Burst Angel

It's not a bad anime (do you call it an anime, or an anime series?) but I think it's the name that makes it. It must be a poor translation of 'hot potential lesbians fighting giant robot battles' because that is more or less what the show's about. The best of Transformers meets the best of scantily clad Japanese ladies! The main character, Joe (female) controls a giant robot and I can't hear you over all this penis envy.


That's her on the right.

Also in Auckland: a street called Westward Ho Road. We drove past it the other night. Imagine living there. Every time you turned into the street you'd feel compelled (well, I would) to shout. "Westward Ho!" you would shout. And then you would wonder where your ho' had gone.

I haven't really got anything interesting to blog about (in case you hadn't guessed that by now) - was flicking through my notebook and all I found was Westward Ho Road, which still makes me giggle, and a lot of random words which I think are the names of bands I vaguely liked, or creatures from a nightmare world. ('Disfear'? It's probably a band.)

Speaking of, I woke myself up yesterday by lying on my back and clawing at the air. I don't remember what I was dreaming about at all but I think I was trying to catch someone, rather than trying to free myself from a sleep monster. Here is an artist's interpretation, including sleep monster called Disfear:

Not shown: Conor's obvious amusement.

Do you know what I have? A little craving for crispy duck and hoi sin sauce (which, to me, always sounds like someone shouting "Oi! It's in sauce!" in an Oriental fashion) on noodles, with those things which look like bean sprouts but may not be.
God knows what I have drawn, they look pretty much nothing like that.

Unrelated to food, Andrea has just informed me that catteries pump happy cat hormones into the air to keep the cats calm and happy! I had no idea this was going on. I wonder how morally wrong it would be to start a company that manufactured human happy hormones (HHH) and marketed them to large corporations? Imagine how much more productive your average office would be if it was full of happy chemicals. Maybe they already do this! I should start a conspiracy theory. No I should patent this and make millions. Actually before I do this I should probably do some research to make sure we're not going to have a repeat of the the time I thought I was going to become rich and famous by inventing the reverse microwave (hint: it is a freezer.) Anyway, if they don't already do this then get your grubby paws off my intellectual property. Get your grubby brain off my intellectual property. Get your filthy mind off my front porch.

I will think more about this and let you know how it goes.

(Also, I was editing a blog post yesterday when I saw I'd tagged it with 'not about me.' Out of interest, I clicked on the tag to see how many of my 27something entries are marked as such. ONE. So I'm going to tag this one, even though it's complete bollocks.)

Lapi* is in a stable condition

*I know it's a really unimaginative name - I am not so good at naming inanimate objects. Andrea is. She called her toaster 'Poppy,' which is freakin' awesome


Just got back from 10 hours of stocktake! I think supermarkets play a lot of Coldplay so that people get depressed and want to buy stuff to cheer themselves up.

Here's a story about how I sassed an old man.

OK so quite often when we're stocktaking, shoppers assume that because we're standing about with little scanners we work at the supermarket. Fair enough.

So today an elderly gentleman with a large nose and rheumy eyes toddled over to me and declared in a cantankerous wheeze that there weren't any Ready Salted ETA potato chips. "Pardon?" I said, because I wasn't quite sure I'd heard him (or in fact that he was talking to me). "I said" replied the elderly gentleman, revealing that he had been a crusty old man all along, "there AREN'T ANY READY SALTED ETA POTATO CHIPS!"

"That's interesting." Pause. "I don't work here."

FUCK YOU, OLD DUDE.

Also, a small child (overheard: "Mummy, Mummy!" "Eww, cover your mouth when you cough." "No!") ran around my feet as I scanned things, then asked his mother what "that man" was doing. To be fair, I was wearing a beanie & no makeup, & the child was little. This put me in mind of other times I've been mistaken for a young man, usually when out caroling in my mannish band uniform, with short hair & hat on. ("Go on, dear, give the money to him...oh, to her...to...oooh.")

It also reminded me of the time I got in a fight over a girl. Want to hear the story? Yeah you totally do.

So I was at this party in Paraparaumu (pronounced 'pram') which is, for those who don't know it, a little seaside town about an hour out of Wellington. It was a birthday party, and it ended up lasting for 36 hours; I think I arrived about 8pm Friday and went home at 12pm Sunday (on the train, it was traumatic) and the party was in full swing when I arrived, and really only stopped about 7am Sunday morning. (Actually, the full story of the party would make a ripping yarn, in the style of TLDOML. If you guys are keen for another one of those four-part stories let me know & I'll do it when my laptop's better.)

I didn't know anyone except the host, so I wandered about joining in random conversations and meeting people and making friends and generally enjoying myself. One of the people I met was a girl called Bree. We got along well & ended up sitting outside on some steps having an intense, emotional and very pissed conversation about something which I no longer remember but which meant a lot to both of us at the time, and then a very drunk guy lurched outside, lit up a cigarette, and sat down next to Bree in a very purposeful fashion. To be fair, she had been dancing with him earlier in a fairly shall we say sensual way, but then it was that kind of a party.

Then the drunk guy, who I should probably mention was a huge douche, put his hand on Bree's leg, and 'suggested' that I leave the two of them alone. Bree was pretty drunk, and I didn't want to just toddle off & leave her (the party was in the country, and there were many convenient spots to pop off to for a quick shag, or so I was told) so I said asked her if she wanted me to go. "No," she said, "don't go." The guy glared at me and told me that Bree was fine, and that I really should go. Threatening glare and all. Then Bree made the surprise announcement that actually she wanted to make out with me and not the drunk guy, and launched herself at my face.

The drunk guy reacted to this plot twist with a mixture of disbelief & arousal, and made some noise which was more or less "hurr hurr fnarr fnarr wait til I tell the guys about this threesome I am about to have" then a bit of that noise people make when they're pretending to be French. Alas, he did not realise that he was the only person in the conversation who wasn't thinking "what a douche." I was about to politely ask him to leave when I accidentally smirked and told him to fuck off. Bree echoed this sentiment and added an inappropriate hand gesture, which really helped.

So the drunk guy accused me of cockblocking him. I told him it wasn't my fault that I was hotter than he was.

He punched me in the face! There was a brawl! I had a black eye for the Monday Morning Team Meeting! What a badass.

Good story eh. And that was only one of the 36 hours.


I might have to start a "Next, on Today Is My Birthday*" segment.

Next, on TIMB* - The Longest Party Ever, Part One (and/or This One Time, at Band Camp...Part One, in which I take you from behind on a magical journey through the world of brass banding by recounting my experiences*). Stay tuned. Do not adjust your dial.**


Also, I'm thinking of renaming my blog, but I don't know what to. I had a slogan and everything, but I forgot it. (zach - can you remember what this was? it was maybe in the same conversation as 'sort of but not quite' for sleep500. andrea - I probably told you in a fit of excitement? Or maybe I thought of it when I was talking to you, not zach? man I gotta write shit down, and also not hold private conversations in blog posts.)

Actually now that I've realised the acronym is TIMB* I'm not going to change it at all, I'm just going to start referring to my blog as TIMB*aLand and shout TIMB*er! every time I post.


*the funny ones

**probably just one of those phrases would've been sufficient

Taking Stock

I spent from 5.30am this morning til 2pm stocktaking at a New World near you, and am doing the same tomorrow at a Woolworth's, before going to clean my aunt's house, and then to kickboxing. There is not much punctuation in this post because I am really really tired & quite frankly cba making this readable.

Stocktaking is not exciting but the time passes quite quickly and sometimes interesting things happen (not today). Today I started at 5.30am as I believe I may have mentioned and let me tell you it is really fucking early at that hour, especially when your usual rising time is like 8 and then suddenly somehow it's ten to 6 and you are counting packet upon packet of bacon. At one stage I held 12 kilos of bacon in my arms. I swear the bacon almost killed me. I only had a piece of bread for breakfast because it's kind of obscene to eat anything substantial at 5am unless it is a kebab and you're on your way home from town and/or drunk and I was neither of these. I was just sitting there counting these packets of bacon and being hungry. Then I was relocated to the out-the-back (storehouse) chiller & counted butter for a while and then bam! I rounded a corner in the chiller and there it was. Piles of delicious smallgoods waiting to be counted. So I went back to the bacon. Bacon bacon fucking bacon. Then I counted wine for a bit, and now all I want is wine and bacon.* At the same time. Maybe even in the same glass. I went out for dinner the other night and for dessert I had tiny rockmelon balls suspended in gewurtztraminer jelly and if they can do it with rockmelon then why not with bacon? It would look like this:
On second thought maybe that would be disgusting.

