Me:
Did I tell you I forgot to do my hair? And now it looks like snow on my head? Oh great.
Head and Shoulders alert.
Sister:
what do mean do your hair??
Me:
Like put some type of product in it… wash it… that sort of thing.
It’s very dry and dandruffy. And not just the little miniscule flecks here and there, peppering my beautiful quaffed hair. It’s chunky and it looks like I rain through potato flakes. It’s itchy too, which is further exacerbating the flaky pastriness of it all.
I have to pretend to go to the bathroom to go flick my hair and try and get rid of most of it. How mucho embarrassioso..
P.S. Do you know what occurs with dry scalp? Baldness.
Oh snap.
Sister:
LOL.... So why do John and I still have our hair??
You and baldness...LMAO!!
Me:
Don’t worry… you’re time is coming. And when it does, I’ll be telling my kids “Look! Your aunty is as bald as me”
Nell thinks I’m being a hypochondriac… this coming from the girl who’s equally hypochondriac and advised me that she might have DVT cos she keeps sleeping on her arm. I told her I did one better: I got an ultrasound on it to check if I had DVT. Ha! No one outdoes my craziness!
Still, it doesn’t stop me from examining my front tuft every morning, checking for the receding… it’s almost like watching the tide. It ebbs and flows.
Especially when I brush it forward, then it ebbs.
Sister:
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
ur a egg!!
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Dinner... and flowers
Yesterday, I had the immense please of going out to dinner with Nell, who I haven't seen in quite some time.
Was very happy with the restaurant chosen by the lovely lady, well except that our plans for a 5:15pm dinner were averted by the fact that the joint didn't open until 5:30. Alas.
As I arrived to the destination, so did Nell, off we went on an adventure to find plastic flowers.
It's at this point I should point out that for her Xmas party, it's a fancy dress party where you go as someone famous. Nell will be going as Titania, the queen of the fairies (is that right, Nell?), which i guess is famous, although I would've preferred if she went as Lady GaGa. I had this vision of her wearing a dress made entirely of balls (you know, the ones that you find in toddler play pens?), which I would have gladly made, quite lovingly I might add. I would've spray painted it gold as well, in keeping with the festive season.
She did offer to have me come along so I could be the king of fairies, but I was thinking to myself that I'd prefer to be the Queen Bitch of the fairies in my Lady GaGa-esqueness instead. Much more down my alley.
Nevertheless, as she chose to be Titania, then I guess she would need a crown most befitting for a fairy queen, so off we went gallavanting around Chinatown (cos really, where else would you find plastic flowers), with Nell quick side stepping in and out of faux $2 shops were slightly leaving me confused and frankly a little vommity, considering the speeds she was travelling.
I suddenly had a burst of inspiration and quick-thinking MacGyver-ness (which, let's face it, doesn't occur on many an occasion), we head into the $2 shop in Market City.
Jackpot.
Once in, Nell leapt into action, proceeding to adorn plastic vines in her hair, which if you asked me 6 months ago, if I'd be standing in the middle of a $2 shop watching someone fashion plastic plants in their hair, I would have said you were a bit loco), choosing an appropriate amount of flowers in the style befitting to the queen of the fairies.
I actually had no idea that I would be magical plastic-fantastic crown while we were dining, so colour me surprise when Nell rambles off "Yeah, you can fix it up while we order and wait".
Fabulous.
Not only did I have to remember my table skills (eating in public is not usually my forte), but I'd have to conjure up my imaginary crown-making skills right there and then.
Back to Mamak, which incidentally is quite a fabulous, cheap and cheerful Malay restaurant and we sit down to order. I in the trusty corner so I can sneakily work away at my soon-to-be masterpiece. Except that 2 minutes after we've ordered, our foods come out. Oh. My. Goodness. They must be psychic!!! (well, that's how I've perceived it, and if you tell me otherwise, I'll know you are lying)
I got greedy and had myself 2 rotis. One was egg and onion (it was eh), the other was buttery goodness. Hello butter, my old friend. I heart you like clog in my aorta: it's inevitable.
Chicken satay skewers, which took me by surprise, because they looked miniscule. Like mini, anorexic corndogs. It was almost embarrassing to eat, considering it came with buttload of dipping sauce. Don't get me wrong, I love buttloads of dipping sauce, then at least make sure whatever you're dipping into it is both meaty and plentiful.
The lamb curry, which is yum and I almost wished my rice was coconut rice. Still yum.
So I ended up gorging myself like a fat kid on cake (or namely, me on cake), and got to that point of the meal where I had both elbows on the table and stabilizing myself against the aptly positioned column to the right of me. I was that full, that if I tried, I'm sure I could have farted rice. Mmm... enticing.
As there was a line building at Mamak, I came to the conclusion that trying to fashion a crown in the midst of a crowded restaurant wouldn't be the best thing to do, we crossed over to the Food Court a little further down on Goulburn St, where I proceeded to get my Philip Treacy: Millner extraordinaire on.
I prodded, I picked, I laughed, I swore, I cut, I twisted, I wrangled, I mangled, I Dr. Seuss-ed my way through, and 25 minutes later, voila! I had made a crown befitting for a queen of fairies. When it was all said and done, I think I could have been on the verge of crying tears of happiness, but Nell bought me a Kit Kat, so luckily that averted my attention.
And there you have it, dinner and flowers. Always a great combination.
I know that Nell will probably take all the credit, but that's ok, cos then we get to facebook pretend fight on the creative rights of the crown.
