature, I would be a squid. Imagine the joy of standing at the photocopier next to Rupert from Marketing, who is telling a boring and faintly racist story which you can no longer be bothered listening to and suddenly SSSSSKKKK! Ink everywhere. "Oooh, that was weird," you say as you walk away from inky Rupert, "a print cartridge must have exploded or something."

Anyway.

It's now two days until band contest, annual highlight of the brass band social calendar! I am really excited. Excited about getting to the hotel, hanging up my uniform, wondering how I always manage to forget my gloves, panicking about my gloves, finding my gloves shoved into the bell of my cornet for some reason and then cracking into the Pirate Rosé.

(Pirate Rosé is a version of classic drunken creativity exercise 'Make Your Own Rosé.' We invented it last contest. MYOR is when there is a little bit of red wine left and a little bit of white wine left and, well, I'm sure you can figure it out. Pirate Rosé is like that, but you also have half a bottle of rum. I would say it was delicious but I don't remember how it tasted, probably because by that stage of the week my tastebuds just went "Oh God, more booze", threw up their hands in disgust and moved to the oesophagus.)

Last year our room was a stinking, clothes-strewn hovel (room-mate Jess is, like me, a hasty packer and stuffed her suitcase with wet laundry then bussed it down to Dunedin, which combined with the constant reek of two sweaty hangovers to create an odour both mouldy and turdy) saved only from complete awfulness by a bottle of air freshener the hotel had provided.

The scent was somewhat ironically called 'Fresh Linen' and every time someone knocked on the door of the room whoever was nearer the door would shriek, "Fresh Linen! Fresh Linen!" and the spray would be frantically whizzed around before the door was opened. I'm pretty sure we used the entire bottle over four days. Rooming with Jess again this year. Picking up the Fresh Linen tomorrow.

The other highlight of last contest was the morning that I made an enormous effort to get back to the hotel before the band was up and about (I had spent the previous evening... elsewhere), thought I'd managed it, and ducked back into my room immensely pleades with myself.

Only to find out that my walk of shame had taken me right past the McDonalds where half the band was having breakfast.

Yes. Band contest is a time to stay classy! I shall keep you abreast of events, complete with photos of me in my marching uniform.

Tee hee, abreast.

Questions About Birds

2011-07-13T11:56:00.001+12:00

Housekeeping: if anyone wishes to submit their own sexy haiku, feel free to email them to ally@sleep500.com and I will post them, either anonymously or nonymously* - you may think of this blog as a safe haven for your deepest and most hilarious secrets, in haiku form. Unless you are Dad, in which case, no thank you.

*I'm not a word!

This morning I had so many questions about birds. It's amazing I got any work done at all, what with all the Big Questions About Birds.

I was thinking about how I used to work for a guy who thought the noise birds make was spelt 'churp'

Churp derp

and how I always had trouble respecting him as a manager, and all of a sudden I was filled with important bird questions.

It was inconvenient because there you sit, trying to be a grown-up reporter and write something intelligent about Slightly Racist Uncle of the Nation Don Brash, and all you are thinking is "I wonder if birds burp? I've never seen a bird burp. But I guess they probably do. Wait, we used to have chickens. Did they burp? Don't google it. Don't google it. You can google it when you get home, do some work" and then all of a sudden you're in helpless fits of giggles because what if chickens burped, and oh dear.

"The current political climate is - wait, would it sound like a people burp?"

This chicken looks like he is just about to burp, which is somehow funnier.

It turns out birds do burp, but as soon as someone had helpfully tweeted that at me another question arose when someone else said, "Maybe your old boss was just talking about a bird with a New Zealand accent."

Wait.

Do birds have accents?

I mean, if you have two chickens, and one is an American chicken and one is a European chicken, do they squawk in different dialects?

Wow. I didn't realise how stupid that question was until I saw it written down and I have been asking people literally all morning. That's embarrassing.

But let's google it anyway and OH MY GOSH they totally do! (In Australia.)

You know what else has regional accents? Cows. Their moos have different inflections depending on the herd. The BBC said it, so it must be true!

We have all learnt something today. ~~Fuck~~ Gosh* this blog is educational.

First the funny accent and now the dance - Howard began to wonder exactly what kind of herd he had stumbled into. Surely they weren't... Friesians?

*Teachers: I took out the 'fuck' so it's OK for you to use this as a learning tool.

Sleeping Haiku Guest*

2011-07-12T16:49:00.005+12:00

*and the Band Napper - this is what my blog is about today but it would also be a good title for a murder mystery novel, one of those avant-garde, prize-winning ones that everyone says they're just about to get around to reading.

Hello everyone!

I really miss blogging all the time (am not kidding) and am going to attempt to update more often (this originally said 'become regular again' but it sounded like I needed some sort of blog laxative), mainly because as well as missing blogging I am so BORED with sleeping.

At the moment any time I'm not at work I'm asleep or ~~asobbing into a bowl of 2-minute-noodless~~ falling asleep. Even when there's something good on the TV I fall asleep! All the time, asleep. I am becoming old.

The other day I was tucked up in bed watching Coronation Street at 2 in the afternoon and I fell asleep, possibly out of shame, and now we may never know if Gail makes it out of her romantic weekend getaway at the secluded and very deep lake! That is how asleep I am falling.

Hopefully in the next couple of months I can go back to working Normal Person Hours rather than Work Eating Life hours but until then we can all suffer together.

Picture unrelated.

I'm also sick, after someone insisted on coming into work last week and sharing their rotten cold germs with everyone, Dylan - so it's time for yet another sleep because it's brass band nationals next week, and you can't fall asleep during brass band nationals!

Although we had a concert on the weekend and I could swear that one of the band members did in fact fall asleep - I thought they'd just closed their eyes to better appreciate the soothing middle section of a gentle euphonium solo, but when the piano came thumping back in they jerked their head up suddenly and looked around in an extremely guilty fashion.

Yes, you. I saw you.

On another note, you remember my haiku? Well, a young lady of my acquaintance wrote her own set of haiku (about Sexual Experiences) and said perhaps I might like to blog them, as long as I kept her anonymous. Here they are!

My favourites are numbers 7 and 10.

1.
In the car, parked up,
Did not know we were dogging.
Accidentally.

2.
It went for hours
We tried every position,
Still no orgasm.

3.
After we did it -
Oh my motherfucking hell!
There’s blood everywhere!

4.
I walked in the door,
You pounced, you pashed me, and then
We fucked for ages.

5.
When we got naked
You realized I’m not just
Faking all that fat.

6.
You stopped the BJ
To look at all my CDs.
You have some issues.

7.
You were a weirdo
Who couldn’t get me off, and
Came into a sock.

8.
I was so close and
I think you were too, but then
Your parents walked in.

9.
We were on the beach.
It was dark, I was frisky.
My first time outside.

10.
Your dog watched while we
Ate Thai, then fucked on the couch.
I didn’t like that.

11.
Sex at your house while
Your flatmate was there. Later,
You hooked up with her.

12.
It was your first time,
It nearly didn’t happen -
The condom snapped off!

I wish the last one ended, "Flew across the room, and hit my aunt in the eye!"

Bum

2011-07-04T21:19:00.005+12:00

Hello everyone! No news here except that I recently acquired a full-length mirror and it turns out that my naked bottom looks nothing like I thought it did. Frankly, I'm a bit disappointed. Might have to start doing some bummercizes.

Does anyone know any bummercises? (One British spelling and one American spelling, for fairness.) I spent about 2 minutes clenching my buttocks while watching TV this evening and all that happened was- wait, why am I telling you this story? Never mind.

It seems weird that one could be 23 (in fact almost 24, it is my birthday soon) and have such an incorrect idea of one's own rear end. Now I am buttockally insecure.

Quick, everyone, tell me I have a nice bum! I don't have a photo of it, but it looks like this one:

Or at least until recently I thought it did.

In un-bum-related news, the most terrible thing happened to me the other night. I was having a dream where I was at a party and ran into New Hot Guy from my work and, in this dream, he was madly in love with me and went in for a pash.

Did Dream Me seize the opportunity? No, Dream Me did not. Dream Me said, "Sorry, I've got a boyfriend" and went home.

God damn it, subconscious. I just cock-blocked myself.

On the plus side, I'm going to Christchurch this weekend for some family time (yay), some boyfriend time (yaaaaay) and some hardcore brass bandage* (yaaa- hmmm).

See you after!

*What does a tuba player need when he stubs his toe? A br- oh, fuck off.

Ice bears, snails, butter sculptures*

2011-06-27T20:42:00.005+12:00

*you can pretty much rearrange those five words whichever way you like and they will make about the same amount of sense.

Hello everyone! This week's theme is 'grumpy and exhausted,' which you may recognise on account of it being the theme for the last two months. I would be tempted to say I've 'finally flipped' but I believe we all know I flipped some time ago! I am like a burnt pancake.

This is what I feel like a lot of the time. Fuck you, ice bears! I am over your ice bear bullshit! I am a real bear!

I have no idea how that relates to anything. Anyway. Work, while enjoyable, is extremely time-consuming and so in general I am either at work or sleeping, and sometimes that makes me forget that I have lovely friends and family and extremely handsome boyfriend and instead push over all the ice bears.

Also, I keep standing on snails. I'm not used to popping outside on a damp day to find the local snail coffee group meeting on the front porch ("Did you hear Minerva posed for Invertebrates Weekly with her shell off?") and so I go bounding joyfully out into the day and CRUNCH! and I feel awful. Especially because I have a tendency to imagine the snail's last moments when it looks up and sees the giant foot descending and it moves faster than it has ever moved before but that still isn't very fast because, well, snail, and then- CRUNCH!

Poor snails. Sometimes I'm just wearing socks and that's even worse. CRUNCH! SQUIDGE! EUUURRGGGHHHH.

And goodness me if I haven't got distracted by the Googler, but did you guys know about the Ice Bear sculpture which is touring the globe to raise awareness about global warming? I know, I know, global warming, but pay attention! This is cool. It's an ice sculpture of a polar bear which gradually melts, revealing - no actually I'm just going to show you the pictures.

Ice sculpture of polar bear. Nice, but would be equally if not more impressive if made out of butter. Does anyone else find butter sculptures fascinating? I remember once we went out for dinner somewhere super fucking classy - obviously, you can tell a place is classy when it has a butter sculpt- handsome boyfriend? Are you reading this? When are you going to take me somewhere with a butter sculpture? Anyway, there was a butter sculpture of a sumo wrestler and it had veins popping out and everything.

Back to the bear now.

Ice sculpture of a polar bear with what appears to be black lines drawn on him

Ice sculpture of the thing Stephen King rides to work in his mind

Ahhhhh!

It's his skeleton!

Yeah, I think that's about me for the day.

(Also, I feel less grumpy and exhausted now and that is pretty much the point of this blog so thank you, and also sorry about the terrifying undead ice bear.)

10 Ridiculous Military Vehicles

2011-06-20T20:21:00.008+12:00

Hello everyone! I'm still flat out and working crazy hours but because I love you all very much, allow me to present a list (in no particular order) of 10 highly unusual and in some cases slightly silly Military Vehicles, inspired by the latest addition to our defence force.

The New Zealand Battle Tractor

This is literally a tractor covered in armour. Isn't it awesome? No guns, just tractor. Someone asked me which end is the front but I'm pretty sure when you're driving that it doesn't matter.

I have two theories as to how this came about:

1) A young farm lad joins the army but finds himself struggling to fit in, and being constantly assigned mundane earthmoving duties rather than being allowed to be a real soldier. At night he works on his secret project (I am sure you can guess what it is).

One night the camp comes under surprise attack, and the disorganised soldiers find their traditional military vehicles are failing them. "Fall back! Fall back!" shouts the commander, but just as all hope seems lost and the enemy are about to overrun the barracks, out of nowhere comes the battle tractor, bucket lowered, being driven straight at the enemy lines by our hero. The enemy scatter, the camp is saved, the hero gets the girl. Best movie EVER.

2) It is late one night at the New Zealand Defence headquarters. Three men sit around a table, their faces weary.
"I can't think of anything to ask the Defence Minister for in this budget," says Dave.
"I'm bored," says Kevin.
"I know," says Nigel, "how about a round of Military Madlibs?"
Dave says, "You know what happened last time."
They both look at Kevin.
"Don't worry," Kevin says, "I'll be sensible."
"Right," says Dave. "On the count of three, and whatever comes out, we'll put in the submission."
"One-
"Two-
"ARMOURED- "
"BATTLE- "
"TRACTOR!"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Kevin," says Nigel.

Made In China

China made this!

It's so cute. It looks like something you should ride in the Christmas parade, not something you should go to war in.

It also looks like an enormous bath toy, which brings me swiftly to my next point:

Russian Inflatables

It turns out that heaps of countries have whole battalions of inflatable tanks which are blown up, put in a strategic position and carefully painted to look like the real thing.

When they're inevitably bombed, the enemy pilot looks in the rear vision mirror (?) to view his or her handiwork, but instead of a satisfying explosion all he (or she) sees is what looks like a whole bunch of enormous khaki balloons whizzing around the desert in circles until all the air has gone out of them.