Anyway after I was done with the bacon I went into a walk-in freezer and counted in there for about half an hour, or until I couldn't feel my toes and my fingers were really sore. The guy who was counting in the bay (bit of shelving) next to me said with no little sense of wonder, "I can feel my nose hairs freezing!" I think it's actually your boogers which freeze, in case anyone's interested. (If you actually know what freezes please tell me. Me and the other guy kept sniffing in huge gusts of air just to feel it rush icily up our sinuses.) Was like the Antarctic would be if there were no penguins or polar bears (you're a smart kid, you can just pick the right one) and everyone was counting packets of frozen peas instead of exploring. I was going to write down some witty comments about working in the freezers but the ink in my pen was half frozen (not kidding).

Did manage to note down that lots of cartons of food had DON'T DROP printed on them. I guess maybe it happened a lot for a while there.

Best product slogan of the day: "(Some Toilet Paper) Double Length - It's Twice as Long!" No fucking shit, toilet paper company. What next? "Toilet Paper! Quite Nice To Wipe Your Arse With!" "Toilet Paper! Not Gritty!" "Toilet Paper - It's On A Roll!" Pun.

Sorry, it's been a long day and I am a big fucking grouch. Mainly because I am tired and I totally used to be able to function on barely any sleep and now I can't what is this am I getting old am I no longer cool? I have about ten million bloggable things and most of them are rants but now is not the time. I am talking to several internet people and appear to be being obnoxious whoops. OH WHOOPS. Next thing you know I will be making declarations of love and vomiting on my keyboard and all I want is bacon! and wine.*

Kate bought a jersey last week and she loves it. It is big and green and called Big Green. She just came into my room and told a long story about Big Green and how he nearly got wet and so she ran all the way home. It was like one of my stories. Her boyfriend does not like Big Green. "Do you think I look like a hobo?" she asked him. "No," he said, "it is just that Big Green looks like something a hobo would wear." When I was little my favourite sweater was called Bokko (because he had a house on him) and I wore him all the time. I think all the best sweaters look a little hobo-y. Hobo-ish? Hobo-like? Hobolean? Hobocore? Hobotic? Hobo-erotic? Derelicte. I'm going to bed.

*and a onesie

DEAD GIVEAWAY: edited (twice)

Today Andrea suggested I do a reader giveaway.

Does anyone want sleep500? You may have him.*

No. That is not what it means. She does them on her blog - asks people to leave a comment if they'd like a Lovely Thing, and then she draws a name at random and sends the person the Lovely Thing.

However, there are two important differences between Andrea's Blog Giveaways and mine:

1. Andrea runs a fashion blog (for those of you who haven't seen it, it's here), and she sends her readers beautiful items of clothing. I do not run a fashion blog, so God knows what you'll be getting. I promise it won't be anything gross, like one of my toenails. (Let me know if you'd like one of those, though, I plan to trim them in the near future.) Haven't decided what it will be yet, but it will be Nice and Interesting! And anyway if you don't like it you can sell it or, if you are wise, hold onto it until I am famous and then sell it.

2. To enter Andrea's giveaways, you just have to leave a comment, and then she draws a name out of a hat. To enter MINE you have to leave a comment with what you think PZS stands for.** Andrea thought it might be 'Pizzle Zircon Syphilis,' which is a particularly bad strain of syphilis (as opposed to the particularly good ones) that turns your pizzle to zircon. So that should give you some idea of the level of competition.

I'll let it run for a week, at the end of which I will either have a winner or a decided lack of interest. I'll pick my favourite PZS and then I'll mail the winner the prize (they will have to be willing to email me their postal address. That is the catch.) If there are two I can't decide between, well, I might send two prizes. Or I might not. I could do anything. WHO KNOWS? That is the excitement of a reader giveaway.

If it is the latter - i.e. no-one wishes to participate - I will KEEP THE PRIZE, but I will also be very sad.

EDITED BIT: New readers and people who have not commented before are totally expected to enter, just like the old faithful are. (Yay!) Also you can totally enter more than once.


Also I had an idea for a game show using the Survivor format: you gather 16 people on various medications (say a couple of schizophrenics, a dissociative, someone with paranoia, a manic-depressive, someone with ADHD, etc) then put them all on an island and take away the meds.

Ohmygod ohmygod they all hate me it's going to be me tonight they're going to vote me off aren't they.

I will call it Survivor: Panic Island. I am a God-damn genius.

*I told him about the giveaway and that he could enter and he was all "SHUT UP I'M TRYING TO LISTEN TO ICE MELT."

** not 'Preteen Zombie Sluts,' but that would probably be a pretty good porno


Andrea: that was total meta-PZS.

Lizst: 3

Today is a special day, and not just because of Zombie Jesus rising Easter - I have a new theory about the World that I would like to share with you all. Don't worry, it's more socially acceptable than theory #23*. It is about a theory about Morality. Prepare yourself!

Ok, imagine this. One afternoon you are sitting quietly in the lounge watching, I don't know, the Home & Away omnibus or something, and then out of nowhere GOD appears in your living room & switches off the TV. "Oi!" you say, "I was watching that, Charlie was just about to hook up with that other girl." GOD, who does not watch Home & Away because it is on at the same time as Wheel of Fortune, does not care. "I have a proposition for you," says GOD. "Would you like to be Very Rich?" "Yes," you say. GOD pretends to be all surprised, and then goes on to outline a plan by which you could, nay, will become ludicrously wealthy. The downside is that it is ever so slightly illegal and/or immoral. Nothing too bad, no grandmother-selling or anything, just a little on the dodgy side. You wonder slightly why GOD is suggesting this. However, GOD has given you his very own, God-given guarantee that no-one will ever find out and you can tell your friends and family you're an investment banker or something.

Now, my theory is that there are two types of people in the world: those who would say, "Gosh, no, thanks awfully, but I couldn't ever do that," and those who would say, "I think my first Porsche will have to be silver." I definitely fall into the second group; my mother, aunt and cousin do not. It makes for interesting dinner conversation. And now, a list.


Things That Happened To Me Today

1. I went to the beach and got crabs...to crawl on my hand! Went around lifting up rocks and found all of these things:
- little shiny black crabs with big front pincers
- see above, but bigger & old enough to have one 'boxer's pincer' more developed than the other; hardcore. Was one of these that I talked into hopping on my hand
- traditionally-shaped crabs (heart-shaped shell) with little spindly legs
- anenomes that waved their fronds about and tucked them all back in rapidly when confronted with my finger
- small, see-through 'mini-lobsters' with orange spots on their legs; did not actually see the spots but have it on good authority (from my mother) that they did exist
- 'shadow fish' - small, black, bullet-shaped (?) fish (?) that move very fast and resemble shadows. Probably not their technical name but you never know.

2. Was menaced by beach bagpiper. Some chump with a pair of bagpipes** obviously had the noble idea to practice his 'art' away from civilization; this would have been a great idea but Cable Bay is a popular beach spot and not really away from civilization at all. He hauled ass up a hill that overlooked the bay and proceeded to face out to sea and play the bagpipes really badly.
Turns out that playing the bagpipes whilst standing on a hill and facing out to sea doesn't make you cut a lone, dramatic figure; it makes you look like a chump playing the bagpipes. The delightful thing about the bagpipes, I find, is that it is possibly the only instrument that allows you to be out of tune with yourself. Not only were two of the tones in the drone out of tune, but the drone itself was almost a full semitone out with the high squealy melody bit (pipes?). I was tempted to go and ask him, "How can you stand the noise you're making?" but this would have been rude. Man what I would not have given right then to have my trumpet. I would walk up the hill with it and stand right behind the bagpipe player and bring the trumpet down smartly on his head. Jenny, ever the optimist, asked, "Does it get better as he warms up?" Hahahahaha! Hahahahaha! Good one, Jenny.

3. I saw a dump truck. This was only exciting because it was the exact replica of a toy dump truck I had as a child (only bigger) and I haven't seen a dump truck like it since I used to play with the toy one in the sandpit. Yay! You're going to have to trust me on this, but it was exciting. Shout-out to any operators of industrial machinery (especially dump trucks) who are in today's audience. Also digger drivers. Here is a quote from my father, about diggers: "Our friends in times of peace and war." Here is a another quote from my father, rifling through the pantry this morning after forgetting that everything was closed for Easter Sunday: "Vegetable samosas! Are they like breakfast?"