Game on, I say..... game on....
Was very happy with the restaurant chosen by the lovely lady, well except that our plans for a 5:15pm dinner were averted by the fact that the joint didn't open until 5:30. Alas.
As I arrived to the destination, so did Nell, off we went on an adventure to find plastic flowers.
It's at this point I should point out that for her Xmas party, it's a fancy dress party where you go as someone famous. Nell will be going as Titania, the queen of the fairies (is that right, Nell?), which i guess is famous, although I would've preferred if she went as Lady GaGa. I had this vision of her wearing a dress made entirely of balls (you know, the ones that you find in toddler play pens?), which I would have gladly made, quite lovingly I might add. I would've spray painted it gold as well, in keeping with the festive season.
She did offer to have me come along so I could be the king of fairies, but I was thinking to myself that I'd prefer to be the Queen Bitch of the fairies in my Lady GaGa-esqueness instead. Much more down my alley.
Nevertheless, as she chose to be Titania, then I guess she would need a crown most befitting for a fairy queen, so off we went gallavanting around Chinatown (cos really, where else would you find plastic flowers), with Nell quick side stepping in and out of faux $2 shops were slightly leaving me confused and frankly a little vommity, considering the speeds she was travelling.
I suddenly had a burst of inspiration and quick-thinking MacGyver-ness (which, let's face it, doesn't occur on many an occasion), we head into the $2 shop in Market City.
Jackpot.
Once in, Nell leapt into action, proceeding to adorn plastic vines in her hair, which if you asked me 6 months ago, if I'd be standing in the middle of a $2 shop watching someone fashion plastic plants in their hair, I would have said you were a bit loco), choosing an appropriate amount of flowers in the style befitting to the queen of the fairies.
I actually had no idea that I would be magical plastic-fantastic crown while we were dining, so colour me surprise when Nell rambles off "Yeah, you can fix it up while we order and wait".
Fabulous.
Not only did I have to remember my table skills (eating in public is not usually my forte), but I'd have to conjure up my imaginary crown-making skills right there and then.
Back to Mamak, which incidentally is quite a fabulous, cheap and cheerful Malay restaurant and we sit down to order. I in the trusty corner so I can sneakily work away at my soon-to-be masterpiece. Except that 2 minutes after we've ordered, our foods come out. Oh. My. Goodness. They must be psychic!!! (well, that's how I've perceived it, and if you tell me otherwise, I'll know you are lying)
I got greedy and had myself 2 rotis. One was egg and onion (it was eh), the other was buttery goodness. Hello butter, my old friend. I heart you like clog in my aorta: it's inevitable.
Chicken satay skewers, which took me by surprise, because they looked miniscule. Like mini, anorexic corndogs. It was almost embarrassing to eat, considering it came with buttload of dipping sauce. Don't get me wrong, I love buttloads of dipping sauce, then at least make sure whatever you're dipping into it is both meaty and plentiful.
The lamb curry, which is yum and I almost wished my rice was coconut rice. Still yum.
So I ended up gorging myself like a fat kid on cake (or namely, me on cake), and got to that point of the meal where I had both elbows on the table and stabilizing myself against the aptly positioned column to the right of me. I was that full, that if I tried, I'm sure I could have farted rice. Mmm... enticing.
As there was a line building at Mamak, I came to the conclusion that trying to fashion a crown in the midst of a crowded restaurant wouldn't be the best thing to do, we crossed over to the Food Court a little further down on Goulburn St, where I proceeded to get my Philip Treacy: Millner extraordinaire on.
I prodded, I picked, I laughed, I swore, I cut, I twisted, I wrangled, I mangled, I Dr. Seuss-ed my way through, and 25 minutes later, voila! I had made a crown befitting for a queen of fairies. When it was all said and done, I think I could have been on the verge of crying tears of happiness, but Nell bought me a Kit Kat, so luckily that averted my attention.
And there you have it, dinner and flowers. Always a great combination.
I know that Nell will probably take all the credit, but that's ok, cos then we get to facebook pretend fight on the creative rights of the crown.
Game on, I say..... game on....
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Two chicks sittin’ around talking crazy
She’s been mentioned a few times on my blog, even commented here and there. I’ve guest starred in a few of her entries and have also returned the favour by commenting on her blog. So in case I have mentioned her enough, this blog is about Nell and specifically why we’re friends. Mainly because we seem to be just a few tomato sauce stains short of looking like we just ate some crazy pie. And because she constantly entertains my delusions of grandeur and a willing and active shot gun passenger on my megalomaniacal road to crazy and she’s very good at juggling 3 topics on the go. (In case you’re wondering Nell, the car drives itself, we’re just there to play the stereo). Plus I’m sure she’d hold my hair back if I were to vomit. It’s just how we roll.
Far be it for me to go ahead and try to explain… so showing you might be simpler.
Here is the gist from our last recent exchanges via email. Surprisingly (or not), we’re talking about blogging…
Well, initially..
*********
Me:
Hey, I see that you removed a comment from a nasir on your blog – I’m intrigued. What did he say?
Nell:
It was an ad actually; it must be some sort of fashion store or something. It was something like “Click on this link for discounts on fashion something or other…”
Nothing slanderous I’m afraid!
Me:
Dammit.
I was hoping for something salacious. (Like that? It’s the word of the day for tomorrow)
Nell:
Well I was feeling very tumultuous when I read the comment, because I did not know who the person was. But then alas, it was nothing very exciting, so I was disappointed.