May have made that last bit up but I really like to think that's what would happen.

Also, this is the only military vehicle you can take in the bath.

Japan: OTT

This is something by Japan and I'm pretty sure we're all asking the same question: Why does it have antlers?

"Well, I think we're good for Stuff Tanks Have."
"Armour?"
"Check."
"Guns?"
"Check."
"Chains?"
"Check."
"Antlers?"
"What? No."
"Antlers. You know, like deer have. To make it more badass."
"I... yeah, ok. Check."

Except you have to imagine that conversation in Japanese.

German Battle Bike, Part 1

I love this. This is Germany's first gloriously mis-aimed shot at a military motorbike. It looks like the product of a one-night-stand between a motorbike and its sidecar (awkward, because you have to see each other at work every day) and the chap riding it looks like he should be tootling down to his butchery to make some more fine German sausages. I was going to look up some sausage varieties for accuracy but it takes a brave woman to Google 'German Sausage', so I'm just going to say Frankfurters.

Then he will make precisely three (3) 'wurst' jokes, stroke his mustache, and go home.

Russia's Giant Hipster Tricycle

This... oh man. This is from Russia and they should know better. It was called the Tsar Tank, presumably* because the Tsar said, "I want something that will make the enemy piss themselves." And then, some time later, "No! With fear! Not laughing!"

The Tsar Tank was freakin' huge (see the little dude on top of it?) but, despite looking so good on paper, it was not a success as the back wheels got stuck in the mud. Often.

Also, it doesn't have those little things you stick in the spokes and they flash and light up and go 'clack-clack-clack' but I guess that's not good for stealth... although this probably isn't one of your leading stealth vehicles.

*in this example 'presumably' means 'I am making this up as I go along'

The Armoured Schoolbus

I am assuming this came about after someone finally realised that American military transport just wasn't fun enough.

"These military transport vehicles, Jack."
"Hmmm?"
"Don't you ever think they look kind of... well, a bit blah?"

Every time I see it I can't help but imagine a bus full of battle-hardened soldiers, all desperately in need of an iceblock.

"Lieutenant-Colonel! Lieutenant-Colonel! Can we stop at the dairy? Pleasepleaseplease?"

The Bridge Transporter

I included this because I had no idea that 'bridge transporter' was an entire class of military vehicle and that's actually kind of awesome.

An enormous platform with wheels, designed specifically to take a bridge where you need a bridge to be.

German Battle Bike, Part 2

Germany's second go at the motorbike tank or, as I like to think of it, the Tankerbike.

I imagine someone was just working late at the tank factory, fuckin' around, and then the back wheel on their motorbike blew so they just MacGuyvered it.

Incidentally, this wins the prize for 'Military Vehicle I Would Most Like to Ride to Work (But Not War)'. I would ride the Japanese Antler Vehicle to war.

The German Ball Tank

Ladies and gentlemen, the reason Germany lost the war.

This is a real thing! On hearing that the Allies had a song mocking Hitler's lack of a second testicle Germany decided that if they were going to be the butt of ball jokes then damn it, they were going to own it. Hence the one-man Ball Tank.

I made up that story, but it was either that or they were inspired by the tactical manoeuvres of the slater. I can't think of a single other reason why you would make this.

How could you possibly think a line of these rolling down a hill towards the enemy would do anything but confuse him and make him giggle a little bit? And how do you turn this thing around? Surely the enemy could just duck down in their trenches and there you'd be, rolling along, trying to work out where the firing-hole was and not get motion sickness, unaware that you were cruising gently towards the sea.

Also, we've all played marbles. All you'd need would be a decent-sized rock and you could knock the whole line off course.

Best part about this: we're only 100% sure this exists because the Russians captured one. Germany is presumably still too embarrassed to admit it's theirs.

Bonus: Canada Is A Tree

In all my tank research, this was the best camouflage effort.

"How's the tank looking?"
"This... this is probably enough, yeah?"
"Yeah fuck it we're running late already. Just chuck another branch on the front and we'll go."

NOTHING TO SEE HERE PEOPLE JUST A COUPLE OF TREES DOIN' TREE STUFF

*makes Ent noises*

Wieners of the Week(end)

2011-06-12T11:32:00.007+12:00

Oh yes, people. It's time. Time for a new crop of weiners!

Anthony Weiner

I'm sure you all know the story, but US Congressman Anthony Weiner is in trouble after he sent a picture of his surname to a young lady on Twitter.

His highly original panic mechanism of claiming his account had been hacked and saying the wiener "didn't look familiar" (known as the 'Officer, I swear it's not mine' defence) failed spectacularly and he eventually admitted that the wiener in question was, in fact, his.

Here is Weiner's Wiener, just because it hasn't had quite enough exposure:

You'd think if you were going to be sexting people you'd put some nicer undies on.

Newsrooms worldwide dissolved into helpless giggles and started thinking of headlines (my favourites: Mounting Pressure on Weiner and Weiner: I'll Stick It Out) and once again the thing your mother always says about pictures on the Internet never going away was proven true.

You have to feel a bit sorry for him, though; this would've died down much faster if his name was Anthony Smith.

Two-lane Wieners

Two lanes come up to an intersection. Both lanes go straight ahead. I took the lane less travelled, and it made me an enormous fucking wiener, because right after the intersection, these lanes merge into one.

Those people who scoot up the not-full lane, knowing full well that after the intersection you're going to have to let them merge in a full 10 cars ahead of where they should be? Wieners.

Escalator Huffers

This is my name for people who charge up escalators as though they're climbing Mt Everest and, because it is often difficult to overtake on an escalator, reach the step behind you and stand there huffing angrily because you're not plowing up the escalator like you're a bison in heat and there is an attractive lady bison standing at the top fluttering her bison eyelashes at you.

Hello, boys.

Sorry about the weird bison analogy and forgive me if I'm getting this wrong, but the entire point of an escalator is that you don't have to walk.

Yes, I will rush up escalators if I'm late, and I guess other people will too, but if someone's standing still on the escalator then just accept that. You're the one who's being weird, Escalator Running Man.

Z Energy

Z is a new NZ energy company whose mission statement is essentially, "Petrol stations are run by multi-nationals? Man, fuck that". Which I'm ok with. Not so cool? Their TV ad, where 'we're moving the call centre back home' is represented by a shot of smiling white people snatching headsets from sad-looking Asian heads.

Guys? Guys, we have Asian New Zealanders.

Self-styled Social Media Experts (who Aren't)

I have ranted before about people who have a blog and therefore feel obliged to introduce themselves as writers, but it's now moved on and the hot new thing is referring to yourself as a Social Media Guru'.

I'm not saying there aren't many people out there who are bonafide social media experts, as well as many people with an interest in and good knowledge of social media, but those aren't the same thing.

"Oh, I'm a social media expert and online entrepreneur, I'm currently-"
"Pardon? Pardon, Horace? Aren't you an equine groomer to the stars?"
"WELL YES BUT-"

No, Horace! No but!

I think unless something is your profession (the thing you get paid to do) then in general you shouldn't be introducing yourself as it. By all means chuck it in there ("I'm a gardener, but I'm starting up my own business as a social media consultant") but come on, we all know you're the professional equivalent of the guy who tells everyone he's a musician but actually only plays the guitar. To pick up chicks. When he's not on shift at Burger King.

Social media consultants also bug me, because often it seems like the only qualification is 'having used social media a bit'. I used to sell advertising, I buy things that have advertising campaigns... and therefore I am a marketing consultant! No.

Most consultants either have qualifications in the area or extensive experience working in that field. You have a Twitter account and once set up a Facebook page for your nana, and now you want to charge me $400 for a social media campaign? No.

Because you can write out own deposit slips at the bank you're an economist!
Because you cut your own toenails you're a doctor! No.

Also, I can't take self-styled social media gurus seriously because the guru word makes it impossible to picture without seeing them in a turban, atop a pile of enlightened Facebook statuses with the Twitter mascot sitting peacefully on one finger and an SEO cloud spinning gently about their head.

I made some rules about when you're not a social media expert:

Just because you have a Twitter, a Facebook, a blog and are beta-testing three new social media platforms, you are not a social media expert. I have many clothes but this doesn't make me a stylist.
Blogging about social media doesn't make you a social media expert. Sometimes I blog about making jam.
Someone well-known on Twitter retweeting you does not automatically make you a social media expert.
You are not a social media expert just because you spend a lot of time on the internet, in the same way that you are not a sex therapist because you watch a lot of porn.

Say you understand social media, say you enjoy social media, say you use social media, say social media gives you a massive U.S. Congressman Anthony but come on.

Wieners.

Shady-lookin' Dudes and the Terrible Shower*

2011-06-08T22:57:00.007+12:00

*this would be an excellent title for pretty much absolutely nothing

Two-part post, everybody.

PART ONE: SHADY-LOOKIN' DUDES

I walk home from work. It generally isn't too late, only about 10, and I walk down a relatively well-lit main road so I don't have major safety worries.

Last week a colleague was talking in Concerned Voice about how there is some sort of gang house near a corner on my walk home, which is an awesome way to make your friends feel safe, and while this didn't bother me because of well-lit high-traffic area and also possibility that it might not be true I did freak out a little bit when I walked up to that corner tonight and noticed a shady-lookin' dude leaning against a pole.

Presenting Google's possibly slightly racist idea of a shady-lookin' dude.

I thought, "Keep walking, ignore this dude" but he came over and waved and said, "Stop! Stop!" in a drunken fashion and for a short period of time I thought I was going to die.

But it turned out he was actually a nice chap playing lookout for his friend, another shady-lookin' dude, who was urinating on a wall around the corner.

Something else bewildering that Google thinks is a shady-lookin' dude

PART TWO: THE TERRIBLE SHOWER

In other news, we got a new shower and it is utterly fucking tiny.

I am going to get stuck in it. I am going to get stuck in it butt naked and have to call the fire department.

It will be like this but with more nudity and less laughing.

Why would you even make a shower door that tiny? Is this some sort of special niche market shower for anorexic midgets?

Why is it in our house?

You can't even lift your arms up to wash your hair without executing a weird Olympic diving manoeuvre, so how is male flatmate, who is significantly taller and broader than I, possibly going to wedge himself in there every morning? Do not want to end up trying to lever his soapy bulk out with the towel rail. Are we are going to have to lower him in over the top?

Also, more importantly, I have boyfriend. How the fuck am I going to shave my legs?

I am going to get dumped and I won't even be able to sit drunkenly in the shower and cry like they do in the movies because the shower is too fucking small.

p.s. this marks 700 posts! You'd think some of them would be better.

Eyepatches and a PLANT FIGHT*

2011-06-04T14:01:00.008+12:00

*it's one of those blog posts, yes.

Did you guys know why pirates wore eyepatches? Because I totally do.
Know why. Not wear an eyepatch.

According to Wikipedia (New word: 'Wikipediapparently') it's so they could adjust quickly to the darkness below deck - otherwise when there was an attack, everyone would run inside to launch the cannon, go temporarily blind, and fall hilariously out of the, um, things the cannon pokes out of. Cannonholes.

Military pilots used to wear them too, so when they were flying over a city at night they had one eye for looking out the window and one for reading the instruments. Also so if there was some sort of laser attack (?) they would only be blinded in one eye.

I tested this theory and it totally works (for going to the bathroom in the middle of the night).

You squidge one eye closed before you turn the bathroom light on, keep it closed while you're in there (caution: changes your depth perception a bit so be careful not to fall off the seat) then open the eye again when the light's off and you're back in the lounge, and you can SEE!

You'll never hit your toe on the coffee table again.

ALLY MULLORD: MIDNIGHT BATHROOM PIRATE.

Now, time for a story about when I went mental for five minutes and fought a plant.

I was out for a drive in the country with a friend recently when the friend pulled into a little dirt side road to take a phone call.

The phone call was of a sensitive nature and so I decided to leave the car and go for a little walk to give said friend some space. The phone call was also with someone who really irritates me and I'm not a bad-tempered person, but ha ha ha yes I am, and so as I trotted away from the car and up this little dirt road, I was somewhere between angry and kitten-skinning furious.

(EDIT: flatmate just said that sentence "makes you sound like a douche". The situation is more complicated than I have laid out here! I am not a douche.)

We were going to a winery for lunch, so there I was out in Bumfuck, Cheviot* walking down this dirt road in my Very Expensive Jacket

This one, but without the dog

sheer stockings, and immensely high heeled, chain-covered black suede boots which kept sinking into the mud

These, but higher heel and more chains.

and there was no-one around except a paddock of sheep and the shouts of someone mustering in the distance.

When I rounded the corner and saw an annoying-looking plant, for some reason I completely lost my shit. In my defence I was immensely sleep-deprived, very angry, and looked ridiculous.

Trigger warning, apparently

I thought, "You, plant, are stupid-looking".

I kicked the plant. It tore a hole in my stockings.

That plant bastard. A red mist descended.

I roared the F word, the sheep bolted in the other direction and, flailing my arms about like a demented windmill, I proceeded to make the plant sorry it had ever sprouted.