4. I went to the Cathedral and looked at stained glass saints and I have got to say that maybe it's just because he seems to be the only dude saint without a beard but boy does St. John, Ev. (what is this Ev?) look emo. He looks like someone who would take you aside at a party and spend the next hour reciting his bad poetry and telling you about how difficult it is to make it as an artist while you desperately try to escape. In other news, I'm not sure what he's the saint of, but I hope I never have to pray to him. St. James the Great is much more my type of saint; his window has "ye shall drink from my cup" written on it. It would suck to be St. James the Lesser, wouldn't it? He and St. John, Ev. probably hang out together and complain. Heck, they probably have a band or something. Oh shit I'm going to hell again.

Also at the cathedral: painting of Lord Baden-Powell of Gilwell (possibly; wrote it down very messily and now not sure exactly what it says), who was the founder of the Boy Scouts and, more importantly, CHIEF SCOUT OF THE WORLD. I know this because that was the caption of the painting. CHIEF SCOUT OF THE WORLD. I just misspelt 'scout' as 'scunt.' Whoops.

5. I heard the cathedral bell-ringers practicing their scales and they were fairly unimpressive (although to be fair it is probably not an easy thing to do). There were a lot of accidental non-scales. "Fuck, Henry! That's the F bell! A is in your left hand! How many times do we have to go over this?" My mother said "Well, it's better than an old Arab man singing on the top of his minaret." Slightly politically incorrect, but true nonetheless.

Tomorrow, post will be better. Hahahaha! Hahahaha! Good one. Fuck I am obnoxious.



*you can't complain about overpopulation and world hunger at the same time

**or is it just called a bagpipe? Does anyone really care about this?

Poker Night (and some stuff about vampires)

Today, I learnt discovered CREATED strikethrough! I am really excited so sorry about all the fascinating lame ways I will show off this new skill of mine.

Anyway, I am thinking of having a Poker Night poker night at my house in the next month or so, depending on when the IRD decide to give me some taxxx back and/or when I get a job. Everyone is invited! This is primarily directed at people who live in Christchurch, but if those further afield want to fly themselves over here then I'm not about to stand in the way of that.

The International Poker Tournament poker night (Oh my God, who taught me to use strikethrough? this knowledge is not safe in my hands) will be let's say about the end of April. $5 buy-in, winner takes all, and it will of course be the so-hot-right-now Texas Hold 'em. That is my favourite kind of poker, because I'm so trendy! Also because it is the only kind of poker I know how to play.

BYO: whiskey, cigars, $5.

Here are the rules guidelines House Rules:

strikethrough rocks!

Rule 1: Dress nice. (That means pants are strongly recommended compulsory before 10pm. (Or, you know, skirts for the ladies (or any men who want to wear them, my poker night supports alternative lifestyle choices.))
Rule 2: Absolutely no singing of Poker Face
Rule 3: Absolutely no singing of Poker Face.
Rule 4: I am an exception to Rules 2 & 3 because sometimes I have poor impulse control
Rule 4a: Doesn't matter if you're a crappy poker player. You'll be drunk anyway. All you really have to know is always bet a lot. It makes people think you're a High Roller, and High Rollers are cool. Take James Bond, for instance. Did he look at his 2/7 offsuit and fold? No, no he did not. He made a pithy remark, and then he bet. (Betted?)

Obviously, the exception is aces. Never bet on aces. Also if you have a pair of something that's not good either. We're not playing Happy Families. Poker is a game for grown-ups.

Rule 5: If you are caught cheating, I will shoot you. If you are not caught cheating, you will probably win. Your call.

So if after all that anybody still wants to come, or, you know, feels obliged by the bonds of friendship, flick me a txt or leave a comment or something. One of those things. Or an email. Some form of communication. Please. I'm so lonely.

In Other News:

- I am going to start a music movement called 'Outie' which will be the antithesis of 'Indie'. Think Spice Girls on crack wearing Hammer Pants and covering Cotton-Eye Joe or something like that. Alternatively, think My Chemical Romance in drag singing barbershop. Ah, fame! How it stings the nostrils. Or perhaps that is the cocaine I'm just not sure any more. Perhaps I am going Proper Mad? I have an ex-boyfriend who was about as mental as I am, give or take a little, and every so often he would look at me in wide-eyed concern and say, "Ally, I am afraid I'm going Proper Mad. Will you tell me if I go Proper Mad? As in Batshit Fucking Insane?" "Yes, dear."

- Do you think that if we lived in an all-vampire society, people would just wander about naked? I ask this because I was talking to a friend about why we don't all just be naked, and he said something along the lines of "because most people are gross and it gets cold all the time." However, all vampires seem to be attractive, and don't feel the cold (? I made that up assume that's the case), so maybe they'd just all wander round in the nuddy. Guess we'll never know.

- Why are all vampires attractive, anyway? Just once I'd like to read a story about a vampire who was a bit chubby and had bad breath and sat in his room all day playing online games. Oh wait no I wouldn't, I'd rather read about gorgeous and slightly fey aristocratic vampires. Guess I just answered my own question, there. Also, if you were a vampire (where did this tangent come from?) picking someone to vampirise 'turn' you'd probably pick someone cute. I mean, they're going to be hanging round for all of eternity looking like that. Do you really want to spend eternity with someone who picks lint out of their belly button? No, I didn't think so.

- In the early stages of my parents' relationship, my father collected and saved his belly-button lint with the intention of using it to stuff a pillow, which he would then present to my mother as a token of his love. For some reason he never finished it, but apparently he amassed a sizeable lint stockpile before abandoning the project. And you wondered why I turned out so weird.

Possibly a proper update

...because most of my posts recently have been about crap.

Ah what a beautiful day to be alive. The sun is shining and the birds are chirping and the bees are buzzing round the huge purple bush they like to buzz round. I'd take a photo if I had a digital camera, it's all very suburban and idyllic. Have spent the morning with the Sunday Star Times and a big pot of coffee...ahhh bliss. Would be nicer if the neighbour wasn't mowing his lawn but I suppose you can't have everything.

I am finally settling back into Chch, the city with the soul of a zombie nun -living at home with Mum & Kate is going well now that we've ironed out most of the little things (to give you an idea of just how little, there was recently a very heated debate about whether the shower curtain gets pushed to the left or to the right side of the shower (it's the LEFT, you FUCKERS)) & realised that we are all adults here, people, so let's behave like it. And now we are, apart from the odd conversation like this:

Me: "Why is my phone charger unplugged?"
Kate: "You plugged it into the plug the radio uses."
Me: "Yes, but I was the only person home, and the radio wasn't on. The radio still isn't on. You're not even using the radio."
Kate: "Well, I wanted to use the radio before, so I unplugged your charger, but then I forgot."
Me: "Couldn't you have moved my charger to another plug?"
Kate: "No! You shouldn't have plugged it in there! That's the radio's plug!"

But then I started calling her 'The Socket Lord' and 'Adolf Plugler' and and now I'm allowed to plug things in wherever I like. As long as I plug the resident appliance back in when I'm done. Maybe I should buy a couple of motherboards...are they called that? Those four-socket things that you attach to your plug. They might be called motherboards or I might have made that up. Hmmm. If they aren't called motherboards, they really should be.

I also need to buy a knife sharpening thing - sharpening block, perhaps - as my family seems to enjoy cutting everything with really dull knifes. I mean knives. What a weird typo to make. But apart from dull knifes and weird routines everything is pretty OK.

Speaking of typos (ooh, segue!) I'm going into a temping agency tomorrow morning because the money is running out and I need to start working again. Lame. However, this will mean I get to do psychometric testing (whee) and typing tests (whee) and Excel tests (crap) and spend some of my day not sitting round the house. I have been doing a lot of gardening - my mother has a great garden, mostly NZ natives and veges and things like that, and I've been really hoeing into the weeding.

Zing!

(I have so been looking for an excuse to make that pun for about the last week.)

Went out last night - first night out in Chch, good Lord - and made some friends! (I think.) Which I sorely need, because my social circle is more of a social four-person blob at the moment, and I miss having readily available drinking buddies. It's quite glum-making to realise that you'd really like to have a beer in the sun but that you have no-one to have it with. Ah well. Friends will come! I should advertise.