Me:
Yes, that would indeed leave you feeling tumultuous. Ah well, at least you can hope that the next spam comment you receive offers you 80% of Canadian meds.
Nell:
Yes. Or maple syrup.
Me:
Nah, the spam gods would not be that kind.
Unless, you consistently talk about maple syrup and Canada, then you might pleasantly surprised.
Meanwhile, I’ve left some comments on your blog. Read them at your peril.
Nell:
I just went through and read them. Well, I think I got all of them! How far back did you go?? I wish you could get an alert whenever someone comments on your blog, cause that would be way easier. I will endeavour to comment on your blog at LEAST every second post. Cause lets face it, everyone loves comments. Cause it means your loved. And I heart you. (cue an *awwwww* please!)
Now that we are talking about maple syrup I am feeling like pancakes. Mmmm pancakes.
Me:
I think I went as far back as around September... I’m actually not quite sure. LOL
I did think there was alerts, but apparently I was wrong. It’s a bit dumb, because as you said, I would prefer the alerts so that I know people heart me enough to comment. And I want people to know how much I heart them when I bless their page with the thoughts swirling tumultuously through my big head.
Nell:
That’s about where they stopped yes. Well done to you! It was a tumultuous roller coaster ride of fun to read them.
I agree. Everyone wants to be hearted, so they should really have comment alerts. I mean maybe they do, and we just don’t know about it. But I have tried to look for something, to no avail.
Me:
Hooray! You readed them all :)
I agree. At the end of the day, people just want to be hearted, so blogger needs to get onto that action so that people can receive alerts that they are hearted.
Nell:
Yes. I hearted them. Maybe blogger could call it “Hearts” instead of comments, and you could get an alert that says “Someone hearts you!” and then you know a comment has been left. Gosh I am uber-creative sometimes.
You do realise you’ll be dancing in one of the scariest ‘hoods in Sydney right? LOL I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that one.
What’s a slide gig??
Me:
Maybe you should start a blogging business. Heart blog? (Ok, so if you become rich off that, then I do want to be paid for coming up with that name… even though a monkey coulda come up with that. 1 trillion dollars sound good? I’m guessing with inflation, $1 trillion dollars will amount to $0.10 at present time)..
If anything, I’d hope that you and Jo are waiting outside with the engine on so I can make a quick get away. Like a tactical team. No requirement for signs to start the car, I could just come out screaming like a banshee with the flailing of the arms.
Slide is the name of the bar. It’s on Oxford St. It’s next to that Japanese place, which is next to the $2 shop, which is next to Hungry Jacks.
Nell:
Ok partner, you got yourself a deal. 1 trillion dollars will be yours upon my business taking off successfully. (translation: you’ll never see the money.)
Oh sure, we’ll be there. Jo will put the pedal down on the old Suzuki Swift and we’ll be outta there before you know it. Quite the getaway car, you know. As part of the tactical team, can we have ear plug communication with you so we know what the down low is on the inside? Cause if you get taken down in there we may require back up. I might have to get my brother in. He looked a lot tougher than the rest of us.
You’re description of Oxford St’s topography has really helped me understand where this place is. Thanks man.
Me:
Um… ok. I’ll take that as a written agreement, so don’t blame me if we end up on Judge Judy. Although, if I were to front her, I would probably cry. I guess as long as we don’t have random witnesses (like you bringing Comet and me bringing Moesha), I think we’ll be safe.
I don’t really know if it’s in our budget to have ear plug communication… I guess we can always have a budget version which will be made of cotton wool connected by twine. I mean, twines like 12 metres long, that should be enough, shouldn’t it? We may require sticky tape to make sure the cotton wool/twine communicators don’t fall out of our ears.
Forget your brother. Just bring the dogs, the cat and the budgie. And maybe a clown. It’ll serve as a distraction while I do layout-back handspring-layout-back handspring-tuck-layout all the way to the car. Keep the sunroof open, cos I’ll just triple twist myself to the backseat, thank you very much.
And I’m glad it helped. Although, I could have just said “It’s 3 doors down from Hungry Jacks”. Straight on Fridays, Gay on Saturdays.
It must cater to bisexuals.
Nell:
Just don’t get all up in Judy’s face. Cause she’s got that sheriff dude on hand to escort you from the courtroom. I’ve seen it done. That shit’s scary, and you will definitely cry like a little girl. (I mean I wouldn’t judge you, but the viewers at home might).
Hmm. Is twine really that long though? We’d have to go to Bunnings first to get it. But I don’t like Bunnings much because their TV ads are deceptive. They would lead you to believe that there are lots of friendly people working there who know everything there is to know about hardware. But in reality it’s just pimply teenagers who shrug when you ask where the paint is. I mean it’s false advertising. I could report them to the ACCC. We can sue and make trillions of dollars (in case the other thing doesn’t work out).
Also, I should tell you now that the Suzuki does not have a sunroof. You’re lucky it’s a 4-door.
Me:
That’s true. He’s scary, but not as scary as her. I’ll try to keep invoices. I don’t know exactly what are on those invoices, but everyone seems to go on Judge Judy with invoices. I’ll draw hearts on the paper. Hopefully it’ll replace the one that she’s missing.
