Gday Jen

Way back when this all started some 7 or 8 years ago, I used to email Jen Lindley. Yes, the fictional TV character. The TV show had started up this interactive website and you could email her. Not that I actually believed I was emailing her - I did understand she was not a real person and the email was either being junked or laughed at by some producer or assistant.

ANYWAY. I have started rewatching all of Dawson's Creek again. Firstly, boy are they fucking annoying. I can't believe I used to be in a place where their stories resonated with me. Secondly, Joey Potter has one way of showing emotion and that is to scowl and hunch and wrinkle herself. Glad she developed a little more emotional acting depth in the years to come because wow, terrible terrible performances from her.

Thirdly, because I am now nearing the second half of season 3 with the Pacey-Joey thing starting to become really intense and it reminded me of why I started writing, especially in light of the hugely turmoiling (is that even a word?) last few weeks. Well, Jack and Jen are so cute together, and I still kind of feel that urge to be emailing Jen Lindley. I'm going to ignore the fact that 1) she is fictional and 2) (warning Spoiler!) she dies in the last episode.

I had a Henry/Hank in my life this last month. It was strange and all I did was mess with his head without even realising it. I'm an unintentional bitch.

My brother is a C

My brother has always been a little weird. Not the weird-awkward, or clumsy-awkward. He was always pretty popular and sporty. It was more his mean streak that made him weird. From the time I was 9 til I was about 14 (when he finally moved away) he used to make me write lines for every pedantic thing that annoyed him that day and banned me from watching any TV. My parents let him go with it. Yes, my parents are weird too but there's too much going on with them I can't even begin to write about.

So the past few years I've seen him maybe 4 times. On one of those occasions was my other brother's WEDDING DAY. He called me up 15 minutes before the ceremony to tell me to tell my other brother and my parents that he decided to go to work instead and not to the wedding. Even if he was working, his building was 2 minutes from where the wedding was. I couldn't believe it.

Oh the other thing about weddings is that he returned from a trip to Korea with who we thought was his then girlfriend. A month later, he casually goes "oh, so do you want to see my wedding photos from when we got married in Korea?" Mum and dad were furious because they would have loved to have gone to the wedding. Seriously who does that?

My mum worries about us all. And the rest of us visit every few weeks. She calls us if she is in a frantic worrying way, we talk for a few minutes and then it's all good. She calls him every month or so and he never picks up and then she gets freaked and I have to email him to call her. About 6 months ago he told her he'd changed his number, so mum asks him for the new number and he refuses to give it to her. I know... WHO DOES THAT??

I know my parents are hard to deal with sometimes but these days they don't ask for much or demand as much as they used to. Yes, the occasional lecture comes in but they don't go for nearly as long as they used to either. These stupid games or whatever he's playing are ridiculous.

For the past 8 months, he has avoided mum and dad's calls. If on the occasion someone actually picks up, it's his wife saying he's just popped out or his phone died or he's at work. Sometimes mum would ask to drop by when she was in town shopping but you guessed it "He's at work." Usually the excuse is "He's at work". I for one think it is such bullshit. He was never that conscientious ever before.

A couple of weeks ago, we emailed him to come visit grandpa in hospital because he was pretty ill. No replies, no answers to calls. After grandpa passed away, we emailed and called again. Still nothing. At this stage I just though my brother died and forgot to tell us...

A week after this, he finally replies that he moved to Hong Kong 6 months ago and he won't be coming to the funeral. That's it. That's all he says in his shitty email. What. The. Fuck.

So all these games they are playing, when his wife said he just popped out and won't be back from work til late blah blah blah. It was all blatant lies. And it really makes me wonder what the fuck his secret is.

Me crush you

Hot phwooarr guy from work will be spending the next two Tuesdays in my team. And the only spare seat is next to me in my little pod. Yay!

I'm just hoping I'm not the doofus, tongue-tied, starer with the awkward non-sequitors tomorrow like I have been around him lately.

God, why I does everything go to mush around a crush? So ridiculous. I don't even really want to be with him.

Also garlic makes you fart.

Non-sequitor grossness. Great...

Alone

Why can't I like nice charming people? Why do I just want to run away and be in my solitary ice castle?

Or maybe I should just think the opposite - that it's the world and all its so called ideals that' are fucked up, not me.

Ho-bag

Committed shameful acts last night.