The plant, in retaliation, dropped little fluffy white plant-bits all over me and they stuck to my hair-wax, which was just a bridge too far, and so I pulled off bits of the plant and, I'm ashamed to say, whacked it and shouted, "Stop hitting yourself!" and laughed like a madwoman, which at this point apparently I totally was.

When my friend drove up the road to pick me up - stockings ripped, shoes covered in mud, nonchalantly waving a stick about and surrounded by bits of vanquished plant - he looked terrified.

"Don't worry!" I said. "I kicked the shit out of a plant, and now I feel better."

And we went to the winery and had a very nice lunch indeed.

The end.

p.s. I took off my stockings and threw them out the window which is Littering, but as friend pointed out, farmers are resourceful folk and probably right now those stockings are being used to tie little trees to stakes or something.

p.p.s. if you are the farmer, I'm sorry about your plant, and also about scaring your sheep. I hope the useful stockings make up for it.

*I was looking up 'Bumfuck Egypt' to make sure this means what I think it means and accidentally found myself staring at the Wikipedia entry on 'Anal Sex' in a packed cafe. Turns out you REALLY need to type in the 'Egypt' part before you hit the Search button.

Not Dead Just At The Zoo*

2011-06-02T13:17:00.008+12:00

*'When Elephants Write Letters: Thoughts From Ivory Minds.' Season One, Episode Three. 9.30 pm Tuesdays on the Discovery Channel.

Hello everyone, I'm not dead, just at the zoo.

It is almost exactly like this.

I went to the zoo today for work and now I am

ALLY MULLORD: ZOO REPORTER

and I pretty much need my own sitcom, but the downside is that I have to go and do zoo reporting stuff and then I'm going to need a nap because you wouldn't think it, but crocodile riding really takes it out of you.

Obviously I'm still on the split shifts at work and going a little bit mad. My mental doomsday* clock has shifted ten minutes closer to midnight.

Will post on the weekend - tractors tanks & tantrums - but for now am going to sleep and hope not to get a repeat of last night's romantic escapade, where someone promised to marry me if I got to 1,000 Twitter followers.

Sorry for lazy blogging! I'm almost as sorry as this guy:

- and he is very sorry indeed.

(In other news, I wrote a post over here and it is about why you shouldn't send a press release for potato chips and why, if you do, it shouldn't have wine matches. (No, really.))

*Google 'odometer' Google 'odometer' FUCK

Sex Whinges*

2011-05-27T09:55:00.004+12:00

*Father, this is not a post for you. Also anyone who found the Fleshlight post a bit much -this is probably not a post for you either. I promise to post about something polite next time.

You guys know sex, right?

Yep, that's the one.

Well, a friend and I were talking about how sometimes people whinge about sex.

By people we meant 'men' because usually it is men that we do sex with.

The friend and I discovered that we had a lot of sex whinges in common! And I wanted to share these and see if you have come across them too.

Our point is that there's a difference between doing something out of the ordinary because it's exciting at the time and fun for everyone, and doing something out of the ordinary because one of you is begging like a small child who has just heard the Mr Whippy truck come round the corner.

Dear everyone: begging is not sexy.

Here are the top ten Sex Whinges.

1. Period sex
This is a weird one because for some reason it's assumed that by angling for sex during 'that time of the month' the dude is doing the lady a massive favour.
"Oh," he will say, "it's ok! I don't mind."
That's great that you don't mind! Because I am feeling bloated and emotional and have awful cramps, and am TOTALLY in the mood.

Luckily, there are always two other options once period sex has been ruled out:

2. Anal
I don't really see the obsession with this - if I had a penis, I would not want to put it in anyone's bottom. I don't think.
Someone said it is about 'taboo' but if you want 'taboo' then go and have a wank in the Botanic Gardens because that doesn't affect anyone else's happiness, unless you are stumbled upon by a school group.
However, if you feel you really must give Admiral Browning the standing salute, I'm going to clarify what I think the general rule is.
Ask once, ask politely, and if the answer is no then move on.
There are plenty of other valuable places to put your penis.
Not the hydrangeas.

3. Obligatory BJ
Once going up the down stairs is off the table, this is the fallback time-of-the-month whinge, and also the classiest sex whinge of them all.
It's hardly ever fully vocalised, just a "Could you..." followed by a vague hand gesture crotchwards.
If you're dating a witty type, you might be lucky enough to get the immortal line, "While you're down there..." Except you probably aren't down there, probably you are just watching TV or, more likely, down the road at the taxi stand.
Might as well just get a sign saying, MOUTHS ON PENISES PLEASE LADIES.

4. Toys
All I have to say about this is that the next time someone says, "Bring your toys! I want to see your toys!" I'm going to show up nude with a carton of stuffed rabbits.

5. Fantasies
It is my firm belief that if someone wants to tell you their fantasies, they will do so without being badgered incessantly about it.
"Tell me! Tell me! Why won't you tell me? Don't you trust me?"
I'm always caught between shouting, "FUCK OFFFFFF", and making up something completely bizarre ("Well, honey, my fantasy involves an entire orchestra and their instruments").
Have never gone for the bizarre because it could backfire horribly and there you are, lover tenderly whacking his soft penis against your feet, and you have just said that's your favourite thing EVER and are trying not to giggle.

6. Shave You
For some reason the better-left-unspoken "I want to shave you. Can I shave you?" reminds me of Ron Burgundy shouting, "I want to be on you!" Which makes it an automatic no.
I was amazed that this is a thing men want to do. Really? You get to shave yourself every day! Which reminds me - if you cut yourself shaving twice this morning what makes you think I'm going to let you anywhere near any part of me with a razor?
(I would like to add here that I do not sport a Bornean jungle, but am also not bald as a billiard ball because I'm actually ok with my nether regions not looking like an aerial view of Dr Phil.)
Secondly, I am not a topiary and/or craft project. While I would very much like to one day have a Batman-call-sign-shaped landing strip it is a job best left to the professionals.

7. Lights On
Leaving the light on is fine.
Demanding to turn the lights on when moving into a more flattering position for oneself is not as fine.
Oh, you don't want the light on when all you can see is your manboobs, but now that we've moved around we better get this shit illuminated? No! Go away! Get your penis out of there!

8. Talk Dirty To Me!
I think talking dirty should be a) spontaneous and b) handled carefully because it can so easily go so wrong (it is hard to turn a cry of "Oh, Roberto!" into a cry of "Oh, Fernando!" without someone catching on),
If you start asking for the dirty talk you're probably going to get a mildly awkward talking-parrot turn or, if you are sleeping with me, a robot voice and then a fit of giggles.
Which, it turns out, some people are actually into.
I-WANT-TO-BE-YOUR-LOVE-BOT-TEE-HEE-HEEE-OH-YES-HARDER
Hmmm.

9. Threesomes
"Darling, let's invite one of your friends round for dinner!"
"Darling, let's invite one of your friends out to the theatre!"
"Darling, let's invite one of your friends to join us in the sack!"
At least one of those things is going to lead to a horribly awkward social situation.
No threesomes with friends! It's a RULE.
Also, threesomes are kind of like hard drugs: no means no, stop asking every time you see a movie that inspires you.

10. The Photo Whinge
I appreciate that you would like to cherish this moment forever, especially when it is late and night and you are alone.
But begging for naked photos is not very sophisticated. Take a "Thought Photo." Or, if you must, draw a sketch.
Don't be all "wah wah I won't show anyone, not even my best mate!"
Last week you told me that your best mate showed you a photo of his fiancee naked.
NO.

Sexy readers, have you come across these?
Gentlemen readers, are there lady sex whinges to avoid?

Your thoughts, please.
Not you, Dad.

Afternoon Pregnancy

2011-05-22T11:21:00.005+12:00

Yesterday I was killing time before I caught up with some friends by window-shopping in a rather posh area (sample conversation: saleswoman says, "If you want really comfortable boots, you should try Diane von Furstenburg, these are just lovely!" I try very hard to look like someone who doesn't buy most of their shoes for under $100) and, txting and listening to music and generally not paying attention, I wandered into a nice shop.

All the clothes seemed a little bit odd. Nice, but weirdly cut. I was holding a top up against myself in the mirror and trying to figure out what was wrong with it when the saleslady came over.

It was at the exact moment I realised why everything looked so weird that she asked perkily, "So how far along are you?"

I had gone into a maternity shop by accident. Oh God.

There were any number of reasonable-ish things I could have said (obviously "I wasn't paying attention and somehow failed to notice this was a maternity store" wasn't an option).

I could've said my sister was pregnant and I was looking for a gift.

I could've said I was doing costume research for a play where the lead character is pregnant. (Pretentious, but acceptable.)

I could even have said I wasn't pregnant, just getting a bit fat and really liked the maternity style. It would have been ridiculous but at least the saleslady would have retreated and I could've slunk out.

But no. I panicked and said, "15 weeks!" And suddenly I was pregnant.

Me, apparently.

Then, of course, we had to have a conversation about morning sickness - "More like all day sickness, am I right?" - and whether or not we're going to find out the sex of the baby.

I'm sure you'll all be pleased to know that actually, we're going to keep it as a surprise! My partner wanted to find out (where did this random detail come from?) but I put my foot down because, well, it's more exciting to not know, isn't it?

I was babbling. It's amazing that I didn't end up buying anything.

She even asked if it was my first child and oh my goodness, yes it was! Cue proud but nervous expectant mother smile. Of course it's my first child DO I LOOK LIKE I HAVE CHILDREN TO YOU, LADY?

(Apparently the answer to that is 'yes' - I was hanging out with a friend who has a child the other day, and it's amazing how many people assume that you are mother of said child and frown at you/smile indulgently just because the child has taken all the sugar packets off all the other tables in the cafes and brought them to you for inspection. "Oh sorry, we're starting him early on a life of crime.")

And then when I left I turned around and looked at the window and it was full of pregnant mannequins which I had somehow TOTALLY managed to avoid seeing.

How embarrassing.

News*

2011-05-16T10:46:00.006+12:00

*disclaimer: this post was meant to be about work but then I got curious about "is there porn news" and now it's kind of not safe for work, or really anywhere else, after about the first two paragraphs. Sorry. There aren't any pictures, it's just very informative about things which are interesting but which maybe you don't want to be informed about, like Fleshlights.

Work carries on swimmingly - I'm still in the no idea what I'm doing phase and live in fear of accidentally newsing a personal email by accident or something equally ridiculous ("Today's top story: OMG he totally likes me!!!1") but am holding my own.

Interesting news fact: I use a program that shows all of the stories which will be on a particular bulletin, and they all have a tag for easy identification (stories about Libya, for example, are usually tagged LIBYA, and stories about netball (eurgh) are often NETTY, and stories about the Budget are tagged I HOPE YOU'VE HAD YOUR COFFEE AS THIS IS NOT EXCITING).

This morning we had back-to-back stories entitled ARSE and BUSHPHOTOS.

Neither of them was about what I thought it was about.

Just a football team and photos by some chap called Bush. Disappointing.

I thought, I bet if I worked on a porn news site there would be proper ARSEBUSHPHOTOS (which, incidentally, I would not want to see*). I bet there would be arsebushphotos 24/7.

And then I thought, is there porn news?

There totally is.

Turns out porn news is pretty interesting. (Our lead business story: second quarter investor confidence dips. Their lead business story: charity bangs available.)

For example, did you know that Fleshlight (don't Google it, I'll tell you in a minute) gave some of their products to the Navy SEAL team who caught Osama bin Laden? "Congratulations on catching the world's most wanted man! Here is something you can put your penis in." They sent them the 'stealth' model, too.

(Another Fleshlight fact - they have a range of signature models which look like individual pornstars. Not the faces of the pornstars. Although actually, maybe the faces of the pornstars? Hold on. Let's go and look. I'm just going to let them explain it. "Each custom-molded Fleshlight Girls masturbation sleeve is an exact mold of each star's most intimate parts." The website has ridiculous images of said pornstars holding said intimate part molds (I haven't stopped giggling for about three sentences now) and I'm aware I'm not exactly the target market but oh man, it is hilarious and not at all sexy. To answer the question, sometimes the mold is of the pornstar's mouth also. You can buy either. Or both! Or all three! One of them has a signature texture called 'Nipple Alley.' I was about to leave the site but oh my God, there is one shaped like a... a vampire mouth? And a blue one called Alien! And stealth ones shaped like beer cans because that's totally not weirder. Man. Sometimes I'm jealous that I don't have a penis just because there are SO MANY things to put it in.**)

Anyway, the top story on Porn I mean Adult Industry News was about a site called NaughtyTweet.com and I know that doesn't sound appealing but if you've read this blog for more than about three posts or in fact the last two paragraphs you will understand my impulse control, lack thereof, and what happened next. It was like when you look up one page on Wikipedia because you can't remember whether or not raccoons are amphibious*** and then three hours later you're still there, reading about transgender tortoises and wondering what you're DOING with your life.

"Wow, Naughty Tweet is weird- oh what's that? Kinky Tweet? Huh. This is not as kinky as I- wait, what is #chickenpurse? I'm scared to find out but I MUST KNOW."