Well, we’ll see what they have at Bunnings. I’m sure twine goes for more than 12 metres, and I think your correct. I don’t actually recall seeing bright, happy & enthusiastic people that work there at Bunnings, so I doubt we can call on them when we visit. I think we should do an expose and hopefully get jobs working as reporters on ACA. Although, I don’t think I would enjoy being punched in the face everyday.
You know if I met someone on the street and asked them what they did for a living and they said “I’m an ACA/TT reporter” I think I would punch them in the face. But that’s just me
It has no sunroof? Dear god.
Ok, well, just pop the boot when you see me. I’ll jump in that way. OR, I can hold onto the roof while we speed away, much like the action stars do it. Although, if I fall off, try not to run me over.
Nell:
I’m not sure the invoices will cut it. Cause I have some pretty damning evidence against you soooo….yeah. Sorry bout that.
I’m in for the expose. I mean, it’s our civic duty to report the reality of Bunnings stores and their employees across the nation. Then, we’ll submit it to ACA and they’ll probably call us right away to get us more heavily involved with their week to week stories. I mean they could really use people like us. I don’t think Mike Munro is really cutting it right now.
Being punched in the face is a definite occupational health and safety hazard. But somebody has to expose the truth. We have to be strong in the face of adversity in order give the public the cold hard facts.
Why don’t you just get in the car via the…car door? I know it’s an unusual move. But if anyone can do it, you can do it.
Me:
Are you sure that damning evidence is privy to the case? Cos if you meant the whole inflation thing equaling $0.10 in todays money, then I totally take that back - mainly cos we’ll just be fighting on international TV over $0.10 – and really if we’re going to embarrass ourselves on TV, we might as well just make it $1 trillion dollars.
I will turn up with a handle bar moustache, singlet, stubbies and a VB and possibly a mullet that’s obviously fashioned with hair extensions. What will you come to Judge Judy’s in?
ACA is bad enough where they’re not using scary music to convey wicked wicked people. Or perhaps having them come along to a colonoscopy with you. Gems such as those are bound to win numerous of journalism awards. But at least working with ACA/TT, you’re bound to have great health care coverage. One can only assume that nose reconstructions are part of the negotiations in contracts.
Entering a car via a car door? That’s MADNESS! Surely it cannot be done?!
Nell:
I’m sorry, I can’t discuss the case with you. You know that.
I think I will wear a Hilary Clinton pantsuit in a bold primary colour like hot red. I will also make sure it has shoulder pads that the cast of Dynasty would be proud of. And bright red high heels that are the exact same colour as the suit, because hello, what other colour goes with red other than red?
I really like the sound of your outfit. I think Karl Lagerfeld could take some cues from someone as forward thinking in fashion as you.
I think we could be the next big thing in journalism. What story do you think will win us an award? (ps, I agree about the health care benefits.)
I swear - I’ve seen it done. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but there it was, right in front of me. Someone entering the car via the car door. Unbelievable.
Me:
Oh, if it’s gonna be like that, it’s on like Donkey Kong. Judge Judy, here we come. Invoices and all.
I hope you intend on teasing your hair up in a quiff or perhaps feathered. And don’t forget to rouge your cheeks like your one step away from clown school. That’ll complete your look.
Come to think of it, I think I want to match your outfit, except I will be all in green.
Perhaps after we’re excused from our courtcase, we can perform a rousing rendition of the Pointer Sisters Jump. Judge Judy can be the 3rd pointer sister. As Xmas is steadily approaching, I do think it’s an appropriate colour theme. We could do a Xmas remix, complete with the jingling of bells.
Meanwhile, Karl Lagerfeld had nothing on me. He wishes he was me.
Seriously, it can’t be done. I just do not understand the logic of entering a car through the car door. The physics alone with having to do that… it’s just impossible unless you’re a gymnast. I can understand entering through the window.
Argh. It’s doing my head in.
Far be it for me to go ahead and try to explain… so showing you might be simpler.
Here is the gist from our last recent exchanges via email. Surprisingly (or not), we’re talking about blogging…
Well, initially..
*********
Me:
Hey, I see that you removed a comment from a nasir on your blog – I’m intrigued. What did he say?
Nell:
It was an ad actually; it must be some sort of fashion store or something. It was something like “Click on this link for discounts on fashion something or other…”
Nothing slanderous I’m afraid!
Me:
Dammit.
I was hoping for something salacious. (Like that? It’s the word of the day for tomorrow)
Nell:
Well I was feeling very tumultuous when I read the comment, because I did not know who the person was. But then alas, it was nothing very exciting, so I was disappointed.
Me:
Yes, that would indeed leave you feeling tumultuous. Ah well, at least you can hope that the next spam comment you receive offers you 80% of Canadian meds.
Nell:
Yes. Or maple syrup.
Me:
Nah, the spam gods would not be that kind.
Unless, you consistently talk about maple syrup and Canada, then you might pleasantly surprised.
Meanwhile, I’ve left some comments on your blog. Read them at your peril.
Nell:
I just went through and read them. Well, I think I got all of them! How far back did you go?? I wish you could get an alert whenever someone comments on your blog, cause that would be way easier. I will endeavour to comment on your blog at LEAST every second post. Cause lets face it, everyone loves comments. Cause it means your loved. And I heart you. (cue an *awwwww* please!)
Now that we are talking about maple syrup I am feeling like pancakes. Mmmm pancakes.
Me:
I think I went as far back as around September... I’m actually not quite sure. LOL
I did think there was alerts, but apparently I was wrong. It’s a bit dumb, because as you said, I would prefer the alerts so that I know people heart me enough to comment. And I want people to know how much I heart them when I bless their page with the thoughts swirling tumultuously through my big head.