The bits inbetween

I've been trying to figure out my life my entire life. I think even as a little kid I was searching, seeking it. But just when it feels like it's there, just there, within reach..... it eludes me. I got the same feeling just now, had a day off with just me and my thoughts. It's been ages since I've had that.

Then I watched Almost Famous. Such a cute movie, wistful, hopeful, and feels so very sincere. Like all the books and movies and life moments that stir the deepest emotions, it wasn't bombardment of the obvious. It had the wonderful bits inbetween, the unspoken bits, the looks between characters, the way we have to interpret the little things that could mean so many things but deep down, the truth of it feels so real and right. That little lottery, that extra bit of sparkle that makes it. You can't often create it, sometimes it really does just happen on the spot.

Meh. Too pretentious huh.

But somehow today feels like the day that something happens.

Frenemy

I've recently become friends with someone who is a very sassy woman. She is what many (including myself) consider to be oozing sex appeal in the traditional sense: blonde, blue-eyed, smart, and generally gorgeous. Super funny too. One of her oldest and best friends moved to Australia with her and while I'm sure they love each other, boy is there a lot of frenemism going on there.

I totally get why L complains about Miss Sassy stealing all the sunshine, all the attention from anything with a penis. I have experienced it my entire life, because my friends have more often than not been gorgeous but also lovely people and the world gravitates towards them. As opposed to negative bitches like me. But I revel in my bitter world. I love the fact that I am single and don't have to pander to anyone's ideas of perfection.

Sassy complains about L telling shitty stories about her in public, or yelling about Sassy's boyfriend as soon as a hot guy comes within earshot. And yet, the hot guy will totally fall over themselves to tell Sassy to keep them in mind whenever she ditches her stud, while L fumes in the background.

Sassy thinks L is overreacting. Sassy thinks that she is completely non-chalant and not at all encouraging any boy to hit on her and my god no of course she doesn't flirt. I didn't want to say it but wow, even then I was totally siding with L on that count. I did, in a brief moment of guilty doubt, think that perhaps she didn't realise it, and that she wasn't intentionally doing it but just that her other amazing attributes were the reason boys were so keen on her.

I know now that theory is quite wrong after Friday night. Ended up being me and Sassy at the bar after everyone else from work had ditched us. I can't remember how but two randoms joined us and it was a joyous night of us putting the boys in their rightful place (at the bottom of our Megolomaniacal world where we rule) and having lots of shared laughs.

Sassy talks with the average looking "Irish" (ie Aussie through and through except for his passport) bloke, who totally wants to score with her. Most of the night when his Kiwi buddy (who from memory was also average but could pass for hot once his awful Movember face fluff was gone) wasn't roaming striking up random conversations with people, me and him discussed various things including running through the entire cast and special guests of Entourage I would shag over Eric (pretty much everyone except Gary Busey). It was a fun and random conversation. And I think then she senses something is amiss, that someone is not throwing attention her way and that someone is the marginally hotter guy who was talking to me.

As soon as this happens, Sassy is repeatedly hugging him, saying how much she loves his humour, how he is going to be her new best friend and they are going shopping every day and thery will be totally BFF. She gets his phone and puts her number in it and demands that he take her shopping tomorrow so they can buy hot clothes together.

"Irish" boy at this stage is aghast that whatever shot he thought he had with her is totally gone. I wasn't even interested in the Kiwi. But suddenly I was a bit pissed off that she'd doing exactly what L has been saying and very very vigourously.

Coupled with her also targetting my best friend at work (who I've come to consider my "work spouse") once she dumps her boyfriend, I feel like I am actively turning into a frenemy myself. Growing up with 3 brothers I never had to deal with the bitchy competitiveness of sisters. I think I may lose the frenemy battle but I think it's an challenge I'm choosing to take up.

And by the way Kiwi got my number and asked me out. How random. Which proves my long held theory that I only ever like shitheads who won't like me back, but randoms I am not interested in have the same luck in trying with me.

Cashed up

Every job I've had, I've somehow fallen into. The only job I actively pursued was at Virgin (mostly because I was just about broke and it was the first job I found online while I was 4 months into a 6 month trip in Syria). I got the job. And just from about day 1, I tried to quit. 18 months later I finally did.

Then I somehow land my current job as a result of the best friend of someone I worked with sending me an email about it. And as much as I bitch about it, it's probably the perfect job for me, or at least I am just about the perfect person for the role being that I don't care about screaming loonies and find it rather amusing.