Amazingly, it is a purse that is shaped like a chicken. I assumed it was some modern varient on 'sausagewallet', which is not a wallet that is shaped like a sausage or something you should Google on your work computer or probably ever, and that was the day that I out-dirty-minded Kinky Tweet.

Oh my God.

*this reminds me of a friend who was briefly considering shaving his buttocks but never did "because of two words... bum stubble."

**new line in romantic compliments - "Oh darling, you are so wonderful and exciting, more so even than the blue alien fleshlight!" "Sweetheart, you are more interesting than how many different kind of things there are to put your penis in!" Man, I am the worst girlfriend ever.

***no, but imagine if they were!

Pandas, and What I Do

2011-05-09T15:53:00.007+12:00

Winter hedgehog! A rare blog post. Here is why they are rarer than usual at the moment:

~~Because it is cold.~~

Because this is how my day goes! It is a pretty fun day - am really enjoying new job - but it's going to take some getting used to.

4am: Alarm goes off and is quickly thumped into oblivion. Have started putting the phone across the other side of the room so turning off the alarm means getting out of bed, but apparently this doesn't stop me going straight back to sleep directly afterwards.
4.15am: Second alarm goes off.
4.5am: Third alarm goes off.
4.30am: I stumble out of bed and get into the shower. Usually I walk into the couch. (Thought process: "Probably I don't really need to turn the light on OUCH")
5.05am: Leave the house and walk to work. It's actually really nice walking to work at 5am because it's so still and quiet! I manage to counteract this by turning my iPod up really loud and hoping no-one's up early enough to catch me rocking out.
5.30am: Arrive at work. Make coffee. Sort self out.
5.45am - 10.15am (approx): Work. Morning work is as the online editor for Firstline, which is TV3's breakfast news show. You should watch it! It's on early, but it's very good.
This work falls into two categories:
1) video cutting. I look at a list of everything that's going to be on the show and talk to the news editor about what they're going to need video for. "Scientists have discovered," says the presenter, "that pandas in Northern China have developed a taste for human flesh, and are going on pandacidal rampages." (Note: not a real news story.) Cut to reporter talking about pandas, and some pictures of pandas. I cut the video, call it "pandarampage," and send it to the editors.
2) writing up interviews. "This morning in the studio," says the presenter, "we are talking to the leader of the Panda Independence Society in Wellington. What can you tell us about the recent pandatrocities in China?" Cut to serious panda in suit. I cut the video, transcribe the interview and then write a story based on it. ("Speaking to Firstline this morning, Mr. Monium said he was unaware of any atrocities, calling reports "pandabominable".) Then I think of a snappy headline ("Rampage reports bamboozle spokespanda"), find a photo, attach the video, and put it on the website.
11am: Arrive home. Eat something, check email, muck about.
12 noon: Nap. This is weird. I'm not used to having enforced naptime and it makes me feel like a toddler.
3pm: Stop napping. Put makeup on again, maybe do some washing or the dishes if am feeling industrious. Not usually feeling industrious.
4.30-5pm: Leave for work, depending on start time and whether or not I want to stop for a snack on the way. .
5.30pm-9.30pmish: Work. Second job is setup producer for the 3news website, which is also 2 things:
1) Go through newswires (news we get from other places, like overseas news agencies and NZPA) and talk to the online editors to see what will be good news to set up for the morning. Set up this news. Also talk to lovely people from radio and people in charge of the reporters to see what news they'll be doing the next day, to ensure I'm not panda-ing if all their top stories are marmotcentric. (Technical news term.)
2) Write a couple of original stories for the next morning, which kind of works like this: we get press releases throughout the day, which I look at (in conjunction with people who know a lot more about news than I do) and base stories around. Example: I get a press release from the Wellington Zoo about how they are concerned panda uprisings could happen here. I talk to some people to make sure that this is legit news and I haven't chosen a dud story, then I do some research (which is mostly reading press releases and websites), call the zoo and also perhaps a spokespanda, and then put the interviews, the press releases and the research together into a story ("Panda Panic Pervades Petone!") and set it up to go live the next morning. (Side note: I called someone the other day and their PA said, "He's on his way to blah blah, but happy to speak to a journalist." How irrelevant, I thought, I'm not a- oh.)
10pmish: Arrive home. Eat something. Perhaps watch a little television.
11pm: Bed.

So now not only do you know what I do, but you will know why blog posts may be scarcer than usual until I get used to this new sleeping pattern.

HERE'S WHY:

Winter Hedgehogs*

2011-05-05T21:13:00.004+12:00

*good band name

Hello everyone! It is very busy over here. I keep going out in the evening and the evening is Prime Blogging Time and that's why blogs have been scarce, like hedgehogs in the winter.

I so chilly!

New job is going really well - have only been there for four days but so far haven't done anything heinous, apart from the mildly embarrassing moment where I stood leaning on a desk and looking preoccupied for five minutes because my foot had gone to sleep in stiletto heels and I knew that if I started walking I'd fall over. Long may this nonfuckuppery continue.

Am not used to working all the time though so a bit tired and mental. As of next week, I start at 5.45 in the morning which, for those of you who have never been up at that time, is really quite early. I'll get used to it with the help of a lot of coffee and many afternoon naps and a lot of Project Runway on demand because man, I love that show, and please don't mention any spoilers in the comments even as a joke or by accident because it will ruin the entire season for me and I will be sad, like the winter hedgehog.

Did you hear that 5.45 is, like, really early?

Does anyone else get annoyed when you hear a piece of classical music, can't remember what it is, and can't Google it? "What goes ba da da DUMMMM ba da da DUMMM" does not get very many accurate results. Someone needs to make a website where you can sing a bit of classical music into the microphone and it comes back and tells you what it is.

Man, I am having an awesome week. BA DA DA DUMMMMM WINTER HEDGEHOG

Dinosauromance*

2011-04-30T13:05:00.008+12:00

*or perhaps, Shagosaurus.

Imagine if Romeo and Juliet was about dinosaurs. Carnivores vs Herbivores. Raptor falls in love with a Triceratops despite the fact that their families are ancient enemies and tend to eat each other.* It's also sort of like Twilight, but with more relatable characters and an better plot.

Romeo & Juliet: Age of Lizards

The star-crossed lovers frolic in the prehistoric sunset as a disapproving family of Stegosaurs look on.

Imagine them, staring into each other's eyes, roaring their forbidden love across the savannah (?) and startling a passing flock (?) of pterodactyls.

Final scene: Dinosaur Romeo finds Dinosaur Juliet sleeping, and drinks deadly swamp water in despair. Dinosaur Juliet wakes, finds Dinosaur Romeo dead, and stabs herself with one of his claws. Stegosaurus Family arrive.

The smallest stegosaurus says, "For never was a story of more woe / Than this of Juliet and her Romeo" but it sounds like "HOOaaaaaargh rrrrrooooAARR AAARRROOOOHHH" because of being a dinosaur.

Cut to scene of rapidly approaching meteor.

Sorry I've been so bad at responding to comments recently. It's not because I don't love you, it's because I'm fairly lazy and very easily distracted. I'll get around to it, please keep leaving comments, I love comments. And you.

News: I start my new job tomorrow. Equal parts excited and horribly nervous about fucking up. Do some lucky things for me maybe, like cross your fingers and hold your breath while you're going over a bridge and don't have sex on the couch when people are home because someone will inevitably walk in on you and that is exactly the kind of unlucky that I don't need.

Also, thanks to my mysterious benefactor for the sexy new header! It's me, doing my tuba burlesque routine. Clearly.

*and they didn't live in the same time period, but shhhh!

WotW

2011-04-26T14:01:00.006+12:00

Rainy day, boring love life, somewhat grumpy, low on cash, time for...

WIENERS OF THE WEEK: THIS EDITION

Blogging will be less grumpy when life is a bit less like an episode of the OC.

People who squint up at the sky when it starts raining

Oh no! What is this wetness?
Where is it coming from? Up there?
But I can't see anything up there!
WHAT IS GOING ON OMG THE SKY IS FALLING.
Imagine these people going about their daily lives. "Rupert urinated into the bowl, then looked down at his penis in puzzled surprise."

The woman standing beside me at the ANZAC Day service who talked during the Last Post

Really? During the Last Post? What next, you're going to start roaring "My Humps" over the top of the national anthem?
If you're going to be disrespectful, don't come to pay your respects.
Also, you'd think someone so rude must have been talking about something equally revolting, but no. What was so important that it had to interrupt the moment of remembrance? "Oh, I think we go to the same church, I'm just down the road!"

And at that at that moment, in some celestial cafe, a whole bunch of gods looked at each other and went, "Not mine!"

Remuera Coffeeshop Wiener

This would be better if I could remember the name of the coffeeshop, but I was ordering a coffee at the counter and my hands shook when I handed over the cash. (Sounds like start of bad gigolo romance.) My hands often shake (I am like a Chihuahua, all yapping and shivering) which has no real effect on life except that sometimes people think I am trembling with lust when I'm not. Apparently it also turns some people into wieners. The guy behind the counter said, "Your hands are shaking."

OK, fair point, yes they are. I said, "Oh, I always shake" and thought the conversation was over, but apparently not, because apparently R is for Remuera and also for Rude.

"Why?"
"Sorry?"
"Why do your hands shake?"
"They just do. They always have."
"Have you been to a doctor? You should get that checked, you're very young-"

I made some sort of awkward mumble but what I should actually have said was "this is none of your damn business, stop being so nosy and make my coffee." Wiener.

People who ask what's happening in movies

If you were quiet and watched the movie instead of asking me stupid questions, you would know what was going on.

"Who's that?"
"That's the father again."
"What's he doing?
"Spinning a little top thing."
"Why's he doing that?"
"THIS IS INCEPTION NO-ONE KNOWS WHAT'S HAPPENING OH MY GOD"

PostSecret

I know I'm going to be widely disagreed with here, but I am completely over PostSecret. I used to really enjoy it but now I'm just bored and a bit annoyed - partially because too many self-satisfied secrets and not enough interesting/amusing ones, but more importantly because of this:

PostSecret does a lot of good by raising money for, and awareness of, suicide prevention, which is awesome. I just don't like the way they're doing it. I really don't like how, a couple of months back, they wienered up by posting a voicemail that a woman had left for her boyfriend right before she killed herself. (I'm not linking to it, you all know how to work the Google.)

I'm pretty sure you can raise awareness without creating a figurehead in a way which is disrespectful to the woman's family and friends, insulting to her memory, and teeters on the line between raising awareness of mental illness and just raising awareness of PostSecret.

Maybe it was just an error in judgment, but if so it was a pretty fucking massive and distasteful one (if nothing else, how many people who might have called someone for help when they were feeling suicidal have been put off doing so for fear it'll end up all over the Internet?) and I am tarring them with the wiener brush.

Wiener brush sounds a bit wrong.

For more wienering, please see my 7 Deadly Sins of Facebook list. I know how much you guys love it when I link to one blog on the other blog.

Happy Easter!

2011-04-23T15:51:00.002+12:00

PokeMental

2011-04-20T02:57:00.003+12:00

There are 646 Pokemon. That's quite a lot, isn't it.

Apparently there are 5 generations of Pokemon and I apologise if I've Pokemucked them all up but honestly, they are called the most ridiculous things. I have corralled the 50 most bizarre names together, for your viewing pleasure! I know 50 sounds like a lot, but they go quite quickly once you get into it.

In order from least to most insane, allow me to present...

Ridiculous Pokenames

50. Vigoroth
Energetic Pokemon with unfortunate lisp.

49. Dustox
Is it a dusty ox? Is it the dust created by a travelling herd of oxen? Is it a magical new duster, harnessing the powers of oxygen? I don't know, but it looks like a moth designed by David Lynch.
48. I want Wooper and Skiploom to either start a band, or solve crime in a hilariously disorganised fashion.

47. Igglybuff
This sounds like a cutesy version of Iggy Pop in his younger, more muscular days.

46. Flaaffy
If you say it out loud you won't be able to stop saying it for the next five minutes! Like a kitten! So flaaffy!

46. Graveler
I am a lonely and a lonesome graveler.

44. Hoothoot
Surprise! It's an owl.

43. Golbat and his evolved form Zubat are basically just blurted syllables. The kind of thing you might yell as you hurled a plate of spaghetti at a wall. The noise made by a punch hitting home in a B-grade comic. About space aliens. Golbat! Zubat! Blammmm!

42. Beheeyem
Pretty sure this is just a line from Havah Nagilah.

41. Krokorok
I did a fart that sounded like that once.

40. Machop
Hands off! That's Machop. I wanted Machop to evolve into Lamchop but he doesn't.

39. Mankey
I totally need to unlock this dude. Who has my mankey?

38. Amoonguss
"This Pokemon," said the toddler, "is really big!"

37. Lickitung
Ew, Pokeverse. Why would you call a Pokemon that? Oh, I see.36. As any medical professional knows, Weezing evolves from Koffing.