Nell:
That’s about where they stopped yes. Well done to you! It was a tumultuous roller coaster ride of fun to read them.
I agree. Everyone wants to be hearted, so they should really have comment alerts. I mean maybe they do, and we just don’t know about it. But I have tried to look for something, to no avail.
Me:
Hooray! You readed them all :)
I agree. At the end of the day, people just want to be hearted, so blogger needs to get onto that action so that people can receive alerts that they are hearted.
Nell:
Yes. I hearted them. Maybe blogger could call it “Hearts” instead of comments, and you could get an alert that says “Someone hearts you!” and then you know a comment has been left. Gosh I am uber-creative sometimes.
You do realise you’ll be dancing in one of the scariest ‘hoods in Sydney right? LOL I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that one.
What’s a slide gig??
Me:
Maybe you should start a blogging business. Heart blog? (Ok, so if you become rich off that, then I do want to be paid for coming up with that name… even though a monkey coulda come up with that. 1 trillion dollars sound good? I’m guessing with inflation, $1 trillion dollars will amount to $0.10 at present time)..
If anything, I’d hope that you and Jo are waiting outside with the engine on so I can make a quick get away. Like a tactical team. No requirement for signs to start the car, I could just come out screaming like a banshee with the flailing of the arms.
Slide is the name of the bar. It’s on Oxford St. It’s next to that Japanese place, which is next to the $2 shop, which is next to Hungry Jacks.
Nell:
Ok partner, you got yourself a deal. 1 trillion dollars will be yours upon my business taking off successfully. (translation: you’ll never see the money.)
Oh sure, we’ll be there. Jo will put the pedal down on the old Suzuki Swift and we’ll be outta there before you know it. Quite the getaway car, you know. As part of the tactical team, can we have ear plug communication with you so we know what the down low is on the inside? Cause if you get taken down in there we may require back up. I might have to get my brother in. He looked a lot tougher than the rest of us.
You’re description of Oxford St’s topography has really helped me understand where this place is. Thanks man.
Me:
Um… ok. I’ll take that as a written agreement, so don’t blame me if we end up on Judge Judy. Although, if I were to front her, I would probably cry. I guess as long as we don’t have random witnesses (like you bringing Comet and me bringing Moesha), I think we’ll be safe.
I don’t really know if it’s in our budget to have ear plug communication… I guess we can always have a budget version which will be made of cotton wool connected by twine. I mean, twines like 12 metres long, that should be enough, shouldn’t it? We may require sticky tape to make sure the cotton wool/twine communicators don’t fall out of our ears.
Forget your brother. Just bring the dogs, the cat and the budgie. And maybe a clown. It’ll serve as a distraction while I do layout-back handspring-layout-back handspring-tuck-layout all the way to the car. Keep the sunroof open, cos I’ll just triple twist myself to the backseat, thank you very much.
And I’m glad it helped. Although, I could have just said “It’s 3 doors down from Hungry Jacks”. Straight on Fridays, Gay on Saturdays.
It must cater to bisexuals.
Nell:
Just don’t get all up in Judy’s face. Cause she’s got that sheriff dude on hand to escort you from the courtroom. I’ve seen it done. That shit’s scary, and you will definitely cry like a little girl. (I mean I wouldn’t judge you, but the viewers at home might).
Hmm. Is twine really that long though? We’d have to go to Bunnings first to get it. But I don’t like Bunnings much because their TV ads are deceptive. They would lead you to believe that there are lots of friendly people working there who know everything there is to know about hardware. But in reality it’s just pimply teenagers who shrug when you ask where the paint is. I mean it’s false advertising. I could report them to the ACCC. We can sue and make trillions of dollars (in case the other thing doesn’t work out).
Also, I should tell you now that the Suzuki does not have a sunroof. You’re lucky it’s a 4-door.
Me:
That’s true. He’s scary, but not as scary as her. I’ll try to keep invoices. I don’t know exactly what are on those invoices, but everyone seems to go on Judge Judy with invoices. I’ll draw hearts on the paper. Hopefully it’ll replace the one that she’s missing.
Well, we’ll see what they have at Bunnings. I’m sure twine goes for more than 12 metres, and I think your correct. I don’t actually recall seeing bright, happy & enthusiastic people that work there at Bunnings, so I doubt we can call on them when we visit. I think we should do an expose and hopefully get jobs working as reporters on ACA. Although, I don’t think I would enjoy being punched in the face everyday.
You know if I met someone on the street and asked them what they did for a living and they said “I’m an ACA/TT reporter” I think I would punch them in the face. But that’s just me
It has no sunroof? Dear god.
Ok, well, just pop the boot when you see me. I’ll jump in that way. OR, I can hold onto the roof while we speed away, much like the action stars do it. Although, if I fall off, try not to run me over.
Nell:
I’m not sure the invoices will cut it. Cause I have some pretty damning evidence against you soooo….yeah. Sorry bout that.
I’m in for the expose. I mean, it’s our civic duty to report the reality of Bunnings stores and their employees across the nation. Then, we’ll submit it to ACA and they’ll probably call us right away to get us more heavily involved with their week to week stories. I mean they could really use people like us. I don’t think Mike Munro is really cutting it right now.