I was thinking that I might like to be a real estate agent, after I've worked for 6 months or so (you need a financial cushion to keep you going while you get started, and at the moment all I have is a financial whoopee cushion). You basically get to be your own boss, and the amount of money you make directly reflects the amount of work you put in. That was always one of the things that really annoyed me about salaried jobs - you could be giving it 150%, and the guy next to you is doing a half-assed 75%'er at best, and yet you get paid the same. I mean, sure, you may get promoted sooner, but at the end of the day there's no incentive to really work. Real estate, however...if you do a crappy job, you won't last. if you do an average job, you'll make average money. if you work your ass off, you can make ridiculous amounts of money. Ridiculous amounts! The woman I went and talked to about it said, "You have to like three things to be good at this job - hard work, people, and money." I like people and money, and I'm sure I could get used to the other one.

Mind you, I read an article on the Chatham Islands this morning and now I want to go and live there (town of 200 people, one doctor, one 'constable'...I would start a dinky wee business doing God knows what, and go down to the sea and write a lot. I imagine rent is cheap), which kind of implies I am not very good at this whole deciding-what-to-do-with-my-life business.

I think the problem is that half of me wants to be a rich, high-powered and successful city-dweller who wears a lot of black and accessorizes well, and the other half of me wants to be an eccentric writer living in a cottage by the sea. It'll be interesting to see who wins. I'll keep you updated.

Am cooking tonight! Teriyaki squid. How the fuck do you cook squid? I did not think this through. For those of you who know Chow, I'm trying to recreate that squid I used to eat all the time. I doubt it'll work, but it should be...educational. The lesson will probably be "you don't know how to cook squid."

Anyway, I'm really just rambling on here, and should probably go and do something productive.

Like the Sudoku.

PS I totally cheated on this update thing. I wrote a letter to a friend this morning, and this post is pretty much lifted word-for-word from that letter. It's not laziness, people, it's efficiency. Learn from me.

Boring Load Follows

Without further ado - without any ado - here is the list of things I'm going to do tomorrow. Because I have run out of anything even mildly interesting to write about. I really need to get a job before I go mad from boredom and/or spending too much time in my own company but in the meantime this is what you get.

Tomorrow's To Do List

- Call recruitment agencies with a view to setting up interviews later in the week. One of the agencies will say, "Oh, come in this afternoon!" and, because I don't want to seem unmotivated, I will say "Great! Sure! Love to!" and then really quickly write my CV from scratch because the only copy I have was on my old work computer, do a half-assed job of ironing one of the ten kabillion shirts I thought it would be a great idea to bring to Chch, throw some makeup in the general direction of my face and try to remember how to answer psychometric testing questions in a non-psychopathic way.

- Do immense pile of ironing. I only realised this morning, taking in the second load of washing (for about a week before I moved I thought 'why bother washing that, I can wash it at home' - nice), that I really enjoyed living in a house without an iron. It was an ironclad (ha ha) excuse to be consistently wrinkled. I don't think my life was any worse for the wrinkles, but now that I have iron access it seems lazy to be all creased - although if you think about it some of history's greatest figures were creased. Alexander the Great. Caesar. Jesus.

- Spend an entertaining half hour trying to make my sheet into a toga.

- Find polite way to decline presumptuous acquaintance's offer of sexual relations. This offer came in yesterday and, for the life of me, I am having trouble finding a nice way to rephrase "NO." ('Nice' is loosely defined as 'any answer which doesn't include the word 'fuck.'') I am too polite, that's what my problem is. Strangely this is never what the psychometric tests say.

- Call doctor's and demand appointment - they were meant to call me today but this hasn't happened. They always do this - take my money, take my blood, take my emotions, and then leave me sitting by the phone. Perhaps medical receptionists are trained by uncommunicative boyfriends. Perhaps they are just disorganised.

- Wander down to camera shop and ask about digital cameras. Say "hmm" a lot and nod thoughtfully, then buy the prettiest one. Take lots of pointless photos ('look how long my toenails are!') and upload them to this blog, then become disappointed when no-one comments on my immense attractiveness. However, this is only because everyone knows I'm not good at politely refusing offers of sexual relations and they don't want me to hurt their feelings.

That's about it, really. Maybe get some writing done (yes get some writing done, I am being hideously slack and this blog is just one more procrastination tool) and eat something. Start a webcomic. Start a band. Start a relationship. Start a revolution. Ick.

Have decided that I'm coming up (so you better get the party started) to Wellington in a couple of weeks (or thereabouts). Think of Wellington as the parent with limited visitation rights. You know, the one that lets you have things Christchurch doesn't (alcohol and one night stands), and tells you stories you never really needed to know. GOD I miss Wellington!

Side note: why is it that every superhero, fantasy or war movie I watch I find the good guy kind of annoying and the bad guy kind of cute? Either these things need to be cast better or I need to pay more attention to the psychometric test results.

Yawn.

Yes, life is exciting. Yes, I am moving cities and getting a new job and bought a great pair of red boots the other day on sale but I am still really bored. I suspect it’s work, which is slowing down hugely coming up to Christmas. I have about 20 things to do today (normally I have about 80), and none of them are things that I particularly want to do or have any interest in doing. Sadly, this is my job (for another three weeks, anyway) and so the things have to be done, but…I am bored.

Obviously.

As per usual, lunch is going to be the highlight of my day – am going to nice Asian place (same one as last week) with three work friends (same ones as last week). Every time I go there, I think “Ooh, today I’m going to have something different, not the teriyaki squid,” and toss up between about five menu options and irritate the rest of the table by vocalising every swing of my indecision. Then the waitress (am not being sexist, they don’t seem to have any boy wait staff), who inevitably has horrible bitten-to-the-quick nails with chipped polish (pet hate), comes over and says “Are you ready to order,” and everyone else is and I am not and so I panic and shout “Squid! Teriyaki squid!” and then spend the next twenty minutes being annoyed with myself for not branching out. Then the squid arrives and it is as delicious as ever, and I am reassured. This is exactly the same behaviour I exhibit every time I go out for brunch (“Hmm, pancakes…but then they also have smoked salmon on potato cakes…” “Are you ready to-” “Eggs Benedict! Eggs Benedict!”) and every time I go to Subway (“Hmm, maybe I would like the Steak and Cheese sub today, or maybe…” “What would you-” “Gah! Chicken fillet on white with Swiss cheese and just lettuce and olives and ranch and honey mustard dressing and a little bit of salt and pepper! Fresh!”). But not today, no sir – today I will make a foray into the culinary jungle. (“Teriyaki squid!”)

Had a dream last night that a Christchurch-based friend and I were madly in love and also kind of guerrilla fighters attempting to overcome an army of machine insects. We fought off these glowing insect Transformer-esque monsters in a video-game setting (as you do - very nuclear sunrise) and then went to a black-tie ball and danced for hours. Seriously, we rocked. Reality is boring. Was thinking of emailing Christchurch friend and telling them about this but a) other people’s dreams are boring, even when you’re in them and b) am pretty sure they’d take it the wrong way and actually try to become futuristic robo-vigilante love interest. This would be a little inappropriate, although interesting.

Wow, the nail on my left hand little finger sure has got long. As have my toenails. I should really cut them.

My workmate Kristy wanted to be mentioned in this post I believe – sorry, Kristy, to give the toenails higher billing than you, but they are pretty freakin’ long (and gross). Kristy has just walked past and said “Am I in it?” (Stop nagging me, bitch.) She knows I’m writing a post because about ten minutes ago she emailed me and said, ‘You know what you should write another blog’ (or something like that, I deleted the email), and I replied all like ‘Oh do you know what I am doing right now.’ Obviously we are joined at the mind. Kristy is going to have to help me order something different at lunch today. I hope she is prepared for this.

Moving update: moving all my stuff via moving company is a lot cheaper than I thought, only about $200. When I remember the name of the moving company, I will pimp it. Whatever that means.

Na Na Hey Hey

I am a logistical problem. Well. Moving me is a logistical problem. Moving all my stuff is a logistical problem. When I complain about moving, everyone says helpfully, "Oh, but you have hardly any furniture!" True, but do you know how much stuff I have? Piles and piles of things that I've accumulated over the years, most of which I don't need, and which will translate into piles and piles of cardboard boxes which need to be taken from city to city. Sometimes I wish I had a private jet. Actually that is most of the time.

Right now I am meant to be doing grown-up things like cleaning the house and paying the bills and unpacking from the weekend but actually what I am doing is reading a crappy novel and watching Friends and Thinking About Life.