It's weird now working in a place that almost every other job has given me experience for. The training and recruitment at ABC, the quirky emails at Boden, the interviewing at Research International, the coding at AC Nielsen, combined with the loose connection to my university degree that I only chose to do so I could say stuff it to my parents because they didn't know what it was I was doing. Then the complaints stuff at Virgin.

I fall into a supervisor job here. Actively tell my manager how much I hate being supervisor. He lets me go part time, which will still earn me A LOT more than I did slogging my arse off at Virgin.

Now they're pretty much setting me up for a new job that is more than double what I used to earn 18 months ago.... I pretty much just have to say OK and it's mine.

It's so weird.

If only the rest of my life was handed to me on a silver platter.

If you're out there God or the good life fairy or whatever you're called, please send me a hot hot hot fireman with a Scottish accent, who trained as a masseuse and loves to cook 5-star gourmet food my way. Thanks in advance!

Escape

All I can dream about lately is running away and not having to deal with the people in my life. The best times of my life have been when I've been travelling, living randomly the gypsy life, bouncing from one town to another country, somehow finding my way through the drunken haze to a brilliant epiphany.

I miss that life soooooo much.

Poo

I saw a poo on the way to work yesterday, on the ground. Man. It was HUGE. Like seriously huge that I think the person/animal that shat it out must have torn their bumhole. It was about 4cm in diameter and nearly 1/2 a foot in length.

Today someone stuck a little flag in it.

I would take a photo but that'd be gross.

Love song dedications

I received another late night love song voicemail from Mr Zig Zog. This time it was backed up by Unchained Melody and telling me about his heart bleeding love. Thank god he didn't discover Leona Lewis.

And he also revealed he was leaving voicemails for me on someone else's voicemail because he was typing my name into the phone from the letters on the telephone keypad, so it was going to their phones and not mine.

If he wasn't verifiably psychotic, I woulda thought he was just getting drunk and leaving me midnight messages inspired by Mix 106.5 Love Song Dedications or something.

I want to stalk you #2

Gave in. Google stalked him.

I want to stalk you

I met a journo at work the other day. We are not allowed to talk to journos, cos the work we do has to remain private and secure (not like spy-secretive or anything but it would be very bad) and we aren't allowed to fraternise with em.

But..... He was really hot. And he was oblivious to the fact that the big boss' EA and all his camera crew were heading off for the actual interview he was supposed to be doing and going oi hey let's go while he was talking to me about the TIO. It was funny. Except the death stares from the EA that is at why I was talking the journo and he was ignoring her firm requests to hurry the fuck up.

So yeah. I really like him and would really really love to google stalk him but have somehow resisted.

Sigh.

Poo

It's okay if you need to do a poo when at work. You gotta go when you gotta go. Poo ain't gonna wait and if you wait, it's not a good thing.

BUT if you have to do a poo at work, I don't get why or how you can leave the toilet stall without checking that all the poo has been flushed away. I do not like, I dislike very very much, when I go into the toilet and there is not just a remnant, a floater or skids... You know I can deal with little things like that, even though they are still gross.

But it is an entirely whole 'nother thing when there is an entire poo log in the toilet. Sometimes smoooshed into big bits because they did a mini flush. So if you know enough to flush the toilet, I don't see why you can't hold down the button an extra 3 seconds, or wait the 5 seconds for it to be confirmed that your shit is gone.

Seriously, how can someone do that? Unless they are a Poo Phantom, or even more comfortable with the poo thing than I am. And I am not shy about poo. I wish I could out this poo phantom.

Boooo Ms Poo.

Awkward

Received some awkward news yesterday and had to explain to my manager why it would be awkward, which made things even more awkward.

Also, Mr Zig Zog left me 3 voicemails, begging of Saint Helen. The last one was a spoken word tribute over James Blunt's You're Beautiful. So fucking weird.

Are butchers hot/the new firemen?

Although it is often irrational, the phhwooooaar! of firemen can also be rationalised in the hero role they play, and of course that big truck, that fire pole, the long hoses they use to douse fires and all that PVC they're always running about in.

Today I witnessed 3 different pairs of women flirt furiously with the butcher boys at Broadway. The boys are not that hot. I mean, they are tall-ish. But they have no muscles. They could pass for geeks (but the dorky geek, not the cool geek). They are generally pretty non-decript, non-anythings.

So I have 4 theories:

1. The GFC is hitting really hard, so these mothers and daughters are pimping themselves out to get a discount on meat.
2. It was a bet/challenge/dare.
3. There is a resurgence of women wanting to be Kath and finding their Kel.
4. Butchers are the new firemen, revisiting the days of the Neanderthal with their role in the meatiness of the world.