Being punched in the face is a definite occupational health and safety hazard. But somebody has to expose the truth. We have to be strong in the face of adversity in order give the public the cold hard facts.
Why don’t you just get in the car via the…car door? I know it’s an unusual move. But if anyone can do it, you can do it.
Me:
Are you sure that damning evidence is privy to the case? Cos if you meant the whole inflation thing equaling $0.10 in todays money, then I totally take that back - mainly cos we’ll just be fighting on international TV over $0.10 – and really if we’re going to embarrass ourselves on TV, we might as well just make it $1 trillion dollars.
I will turn up with a handle bar moustache, singlet, stubbies and a VB and possibly a mullet that’s obviously fashioned with hair extensions. What will you come to Judge Judy’s in?
ACA is bad enough where they’re not using scary music to convey wicked wicked people. Or perhaps having them come along to a colonoscopy with you. Gems such as those are bound to win numerous of journalism awards. But at least working with ACA/TT, you’re bound to have great health care coverage. One can only assume that nose reconstructions are part of the negotiations in contracts.
Entering a car via a car door? That’s MADNESS! Surely it cannot be done?!
Nell:
I’m sorry, I can’t discuss the case with you. You know that.
I think I will wear a Hilary Clinton pantsuit in a bold primary colour like hot red. I will also make sure it has shoulder pads that the cast of Dynasty would be proud of. And bright red high heels that are the exact same colour as the suit, because hello, what other colour goes with red other than red?
I really like the sound of your outfit. I think Karl Lagerfeld could take some cues from someone as forward thinking in fashion as you.
I think we could be the next big thing in journalism. What story do you think will win us an award? (ps, I agree about the health care benefits.)
I swear - I’ve seen it done. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but there it was, right in front of me. Someone entering the car via the car door. Unbelievable.
Me:
Oh, if it’s gonna be like that, it’s on like Donkey Kong. Judge Judy, here we come. Invoices and all.
I hope you intend on teasing your hair up in a quiff or perhaps feathered. And don’t forget to rouge your cheeks like your one step away from clown school. That’ll complete your look.
Come to think of it, I think I want to match your outfit, except I will be all in green.
Perhaps after we’re excused from our courtcase, we can perform a rousing rendition of the Pointer Sisters Jump. Judge Judy can be the 3rd pointer sister. As Xmas is steadily approaching, I do think it’s an appropriate colour theme. We could do a Xmas remix, complete with the jingling of bells.
Meanwhile, Karl Lagerfeld had nothing on me. He wishes he was me.
Seriously, it can’t be done. I just do not understand the logic of entering a car through the car door. The physics alone with having to do that… it’s just impossible unless you’re a gymnast. I can understand entering through the window.
Argh. It’s doing my head in.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Bondi, burgers, coconuts... and passing out on the living room floor
Ok, so I’m not all that partial to Bondi, specifically for the following reasons:
1. It’s a tourist trap
2. It’s a haven for the debilitating disease “sand-in-your-crack-itis”
3. It fills me with overwhelming anxiety at the thought of being stuck there.
4. It’s a tourist trap
5. See points 1 through 4.
So, out of all places to spend my weekend, I happened to find myself down in Bondi Beach, not only 1, but 2 days straight.
I know… crazy hey?
So Saturday was a call at 9am from a friend who was raving on about flash mob. I didn’t quite understand when he was explaining it over the phone, but as soon as he said “random dancing”, I was in. I mean, who doesn’t love random dancing in public? I sure do.
So off to the pre-event rehearsals I went and arrived there by 10am. Since they had already been through a couple of rehearsals, I felt that it wasn’t kosher to go ahead and try and be the star of the shenanigans, so I opted to sit my behind at the back. Watched the first run through – awesome. I joined in on the second run through, sprouting up to join with a minute to go on YMCA.
Suffice to say, my arm-spelling left a lot to be desired, as I could only muster a Y, then a non letter (I think it was an underscore), then a backwards C, then bought it back with a great looking A.
I wonder if I’m dyslexic.
You would think that in the downtime, I would have resumed going through the moves to ensure correct spelling, but no. I decided it was busy trying to get my Single Ladies Beyonce grind on. Not for any particular reason, except only because I could.
Meanwhile, whilst the cavalcade of dancers attending (who, by the way, were the most loveliest of people I’ve ever had the pleasure dancing with – I even met my new best friend Sarah from Dulwich Hill who recently went on a trip from Russia thru Mongolia to China – she was also my dancing buddy on the beach. We both shared a disdain for “sand-in-your-crack-itis” as well.) were all trying to get their tan on, us coconuts in attendance (note, just 3), were busy trying to stay out of the sun as a means of getting darker.
2 minutes in the sun and I was already darker. Ah hello, someone forgot to wear sunscreen. All the while, I’m getting compliments like “Oh, I wish I could tan as easily as you”.
Ah hello, say no to melanoma.
So sweating up a storm while walking down to the beach and me and Sez (new nickname, cos we go back like Donkey Kong and Ping Pong) have found an optimum spot to pretend to chatter amongst the unsuspecting mass. I have already had myself a Calippo, to which then another vendor walking along the beach has offered up another one.
Don’t mind if I do!
So just as I’m about to munch down on my second ice block, the music blares. I put my best Oscar-worthy shocked expression and clap and yahoo at the 1st round of dancers. 2 minutes later, I jump up and try to retain the idea of spelling YMCA (You don’t know how hard it is to spell under pressure), 1st try was a complete fail (i.e. YNCA), but I bought it home in the end. The rest of the dance went off without a hitch and at the end, the crowd chased Joyce, our lovely drag queen leader into the surf.