35. Slowbro
As in, you're going pretty.

34. Ponyta
So some random guy in a bar cut off half of it! And now I only have a ponyta.

33. Pidgey
We had a pet pigeon once, his name was Pidgey. Not related to Pokemon at all, just wanted to let you guys know.

32. Spoink
The attack cry of this Pokemon perfectly mimics the sound make when you push the button that opens the door of the microwave.

31. Snorunt
It's when you snore out of your... never mind.

30. Cacturne
A nocturne with cactuses. I mean cacti.

29. Metagross
It baffles me why you would call a Pokemon this.

28. Nosepass
I really don't even know where to start with this one.

27. Crustle
Or this one. How unappealing. I bet no-one ever wanted to trade cards for Crustle.

26. Farfetch'd
Not actually that farfetch'd! Compared to Dustox.
25. Turtwig
It is a wig for turtles who do not have any hair, or who are judges.

24. Beartic
Next on the Discovery Channel: If Bears Had Tourettes!

23. Pignite
I hope this is exactly what it sounds like!

22. Croagunk
That stuff you find in the plughole. Ew.

21. Bidoof
Does it fall over a lot? Is that the sound it makes?

20. Heatmor
As opposed to, you know, heat less.

19. Magneton
I'll be there in a second, he said, departing for the spoon-bending convention, just let me put my Magneton.

18. Bronzong
Technical term for the noise it makes when you hit a gong.

17. Bayleef
It goes in soop and steuw!

16. Camerupt
This sounds gross. Sounds like exploding camel.

15. Floatzel
A Sound of Music character who failed to make the final script.

14. Bonsly
Totally sounds like a butler. Totally looks like a turd wearing a railway signal.

13. Psyduck
This is my favourite Pokemon name. It's either a psychic duck or a psychotic duck and there is no way that both of those aren't AWESOME.

12. Unfezant
This Pokemon is not wearing a fez.

11. Pokemon relationship advice: first you Hitmontop and then you Smoochum and then- Ho-Oh!

10. Am I a crocodile? Totes! I am a Totodile. Am I a crocodile? Naaaaw. I am a Croconaw.

9. Grotle
Sounds like a Standard Three insult. "Martin? Eww, he's grotle."

8. Jellicent
Her name was Millicent. She worked at the jelly factory. But after the accident, she became... Jellicent.

7. Zangoose
Presumably the way awesomer version of the mongoose.

6. Seismitoad
This is a giant toad that causes earthquakes. It is kind of awesome

5. Gurdurr
As heard from the throats of the stupider zombies.

4. Sceptile
This reptile does not believe any of your bullshit.

3. Braviary
Only the most courageous of birds may gain entry to the Braviary.

2. Stunky evolves into Skuntank and I can't stop giggling and saying 'Stunky.'

1. Beedrill
And lo, all the bees gathered, and they did practice, for it was time for the beedrill.

What is your favourite?

Club Penguin!

2011-04-15T21:49:00.004+12:00

Just gave a friend a feijoa. She has never had one before. She said, "Tastes like damp bathmat." What? No it doesn't! YOU taste like damp bathmat! This is the same friend who was sitting in the lounge earlier and said, out of nowhere, a pensive "Sometimes, my bellybutton smells really bad." Like damp bathmat, I bet.

I went to visit my sister and two small nephews a couple of days ago, and was introduced to the wonderful polar world of Club Penguin. Club Penguin is like Second Life, except there is less sex and also you are a penguin. Social networking sites for children! Whatever will they think of next? (My nephew can apparently be overheard on the phone to his friend, also on Club Penguin: "I'll meet you at the dojo.")

"Imagine a snow-covered island populated by colorful, animated penguins. A virtual playground where kids from around the world interact, play games and let their imaginations soar. Club Penguin is that place!" Imagine.

The tagline is "waddle around and meet new friends!," which makes me suspect that Club Penguin shares a marketing team with fat camp. However, bored and with only an inexplicably stinky dog for company (he reeks! why does he reek!) I decided that I would indeed waddle around and make some new friends. Also, investigative journalism! Penguinvestigative journalism.

I created a penguin called Rupert Pingu.

Pictured: your basic penguin, although you can choose to have him in a range of garish colours. I went with the classic monochrome penguin.

I believe if you are a paying member you can purchase little penguin outfits - I was going to dress Rupert Pingu up like a SPY (to fit the theme of penguinvestigation) but did not want to pay real money to do so. Sorry Rupert Pingu. You will just have to be undercover.

Like any traveller in a new place, Rupert Pingu wandered around a lot then went to a nightclub. But it's not all fun and games at Club Penguin! You can also pimp out your igloo, which I hear penguins totally live in:

The igloo of a penguin who is, socio-economically speaking, vastly superior to Rupert Pingu.

Club Penguin is serious business.

All I really figured out how to do in my entire time at Club Penguin was make Rupert Pingu dance.

(Rupert Pingu enters the restaurant to see two penguins having dinner. 'ur cute' says one penguin to the other. The second penguin replies with a picture of pizza. Rupert Pingu dances.)

(Rupert Pingu goes into a cave and chats briefly with another penguin in a bee suit. The bee suit penguin leaves. Rupert Pingu dances. The bee suit penguin ask to be Rupert Pingu's buddy! Rupert Pingu says yes. Rupert Pingu dances.)

And so it goes until suddenly Rupert Pingu realised that as well as dance he can throw snowballs at other penguins, and it was at this point that Rupert Pingu became somewhat of a jackass.

I like Club Penguin and would recommend it as a social networking site for your child. It has every safety feature you could imagine to protect against child identity theft (children, as a rule, have an excellent credit history). It even has rules!

The third rule of Club Penguin is 'respect other penguins.' I have already broken the first two.

Want to see the nightclub?

The screenshot's kind of small, but there is a penguin in the middle saying "woooohooooo" and it's NOT EVEN ME.

A hamsterblimp my head

2011-04-14T22:00:00.004+12:00

This is a short wee post aimed at those of you who use Twitter, and also those of you who don't because what are saving the e-boats of the balls of barf?

I have discovered a fantastic thing called 'That can be my next tweet' which generates things you might like to say on Twitter, based on things you have said on Twitter before.

It thinks I am insane.

Its suggestions fall into three categories:

Sleeptalking
"Want all the little fingers! That's three whole breakfasts!"
"I need better friends. The wig is in the team until right now. Not even speak."
"Leonardo Da Vinci drew helicopters. Leonardo Da Vinci drew helicopters. Leonardo Da Vinci drew helicopters."

Deep Existential Questions
"What are saving the e-boats of the balls of barf?"
"Where are the helicopters ... do they swim around the little Google."

General Fucking Insanity
"I have a toddler. Sometimes I feel like debutante. Hahahahaha!"
"I like 'sausage.' We are so excited! Haha! A hamsterblimp my head."
"Makes gun with fingers. Points at your pants."

You should go and check it out right now.

Makes gun with fingers. Points at your pants.

ABC of Me

2011-04-10T21:59:00.004+12:00

Currently doing the rounds of the blogosphere* is this 'ABCs of Me' thing. No-one has tagged me in it but I'm going to do it anyway.

A. Age: 23, but I keep forgetting and thinking I am 22. I'm not 22. Or am I? Shit.

B. Bed size: Double, but sometimes couch-sized due to accidental snooze.

C. Chores you dislike: Oh man, pretty much all of them.

D. Dogs: Dogs? Dogs.

E. Essential start to your day: ~~Coffee and a wee..~~ Coffee.

F. Favourite colour: I... this is a dumb question. Blue? Red? Who cares?

G. Gold or silver: Silver. But this is also a dumb question.

H. Height: I am unsure. 23.

I. Instruments you play(ed): Trumpet! And not very good piano.

J. Job title: Officially unemployed. But new job starts on May 1 and I will tell you all about it then, when I can remember what the official title is.

K. Kids: Where? Not here, surely. Why are you in my house, kids? Go away.

L. Live: Yes. Hard to do a blog when you're dead, unless you were extremely organised and set up autoposts for months after your demise, which now that I've thought of it I totally intend to do.

M. Mum’s name: Sue, aka 'Mum'

N. Nicknames: I don't really have any nicknames, but sometimes when I meet people in real life they introduce me by my Twitter name, which is Tarquin_Death. It's always a little weird. "Hello! This is Tarquin Death." "Hello!" And then I try not to look like a psychopath.

O. Overnight hospital stays: None.

P. Pet peeves: People who talk when I am trying to watch something. If you want to talk, go away and talk somewhere else, America's Next Top Model is on. Worse: people who talk when I am trying to watch something, then become passive-aggressive and sulky when I pause whatever it is, or turn off the TV.

Q. Quote from a movie: "For just one night let's not be co-workers. Let's be co-people." We could all take a lesson from Ron Burgundy in how to legitimize office romances or, as I have just decided I like to call them, 'cubecest.' 60% of the time, it works every time.

R. Righty or lefty: Yes.

S. Siblings: Again, yes. Three sisters. If this was a Disney movie, at least one of them would be evil. Probably two. Probably me.

T. Time you wake up: Late.

U: Underwear: Yeah, sometimes.

V. Vegetables you don’t like: PARSNIP PARSNIP TASTES LIKE ARSE RIP**

W. What makes you run late: Me.

X. X-Rays you’ve had: None.

Y. Yummy food you make: Tiramisu and lemon pudding and teriyaki chicken and some other stuff and man, I love cooking so much but couldn't they have thought of something better for Y, like "Young and the Restless." (Both.)

Z. Zoo animal favourites:

And so, the bear photos continue.

*I still feel like a bit of a dick when I say 'blogosphere'

**I wish I had thought of this clever rhyme when I was 12 and could have busted it out at Christmas dinner.

Children's books are weird.

2011-04-06T16:59:00.006+12:00

Interview went well, thanks to good advice from a range of sources: top advice includes 'have some questions ready to ask' (my old boss), 'be yourself,' (my mum) and 'don't wear that fucking tacky leopard head ring you love' (a friend).

I would absolutely hire someone who wore this to an interview.

In completely unrelated news, is this not the most horrific cover for a kid's book?

HOW ARE YOU PEELING!

Its purpose seems to be to teach kids about emotions through the unique method of giving them nightmares about disfigured capsifaces. I was too afraid to 'look inside' but apparently there are "scowling oranges and gregarious scallions." How do you make a scallion gregarious?

Google Images respectfully suggests turning it into a praying mantis.

More importantly, wouldn't the answer to 'how are you peeling' be along the lines of "OH GOD SOMEONE IS REMOVING MY SKIN OH GOD"

This led me into a fascinating to me Amazon trawl where I found heaps of cool shit to read to your kids!

By the same author:

Another educational work executed in menacing fruit sculpture, this time to teach shapes & numbers, apparently with varied success:

"Although the triangular carrot does not have perfectly straight lines, its shape is recognizable." - reviewer.

"The Orange looks like the Joker, and this is terrifying" - reviewer who is me.

Also in educational vegetables (a surprisingly large field) we have 'LMNOpeas,' which I originally read as 'LMAOpeas,' which would be a much better book about peas getting into hilarious situations:

"Once again, Percy Pea found himself the butt of a 'I pea'd on the floor' joke."

This is a 'hilarious, occupation-based romp through the alphabet' and the review includes the word 'pea-ple' and that's all you really need to know.

There is also a good line in using utensils to celebrate difference and what makes each of us special, etc:

"Spoon is a spoon who is feeling down because his life is not as exciting as those of his friends Knife, Fork, and Chopsticks."

Poor Spoon!

"He’s always been a happy little utensil. But lately, he feels like life as a spoon just isn’t cutting it."

Poor Spo- wait, is that a pun? Luckily everything ends happily after Spoon discovers that everyone else is jealous of his ability to bang on pots. I am unsatisfied with this ending and think it should have ended with Spoon joining a gang of Bad Spoons (who refer to themselves as the Tarnished) and running around at night attacking, and scooping out, hapless melons.

Spoon is accompanied by another of the Silverware-Drawer-Bunch:

"Spork is the offspring of a spoon mum and a fork dad, and he feels like a misfit."

I bet he does. I would feel like a misfit too if people kept quietly wondering how my mum and dad mated.

The reviewer found Spork 'heartwarming' because of its 'positive portrayal of a mixed-race character,' but was not completely satisfied:

"The story's climax actually weakens the metaphor. Spork accepts himself only after receiving external validation (he feeds a baby, I think) [...] he never really learns to love himself."

IT'S NOT WAR AND PEACE IT IS A STORY ABOUT A SPORK

For some much-needed simplicity let us head to my personal favourite book, NOT A BOX:

It is blatantly a box.
Or perhaps a fridge.

In this cardboard-based epic, "the author-illustrator offers a paean to the time-honored imaginative play of young children who can turn a cardboard box into whatever their creativity can conjure."

Oh! It's not a box. It's a paean, which dictionary.com tells us is 'any song of praise, joy, or triumph' or, perhaps, 'a hymn of invocation to Apollo or some other ancient Greek deity.'

Beware! Reading this book may cause Greek deities to appear in your living room, presumably to play in a box.