Work Christmas party is this Friday (it is now Wednesday). It's one of three work Christmas parties (excessive I know, but they are free and I'm not complaining) and it's fancy dress. I have very mixed feelings about fancy dress parties for the following reasons -

1. they are more expensive than regular parties because the costume must be bought/hired/constructed (and yes it must, because there is no higher insult to everyone you know than to not wear fancy dress to a fancy dress party)

2. there's always a fine line between 'awesome costume' and 'trying too hard.' This line also branches off to visit 'great costume which makes you look like a troll.' Which is theoretically fine and dandy as I am not attempting to initiate a work romance (although according to past experience apparently sometimes you don't even need to do that much), but still not ideal. Which leads me to -

I just misheard an ad for some toothpaste or other, and it said, "Recommended by Dentists!" and for a solid second or so I totally thought it was "Recommended by Jesus!" which would surely be the ultimate in celebrity endorsement. Anyway, that wasn't what I was going to say, I was going for -

4. girls who wear an outfit in which theme takes a firm second place to sluttiness - these people annoy me. Mainly because I know I couldn't pull it off, but that is beside the point. Surely they annoy everyone, not just me? With the possible exception of the gentlemen.

5. there is always that one guy who wears something completely inappropriate and makes everyone except his irritating friends feel uncomfortable. I won't refer to him by his real name in order to protect his privacy; instead I shall call him Richard the Twat. (Not his real name.) At the last party RtT wore a skintight lycra suit and was a drunken tosser and tried to chat up many females (and possibly males) and was met with a mixture of amusement, disdain and nausea. Mainly nausea. He's going to be exactly the same at this party, except instead of the lycra bodysuit he'll be in a small strip of leopard-print material and a G-string (it is a Heroes and Villains party and he is going as Tarzan). Ew! Ew ew ew! Sorry about the rant, but I don't like him anyway and his mammoth ego does not help. Perhaps I shall get drunk and accidentally kick him in the balls.

So yes - fancy dress party. The good things are that I have a costume which I like (photos after party) and none of my 'pod' (or, in fact the surrounding pods (or, in fact, the rest of the company)) are going to do any work on Friday. As opposed to the whacking great amount of work that we do anyway.

I am going to have a nana nap now and wake up in time for Prison Break, and probably forget to put the rubbish out. And then tomorrow I resign! Scary. But good, 'looking into the future,' scary, not bad, 'Richard the Twat in a Tarzan outfit' scary. Ew. I hope my career prospects never resemble RtT. Figuratively or otherwise.

I had a Weekend!

You too, huh? Oh wow. Well, this is what I did on mine. (You can tell me what you did on yours, if you like.)

Went out on Friday night with pleasant workmates, as opposed to tacky sordid drunken work crowd who go out every Wednesday and Friday and seem to be constantly sleazing onto each other (it's amazing how judgmental I'm bein' here considering that until about 2 weeks ago I was a card-carrying member of that crowd) - anyway, it was a very enjoyable night! It is not every evening (or early morning, I do not recall the minor details) that you end up eating stolen pistachios in a convenience store. I really should empty all of those pistachio shells out of my handbag.

Sister Flatmate went to a wedding on Saturday - I forgot she was going until she charged through the front door at lunchtime in in a state of extreme over-excitement, shouting about how her friends would be round in ten minutes and how we had to clean everything. Sent her off to the wedding a couple of hours later, having sat through the standard "are you sure about this dress/lipstick/bag/coat/hairstyle/pair of earrings" and "do you think these stockings/earrings/boots/bangles are a mistake" and "do my ankles look awful? No? Are you sure?" (All the women on my father's side of the family have chronic cankles, including my three sisters and me - none escape the curse. It is B or possibly Z grade horror movie-worthy. Night of the Cankles. Just when you thought it was safe to wear shoes with ankle straps.)

Anyway, packed SF off to her wedding (well, to the wedding she was going to (it is really strange that I can't be bothered backspacing to fix a minor error of phrasing, but I have no issues with carrying blithely on and trying to explain said error, which takes many more keystrokes)), and then my friend who was down from up north for the weekend came round for a catch-up, which was great fun -

Except for two things.

1) She interrupts a lot, and completely shamelessly - you'll be about halfway through a sentence, and she'll just start talking over you. Sometimes it's on the same topic, and sometimes it's not. Also makes no difference whether or not you keep talking, she is unstoppable. For about half an hour I had an experiment running when every time she interrupted over the top of me, I kept talking until I had finished what I was originally going to say...but she got annoyed and I got the giggles (it's remarkably funny when you've got two people who are just talking at each other) and so I gave up and resigned myself to the fact that for the rest of the evening I was going to have to give up on every fourth or fifth sentence.

2) She always, always, always comments negatively on my weight and/or general appearance. If I've put on weight, it'll be something along the lines of "oh, what are the restaurants in your new area like?" Me: "Um, good, there's a really nice Chinese place up the road which-" Her, over the top of my restaurant review: "Hee hee, I thought your face was chubbier!" Hee hee. If I've lost weight, it'll be more along the lines of a musing, apropos to nothing (I think I might've used that phrase wrong, but hopefully it's close enough to the proper usage that you get what I mean) comment of, "you know, I'm glad I'm curvy." Me: "Oh?" Her: "Yes. I mean, men don't like a boyish figure like yours, they like women to look like women." Why, I hear you ask, why do I not then hit her in the face with a chair? Because - actually this is kind of like the punchline - she is the size of a house, which instantly renders all of her rudeness laughable. I feel like saying alternately "Yes, I have put on weight, and now weigh approximately two thirds of what you do!" and "Yes - damn that visible bone structure!" but I never do, because I was brought up properly.

Why is it that some fat people feel that because they are fat, it gives them the right to comment on everyone else's body shape? She also says things like "yes, I am large, but I'm in proportion - I go in and out at all the right places, and I'm still very shapely." Yes. You are shaped like a potato.

Anyway - she is a good friend and we did have a good evening (apart from a minor hitch where she wanted to heat something up in our oven, which was full of filthy dishes from pre-wedding clean. SF and I are filth wizards). We went into town and had a few cocktails before going to a karaoke bar and belting out Mr Brightside at about two in the morning - it was a fun night and a pretty sober one too, which was good. I have decided that sobriety is the new hedonism. (Except for paydays, public holidays, personal crises, friends having personal crises etc., in which case I am prepared to make an exception and become stinking rotten maggoted drunk.)

Got up nice and early today and spent a couple of hours with the Sunday paper, then 'springzanised' my room - it's more than tidying & re-organising, but less than spring cleaning - and did two loads of washing. Very very windy but warmish day here, so I thought I'd wash everything that looked even remotely like it might benefit from it, as well as SF's stuff. Ended up struggling out to the line with my arms full of clothes and cleavage stuffed with pegs (the peg bucket doesn't have a handle, and I hate having to bend down to get pegs on every item and dropping about five things in the process), much to the confusion of the neighbours, who were putting up a trellis. The neighbours also got to watch me playing Underpants Wrangler when bringing the clothes in again. For anyone who's never played Underpants Wrangler, you start off with a bunch of clothes stuffed under one arm and a bucket of pegs under the other, and you end up with a bunch of clothes stuffed under one arm, pegs everywhere, bras flying into the garden, and a pair of your sister's control pants on your head. Ideal playing conditions: gale force winds.

In other news, am going to visit Chch next weekend - more on this later as my excitement builds - and get paid my six-monthly commission this week. I'm also thinking about a revolutionary new hairstyle. Phwoar.

This is ludicrous.

Warning: grossness to follow. I am oversharing.

I am sick again. If I had the energy to be mad about this, I would be. I got home at about 8.30 on Friday night not feeling 100% and thought, 'oh, I must be hungry.' (I assume most medical conditions can be fixed with food.) One snack later and I was a dedicated worshiper at the altar of the Porcelain God (the most religious I've been in some years). So after sitting with my head in the toilet for about half an hour (sorry, but I am sick and I want to share my pain by making you read about it, in all its gross detail), I went to bed. And stayed there. Sleeping. For days. (Well, a day.) Was in bed all of Saturday, sleeping on and off, waking up alternately feverish drenched in sweat, or so cold I thought I'd never manage to get warm. Was horrible.
(Although, to be fair to this vile bug (which has taken on Genghis Khan-like epic proportions in my mind) some of the incredibly vivid, borderline lucid fever dreams were a) decent fodder for novel (oh yeah, new plot, although have been too sick to write (proper write, this doesn't count) so not started on it yet) and b) highly interesting.) Am getting feverish again and starting to write in Bad Sentences.