It confuses me.

Well, maybe just go away instead of dying

Glutton for punishment. Am I really surprised that having a job that involves negative, negative, negative, emotional blackmail, desperation, and the impending notion of life or death consequences on a daily basis was going to do anything except make me even more of a bitter and twisted bitch?

And yet, here I am still, not totally hating my job, prepared to go back for more more more. What the fuck is wrong with me? Or maybe it's that I am realistic and rational and a well paying job that allows me to the pay the bills and then some, maybe somehow that's keeping me in it.

Sometimes the little randomness makes it. The certifiably crazy man who told me about the failure of the "zig zog" that led me to the site of Why zig and zag, when you can Zog! that bizarrely made sense in his ramblings of fighting the powers and the corruption of the world. It was kind of touching and very enlightening to realise that there is always some semblance of sanity behind the insanity. The way all the crazies seem to say the same thing about the special messages being sent to them from the telly.

Ok, maybe I am being infected with this insanity now...... I mean, Mr Zig Zog did tell me after our 15 minute conversation (involving me going mmm hmmm huh? what? huh? hang on, huh?) that he loved me, because he had begged to Saint Helen for such a long time and he loved me, I love you Saint Helen.

He also had this weird way of phrasing things. "She was negative to I, disruptive to I, interrupting I". It may not be contagious but listen to that sort of stuff all day every day and you lose your way in being able to calibrate what is normal anymore.

Or perhaps it is because Mr Undies is out of my life and the poison I'm sure he laced through all my food is finally leaving my system. God. Mr Undies was such a tumourous cancer.

Anyway, I have ginger beer now. And inspiration to change my house (albeit from a crushed Ikea catalogue.... but still, you gotta get that inspirational vibe and take it when it comes no matter the source). I am looking forward to a lazy weekend of silence, of no whingeing, of being wonderfully, gleefully slothful. To being non-murderous!

Yes, the world is looking a little brighter, despite the very real thunderstorms outside.

Hello Manic-Depressive eh?

I hate you

Now fuck off and die.

Seriously

Still angry

Plus I left my phone at home, and I didn't get time to wash my hair so I felt gross. And work was a bitch. Seriously. Over. It.

No soup for you

Sometimes irrational hatred hits. And all I want to do is lash out at people, cut them off completely. For really silly reasons, nothing they're probably even aware of. Lately this is happening all too frequently.

Today I am super dooper angry. People who just don't get it are really getting to me. I want to fucking annihiliate stupid people. Let them rot away in some dreary god forsaken shack on a horrible lost island that's shitty. I just can't stand it anymore. This job doesn't help either.

Only 3 more weeks left though til I get mini respite from the relentless drivel and moaning. Then I actually have to figure shit out like I promised my boss I would. At least he is starting to get it.

I hate it when

Zeke was right. It worked.

Stalker #2

Mr Undies told me a little while ago that he purposely kept from me and the other flatmate that he knew our ex-flattie who we HATED (and who on thinking back now, was the original Mr Undies). In fact, not just that he knew him, but that he was friends with him, regularly went drinking with him and purposely kept that knowledge from us because of his own sinister purposes.

Anyway, Mr Undies told me he was moving out with his (ahem, vomit) girlfriend. Cue screaming, eye scratching images of Mr and Mrs Undies shagging. VOMIT. Right... um... where was I? OK. So I interview a gazillion people for the room and make a decision without telling Flatmate #2 because he doesn't care anyway.

I ponder and eventually make my decision public on facebook who I have picked. Flatmate #2 and Mr Undies are not on my facebook (Mr Undies is in fact pre-emptively blocked in a story for another occasion). However, Mr Original Undies IS on my facebook.

A few hours after posting the details of the new flatmate, I see Mr Undies (and Mrs Undies! She exists!!) and he asks me about "the new girl". It doesn't click with me til later that he clearly has knowledge of my facebook stuff and I and my friends have been slagging him off this whole time. No wonder he's moving out. But either way I'm happy to be rid of him at long last.

I also surreptitiously act like a spy and take secret photos of Mr and Mrs Undies to show people who have yet to see them in person. Unfortunately Mrs Undies is too quick to be captured by camera, but Mr Undies has been. Woo.

Hello stalker

Hi Daniel.

Hookers

I live in the Cross. There are lots of hookers around. Near me the local hookers are often tranny hookers that look like rugby players.