"The rabbit is queried about why he is sitting in, spraying, or wearing a box. He insists, "It's not a box!" and the opposite page reveals [...] a race car, a mountain, a burning building, a robot."

...a burning building?

I am glad that NOT A BOX didn't creatively bankrupt the author, because otherwise we would not have NOT A STICK!

Blatantly a stick.

"This is literally a follow-up to Not a Box... here, the animal is a pig, and the object is a stick."

Reviewer. You have missed the ENTIRE POINT of this book.

Interview Tips

2011-04-03T21:12:00.005+12:00

Hi everyone! This week blogging has fallen before the inexorable march of ~~merzombies!~~ moving and moving-related things like packing, which somehow I have still managed to avoid the bulk of despite the fact that I am moving tomorrow. Fuck.

In addition to moving, I have a job interview on Tuesday, so please cross your extremities for me (without affecting your ability to one day produce a family, although if you want to make that kind of sacrifice then, well, your call).

I know you're not meant to but I'm actually really looking forward to the interview -have spent the last 2 months doing nothing more professional than attempting to put on pants on the weekdays, so it'll be nice to return to the world of corporate frivolity, as pictured below:

The people who make stock photos have obviously never had an office job.
(Alternate caption: three of the more sarcastic responses to the March budget.)

I mean, yes, it's more likely that I'll abandon professionalism in favour of snorting mid-laugh and finding it appropriate to break into 'Boats & Hoes' when faced with a behavioural question, but, you know, fingers crossed anyway.

Actually, I'm going to make myself a checklist of things not to do, so I can read through it on Tuesday morning. You're welcome to apply this list to your own interviews, too! It is universal.

Things To Avoid In Job Interviews

novelty songs, no matter how relevant they may appear
playing interesting games with yourself ("Can I answer the next question in iambic pentameter without anyone noticing?" "Can I slip the word 'synchronicity' into my five-year plan?")
trying to establish whether or not the interviewers are fluent in Cockney rhyming slang ("Well, I love the sound of the dog's knob, but the pay's a bit Brad Pitt, isn't it?")
flirting, unless the job is at an escort agency or similar
removing items of clothing, unless the job is at an escort agency or similar
making jokes about either of the above two points
bringing your own visual aids ("My strengths? Well, I'm glad you asked. Allow me to show you a flow chart I prepared earlier") unless the visual aids are, I don't know. Painted on the side of an eagle. Oh man, I wish I had an eagle for this. Does anyone want to lend me an eagle? No? How about a hawk? Then after I tell a completely irrelevant, rambling story about a work party I went to on a boat (complete with rendition of 'Boats & Hoes') I could whip out the hawk, point it straight across the desk down the barrel of the interviewers, cough, and say, "...hawkward."

And then leave.

I will let you know how I get on.

Moving...

2011-03-31T16:36:00.004+13:00

Oh man I am super tired and kind of exhausted and also have a horrible cold/flu type thing and am moving to AUCKLAND next week, and that is why there has been no blogging*.

Packing is fun! I am overwhelmed by the vast amount of useless crap I own, and by my deep and illogical attachment to every last piece of it. Things which I don't need but really want to take include, but are not limited to:

ornamental dagger
whiskey decanter
fox fur, complete with head, feet, and 2 (!) tails
small tiara

When did I become some sort of 20's mob princess? I don't know, but we're going to need a bigger suitcase. I keep having Rebecca Black moments - packin' in the black coat, packin' in the red coat, gotta make my mind up, which coat do I take?

Hands up who isn't speaking to me any more because of that last sentence.

Yeah same.

Speaking of music, sorry, 'music,' I would like to take this opportunity to express my displeasure** that Mumford & Sons is even a band. Be quiet, Mumford & Sons. Applying a banjo and a pair of suspenders to bad introspective poetry does not make you pioneers of indie. Oh look! Here's a music video where you're all riding on little scooters! How supremely, fascinatingly alternative! FUCK OFF.

And take that banjo with you. I don't have room in my suitcase for a banjo.

*Except for over on the other blog, where I make suggestions to improve airline booking systems & bitch about fellow travellers & generally shout "I like planes but I'd like them more if I could pick whether or not I sat next to someone who was going to blather on about their life story when I am totally trying to make an origami pig out of the in-flight magazine."

**While I am expressing my displeasure, why is Christchurch magazine Avenues photoshopping the fuck out of images of quake-related people and places? It's not even 'artistic effect' photoshopping, just 'hey you guys! look at this saturation filter thing!' Tacky and unnecessary.

Homewares!

2011-03-25T16:58:00.003+13:00

This was going to be quite a serious post about life and career and omg I met this boy and now I really liiiiike him (true story) and other such fascinating things that I wanted to have an emo rant about, but luckily I was stopped in my tracks by the arrival of the craptastic homewares catalogue!

Somehow the catalogue (which I have written about before) seems to be filled with things you absolutely don't need, but the makers of the catalogue are just so excited about them that it's hard not to get on the bandwagon (which is shaped like a mouse and will cut 5 different thicknesses of cheese).

Here are my favourite 9 items from this issue. All photos are from Magnamail's website.

1. Mississippi Harmonica, $19.90
"Play all the songs you love, even if you've never played a musical instrument before." No! No. This is a terrible idea. Why would you even sell this? "In no time at all you'll be playing like the performers on an 1880 Mississippi Riverboat" ack no you won't you'll be playing like someone who just received a harmonica in the mail and is now trying to belt out Nickelback in the bath.

2. Anti-Frost Mat, $8.90
"Smile at the fact that you'll never have to chip and scrape away at ice in your freezer anymore." Derek thought about the fact that not anymore ever would he have to chip and scrape away at ice in his freezer and, for the first time since that fateful March day, he smiled.

3. Telephone Ear Amplifier, $19.90
For anyone who doesn't have a volume control on their phone. (And also wants to look super fash.)

4. Holographic Guard Owls, $8.90
"Hang from a tree or post, as metallic bells release a fierce "rattling" noise."
Oh my God. Honey? Honey, do you hear that? Is that... a snake? Oh! Oh, silly me, of course it's just the guard owl. One of our set of two guard owls.

5. Frog Jumping Game, $12.90
"The whole family will want to join in the excitement of this simple yet hilariously fun game." Which appears to be frog-shaped Tiddlywinks designed to provide "hoots and hours of laughter." Jimmy! Jimmy, don't flick your frog in the baby's eye! Oh no wait the baby is hooting. Unlike the holographic rattling guard owl.

6. G-I-A-N-T Teacup & Saucer Planter, $36.90
"Designed to look exactly like a regular teacup and saucer... only this one's much bigger!" Did you guys know that if you write that word without the dashes in between the letters, the G-I-A-N-T-S will hear you?

7. Lemon & Tomato Keeper Set of Two, $10.90
Tomato keeper shaped like a tomato. Lemon saver shaped like a lemon. YO DAWG I heard you like fruit in yo' fruit so I OH MY GOD THIS IS THE AGE OF THE METAFRUIT

8. Swan Bath Mat Set, $26.90
"Bring Romance into your Bathroom."
Does that make you feel romantic? It's certainly doing it for me. Makes me want to take my pants off. But then again, I am in the bathroom.

9. Set of 4 Meerkats, $34.90
"Create a delightful scene in your garden!" Here is a preview of what the delightful scene might look like:
"Friends and neighbours will think they're real!"

Back later, I'm going to fetch my credit card.

Rupert's Mumpsimus

2011-03-21T02:32:00.005+13:00

Hi everyone!* Today is Vocab Day. I learned some new words and you know how much I love enriching the minds of others. (Heaps, is how much. Heaps and heaps.)

This afternoon we were playing that game that I forget the name of: where you select an obscure word and everyone in the group makes up a definition, then all the definitions (including the right one) are read out, people guess which one they think is correct, and points are assigned based on how many people picked your quite frankly ridiculous definition ("russel: good name for a mussel") as correct. I won.

(Side note: this game is how my mother learnt the word 'merkin**.' If you're at work you probably just want to do the regular Google for that, not the Google with the pictures.)

Here are my favourite words from today's game!
These are all 100% guaranteed real words.

mumpsimus: an opinion or idea adhered to even when proven to be wrong.

infandous: too odious to be expressed in words

ruelle: the space between the bed and the wall.

Here is how you would use these words in a sentence:

"Rupert! Rupert, your infandous suggestion that it would be both romantic and physically possible to copulate in the ruelle is an absoute mumpsimus."

*When did I start prefixing every post with this? I don't know. More importantly, when am I going to stop doing it? I sound like Suzy fucking Cato. Not that I'm implying my dear readers are toddlers. Why is it always 'dear readers' or, occasionally, 'gentle reader'? I am going to start saying, 'sexy readers' because while I strongly doubt that you are all gentle and dear, mainly because you are not my grandmother, there is no doubt that you are all sexy. Except you, Dad. That's weird.

**every time I play a board game with Mum something goes horribly wrong, like the time I had to mime 'Sex Kitten' and somehow forgot about the standard finger-and-hole hand movement in favour of a full-on sexy mime. She didn't get it. I had to continue miming until the timer ran out. Longest 30 seconds of my life. Cranium seems to lend itself to filthiness - was playing once and someone drew 'Paint Stripper.' We all guessed it pretty early, but we let him carry on for a bit anyway.

Hair*

2011-03-17T13:05:00.005+13:00

*Not a musical.

Unrelated: just received email with subject line "Eclectic Butts McGay is now following you on Twitter!" Love you back, Internet.

I got a haircut this morning and now I can't stop checking myself out! Despite the fact that almost everyone I've seen hates the haircut, I fucking love it.

This is just like the time I bought a delightfully tacky octopus-shape, diamante-encrusted ring and made everyone at work intensely uncomfortable by asking them how much they loved it.

Best response: "It's very... it's, um...it's. It looks like you got it at Timezone."

Now let's look at my hair. There will be a prize for best compliment on my hair. (No there won't.)

Smile like you're awkwardly clenching!

It's going blonde because I'm doing hair modelling in July due to my talent for sitting still for ages with only minor fidgeting. Hairdresser is lightening it gradually for hairdressery reasons that I forget - at this stage the front half is blonde and the back half is still dark. Viewed from above, I look like a Neenish tart. (Viewed from the front or side, I just look like a regular tart.)

It's been a busy day for grooming round here - while I was being blonded, friends were getting bikini waxes. (Why is bikini waxing a group activity?) I was excited and asked if they were getting shapes trimmed into their lady gardens*. Apparently not. I couldn't talk them into it, either - I believe my exact words were "Get a lightning bolt, it will make your vagina go faster!" Nobody wants a slow vagina.

Why would you not get shapes? Now I am going to get a shape. What shape should I get?

I have no idea whether or not I'm kidding.

*most ridiculous term EVER. Can't stop laughing. "Oh, hello, what are you doing?" "Not much, just watering my lady garden."** "Oh, really?" "Yes! I have already sprouted several mushrooms. If I manage to grow two daffodils, I should be able to entice a tuber." This is like in Viva Pinata when you have to plant certain things in your garden in order to tempt animals to enter. Tuber is a euphemism.

**this conversation is taking place over the phone or something.

Arse-Napkins and Lemurs*

2011-03-14T16:11:00.003+13:00

*this is a fantastic title.

I was reading this post yesterday and learned a startling thing! Did you know that in some churches in the States they have little napkins that they drape over your bum when you kneel at the altar? So God doesn't have to see your crack?

(I assume that is why, and it makes sense. Would you want to look down at your house (on Google Street View) and see rank upon rank of bum cleavage and hiked-up g-strings in your backyard? No? Well, neither would God.)

I think this is fantastic! It could only be bettered if the arsenapkins were distributed by lemurs which, in my head, they totally are.

My child, are you ready to receive the b- ahh! Lemur! Arse napkin, stat*!

Luckily the arse napkin lemur was poised for action.

Went to the supermarket earlier to stock up on beer & Le Snaks (in case of another earthquake - we have water and a radio and other essential but unexciting items, but somehow it is only ever me who thinks to bring the beer and snacks) - and on my way home walked past two small girls pushing scooters at each other at high speed, waving sticks, and yelling "PIÑAAAAATAAAA" as some sort of arcane battle cry. Fantastic.

When I was little, the closest my sister and I got to a battle cry was when we played the imaginatively named 'The Horse Game,' in which we galloped up and down the driveway on horses, whooping as we went. The horses were, of course, imaginary.

We had many, many horse races, and because I was older I tended to win. This made my sister bitter and jealous and prone to saying things like, "Oh no! Look! Russia has broken her leg." (My horses were named after countries. Russia was a Palomino.)

Somehow The Horse Game always slid downhill from there until the inevitable but tragic "Oh no, your stable burnt down, all your horses are dead."

PALOMIIIINOOOOOOOO

Here are some other good things to read on the Internet today:

maybe you already know about Party Cat
but you probably don't know about Doctor Cat
or this project where the subway has been set to music, it is very soothing to listen to
or my other blog where I wrote about the most ridiculous lyrics in the current Top 40

THERE YOU GO
HEAPS OF INTERNET FOR YOU

Also a photo of me because a) some of you are new here and might not know what I look like and I like to know what people look like when I read their blogs, and b) more importantly, someone said to me the other day, "I always imagine you in your onesie" and that's really not how I want people to imagine me all the time.

