blahblahteacakes

Because I can’t think of a proper post.

- People who can’t control themselves on buses. Because yes, the road is very bendy, but if you try, you can avoid ramming into my shoulder every few minutes. Look and see how no-one else on the bus is swaying like a loon and maybe get some lessons in that, k? Otherwise I’ll have to introduce you to my little friend: Mr Subtle-Elbow-To-The-Ribs. And also because your testicles cannot be so big that you need to sit with your legs that far apart.

- Hormones. Because honestly, I do love to dwell in my own crankiness, but spending the week looking at every single remotely pointy thing on my desk as a murder weapon is so not cool.

- Sales people. ‘Nuff said.

- Veronica Mars. Because no show should go from Whoa! to No! that fast. And if everyone on the freaking planet is saying you’re going to be cancelled … how about making it so your season finale works as a final episode ever, just in case? And also because Piz is the stupidest name for a character ever … yes, even stupider than Thumper.

- Fashion Victims. Because if you think wearing the exact same black-and-white Arafat-inspired scaras every other tool on the planet makes you cool, you’re so totally wrong.

- Doctors. Because it’s either lie to you or get lectured, and I’m not really in the mood for either right now, so just give me the prescription and let me get on with my day.

- WordPress. Because for some reason when I hit enter I expect the cursor to go to the next line down, not right back to the top of the post. Yeah, I’m weird, I know.

The other day a guy I went to school with added me as a friend on Facebook on the weekend - not a big deal in and of itself, given we were mates at school and stuff; although I do remember wondering at one point if he thought more of me than that, for a reason I can no longer remember. I accepted the invite and prepared to get on with my life, secure in the knowledge that I would now know about it next time he was glad it was Friday.

And then he went and sent me a message asking how I was and reminding me that he still owes me dinner.

Now, he was a nice enough guy at school but I have absolutely zero interest in having dinner with him, for whatever reason. I’m a big believer in the notion that a lot of the friends you have in high school you have because otherwise 3-unit maths is really boring, and not because you’re destined to be life-long buddies. Let’s face it: you put a couple of hundred people with nothing more in common than their location and, in my case, debatably higher-than-average intelligence, and you make them spend seventy two hundred hours together over the space of six years - sure, you might get a couple of long-lasting friendships out of it, but mostly we’re just filling in the time.

And yet, I’m getting all paranoid that a jokey ‘I’m sure the statute of limitations on dinner debts has passed!’ might be construed as rude, and that - in a lame-arse kind of way - this is actually an invitation disguised as a throwaway line.

So, instead of being all adult, I’m laying low - not writing on any walls, not changing my status - so’s that if asked, I’ve been offline and not seen the message yet. What? He’s got ELEVEN friends. When you’ve got ELEVEN friends, you notice everyone’s status updates.

That said, I really want to change my status. And yet, I haven’t.

Juvenile? Overdramatic? Completely paranoid? Me?

I might have mentioned before that I’ve been picking up a lot of extra responsibility at work over the past few months - due to the whole boss-lady with a baby thing. It’s all been rather informal, more ’so, you can do this from now on’ than sit-downs with committees and the redistribution of roles. And I’ve asked for all of it, because there’s nothing I hate worse than sitting at my desk with nothing to do, and I’ve gotten all my regular (as in, defined by my role the one and only time my role has ever been defined - the day I started) stuff so streamlined that I could do it working one day a week. And also I’ve asked for it because when you’re sitting there daydreaming while you’re boss looks completely swamped AND like they want to spew and/or faint, you can’t - or I can’t - not offer.

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… In my quest to become a domestic goddess:

Last night, at the end of a log weekend of baking cookies and making soup, I finally got around to seasoning our new wok. I’d lost the little strip of cardboard that told me what to do, so I went from memory.

Anyway, short story even shorter, I burned the oil and now our entire flat (and everything in it - including The Dude’s work gear, freshly washed and ironed for his first day back after a month off) smells like the arse end of a chip shop.

And not in a good way.

Yes, I suck.

I’m officially a rampant consumer and now the proud owner of not one but TWO laptops. Yes, one is old and has a broken hinge and a paltry paltry (I typed ‘platry’ both times then. Stupid disfunctional fingers) 60gb hard drive, no battery life to speak of, and a non-functioning CD/DVD Drive, but it still does pretty much everything I need it to do - except actualy be portable, given it doesn’t close. I can’t help but feel a little dirty every time I wak into my lounge room and see two laptops, open and on and waiting for me to use them (and let’s not even mention the PS3 and the LCD TV - our flat absolutely reeks of aspiration …) - and yet, I so love my new little baby and it’s big big hard drive (and insane amount of RAM). If you could see it you’d love it too. Trust me.

Big big hard drives. RAM. And who said computers weren’t sexy?

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I don’t know what y’all do when you’re on holidays but I like to get caught up on the in-house movies at motels around the country (obviously in betwen doing actual fun stuff). I never get to see movies in the real world, what with the cost of oil/movie tickets and my extreme cynicism and stuff, so holidays are like my only little B-movie film festival. With instant hot chocolate and central heating.

So, I used to love Will Smith. Yeah, it’s a little sad now that he’s declared that he wants to be President Of The World and started playing all these brooding buff dudes with planet-saving-sized chips on their shoulders and a penchant for working out in front of mirrors while admiring the size of their appendages - but it’s the truth. And what am I if not honest on the interwebs?

So, in I Am Legend, he plays - according to the poster and the trailers and the back of the DVD - The Last Man On Earth. And you can tell that underneath all the brooding and pretending to look for other people that he just loves it. So much so, in fact, that when he finds two other people - nay, when two other people save his life after he goes and does some stupid shit - he gets all huffy with them. He says it’s because they ate some of the bacon he was saving for later, but we all know it’s because if there are other people, then he’s not really The Last Man On Earth. And it gets worse for our Will when these other people start talking about a whole colony of survivors - he gets furious and tries to pretend it’s not happening. Because HE is The Last Man On Earth (they promised him, when he signed up to do the movie!) And he tries to prove his point with some extremely dodgy maths, because apparently 90% of the worlds population died of Some Random Fake Virus, and 9% (five hundred and forty million, by his count) became wierd non-human zombies, and only one percent survived in human form - which means HE IS THE ONLY ONE!

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So I got my new glasses and everything is a little off-kilter. I went back to the optometrist after an hour of wandering about wondering why none of the floors in Warringah Mall were level, but they said to give it a week, so I’m giving it a week. But I am missing my old glasses, for even though they’re scratched and crappy, they make the ground seem level and level ground is much easier for walking on.

And also, for computer work, they make my eyes hurt less.

Stupid new glasses.

Anyway, I’m going to to jump onto my soapbox for a minute because, hey, it’s fun and I haven’t had a chance to do it for quite a while. Let’s hope I don’t fall off.

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