So tonight, as I was walking home and opening the door to my building a bucktoothed, suited, gross suited man in his 40s wiggles his eyebrows at me asking me if I am a hooker. ICK.

If I wasn't so grossed out to touch him or even to be in the same vicinity as him I would have kicked the shit out of him. But alas, my only reaction was to go OMG NOOOOO and run into the building, leaving him to his bucktoothedness and wiggly eyebrows.

UGH.

People are fuckwit dickheads

See heading.

Crush

While it is nice to have a random shag on call, I have developed a crush on the Aboriginal-Irish-English guy at work. I don't know why, he's just nice and there's this uncontrollable urge drawing me to him. Even though he's got a kid and a partner, he's just really hot. Not in a conventional way but in a really surprising phhwoooooarr! sort of way that kinda knocks you about abit and takes you months to realise you're falling for someone.

It's fucked. I hate this.

Verbal Diarrhoea

Stress = dodgy flatmate doing a runner and trying to top herself. Stress = dodgier undies-man flatmate being super dodgy and revealing he is friends with a similarly crazy dodgy prior undies-man style flatmate, while not acknowledging that you are sobbing uncontrollably.

So now I have verbal diarhhoea. I can't stop. When someone says how are you innocently, I bombard them with that and more. I need to stop it.

Stress

Shagged a random last Sunday.

Feeling sorry for myself

I don't know if my scratchy sore throat is the result of scream-singing to the JJJ Hottest 100 of all time, combined with the cold air being too contrasting for my throat. I really really hope it's just poor decision making in singing about the house loudly, rather than being sick.

I hate being sick. I hate a flu shot this year for the first time ever and have been lucky to avoid illness, especially considering how bloody accident prone in general I am (hello Tetanus in Thailand, Torn Ligament Christmas in Holland, more ligament damage Missing a Mini-step In My Own Garage and Tumbling Head Over Ass With A Laptop in the Backpack I Was Wearing and Broken Toe Opening the Freezer Door on Sunday Morning).

On a non-whingeing note, wow I forgot how cute and sweet the Beach Boys God Only Knows was and super glad all those people made it the top 50 of all time so that I could rediscover it today. Seriously, despite my throat and now snotty runny nose, I am all happy and feeling all aaaaaaawwwwww over everything.

Booty Calls

I just booty called someone. Well, booty texted. Weird but whatever. I'm drunk!

Flirting with the law

I had to call the police today. Then the police had to call me back 3 times. I think the copper was flirting with me. But now he knows my name, address, job and birthday. I am expecting birthday presents now.

Quandry induced quagmire

I don't like being in a relationship. I don't want to be in a relationship. I totally judge all my friends who are married and would not trade my life for their miserable monogamous ones. I even remember as far back as being 4 or 5 years old and telling my parents how I was never going to be married, though I would be having kids, and totally believing it. And that was before I met the fuckers that would make me bitter about love and the idea of "love". I do still want kids though and still believe I'll never get married.

But I always want what I can't have. I lust and crush after random people for no real reason. It could be something like the way they said a particular word or phrase that sounded cool, or a picture they doodled, or a funny retort. I know it's pretty much just a phase of an infatuation but there's just no stopping it until it runs out of steam. And it's not like I really think there's any future in it or even actually wanting anything to happen as you can't really base an entire future on a funny doodle. It's a stupid crush that my normally bitter self would sneer at but somehow they co-habit without clash.

I have a friend who I used to hang out with a fair bit. He was not someone that I was interested in, but he was smart and made me laugh and was always just that little bit strange (but just enough to make it seem OK)(also it made me feel a little bit normal). Anyway it was nice. We kind of lost touch for a few months. Then out of the blue he says we should hang out. But on the day of said hanging-out, nothing. A week later I get a text saying sorry I forgot blah blah blah lame lame lame excuse.

Repeat vague non-showing-up and non-letting-me-know times 4. A bit annoying to say the least.

So now that he can't even make the effort to be friends with me, it makes him hot to me.

I am fucked up.

The Flaneur

In my first year of uni, we learned about the flaneur (thank you Walter Benjamin and Contemporary Cultures 1). It was such artsy fartsy pretentious stuff we had to like live and breathe for 6 weeks. Every other UTS Communications student I've met has lived through the experience of writing massive essays on the flaneur.