Fur coat > onesie?

*Why wouldn't a priest say 'stat'?

A Luscious Sweet Accompaniment*

2011-03-12T19:02:00.007+13:00

*someone just said this on whatever cooking show is on in the background. "My mum used to make this when we were kiddles... right Kate, let's make a chowder! Nut brown butter!" Who is this chump? Why are there so many chumps on the television? CHUMP TV.

I was going to write a post about how people keep asking me for love life advice* despite the fact that my love life is best described as 'strikingly disorganised' but then I got distracted by the internet, specifically the 'type bears into Google Image Search' part of the internet, and now I can't remember how the rest of the post was going to go.

"Hoverbear," 9.30 Tuesdays on CHUMP TV

So I decided instead to take a photo of the huge tomato we grew (it is at least a C cup) but while I was looking for the cord that connects the camera to the laptop I found a couple of old notebooks.

Things that at the time seemed like nuggets of purest golden genius now seem like ripsnorting insanity, like the plan I had to revive the health system by videotaping operations and allowing patients/friends of patients to buy the tape afterwards.

The notebooks appear to be evenly split between philosophical thoughts ('what if birds exploded,**'), band names ('Fuck the Chutney'), things that no longer make any sense ('Secret Secret Pig') and notes to self ('new rule: NO reporters.')

god damn it bear we had a RULE about this.

I don't know why there are so many band names when I don't have a band.

I also don't know why I wrote 'BatChap' three times in the same notebook. I think I may have been trying to rename Batman.

I wonder if anyone would actually make Hoverbear? I would totally watch it.

*some classic love life advice from me: "Write I Love You on your bum and moon him at the office." I know, right? Pretty fucking romantic.

**well, what if they did? Other thoughts in this vein included 'what if I was magnetic' and 'imagine if you were stuck somewhere and the only way you could be rescued was by farting SOS in Morse Code.' Yes. Imagine.

Wieners of the Quake Week

2011-03-10T14:01:00.004+13:00

Hello everyone! 90% of people have been supportive and kind and tactful and generally awesome over the last couple of weeks but some haven't and I wanted to have a big vent and swear a lot. It is a pretty vitriolic post so if you don't feel like Righteous Anger perhaps go and read something else. This is good.

Here is a Special Edition of everyone's favourite semi-regular feature!

Wieners of the Week - Quake Edition

Team Harden Up - This is a small and dick-faced team, and most of their vitriol is directed at Wellingtonians who have been spooked by having a couple of earthquakes last week. Yes, Wellington's quakes have been small by Christchurch standards (as many quakes now are) and yes, I made a joke about it on Twitter ("Oi, Wellington! Hands off our earthquakes!") but telling justifiably scared people to harden up? Don't be such a blatant fuckstick. Same goes for people advocating a 'you're not affected, get over it' stance for the less affected citizens of Christchurch. Funnily enough, none of Team Harden Up are from Christchurch or Wellington. How unexpected. I would like to pick them all up and plonk them down in aftershock central and then, as they sprint for the doorframe at a rumble, laugh gaily and cry, "Harden up!" before hitting them with a brick. We have a lot of bricks lying about at the moment.

Ken Ring - I have been trying to write about this in a grown-up fashion for some time now but I just can't because I keep getting angry. If you want to read the bit where I get angry at Ken Ring I moved it right to the bottom of the post* so you can skip it if you'd rather. It's right under the amusingly shaped carrot. If he's right about the March 20 quake then it will be a lucky guess.

Bad Media - Great, now I have Bad Medicine stuck in my head.
For the last couple of weeks Christchurch has been stuffed with media people like a giant brick turkey. That metaphor really didn't go as well as I hoped, but my point here is that while 90% of the media have been sensitive and tactful in their coverage, every so often you'll open the paper or flick on the TV or radio and interrupt a reporter having a Big Media Wank over a pile of bricks, presumably in the hope of advancing their flagging career through gazing deep into the camera and grabbing a passing crying baby by the face or whatever. There's a limit to how patronising a page 3 byline allows you to be and the odd one or two of our journalists have leapt joyously beyond that limit. Wieners.

Second half of this one is ordinary people who have popped up in the media to grasp frantically at their 15 minutes of earthquake fame. There were some shockers on Close Up this week who were bitching about not having received an EQC payment from the September quakes. Yes, ok, EQC probably fucked up the paperwork somewhere and that would be frustrating, but taking advantage of the current topicality of quakenews to put EQC (who, incidentally, have far higher priorities right now than paying for repairs to inhabitable properties) under media pressure and therefore coast down the rubble into a larger payout than was originally expected? Way to go. You can always tell the quake hanger-onners because of their irrelevant comments and frightfully smug look. There was an earthquake! But more importantly, I'm on TV!

Little bit too much smug smirking to camera from media and citizens alike. It's a crisis, people, not your goddamn fifteen minutes.

LITERAL MOMENT: Brazil has now produced a wiener-shaped passionfruit. High five for reaching what is quite possibly the pinnacle in amusingly-shaped fruit.

*Fuck Ken Ring.

Fuck Ken Ring because contrary to popular belief (the belief of KR himself) he has not accurately, concisely, and specifically predicted previous earthquakes, and that is what earthquake predictions need to be. Vague suggestions of earthquakes, delicate prods at quakeness - saying "This week it is more likely than usual that there will be an earthquake in the South Island" - are not useful. Despite reports to the contrary (the reports are from Ken Ring) he didn't predict the most recent quake. I know this cause a friend of mine, who abhors the quakes, booked flights out of town for his next major prediction... and she booked them for March 20.

Also, fuck Ken Ring because even though I know he's spouting bollocks from his moonhole I also know that on March 20 I'm going to find it very difficult not to be slightly spooked - and I'm near the unspookable end of the scale. What about all the people who hate quakes? Oh, yeah, let's terrify them. Especially the ones in ruined homes, with family and limited funds, and no way of leaving the city. Unless you know 100% that there's going to be an earthquake - which your complete lack of previous accurate earthquake predictions contraindicates - then it's completely irresponsible to predict one. Shut the fuck up, Ken Ring.

Night at the Art Gallery*

2011-03-07T12:10:00.004+13:00

*It's like Night at the Museum except none of the exhibits come alive and we all drink heaps of Powerade. Lack of Ben Stiller made up for by existence of aftershox (it's how the cool kids are spelling it) & my tendency to do Blue Steel at the blond British boy at the desk facing mine.

This post got really long. Sorry. Maybe you could tackle it in two parts, like a long novella or a particularly rich dessert.

Still working nights at the Art Gallery.

There are 2 teams - one data entry, one 'special projects'. We in data entry know we're the lower rung because the special projects team don't talk to us and refuse to tell us what they're doing. You ask them and they mumble 'special things' or change the subject, which leads me to believe it's either M15-level data entry or something Not That Special After All. Probably the latter.

Google Image Search doesn't think much of Special Projects either.

I posited aloud that they were entering things into Excel, as in the group interview they split us off into those with Excessive Excel Excellence and those without, but a special projects team member who I had not realised was there said, "Actually, there isn't any Excel at all" in a self-important manner then wandered off, spreadsheet fingers twitching.

I guess we'll never know.

There are between 15 and 36 data enterers on each night shift - the crew is extremely mötley but about 5 of us have formed a posse (Data Entry Posse would be a good title for a very boring Western) and support each other as colleagues and human beings. Except for when it is 4am and the youngest member of the posse has lost the plot and is cry-laughing over a mildly humorous street name and cannot be quiet, at which point we all throw things.

Have learnt lots about buildings through phrases like, "Building generally structurally sound, avoid chimney breasts." Did not even know chimneys had breasts, let alone that they were something to be avoided!

Pictured: not as exciting as I had hoped.

Also, that search gave me 13 pages of Google Images before I saw my first pair of actual breasts. And they were on a man. I didn't even know you could do a search without stumbling across breasts in the first 5 pages. I thought it was a rule.

Top three favourite phrases from building reports:

"Brick wall fall off cracks need fixity." Who is writing this report? Mary Poppins? I now imagine building inspectors tripping about in little lace-up boots, prodding buildings with their umbrellas and singing things like Fixity Brickety Crack and Roof-fell-over-fragile-bricks-hit-neighbour's-yellow-Rover. Which seems unlikely as most of them have names like Steve. (I hope you liked that song title because it took ages.)
"Walls appear straightish." HOW VERY REASSURING.
"House ok but lose chimley." Oh no! Not the chimley! Tell me you didn't lose that! Now all that remains is a chimney... it's a bit loose though. Sigh. You would think that if you were a builder/engineer/assessor you would have at least a vague knowledge of how to spell the bits of the house. "Went in front dor and worked on warl for a while, eventually leaving via the wyndoh." Wyndoh! Why is it not spelt like that?

It's four days on and four days off, so now I need to find something to entertain myself for the next four days, unless they call me in. Rent as many seasons of Boston Legal as I can find, stock up on whiskey and cigars and have a booze-soaked Denny Crane marathon. Yes?

"Women!"
"Can't live with them."
"Can't take 'em quail hunting."

Hot & horrid

2011-03-04T17:34:00.008+13:00

It's REALLY hot. It's hot enough that I have eaten a whole watermelon (wow!) and am going to reprise this corn cartoon (or, if you will, 'corntoon'):

It is exactly what I am like.

While I was looking for the corntoon I stumbled across this and it has completely derailed the nice post I was going to write about the earthquake (although I did write one here, about going inside the cordons and poking an artwork) because WHAT?

WHAT IS THIS?

The site I found this on is called 'somethinbeautiful' but we are going to have to agree to disagree on that.

Apparently I have discovered the work of James Kuhn, who is painting his face with something different every day for a year. We are not sure why. “I saw other 365’s but they are self-indulgent or just plain silly.” said James. “I wanted to take it to a higher level.”

Pictured: a higher level. A higher level of what?
James, what are you doing?

This is my favourite.

There are heaps of youtube videos of Kuhn moving his face about and they are utterly fascinating but extremely creepy. Recommended: the bodybuilder (he has drawn the bum on his nose) and the zebra, if you never want to sleep again. Do not show these to your children because they will scream and be traumatised.

ANYWAY. Tonight will be my third shift working overnight at the Art Gallery, which is the operations base for all things earthquake - I can't remember the proper name of it but I am partial to calling it EQHQ - so I'd better go and get myself vaguely sorted for that. Put pants on, etc. Can't get past the cordon in your undergruts! (It's an earthquake rule.)

Weirdest Week Ever*

2011-03-02T20:14:00.000+13:00

*weirder even than the week that I visited the nudist colony and the morgue. Not as weird as the time that I thought it sounded like a good idea to start a hotel called HOTEL RHINO FIGHT and have fighting rhinos as the after dinner entertainment.

First of all, a huge thank you to The Bloggess for publishing my drunken email about the You-Know-What - this is the only time a drunken email has ever worked in my favour. Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and/or donated! I'm not going to get all emotional because a) how embarrassing and b) I'll do that tomorrow on a more quakecentric post on the other blog, but thank you, everyone.

Thank you also to the person who called me 'the voice of a disaster' this morning. I'm sure you meant it in a positive way, but now every time I talk I feel like a tornado of locusts should be issuing from my mouth, like Cillian Murphy in whatever Batman movie it was. The one where he has the bag on his head and sounds like bees.

I believe it is called the handsomest Batman movie.

Why would you put a bag on the head of Cillian Murphy?

Everything is kind of ok here, given the circumstances -we have power, water, and phone and tonight I'm going to start working doing quake admin stuff for the council. Will be nice to be proper helping, not just making the odd clever remark on Twitter and occasionally flicking a bit of silt about with a spade*.

Feels totally weird getting all corporate dollied up at 9pm though. Feel like I'm off to be an escort, or a spy. Or a spy pretending to be an escort! Or an escort pretending to be a spy! Let us hope I don't get carried away and attempt to be either of these things.

There will be a much better written, more appropriate post turning up shortlyish on the other blog but I don't really feel much like writing thoughtful earthquake opinions right now, I feel like blathering on about nothing and, is that search and rescue dog wearing little bootees? That is so cute. (I know, I know, it's not cute, it's so he doesn't hurt his feet as he goes on his way... sniffing for miracles.)

Alright time to go and be a spy/hooker/temporary office administration staff member now.

*I accidentally got myself into an Earthquake Love Triangle between two gentlemen who we will call, in topical silt-related terminology, Shovel and Spade. (I am Hoe.) We all 'dig' each other but there's only room for two implements in the garden shed (of love) - who will end up shifting my liquefaction? Watch this space.

Earthquake Post

2011-02-27T20:52:00.004+13:00

Disclaimer: this post is about the earthquake and is therefore it would seem that none of it should be funny. But some of it is a little bit funny because even in tragedies funny things still happen, and that is how I deal with crises, and goodness knows we all need a bit of a laugh at the moment, especially me. Please don't think I'm being insensitive - this is very difficult to write about without being overly emotional or pompous or inappropriate and I hope I've done OK on that.