Got up this morning about ten because felt slightly better (and also needed bathroom and shower) for a couple of hours - started feeling faint and dizzy and ill again around lunchtime and thought, 'oh, I must be hungry.' So had porridge. Nice, healthy, beloved porridge. Fixing the illness, I thought! Saving the stomach! Restoring me to full health!

And just when the Porcelain God thought I had abandoned the faith.

Not even See You Again by Miley Cyrus (I know, I know, I was listening to it by accident, it was just what was on the music channel, I couldn't be bothered getting up to change it, etc) can cheer me up. I am SICK and have written NOTHING and am generally a grouchy, foul-tempered sod. I am also hungry, but I'm pretty sure my hypothesis about the addition of food to my already temperamental stomach (i.e. back to the altar) will be correct. I should just skip a step and give the food directly to the toilet, as an offering.

You know what annoys me the most about this completely random illness? I have been detoxing all week. I have not gone out drinking. I have barely been smoking. I have been eating breakfast, and all the other recommended meals. I have been getting enough sleep. In short, I have been a total saint in comparison to my usual hedonistic, rat-arsed drunk, chain-smoking workmate-shagging meal-skipping all-nighter-pulling self. I have been so good! I have three theories about this: one) detox has thrown my body into such a state of shock that the tiniest of germlets is capable of knocking it for six; two) it is sheer bad luck (probably the correct theory) and three) body is staging a rebellion. "I want my drinking back, bitch!"

Listen. Note to body. This is not the way to go about it. Do you know how much I do not feel like drinking right now? Why don't you send me an email, or something. I guess that might be a little logistically difficult - how about this - next time I need to barf (because believe me, there will be a next time), spell out a message in that. OK?

The suckiest thing is that I have to go to WORK tomorrow. Maybe I will vomit on Musclini.

Also, just between you and me (I promise this is not spew-related) - a friend of sorts posted pictures of their Halloween party on Facebook. I looked through them in between trips to the - oh, wait, I promised not to mention that - KITCHEN and while 90% - no, make that 95% - of them were just your standard-issue, out of focus pictures obviously taken by someone in the process of falling drunkenly onto the nearest naughty nurse's knee there were a couple that I found seriously disturbing. (Actually there were lots that were pretty disturbing, but they were just your run-of-the-mill 'people who are going to wake up this morning and by morning I mean late afternoon, check Facebook, and then fall into a deep depression and well-deserved self-loathing' kinda snaps.) The disturbingest (most disturbing) photos - eww, Metallica, 'love is a four-letter word'? Have a little lyrical creativity. Sometimes music TV does not inspire me - by far the most disturbing photos were ones of an acquaintance of mine, who I normally think of in a 'oh yeah name deleted, he's an ok kinda guy, we had a big chat once when we were out drinking but I hardly ever really see/talk to him', dressed as a pirate. He makes an intensely sexy pirate. I am now never going to be able to see him again without preparing to be boarded. Gah! Stupid Halloween. Stupid pirate costume.

I think I am going to go back to bed now. Either that, or make some pasta and subdue Genghis by sheer force of will.

PS: I am sorry about all this complaining but I am bored and have nothing else to talk about.

PPS: Andrea, re: EB fixation - if you'da been there, if you'da seen it, I bet you you would have blogged the same.

Return of the ENORMOUS BANANA

Yes! I saw the ENORMOUS BANANAS again today, in a different fruit & vege shop! They must be catching on. Shortly after the EB sighting I overtook (in the walking sense) a woman who was carrying a plastic shopping bag with nothing in it except an EB. I almost said something to her (would've been along the lines of "Oh, you got one of those huge bananas! I was going to get one, too"), but luckily I realised that only mad people comment on the fruit purchases of a complete stranger. Still. Was nice to see my favourite fruit again. Next time I will take a photo.

Other exciting newses -

1) this wasn't originally going to be on the list, but Blogger spell-check recognises 'newses' as a word, which I was pretty sure it wasn't.

2) I made scones this evening! To be more accurate, I made a scone. Was intending to make a batch of perfectly formed sconelets (also apparently a word - come on, spell-check, you cannot be serious), but the batter was all sticky and gluey and just getting it onto the baking tray was hard enough, let alone cutting it into squares and then moving them 2cm apart. So I made one large scone, and cut it into many smaller scones. Turns out this doesn't make any difference to the delicious taste. Although having said that, I have never made scones before - so maybe it does. Hmm. Will use more flour next time and see. Will also use more baking powder as scones not as tall as I would've liked.

3) Have new plot for novel! Surprise, surprise. Will not unveil plot in dramatic, Extreme Makeover fashion as there will probably be a new plot tomorrow.

4) Yoghurt is good for your skin! (The Internet told me.) Am not sure if this is a widely held theory, though, because Sister Flatmate came home to find me watching Survivor with yoghurt all over my face and thought I was a nutcase. Skin now very soft though. Hair is also soft, because felt like hair was not doing skin justice and so put leave-in conditioner through it. I am all soft! Just for reference purposes, it's only plain yoghurt that's good for your skin, not flavoured yoghurt with little bits of strawberry in it. Although if that was the only yoghurt in the house it would be better than nothing? Probably.

5) There was a power cut tonight! Right in the middle of CSI: Miami. I was home by myself and the lights went out, and I thought 'oh shit I knew we should have paid that power bill before now,' but when I wandered outside the lights had gone out all up the street, and everyone was standing outside their houses cursing and offering each other candles and saying things like "I knew I shouldn't have tried to cook so many things in the oven at once" and gloating because somehow their telly was still working. Was exciting! Lit candles and read magazines by candle-light and thought, 'I could survive in a civil defence emergency!' (Not sure if this is actually the case, but I can definitely survive a two-hour power cut just fine.)


No more newses, I don't think, except that I was really productive at work today! Probably the biggest news of all. It was almost un-natural. This unholy efficiency may or may not continue tomorrow - I stayed late (I know - I said it was unnatural (does un-natural have a hyphen? both ways look wrong. both ways look unnatural)) to redo my entire filing system, halve my workload for tomorrow, and schedule my day properly. Whether or not I will stick to the schedule remains to be seen, but if I do it will make me an efficiency wizard.

And now, an impromptu summing-up of my day, in poetic form!

I got up this morning and I made myself some porridge -

Poor start. Nothing rhymes with porridge.

I got up this morning, made some porridge, went to work
Fortified myself with coffee, then plunged into the murk
of documents and emails in which, a corporate pig, I wallow
(after checking first my Facebook and the daily blogs I follow).
Made phone call after phone call with no visible result
Amended several fuck-ups all of which were not my fault
Put through some sales, redid my files and made a cup of tea
and then at 5 to 5 I took my customary wee.

Stayed working late to get things done and missed the evening news
Trundled home, self-satisfied that I'd worn comfy shoes
Saw the Huge Banana as I walked to my abode
and yet again I failed to find a fifty in the road.
I reached my house! I went inside! I made the Giant Scone!
The lights went off on our whole street! And then they went back on!
To celebrate the power cut I opened up a beer
And then I thought, 'I'll do my blog,' and this is it right here.

OK bedtime.

Meringue

Have just eaten meringue made by my sister - had leftover egg whites from pasta carbonara (dinner) & she decided that meringue was the way to go. Unfortunately, all of the recipes the Internet had to offer involved things we didn't have in the cupboard (see: castor sugar, cream of tartar (seriously, what kind of flat has cream of tartar? come on, Google, cut us some slack)) & so she did what our family has done since the age of time when confronted with a cooking problem: make up your own recipe. So now we have all eaten (and politely commented on) what is essentially sweet, vanilla-flavoured poached eggs. Sadly, the vanilla did not mask the taste of egg. They bear a startling resemblance to a Japanese sweet/savoury jellied treat. Weird.

Anyway, this post wasn't originally intended to be a discussion of ways not to make meringue. I've forgotten what it was intended to be a discussion of. Probably just a forum for me to bang on about Plot, Lack Of (as in, Novel, not as in 'I have lost the plot')

On a completely unrelated note (how unlike me! I can see this post just being a list of unrelated things which have caught my attention), I am enjoying the ampersand today. &! Punctuation is very aesthetically pleasing. So are fonts. I am capable of spending a stupid amount of time messing about in Word trying out all the different fonts and then, when I'm done with that, trying them out in bold, and italic, and with strikethrough, and with double strikethrough, and with shadow, and embossed...you get the point. Strangely, I only seem to do this when I'm at work.

New fad: iced tea! Iced tea is the new (un-iced) green tea. Iced tea is the new spirulina (although it probably doesn't make your chest magically grow). Iced tea is the new...hey, I have a plot now! (I promise I'm not writing a novel about iced tea.)