Yesterday I was walking back through Town Hall station. I am a pretty unobservant person and pretty much will go ladidadida while a roaring blazing fire plumes black smoke out of Centrepoint on my way to work. So it was a lot for me to notice that this homeless looking man is convulsing about on the ground. Heaps of people are sort of giving him a wide berth, doing the staring thing at him but then moving on. There's a group of about 4 guys in their late teens or early twenties pointing and laughing at this man.

So when I get up to him and see his eyes rolled back in his head, the uncontrollable convulsing of an epileptic fit clearly taking place and a bit of foaming at the mouth going, I immediately call 000. The ambulance man gets the details, tells me what to do to check on him. The coffee lady who's phone I had to borrow is all freaking out and not serving anyone coffee. At least she cared enough about another human.

The station staff finally arrive. All they do is put a fence around him. At this point he's stopped convulsing but is lying face down into a small pool of spittle. The look of utter disdain on all their faces like he was some scum who was messing up their lunch break or something.

The world is full of heartless fuckers. Worse than the flaneur, they purposely, actively would let someone die. It's not even asking to do someone a favour or going out of your way to do a nice thing. It's common fucking courtesy if you are human to do a very very very simple thing to stop someone from dying needlessly. People are cunts.

I hate not hating, it's too weird

It's a little disconcerting when Undies pretty much does everything I want and pretty much disappears from my life except for the fortnightly annoying conversation.... I hate saying this but I don't hate him so much right now.

He was even texting as he walked past me on the street so didn't see me, while I was going all spy-like trying to see if I could blend in with the posters stuck on the building so he wouldn't talk to me. But it was perfect, his floppy wig and ugly clothes just totally bypass me. I think I need to buy a lotto ticket I've been so lucky without a sighting for a while and without an actual undies incident for over 2 weeks now.

Damn it Buu. Stoke up that hatred! Let it fester and get all pustule-y and go all gangrenous. Undies must still die.

Criminal Tangents

Shit. That post got lost cos of my stupid internet connection. Thanks alot Virgin.

Anyways blah blah blah Undies ramblings about his criminal past and how his human rights are being breached now because the airport won't let him through or something and he wants me to do something about it. I'm immediately thinking deportation! woohoo!! but I manage to continue to studiously ignore him and he finally prances off.

I have tried to google him and find out if I really can get him deported and for once he has lead me to fun! Google Crimestoppers and check out the wanted lists. OMG hours of enjoyment there! I must say there was pride welling up inside me that Australia has the absolutely most bogan looking wanted crims in the world. Totally awesome.

Um I just walked home behind a man with a polar bear on his head

Super surreal. I nearly followed him all the way home I was so hypnotised by the polar bear (hat?)(I think it may have been a giant puppet he used as a hat??). I wish I'd remembered to take a photo!

If my life were a website

www.jordanianssuck.co.jd
www.yesanotherglassofwineactuallymakethatabottleplease.co.nz
www.ohmygodtheresafirefighterandheshotexclamationmark.com.au
www.myflatmateeatsmycheeseandicecreamanditannoysmelots.com.au
www.raspberrybrowniecheesecakeROCKS.com.au/mudgeeroadtrip
www.iamthefemmemacgyver.com
www.sowhatifimbitterleavemealonewithmybitterness.com
www.jamesmcevoydrooooool.co.uk
www.myotherflatmateprancesinundies.com.au/hesafuckwitwithbadhair
www.icantreverseparkcosihavenopowersteeringinmycar.com
www.iamsuremystupidityandrandomness.com/istheresultofabraintumour
www.icantresistbiddingforthingsonebay.com/thatitotallydontneed

Honestly this is great to release all the ugly anger in me, so therapeutic.

Oh and OMG how good are pancakes?

Pigdog fucker who pisses me off

Undies man returns home. I heard keys jangling but I couldn't get my shit together in time to bolt upstairs to my room. I was hope hope hoping it wasn't stupid Undies but unfortunately, it was.

I did everything I could to make him realise I was not interested in engaging in any form of communication. I did not look at him. I pretended to read the paper, while also being on facebook and texting Al. But the Pigdog Undies Bastard just kept yammering away. AND THEN even more arrogant pigdog of him asks me if I'm okay and coping because I haven't seen him for two weeks. AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR. I was all uuuummm bumhead I am surviving quite well without seeing you fuckbrain.

Then he goes on about how he fixed all these things in the flat and how we were all pathetic at fixing things and that was it okay that he was the man of the house who fixes things because he's so good at fixing things. FUCK OFF AND DIE FUCKING UNDIES MAN

I am a catchphrase or three

The grass is always greener. You always want what you can't have. I can't think of a third.