Can't adequately describe the shittiness of the last week and I'm not going to try to because I'm sure you've all seen the news. Somehow, though, this has still managed to be a really long post.

It's weird writing about the earthquake because I was really lucky - I'm ok, family is ok, house is ok - and I'm extremely aware that so many people are so much worse off than I am, and I don't want to take anything away from that by talking about What I Did On My Earthquake. But I do want to write about it, just as much to clear my head as anything else. I hope that's OK and you're welcome to skip this post.

Firstly, a huge thanks to everyone that I talked to online on Tuesday and Wednesday, when I was in shock and a bit mental and kept saying insensitive things. I was doing 'keep calm and carry on' but it's pretty difficult when you aren't really eating or sleeping, and have to travel everywhere by pushbike. (Yes. I know. Pushbike. Fucking earthquakes.) Thank you for putting up with my nutterish rambling.

I was safe at home when the quake happened, but spent most of Tuesday afternoon/evening thinking about how there were people trapped in the Press building (where I worked until a month ago) but not knowing how many or who they were, then on Wednesday I found out that a friend didn't make it out of the CTV building and, no matter how much you attempt to keep calm and carry on by digging silt out of backyards (hint: silt is gross) there does come a point where you think, "if I hear one more siren or news bulletin I am going to SCREAM" and so I went to Picton for the weekend. You know things are getting rough when Picton seems like a treat.

Post-Picton I feel much better - didn't realise until I got out of the city how much I needed a break. Christchurch people who are feeling the pressure, get out of town if you can, it's amazing the difference it makes.

Do you know what else I learnt during the earthquake?

People have the most interesting questions. Questions like, "Do cows fall over in earthquakes?" Realised I don't know the answer to this, but I hope it is 'yes.'

During the water conservation phase, I learnt an important lesson about washing your teeth with juice. The lesson is 'don't'. It seems practical and clever but actually it's fucking disgusting. Ever brushed your teeth or had a mint near an orange? Like that but worse and your mouth feels, if anything, grosser. Have heard from other sources that V and Coke are also bad, but milk is quite nice really because you can pretend you're having a spearmint milkshake and blow awesome bubbles.
Also during the water conservation phase, I learnt that 'carrying on as normal' after a point turns into 'behaving like a mental patient.' Realised this as I was shaving my legs in a bucket in the back garden. Earthquake? What earthquake? I'm still sexy!
Still in the water conservation phase, I learnt that the novelty of crapping in the garden wears off rather quickly, but it's fun to have a list of plants that 'require nitrogenation' and behave appropriately, and that some people take a state of national emergency as an opportunity to urinate freely wherever they please. ("What? No! No, you cannot just pee on the side of the road. God damn it. This is a crisis, not a treat.")
I learnt that sometimes ridiculous phrases pop out in times of crisis - phrases like 'the port-a-loos are being deployed,' which makes me think of an army of port-a-loos marching into Bexley, and, during a bulletin featuring search and rescue dogs, 'he continues on...' dramatic pause '...sniffing for miracles.' Sniffing for miracles? Goodness.
I learnt that 'essentials' is a very flexible term. We went into a friend's central city, cordoned-off flat to get 'essentials' and came back with teacups, electronics, clothes... and a shisha pipe, a gas mask and a bag of bacon.
I learnt that an earthquake makes it socially acceptable to be drunk all the time. The city is full of people in various stages of coping and a lot of these stages involve copious amounts of vodka. Drinking on a Tuesday night any other week? Time to stage an intervention. Drinking on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday night this week? Earthquake! Totes ok. Also, someone commented on how I always seem to have alcohol in a crisis. This is true. No emergency radio, bottled water, or tinned food but goddammit we are going to be able to get drunk.

It's going to get sentimental and mawkish for a minute here, so brace yourselves.

Also learnt about the amazing amount of support we have in times of crisis. We've had Search and Rescue teams flying in from all over the world, we've had reinforcements from the rest of the country (on the way to Picton we passed three vehicle transporters filled with police cars), we've had local volunteer fire crews and paramedics and students and donations and offers of help and support and accommodation flooding in to our battered city and, thank you. I have never been more proud to be a part of this city and this country. (Except possibly for a couple of the more dramatic moments in the All Whites World Cup games.)

On the highway to Picton between Seddon and Blenheim there is a hill which has a cluster of white stones that people use to spell out messages. It's usually sporting HAPPY BDAY BAZZA or something equally entertaining, but when we drove through this weekend it read, KIA KAHA CHCH.

It roughly translates to 'stay strong, Christchurch,' and Christchurch will.

Even if the cows fall over on the aftershocks.

Normal blogging service will resume shortly. If anyone would like to donate to the earthquake appeal, the Red Cross page is here.

Quake

2011-02-22T19:46:00.002+13:00

Hi everyone - very brief message to say me and family are fine post-earthquake.

Thanks for all your messages - the amount of concern from the rest of NZ and overseas has been overwhelming - and please keep the positive thoughts coming in our direction. Massive amount of damage, city is a wreck and sadly we've had fatalities this time. Blog may be absent for a bit for obvious reasons.

(However, woman on TV just said, "It was terrible. We were having Kentucky Fried Chicken. We'd just finished it." so I guess there it could've been worse, she could've been halfway through a bucket.)

Updates* / **

2011-02-20T20:36:00.007+13:00

*speaking of which, I went on a date last night but I am hesitant to blog the shit out of it because what if there is another date? Not sure this is likely as I talked at length on many uninteresting topics but you never know, my hair was looking pretty nice so that might cancel out the mildly pissed rambling.

**alternate title: The Burp of Choice. Unsure about formatting of little footnotering stars but there really didn't seem to be another way to do it.

Busy, bored, blah. B is for all of these things.* They are me. I am them. As my ex-colleague The Mad Russian used to shout down the phone from time to time, startling colleagues and customers alike, 'This is the BULLSHIT.' (In Soviet Russia, newspaper crumples you!)

Some days I think my brain is going to boil down into a little pool of bubbling goo and fall out my nose and onto the carpet (and Mum will cry, "Get that off the carpet!") but so far this hasn't happened. I have picked up a cold, though. So at least there is some kind of bubbling goo falling out my nose.

I have picked up the cold ("hey, baby," I said to it, "what's a nice virus like you doing in a face like this?") as a result of too many nights out Partying Hard and not eating enough vegetables and penning-up (it's the process of making something pent-up) rage at people saying, "Oh, so you're unemployed?" in the tone usually reserved for people who say, "I have to tell you a secret," then lean over and burp into your ear.

I keep explaining that my current burp of unemployment is a burp of choice and not an involuntary burp but they don't seem to get it - I think people just assume I wander around the house all day making jam and talking to the dog and plucking my nose hairs and ok yes that is partially true (except for the part about the nose hairs, which I don't have. No! Not because I plucked them, because I never had any to begin with) but actually it's a LOT more complex than that. Sometimes I have to get dressed before noon.

Also there are Things Going On Behind The Scenes but I kind of can't talk about any of them because ~~I am a secret agent~~ something about being discreet. I'm sure you can imagine how intensely frustrating this is ("what do you MEAN I can't put my entire life on the Internet?") but together we'll get through it. Either that or I will lose patience with this being discreet bollocks and tell you all about it next Thursday.

Look! Here is an elephant, painting an elephant.

How does he do that?

*Also, 'bum.'

The Little Yellow Tractor

2011-02-17T15:09:00.004+13:00

Hi everyone. Here's what I did today while putting off doing more important things. I also spent some time serenading the dog ("But Charlie I'd still catch a grenaaaaaade for ya'"), drinking coffee and making dolphin puns, which I'm not going to inflict on you here because there would be no real porpoise.

I have written a children's story and now all I need is an illustrator. Could it be you? I have included helpful instructions for illustrations.

The Little Yellow Tractor
a children's story

Once upon a time there was a little yellow tractor. He lived on a farm with all the other tractors, and he was the smallest of them all!
Picture of little yellow tractor surrounded by other, larger tractors. Big tractors look mean. Little yellow tractor looks peppy & resourceful.

Because the yellow tractor was so small, he was never allowed to do any of the big jobs that the other tractors did. Poor yellow tractor!
Picture of sad yellow tractor watching other tractors leave farm to do important tractor things.

Then one day...
suspenseful page turn

The little yellow tractor saw the other tractors going out to work, and quick as a flash he hid in the back of their line and before the farmer could see him, he was out the gate!
Picture of line of tractors going across a paddock; little yellow tractor is at the back looking at the reader and doing thumbs up. With whatever the tractor equivalent of thumbs is.

What a naughty tractor!
That is a line that the whole family can say together.

After a whole day of working in the fields, the little yellow tractor was tired and ready to go back to the farm. But when he went to find the other tractors to go home...
suspenseful page turn

They were gone!
Picture of no tractors.

Poor little yellow tractor! He was lost, all alone, and it was starting to get dark.
Picture of yellow tractor in middle of forest looking scared.

"Oh no," he thought, "I'll never get back to the farm now! I should never have followed the bigger tractors." And he sat down and started to cry.
Picture of crying tractor. Crying in the 'I know this is all my own fault' kind of way. Also, sitting down. I don't really know how you're going to draw that.

But just as the little yellow tractor had given up hope, he heard a sound from far away... it was the biggest tractor of them all, blowing his horn!
Picture of that. If tractors have horns.

The little yellow tractor got up and went as fast as his wheels (?) could carry him, over paddock after paddock, until he went over a hill and...
suspenseful page turn

There was the farm!
Picture of farm. Little yellow tractor looks relieved.

As the little yellow tractor went back through the farm gates, he thought, "I'm never going to go out with the big tractors again!" And he slept all night long.
Picture of sleeping tractors; many ZZZ signs.

But the next day...
Picture of tractors leaving the farm; little yellow tractor is hiding near the back and ~~giving a big tractor the finger~~ winking at the reader.

If anyone would like to illustrate this let me know because I'm pretty sure we could be billionaires.

West Coast Trip Part One*

2011-02-16T13:42:00.006+13:00

*quite possibly the only part.

I went to the West Coast on the weekend! Probably you guessed that from the title but I thought I'd better clarify.

Sorry if this post is a bit scattered, but family have just got new phones and they are trying out all the ringtones. All of them! I made a comment about how trying out ringtones is really fucking annoying and apparently now I'm being irrational, or something, but it is hard to be rational when TEEDLE EEEDLE BOM CHICKA WOW WOW - TEEEEEEEDLE EEEEDLE EEEEP GAHHHH.

Here is a photo of a West Coast double-ended cow.

DOUBLE BEEEEEF. WHAT DOES IT MEEEEEAN?

Here is the Obligatory Scenic Photo. (Ringtone people have now started watching The OC. They are watching an episode called 'The My Two Dads' and singing along with the theme song. Am going to close eyes and think peaceful scenic thoughts.)

Stupid OC.

Also discovered that every small town in New Zealand has three things: pub, tearooms, and shop selling poorly-constructed crafts. You know the ones, stones with eyes painted on them and the name of the town stuck on in bits of wood, or something. Crapft! Have decided that if current life plan doesn't work out, I am going to move to a small town and open a shop called "Local Crap".

This was my favourite Local Crap Warning:

How do you tell what is the art and what is the stuff?

Also good: hand-lettered sign by the side of the road that said 'PSYCHIC READINGS. PUNGAS. SOAP.' Presumably not all three at once but you never know, perhaps they have some sort of deal? I should have stopped. "Your spirit guide is coming through... they say you should buy some soap." Pause. "Also possibly a punga."

Also good: sign outside a hotel advertising 'MEALS BEDS BEERS.' It's all you need! It's certainly all I need.

We also went to Franz Josef to see the glacier - it was absolutely pouring with rain but with a complete disregard for Dragon's instructions we went out anyway and spent half an hour trekking towards the glacier, which looked like this:

Totally worth it.

I assume the glacier is usually scenicer than this, or that tourists have really crappy taste in natural landforms. Is massive river of ice which somehow manages to look exactly like massive regular river in photos. Except in this photo, where it looks a bit like a yawning tiger:

ENTER THE CAVE OF THE ICE KING *yawn*

In conclusion, glacier = breathtaking in person (well, in glacier); very unphotogenic. Like me. I am like a glacier. (Cool.) Yeah yeah, I know I would be a better glacier if I was quieter.

We also went to see the nesting white herons (herons? Do you say herons? More than one heron. Heron is a weird word) but all of the photos were terrible, so no white herons for YOU.

OK, just the one. (Photo taken by not-me.)

All in all, it was a good weekend! Even though it was three days of camping and no internet and no makeup (!) - although the girl in the tent next to me plucked her eyebrows at a camping table one morning, prompting me to think, 'who the fuck plucks their eyebrows when they're camping?' and then answer my own question five minutes later when I ran into a really cute German co-camper and wished I had plucked my eyebrows also.

That's probably about all except that I wrote an awesome song based on my experiences in the campground showers, it is called "Pubes of a Stranger" and it has the same tune as Eye of the Tiger. I'll leave you with that so it can be stuck in your head too.