"Claire used to eat 70 packets of crisps a week." Jamie Oliver is singlehandedly overhauling the health of a small English town, or perhaps province, that I have forgotten the name of. It makes me feel tired. Is it a worry that my first reaction to Claire's chip habit is, "Oh, that's ten packets a day, I could probably eat that many?" Mmm, chips. The vending machine at work will be the end of me. I have eaten much more recently in the interests of 'taking better care of myself.' Good theory, but I think I may've gone from one extreme to the other. Size of a house! A house full of chips.

I don't have an alarm clock any more - this is my first night without one since losing my phone. I mean, I do have one - but I'm not sure I know how to work it. I am terribly, terribly afraid of waking up really late and missing work. Gah! I'm sure I won't - I'll probably wake up every half hour in a sweat-drenched panic that it's 9am and I'm NOT AT WORK - but it is still terrifying. Think I will sleep on the uncomfortable couch to minimise chances of me sleeping through everything. Wish me luck.

Another day, another detox

"I am starting another detox," I shouted to Sally, in the bathroom brushing her teeth. "You just started another beer!" "I am starting it tomorrow morning. Start of a new week. New week, new detox! Not every week though."
Pause.
From the bathroom - "It's hard to brush your tongue."

So! New detox. Woke up yesterday to sound of neighbours mowing lawn and shouting at their children, and thought, 'Who has told them about my hangover?' Stupid neighbours.

I have lost my cellphone - this is far less distressing than I had imagined it would be! Actually it's quite nice to not be contactable 24 hours of the day. I guess in this day and age it's kind of irresponsible not to have one - for emergencies and so on - but still, it's quite tempting to remain cellphoneless and therefore somewhat off the radar. (I just like that phrase.)

I am totally stuck for ideas for NaNoWriMo! Like a car that has careened off the road and into a muddy paddock of clay whilst being driven by a learner driver whose father told them to turn FAR too late (this may or may not be based on a true story), I am well and truly stuck. However, I have faith that, like the car, I will - after a bit of futile wheel-spinning - come unstuck. Albeit with a lot of effort and cursing.

Has anything else interesting happened? Today I modelled (modeled? wore) some vintage clothing for my sister to list on Facebook - I'll see if my blogging skills are up to adding a picture. They probably aren't...I shall save a draft just in case, because I would hate for any of the previous stunning paragraphs to vanish into the inter-ether.


Ooh, look, I can do it! There I am. I love that dress, actually - you can't see the fabric very well there (poor photo) but it's stunning. I might put another one on. I really must buy a digital camera, I'd like to be able to put more photos of ME on the INTERNET. That's right, ME ON THE INTERNET!

How vain. I just want something interesting to come up when I Google myself.

So! Now that I have learned that new skill (do I gain a level? experience points? can I add a class? or do I just feel slightly ashamed of my startlingly geeky inner self) I shall go back to my usual rambling on about nothing (no large fruit today - sorry.)

(See, if I had a digital camera, I could've taken a photo of that enormous banana, so that you too could marvel at its hugeness. Just saying.)

As previously mentioned, I am having a dither about NaNoWriMo. I would like to write an adventure story - from the city to the jungle, from the jungle to the sea, from the pirate encounter to the mountain cave chase to the sacrificial altar to the last-minute escape and home again in time for supper - but I've never written anything even vaguely near that genre before and so it's a daunting thought. I normally write tongue-in-cheek, pun-filled well, bollocks. (Not that I'm saying this won't be bollocks. Have no fear, it will be!) I don't know how to write about the jungle! I don't know how to write a fight scene, or speed along an adventure plot! I don't even know why they'd be on an adventure anyway. I'm not sure I want to do another Quest - I think perhaps some sort of war/evading death scenario would be interesting but, as I said, I have no experience at all. Eek! Helpeth! I shall think of something on the way to work tomorrow.

Ooh, there is movie on! Cillian Murphy appears to be in Mexico. There is nothing I don't like about this! Adios, amigos! (and amigas.) If you need me, I will be in Mexico. Worrying about my novel and partaking in the medicinal application of tequila and peyote.

EDIT: Oh my God, I have eaten so much bread in the last three days. I have become obsessed with soup & bread. I average six slices of bread to a cup of soup, which is excessive, if not downright revolting! I am having bread guilt. And also eating yet another delicious piece of pea & ham-drenched toast! I am going to become huge. Like the banana. Oh my God! I have got to stop talking about that banana.

The Semi-Sobriety Project Revisited

Like Brideshead Revisited, but less exciting.

Well! After a week it is safe to say that the Semi-Sobriety Project is (was) an abject failure. It is also safe to say that I have a spot (not relevant, I just noticed that) and an utterly shameful lack of self-control.

Next week I shall restart the SSP in earnest - obviously this week was trial run and therefore doesn't really count. At all.

And now, for Things At Which One Gets No Trial Run -

NaNoWriMo!
I have ceased to dither (I like that phrase) about whether I'm going to do National Novel Writing Month this year. I have decided - blogroll, please - that I AM. Two reasons pushed me over the edge -

1. Bestfriend, who is doing NaNoWriMo herself, said "You have to do it! I will peer pressure you!" I am a sucker for peer pressure (suspect this has a lot to do with the failure of the SSP (Round 1)).

2. Had Idea whilst browsing the Nano forums - will write Adventure novel! Was having a lot of difficulty choosing a genre, but have now settled on that. I think. Perhaps spy thriller, set in the Cambodian jungle, with snakes? (Idea of Bestfriend, who is probably writing something totally grown-up.) I also like the idea of doing something Indiana Jones-esque. It'll give me room to play with cliche a bit, and also to keep it in a light vein rather than having to go all serious and self-examining (I think that was in the wrong tense, but never mind), which I think I would tend to do if I went for Literary Fiction. Sister Flatmate suggested I write 'something semi-autobiographical.' Horrific thought. Not so much because everyone would read the autobiographical bits, but more because everyone would read the semi- bits and think that these were also autobiographical, and say things like, "Did you really pick up some 23-year-old bloke from Plimmerton, who lives with his mum and is excited about starting work at Hallensteins, at Burger King at three in the morning when you were really pissed?" And you say, "No! That is the semi part, not the autobiographical part." But they never believe you.

Story of the day:

This morning, I was going to walk up a (small) mountain with three friends and drink champagne, and watch the sun rise. How lovely, I hear you think! Well. Do you know what time the sun rises? Do you? Neither did I. Turns out that it's about half past five in the morning or something. BEFORE you factor in half an hour to walk up the mountain (I did say it was small), and 20 minutes to walk from your friend's house to the bottom of the mountain, and 20 minutes to walk from your house to theirs, and 5 minutes in the shower, and...

To cut a long story short, I did not get up and see the sunrise.

There will be many, many more, and I will see some of those. Unless there is a NUCLEAR HOLOCAUST this evening (OK let's be honest it may be several months before I see another sunrise, so unless there is a NUCLEAR HOLOCAUST sometime in early March), in which case we will all have far more important things to worry about than watching sunrises. I hear those atomic sunrises are far prettier than our regular ones anyway.

It must be time for another cup of tea.

Captain Plant

That was meant to say Captain Planet, but Captain Plant is a far better title. Especially as post has nothing to do with Captain Planet - in fact I can't think of anything even vaguely conservation-related to write about, as I am about as ecologically conscious as...as...a piece of toast. Not even whole-grain toast.

Not that I really have anything Captain Plant-related to talk about either (or even anything related to anything - as per usual, nothing exciting has happened since yesterday) except that our plant at work is now called Snuffles. I don't know why. It just sort of suits him. (His official title, though, is Captain Plant. As of about five seconds ago. Must remember to 'bring everyone up to speed' on this tomorrow.)

The thing about blogging frequently is that quality of entries decreases rapidly. I'm sure there's some sort of appropriate graph that I could insert here, but instead I'll just put in a link to - oh no wait I can't remember how to add links. (I should probably get some sleep.) I was going to link through to some hilarious comic or other but I can't remember how to spell the address and have cleared my browsing history. You know what I hear is good for remembering? Writing shit down. Why did I not write that shit down? Because I can't find my notebook, that's why. You know what I hear is good for not losing things? Not leaving them in dumb places.

Anyway, there is no news in this post (somehow, I don't think naming a plant really counts as news) so I shall go to bed -

Pretentious Wankery

This was actually going to be a post about something else completely, but now it is not. It is going to be an excerpt from an (online) conversation about a friend's recent breakup, and it goes a little something like this... (blogroll, please.)