I could have had something long ago. But I wasn't sure I wanted that something. I kinda toyed with that something, held it in my hand, pictured my life with that something, was that something really worth the hassle? And now I can't get that something at all, can't find it, can't see it, can't even ebay it.

Sigh.

No brain tumour but I'm still a blubbering mess

I never get headaches. Right up until last year when they hit me pretty constantly after getting the cervical cancer vaccine jab. So on top of the whole awkward sex lecture various geriatric male GPs gave me, the massively intense pain of the injection itself (along with one GP letting my blood flow freely from my arm instead of putting a fucking band aid on it and commenting "Oh. Look. You're exanguinating"), a little publicised side effect that caused me to possibly harass Richard Branson and also tell my new manager and Director to "go have some gay sex together", it's also given me killer fucking migraines.

ANYWAY. I thought it might have been my glasses cos I am blind without them and wear them 24/7. I got my eyes checked out and they were all good. Glasses were still the right prescription. My trusted optometrist tells me if I keep having regular headaches then I should see a doctor.

OK so it's now 4 months later and after freaking out that I have brain tumour because along with the migraines I am also:

1. Substituting numbers for letters in my emails and typing like a late onset dyslexic
   [e.g. Su8stitut1ng num83rs for 7etters in my ema17s and ty9ing 7ike a 7ate onset dys7exic]
2. Become every more clumsy and uncoordinated than usual
   [e.g. a) missing my mouth when I am drinking from a glass]
   [e.g. b) tumbling over on a mini step in my own garage and somehow straining ligaments in the bottom and side of my foot which causes the docs to comment on how weird my injury is and that it makes so sense as to how I could have fallen - BTW this was also the 3rd x-ray and 2nd ultrasound I had to get for injuries that year]
3. Being unable to speak sentences without the use of "so", "like", "anyway" and "so like anyway" every third word and generally not being able to construct sentences or say words with more than 2 syllables.
4. Having verbal diarrhoea bitching about someone to thinking it's behind their back but it's actually to their face (honestly though this is probably a step forward in being more honest about who I really am)
5. Going from my room or the living room to the kitchen (about a 10 second walk) and standing in the kitchen trying to remember what it was that I came in their for.
6. Being all emotional and crying over episodes of Scrubs, Beverly Hills 90210 (the Original series), Gossip Girl and movies like Bride Wars and the House Bunny (this was interspersed with hilarious unable to breathe laughing).

I go see a doc yesterday. He makes me watch his tingling fingers with one eye each. He then makes me wrinkle up my forehead. Then he grabs my arms and pushes me. Then I had to grab him and push him. And then I have to make chicken wings with my arms. And he tells me I am ok.

So basically this blubbering, weeping, bumbling, blabbering, incoherent-mess-for-absolutely-no-reason-at-all......... is just me being me. Awesome

No longer disgruntled and it's weirding me out

So I got one of those auto email welcome updates from a product I purchased a week ago which happens to be a product of my former employer who up until a few minutes ago I despised and resented with quite a bit of passion. I pick apart every word, phrase, tone, blackout that happens when I call or write or use their product. I love to hate them.

But GOD. I was totally won over by it. And I have no idea why. It was just kinda nice for a little personal touch (even though I know in my head there was nothing personal about it and it's a total ploy). Maybe it was cos it came after a week and not just at the point of purchase so good ploy former employer, good ploy indeed. Jon Bradshaw rocks.

What the hell is wrong with me????

Brazil isn't even on the same continent as Spain. They don't even speak the same language!

FYI Wildfire is a Brazilian restaurant, not Spanish. Geeezus. If you're going to organise a birthday party at least get those details right.

Cutesy wootsey

Aiden is soooooo adorable. Today he managed to:

• sit up in the high chair all by himself without flopping over cos he's still a 7 month old floppy baby.
• lick every part of the his little drink bottle without actually going for the bit you drink out of. And with such gusto too!
• rip half the leaves off one of the pot plants in the restaurant.
• get terribly excited at waiting at the bus stop for 30 minutes and watching all the brrrm brrrm cars and trucks and buses and pedestrians go by.
• growl and babytalk for about 2 hours straight (apparently because he has a cold and he likes the sound of his newly gruff and butch voice now that he's all nasally and clogged up)(aaaawww!!! I totally <3 Aiden! ).