Now there’s 2 problems with that scenario.
1) I don’t run
2) I don’t swim
So instead, I walked with vigour down to the surf, only to remember I had dropped my Calippo somewhere around where I was dancing, so I ran (yes I only run for food) back to ensure that it wasn’t encrusted in sand.
Hello, priorities.
Luckily it wasn’t.
All in all, great flash mob day, went home and passed out on the living room floor.
As all good flash mobbers should.
Come Sunday, I was out again in Bondi, this time for Sculptures By The Sea – As I remembered the line out for the bus from the day before, my lovely darling cousin and I opted to try and get an early start in order to avoid the crowds. That was, before we both decided to have half a bottle of Muscato each the night before (Actually I had a complete bottle to her half bottle, then I finished off the remaining half bottle Sunday morning. Alco….), so 11am start and we’re down in Bondi.
As it was the last day for Sculptures by the Sea, it was as I envisaged: totally chock-a-block. And I lost count of how many illiterate adults were in attendance, as in, even though there were plenty of signage advising “Please do not touch the artwork”… There should be a sculpture next year that should give off an electric shock everytime some egg decides to forgo reading the sign.
S&M much?
The good thing about art, is ensuring you get silly photos interacting with the artwork. I think that’s probably the best thing. Like this drinking straw in the middle of the sea.
Obviously it’s probably a statement on the environment, but to us layman, it’s an opportunity to take pictures of us pretending to drink the sea.
Highlight was at the top of the hill, a wooden carving holding up, what I assume is a surf board. I very much enjoyed that. As well as the oversized dominos. I didn’t manage to get my photo of me pretending to kick down the dominoes, but oh well.
I did manage to purchase and enjoy a coconut (which, I was secretly hoping was filled with Pina Colada, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case). But a while, it became an annoyance to carry around, so I quickly ditched it. And it was like that coconut was never ending too – the moment I thought it was empty, I would shake it and all of a sudden, there was still more juice to be had. Ugh. Boring.
So after that, headed home after an enjoyment of fast food courtesy of the food court at Bondi Junction (keeping with the theme, it was a Bondi Burger from Oportos) and then, just like the day before, passed out on the living room floor.
Safe to say, wonderment was had by all this Bondi-riffic weekend. If not, then at least by me.
And with this weekend, I’ve made my obligatory 2 days a year visit to Bondi. Hooray!
Until next year, Bondi!
1. It’s a tourist trap
2. It’s a haven for the debilitating disease “sand-in-your-crack-itis”
3. It fills me with overwhelming anxiety at the thought of being stuck there.
4. It’s a tourist trap
5. See points 1 through 4.
So, out of all places to spend my weekend, I happened to find myself down in Bondi Beach, not only 1, but 2 days straight.
I know… crazy hey?
So Saturday was a call at 9am from a friend who was raving on about flash mob. I didn’t quite understand when he was explaining it over the phone, but as soon as he said “random dancing”, I was in. I mean, who doesn’t love random dancing in public? I sure do.
So off to the pre-event rehearsals I went and arrived there by 10am. Since they had already been through a couple of rehearsals, I felt that it wasn’t kosher to go ahead and try and be the star of the shenanigans, so I opted to sit my behind at the back. Watched the first run through – awesome. I joined in on the second run through, sprouting up to join with a minute to go on YMCA.
Suffice to say, my arm-spelling left a lot to be desired, as I could only muster a Y, then a non letter (I think it was an underscore), then a backwards C, then bought it back with a great looking A.
I wonder if I’m dyslexic.
You would think that in the downtime, I would have resumed going through the moves to ensure correct spelling, but no. I decided it was busy trying to get my Single Ladies Beyonce grind on. Not for any particular reason, except only because I could.
Meanwhile, whilst the cavalcade of dancers attending (who, by the way, were the most loveliest of people I’ve ever had the pleasure dancing with – I even met my new best friend Sarah from Dulwich Hill who recently went on a trip from Russia thru Mongolia to China – she was also my dancing buddy on the beach. We both shared a disdain for “sand-in-your-crack-itis” as well.) were all trying to get their tan on, us coconuts in attendance (note, just 3), were busy trying to stay out of the sun as a means of getting darker.2 minutes in the sun and I was already darker. Ah hello, someone forgot to wear sunscreen. All the while, I’m getting compliments like “Oh, I wish I could tan as easily as you”.
Ah hello, say no to melanoma.
So sweating up a storm while walking down to the beach and me and Sez (new nickname, cos we go back like Donkey Kong and Ping Pong) have found an optimum spot to pretend to chatter amongst the unsuspecting mass. I have already had myself a Calippo, to which then another vendor walking along the beach has offered up another one.
Don’t mind if I do!
So just as I’m about to munch down on my second ice block, the music blares. I put my best Oscar-worthy shocked expression and clap and yahoo at the 1st round of dancers. 2 minutes later, I jump up and try to retain the idea of spelling YMCA (You don’t know how hard it is to spell under pressure), 1st try was a complete fail (i.e. YNCA), but I bought it home in the end. The rest of the dance went off without a hitch and at the end, the crowd chased Joyce, our lovely drag queen leader into the surf.
Now there’s 2 problems with that scenario.
