I am painting the garage. Not right now, obviously, but this week. I have to date received no fewer than 10 notes in the mailbox from amateur painters, inspired by my art; well-meaning passersby offering encouragement; and neighbours who like the new colour better than the old one.
That was a lie. No-one cares that I am painting the garage.
So far I have done the first coat, and suddenly I find I have lost motivation. If anyone would like to come and help, you're more than welcome. It's great fun! No, really! Sometimes it even gets exciting! Like when you're on the fourth rung up of a ladder, trying to paint the overhanging roof bit, and you suddenly find a spider with your face.
The garage was green and will eventually be gray. At the moment, it is sort of grey, with bits of green showing through in places where I was not particularly picky about the paint thickness.
I hate the garage. I don't even have a car.
In other news, my high score in Bubble has reached the dizzying height of 472,300. That's right. Four hundred and seventy-two thousand, three hundred points. Imagine how long that would have taken! Almost as long as painting a garage!
I am using a lot of !'s today. I don't know why, nothing very exciting has happened. Better post later, possibly, after Spanish lesson...
Showing posts with label the balloon game. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the balloon game. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Bubble & Quiz
Am sitting with a nice cup of tea, trying to get some writing done. Had about three days of relative productivity this week, then Kristy sent me Bubble, and now I am even worse than I was before! Feel like sending Bubble to everyone in the world and watching civilization crumble in an obsessive bubble-popping epidemic. Will probably delete Bubble tomorrow during a moment of strength, then wonder how I ever survived without it, email Kristy, and get it back again. If nothing else, I will go to my grave an expert at shooting small coloured bubbles at each other.
Hey, for all I know, that might be the test to get into Heaven.
I keep flicking between screens to shoot a few more bubbles, and then remembering that I closed it in a fit of willpower about five minutes ago. Will undoubtedly have little bubbly dreams tonight.
I am getting a ridiculous amount of responses on Find Someone (Mental). Why is this? I know I joined it as a joke, but still...some of them look quite nice. Not as nice as DVD Boy, though. Although they may be over 18, which DVD Boy is probably not. I really must stop going to the video store all the time, he will begin to suspect something is up!
Have jumped on the badwagon (meant bandwagon, but badwagon slightly more apt) of going to pub quiz every Monday night with Mum, Kate, Aunt and Cousin. It's really weird being at a pub quiz and not getting pissed. The upside is that you tend to do better in the quiz, and there's little chance of The Cowboy Episode being repeated. The Cowboy Episode happened at a pub quiz some years ago - as part of a mid-quiz contest, I rode a friend around the room shouting cowboy things, much to the delight of the pub in general. We got a free jug of beer, which it's safe to say we didn't really need. Ah, those were the days. Well, those are the days I'll look fondly back on in my 70's. What a worrying thought.
Still no job, still no money, still no concern!
Hey, for all I know, that might be the test to get into Heaven.
I keep flicking between screens to shoot a few more bubbles, and then remembering that I closed it in a fit of willpower about five minutes ago. Will undoubtedly have little bubbly dreams tonight.
I am getting a ridiculous amount of responses on Find Someone (Mental). Why is this? I know I joined it as a joke, but still...some of them look quite nice. Not as nice as DVD Boy, though. Although they may be over 18, which DVD Boy is probably not. I really must stop going to the video store all the time, he will begin to suspect something is up!
Have jumped on the badwagon (meant bandwagon, but badwagon slightly more apt) of going to pub quiz every Monday night with Mum, Kate, Aunt and Cousin. It's really weird being at a pub quiz and not getting pissed. The upside is that you tend to do better in the quiz, and there's little chance of The Cowboy Episode being repeated. The Cowboy Episode happened at a pub quiz some years ago - as part of a mid-quiz contest, I rode a friend around the room shouting cowboy things, much to the delight of the pub in general. We got a free jug of beer, which it's safe to say we didn't really need. Ah, those were the days. Well, those are the days I'll look fondly back on in my 70's. What a worrying thought.
Still no job, still no money, still no concern!
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
A Good Morning with the Balloon Game
It has been, so far. I had a dream that I had a pet wolf (I know, right? My dreams rock) and the wolf and I were going on a road trip along with another family and my Dad. (Who I would totally take on a wolf-heavy road trip. He would know which CDs to bring.) The only fly in the ointment was that every so often the wolf would become HUNGRY and the mother of the family would become concerned that the wolf would EAT HER CHILDREN (I know, right? Unfair stereotyping) and I would have to make a quick trip to the supermarket and buy large sticks of salami (which is, everyone knows, what a wolf likes to eat).
I don’t think this dream has any deeper meaning, except that I don’t know much about the eating habits of wolves. Possibly the salami are Freudian.
Exciting news: this morning, in the ultimate modern fuck-you, I unfriended someone on Facebook, which was incredibly satisfying. For anyone who hasn’t experienced the fleeting joy of removing someone from your friend list (fleeting because about two seconds afterwards you have a minor panic that they’re going to realise you’ve removed them and create an awkward scene), I’d recommend it. The person I removed shall, for privacy reasons, be referred to only as Butthead McArseface. (Although Keith really is easier to type.) Goodbye, Butthead! May your pretentious status updates never darken my live feed again!