Me: "Sorry to hear about your breakup blah blah sympathy nice supportive things."
Him: "funny thing is, after the natural sting, which dissapated very quickly, i realsied i just dont care - i just want her to be happy" (all spelling mistakes his)
Me: "fair enough! obviously good time to end it then."
Him (and this is my favourite part): "funny...it reminded me of soemthing I worte on a scarp of paper after my first breakup..."At first I thought you had abandoned me, now I know you set me free""
Me: "OH GOD YOU'RE SO DEEP LET'S MAKE OUT." (No, not really. I didn't really say that.)
Bleh, pretentious. Is it meant to scan, do you think?
I am going to write "At first I thought you had abandoned me, and you had, because I was a twat" on a piece of paper and put it in his letterbox.

ANYWAY. What was I actually going to talk about? Oh, ASB are giving little elephant-shaped money boxes away to their younger customers. I wonder why they don't give them to adults as well? It seems like reverse discrimination. Maybe they would if you asked for one. I don't even bank with ASB.

That was not what I was going to talk about. It turns out that I've forgotten what I was going to talk about, what with the pretentious wankery and the elephant-shaped money boxes. I am hopeless sometimes!

Am still sick, but less so. They keep changing my medication (by 'they' I mean the doctors - I realise that sounded a bit paranoid) & the side effects keep differing. Whee. Is quite fun in some ways, though - took meds this morning whilst doing makeup and, about five minutes later, was putting on mascara when I thought "Ooh I feel a bit weird" and as I watched, my pupils went WHOOMPH and became enormous.

Bleh, I have to do the dishes. More on this later. Bleh bleh bleh dishes bleh bleh ooh I feel ill.

Edit:

Have done dishes. It is now later. Have scrubbed two casserole pots free of burnt on casserole that flatmate made last night. Would be feeling a lot less resentful about this if casserole had not given me gas.

Cleaning pots has made me a) feel cranky and b) feel better. At the moment the two are warring within me. Cranky is just edging out better. It's like a drag race between good and evil, except not really.

In other news, I may have to pull out of the show. This is indescribably sucky, but I keep being sick and missing rehearsals. Gah. Am going to talk to the director tomorrow. Gah! Sorry to end on a low note (makes low note noise...booooooop) but feel like I should put some Actual Information in this post, not just, well, crap.

One hit wonders

C4 is playing a whole Top 40 of them! Once I ran to you, now I run from you...
I am having a quiet little rock out. Have become incapable of using the phrase 'rock out' in any seriousness (not that it was ever a particularly easy phrase to take seriously) a since a workmate of mine referred to another colleague (who was engaged in some blatantly excessive display of skill in front of the boss) as 'rocking out with his cock out.' I was so amused at this that now workmate has adopted 'rock out with your cock out' as a standard workplace phrase. So now I can't say 'rock out' any more.

Wow, what an unnecessary story. I was going to say that I am having a quiet Saturday night at home by myself, watching the Top 40 and mucking about on Facebook. I was going to talk about the two different types of tea I bought today (jasmine and coconut rooibos), and how I had yum cha for the first time and tried chicken feet (which turned out to be surprisingly like soggy, spicy KFC), and how VB sent me a rather pointless txt last night (thus proving his love once and for all), and how awesome the Pseudo Echo cover of Funkytown is (only #11 on the countdown? come on, NZ, you shoulda known to vote better than that), and that I am reading a very strange horror novel written in (let me check) 1975 in which the author gives you 5 pages of detailed backstory about a character then kills them off with a deadly fog (it sends you insane (the fog, although the whole 'getting you involved with a character then offing them 5 times in a row' thing is also pretty annoying)...novel is called THE FOG which pretty much sums up the subtlety of the writing style), and that I am going to go and visit my hometown in about 3 weeks, provided I get round to booking tickets, -

but then I distracted myself with a story about rocking out whilst exposing yourself.

Good work, soldier. As you were.

Three Beautiful Things
1. Went out last night for drinks with workmates as one of my good friends from work is going overseas for a month on Monday - it was a really good evening as everyone was in cheerful moods and we had a really good time. Also, I managed to survive the entire evening without drinking too much, staying out too late, spending too much money, saying any inappropriate things, sending any drunken txts, or embarrassing myself in a way not covered by any of the previous categories. In short, was completely unlike my usual evening out! And more fun. I should practice the ancient art of self-restraint more often.

2. While out last night, I had a daffodil pinned to my shirt for Daffodil Day - ended up giving this to a woman I met briefly whilst lining up at the bar (in slightly pissed but well-meaning spirit of charity). Ran into her about half an hour later, and she had stuck the daffodil in her hair and was showing it off to all and sundry.

3. Caught up with ex-flatmate today for coffee and a wander round the antique shops in my suburb - went into strange little curio shop where she bought an old Bible and an eggcup in the shape of a child (this is strange, I think). While she was chatting to the old gentleman behind the counter (who had some interesting points to make about God - "And do you read your Bible?" "I have studied it, but only the New Testament, so I thought I'd buy the Old Testament as well." "Remember, read it with your heart" - taps chest - "not your head. Our Lord, in his wisdom, saw fit to make the Bible something to read with your heart - if it made sense to apply your intellect then some people would be at a disadvantage" (am not sure if this is a very sensible thing to say or a convenient way to explain the complete irrationality of blind faith, old man is possibly a prophet but, then again, possibly not and that is not what this story is about)) I was fishing about in one of those little baskets of cheap thingies that often sit on the counter in junk/secondhand/antique shops and found a silver badge in the shape of a 7 which I was instantly taken with. It cost me 50c. I really, really like it - you know how sometimes you see an object and have an instant, um, aesthetic affinity with it? That wasn't a very good way of putting it - I just really liked the badge and felt like I was meant to come across it. I have pinned it on my jacket.

Wish TV had a remote. I am going to have to get off the couch now. Perhaps will test out one of my new teas while I'm up. No other news.

Cancellations!

I had a rehearsal tonight and now I don't. How cool is that? (Moderately cool.) Cool because I can stay at home in front of the heater and the TV, and not worry about putting on makeup and finding something clean to wear and Venturing Out Into The World (although I may have to go to the supermarket and/or the DVD store (ooh, yes, the DVD store), but as I know no-one in this area (besides StupidZooBoy, who doesn't count because he's stupid anyway, and Band Neighbour (is neighbour who is also in band, which would be rehearsing tonight but now isn't and who I probably won't see anyway (although I do tend to run into him a lot, our supermarket & dairy clocks seem to be set on the same schedule (these brackets are WAAAAY out of control)), and if I do see him it doesn't really matter as he has seen me without makeup before (at nationals early in the morning, before the insinuations start)) it doesn't really matter that I won't have any makeup on and will be in grotty old hoodie with soup stain down the front), which is always nice on a Sunday.

I bet the inventor of brackets is a) dead (that's not the point I was going to make, it just occurred to me) or b) very proud of me right now or c) spinning in his grave in indignation over how his creation, probably designed to streamline the English language, has been so cruelly abused. Sorry, Mr Bracket (yep, they were named after him. I always feel a bit sorry for the people who invented things, like Mr Table and Mr Pot and Mr Flange (architectural usage)).

Obviously I have spent too much time in my own company this weekend - which is actually quite a stupid phrase - a redundant phrase, if we're being grown-ups - because all the time you spend is in your own company. Obviously I have spent too much time with no-one but myself for company. Like, all day.

Although flatmate is in the kitchen, making a sausage and mushroom casserole - she came in and said briskly, "Right! I am going to make a sausage and mushroom casserole for dinner, you interested?" "I am," I said thoughtfully, "just trying to think if I have anything to contribute," I said as I thought about it, thoughtfully. "You," she said, "have the sausages." Oh.

They are those Cheese Sizzler ones though - am not sure if they're perfect for casserole as a) are precooked and b) are probably not really made of meat and, c)'ly and most worryingly, are cheese flavoured (so when you heat them and cut into them molten cheese sauce squirts everywhere - mmm mmm. In my defence, I only got cheese flavour because they were out of double cheese flavour (in which there is not only squirty cheese, but the meat (ish) part also tastes like cheese - mmm mmm))!

Update on casserole to follow, when have eaten it. Will pretend am restaurant reviewer. "Lacking in ambience," I shall say (top 100 80s anthems on in background, sunday paper dissected on the floor) "but excellent decor, especially in the bathrooms."