I don't high 5

I really hate high 5ing. It's so unnecessary.

But after 11 months of avoiding the high-5 from a work colleague, I relented. He said he felt like he needed a ciggie after it. Ahem. Creepy.

More on pigdog #2

So my friend Al once commented that Mr G was the kind of guy that lurks at the bar at last call and lures the drunkest woman who can't fend off his lecherous hairy advances to his place. And can I say that is such a scarily accurate description that I can't believe I didn't think of it myself first.

Anyways, I hear a drunk lady come back with him the other night. Wow, I was feeling soooooo sorry for the wake up and walk of shame she'd have to do the next day. Then I immediately put in some ear plugs went la la la la la la la la la think nice pretty thoughts think nice pretty thoughts la la la la la la la la so that I didn't have the image of Mr G getting some action in my dreams.

He was a bit upset that none of us talked to him about his loud sex romp. So he starts to bring it up in conversation and I immediately bolt. Like bam, totally ran off, because that's the only way to stop him droning. Too bad for Miss D that she didn't realise this and he kept going "Oh Miss D, I had someone over this week. I had a party! Oh she was a WOMAN and we partied and I just want you to know Miss D that it's okay if you were listening to me shagging the comatose woman and oh gosh are you picturing me and my undies prancing sexily? Oh dear, I did not want you to picture me and my pigeon chest and white body gyrating and having sex. Oh Miss D, I will always tell you when I have a party so that if you don't join my party, you can imagine me having a sex party okay?"

He horrifies me.

Pigdog #2

So I have this flatmate who purposely prances about in undies. He is currently the bane of my existence.

But when you share a flat, and he is someone who has shared many a flat before, it's just common courtesy about how you act around your flatmates. I thought it was a given that you just don't wear your dirty little undies and purposely come out to the kitchen or lounge or other common areas when you hear someone talking then go all "Oh. Whoopsy daisy! Look at me, oh, I am in my undies. Oh that's embarrassing isn't it? Me here in my undies? Oh dear, I am in my undies, what a shock, my undies are just here for all to see" etc etc for about 5 minutes while I am doing anything I can to avoid eye contact including holding my empty bowl and pretending I am totally engrossed in eating the delicious invisible substance inside.

My other flatmate disagreed with me about how he was getting aroused out of the flashing. She thought that his yelling at her "Oh Miss D! You just stay upstairs there because oh gosh, look, I am in my undies again. It's me Mr G and I'm in my undies in the kitchen so you just stay away and don't think about me in my undies okay? Did you get that Miss D? Do not think of me and my pigeon chest in my dirty grey undies as I prance about the house touching my body and undies to all these common areas you will also soon touch? Oh gosh isn't it awkward that I am in my undies and you exist in this world where I prance around in my undies. Undies, undies, undies!"

To her, this meant that he was warning her and he was being all polite about it. To me, it's him trying to plant the imagery of him in undies in her head being all ugly attention seeker that he is. So that then he can talk about him in undies rubbing his crotch all over our possessions or something. EW.

But now she finally agrees with me after he purposely came out and did his little spiel flashing himself to her workmate who had come for a visit. This was after I had asked him not to come out again becuse we had guests.

I wish I'd told him to fuck off earlier. Fuck off Mr G and your bad bouffant hair.

I want to sleep but I can't sleep

See title.

He is a pigdog

I'm not sure why women are with men that are so clearly beneath them. Take for instance why Mr L who has propositioned her cousin for a threesome when she slept over on their sofa, constantly makes sexual remarks at any of her female friends in inappropriate circumstances (eg over dinner at a wedding reception... yes while sober so he should definitely know better), who talks about the way I orgasm when I eat his cooking (ew ew ew ew EW on so many levels)(and he is an OK cook but it's me being socially polite in telling him he cooks well because he constantly talks about how well he cooks) droning on about how there must have been some guy under the table pleasuring me I was so into his cooking.

Maybe it's because women like me are too nice and scared to tell a friend the man they love is a fucking bastard cheating pig dog who doesn't know how to cook puff pastry (and yes we all sat through eating the half raw pastry while he's pushing us to eat seconds and thirds which I politely decline).

He's still all puffy as though he's god's gift. To me, he's a pigdog.

I lick my cheese

Stay away from my cheese and my ice cream please. I also like my shoes to be unworn and borrowed handbags returned. Also would be extremely appreciated when you steal my car to fill up the petrol.

Oh and you over there, put some pants on.

Thanks.