(Backstory: Butthead McArseface and I had an argument last week which was really sort of my fault (I am not above being something of a butthead myself from time to time), but in which he definitely gave as good as he got, so I ended up annoyed at him and he ended up annoyed at me. This in itself is not a) unusual or b) a reason for de-friending (sounds like something you have to get done at the vet’s). However, it appears that I annoyed Buttface more than I first realised, because he decided to write an email – no, wait, a Facebook private message (unimportant detail) – to my Sister Flatmate, who he has never met, posing as a ‘concerned friend’ and telling her about how I sent him a lot of very concerning txts and he is seriously worried that I’m going to kill myself.
Like I said, this was passed off as the actions of a ‘concerned friend’ and would in fact have been just that and quite excusable, if a little inappropriate, if the entire thing wasn’t entirely a creation of Butthead’s fervent imagination.
No depression! No suicidal txts! Definitely not the decidedly sordid “It’s been fun. Take care. Love you.” (Even if I was going to top myself (an aside: did you hear about the ice-cream man found dead in his truck, covered in sprinkles and chocolate? They say he topped himself, boom boom) there’s no way I would send something so…tacky. Give me a bit of credit here, Butthead.)
Unfortunately when a family member gets an email like that they get all emotional and trust Butthead implicitly and me not at all, and send frantic panicked txts to other family members, the end result of which is that I have spent a considerable amount of time over the last few days rolling up my sleeves and displaying my unslashed wrists to all and sundry as they attempt to make me ‘open up and share what I’m going through.’ Sigh.
My favourite bit about this is that Butthead, ever the master of timing, sent this email on Christmas Day, thus effectively fucking my family’s Christmas. And this is why he has been removed from my list of Facebook friends. Also from the list of People For Whom I Have No Mutual Hatred and Contempt, because it's obviously pretty mutual.)
Sorry that was so angry! Was meant to be short explanation, not long rant. Suggestions for appropriate acts of revenge appreciated – you know where the Comments field is.
In other news, the Balloon Game is awesome. I’m not going to describe it beyond “lining up balloons of the same colour and popping them,” mainly because that sounds lame enough already, but it is incredibly addictive. It is like crack. I am the star! I have not done any work since discovering the Balloon Game. (14 hours and 25 eftpos minutes remaining.)
I am also HUNGRY. Subway is calling me. So is a customer. I am much more tempted to answer the call of Subway.
I don’t think this dream has any deeper meaning, except that I don’t know much about the eating habits of wolves. Possibly the salami are Freudian.
Exciting news: this morning, in the ultimate modern fuck-you, I unfriended someone on Facebook, which was incredibly satisfying. For anyone who hasn’t experienced the fleeting joy of removing someone from your friend list (fleeting because about two seconds afterwards you have a minor panic that they’re going to realise you’ve removed them and create an awkward scene), I’d recommend it. The person I removed shall, for privacy reasons, be referred to only as Butthead McArseface. (Although Keith really is easier to type.) Goodbye, Butthead! May your pretentious status updates never darken my live feed again!
(Backstory: Butthead McArseface and I had an argument last week which was really sort of my fault (I am not above being something of a butthead myself from time to time), but in which he definitely gave as good as he got, so I ended up annoyed at him and he ended up annoyed at me. This in itself is not a) unusual or b) a reason for de-friending (sounds like something you have to get done at the vet’s). However, it appears that I annoyed Buttface more than I first realised, because he decided to write an email – no, wait, a Facebook private message (unimportant detail) – to my Sister Flatmate, who he has never met, posing as a ‘concerned friend’ and telling her about how I sent him a lot of very concerning txts and he is seriously worried that I’m going to kill myself.
Like I said, this was passed off as the actions of a ‘concerned friend’ and would in fact have been just that and quite excusable, if a little inappropriate, if the entire thing wasn’t entirely a creation of Butthead’s fervent imagination.
No depression! No suicidal txts! Definitely not the decidedly sordid “It’s been fun. Take care. Love you.” (Even if I was going to top myself (an aside: did you hear about the ice-cream man found dead in his truck, covered in sprinkles and chocolate? They say he topped himself, boom boom) there’s no way I would send something so…tacky. Give me a bit of credit here, Butthead.)
Unfortunately when a family member gets an email like that they get all emotional and trust Butthead implicitly and me not at all, and send frantic panicked txts to other family members, the end result of which is that I have spent a considerable amount of time over the last few days rolling up my sleeves and displaying my unslashed wrists to all and sundry as they attempt to make me ‘open up and share what I’m going through.’ Sigh.
My favourite bit about this is that Butthead, ever the master of timing, sent this email on Christmas Day, thus effectively fucking my family’s Christmas. And this is why he has been removed from my list of Facebook friends. Also from the list of People For Whom I Have No Mutual Hatred and Contempt, because it's obviously pretty mutual.)
Sorry that was so angry! Was meant to be short explanation, not long rant. Suggestions for appropriate acts of revenge appreciated – you know where the Comments field is.
In other news, the Balloon Game is awesome. I’m not going to describe it beyond “lining up balloons of the same colour and popping them,” mainly because that sounds lame enough already, but it is incredibly addictive. It is like crack. I am the star! I have not done any work since discovering the Balloon Game. (14 hours and 25 eftpos minutes remaining.)
I am also HUNGRY. Subway is calling me. So is a customer. I am much more tempted to answer the call of Subway.
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