1) I don’t run
2) I don’t swim
So instead, I walked with vigour down to the surf, only to remember I had dropped my Calippo somewhere around where I was dancing, so I ran (yes I only run for food) back to ensure that it wasn’t encrusted in sand.
Hello, priorities.
Luckily it wasn’t.
All in all, great flash mob day, went home and passed out on the living room floor.
As all good flash mobbers should.
Come Sunday, I was out again in Bondi, this time for Sculptures By The Sea – As I remembered the line out for the bus from the day before, my lovely darling cousin and I opted to try and get an early start in order to avoid the crowds. That was, before we both decided to have half a bottle of Muscato each the night before (Actually I had a complete bottle to her half bottle, then I finished off the remaining half bottle Sunday morning. Alco….), so 11am start and we’re down in Bondi.
As it was the last day for Sculptures by the Sea, it was as I envisaged: totally chock-a-block. And I lost count of how many illiterate adults were in attendance, as in, even though there were plenty of signage advising “Please do not touch the artwork”… There should be a sculpture next year that should give off an electric shock everytime some egg decides to forgo reading the sign.
S&M much?
The good thing about art, is ensuring you get silly photos interacting with the artwork. I think that’s probably the best thing. Like this drinking straw in the middle of the sea.Obviously it’s probably a statement on the environment, but to us layman, it’s an opportunity to take pictures of us pretending to drink the sea.
Highlight was at the top of the hill, a wooden carving holding up, what I assume is a surf board. I very much enjoyed that. As well as the oversized dominos. I didn’t manage to get my photo of me pretending to kick down the dominoes, but oh well.I did manage to purchase and enjoy a coconut (which, I was secretly hoping was filled with Pina Colada, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case). But a while, it became an annoyance to carry around, so I quickly ditched it. And it was like that coconut was never ending too – the moment I thought it was empty, I would shake it and all of a sudden, there was still more juice to be had. Ugh. Boring.
So after that, headed home after an enjoyment of fast food courtesy of the food court at Bondi Junction (keeping with the theme, it was a Bondi Burger from Oportos) and then, just like the day before, passed out on the living room floor.
Safe to say, wonderment was had by all this Bondi-riffic weekend. If not, then at least by me.
And with this weekend, I’ve made my obligatory 2 days a year visit to Bondi. Hooray!
Until next year, Bondi!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
(Van) Damme! It’s time to go… erm.. Somewhere… You pick… :)
So, being that I’m completely useless I had given up on the idea of doing classes. I was super annoyed at the fact I couldn’t find it, although home provided me with the info. They had in fact moved within the 3 years down since I was last there to 45th St. Plus by then, I just didn’t have the heart to go to class by then. So I had planned to lie to all my dancing buddies and tell them I had gone to each and every class – otherwise, I was going to be slapped by each and every one of them.
I managed to spend the last of my money there and then 7hrs later, I was back on the bus. The lovely lady at YSL decided to give me the big massive ass bag, not only for my shoes, so that I could put all my other little bags in it. Aww bless. So it looked like I went to town on YSL and I was walking around like I did. Actually, I was around like I was Lindsay Lohan-parody in Pink’s Stupid girl video clip, complete in my oversized glasses and looking vacant. The vacant look must be derived from being hungry. And I was so hungry I coulda eaten a cavalcade of horses.
I know… juvenile.
And other things on the walk…
Hello, UK Prime Minister.
Jenny Craig... next to McDonalds (WTF?)
And the CUTEST EVER pumpkins I had ever seen. Aww bless.
The most surprising part of that walk was I passed an Urban Outfitters that was still open, so I ran haphazardly across 6th ave to get in there before the store closed and bought a few things. It was great!
Continued on and made it to 35th St (actually I chose 35th St as the point to end, because there was a Walgreens and they were having 2 for 1 deals on 99c juice cans I fell in love with.
Plus I wanted to pick up some eye serum for the bags under my eyes. I actually tried it when I got back to the hotel and it works like PVA glue. It also dries like PVA glue, so really it looks like I had excess eye booger action going on. After that, I got back on the train, grabbed some maccas one last time before I headed into the hotel to pack.
Even though NYC provides a treasure trove of dining marvels, I always bought stuff from the closest takeaway place, which always seemed to be a McDonalds. I think it was because I don’t think I had the time or patience (and possibly balls) to have loner meals (“Can I have a table for 1?” BAHAHA), so it was always take away or “to go”, which I kept blanking on whenever somebody said “Is that to have here or to go?” and I would say “take away” and then both the cashier and I would stare blankly at each other until I said “to go”.
I did watch a great doco on McDonalds and how it came to fruition on CNBC. It was really interesting…. Well, at 1am, it was interesting. But the whole NY dining experience be 75% McDonalds, it totally put me off Mcdonalds and decided not to have McDonalds for awhile when I got back to Oz….
…That was, until I had it again on the night I arrived back in Oz (although, not by my choosing).
Ah fail.
Santito was in the elevator again, where he gave me his final critique. Meanwhile, what do say to people who offer praise to the outfits you put together? Do you give them a high five? Or maybe a tip? I did neither and I said thanks. It would be the last time Santito would be around to offer up a critique. Fare thee well…and live long and prosper.
I cracked up for like 5 minutes cos I thought it was the most hilarious thing ever… but then again, I guess you crack when you don’t speak to people for awhile.
So to bed I went at 3:40, woke up 3 hours later to finish packing and then headed for the airport by 9am (since I was close to Newark and I was flying out of JFK, I took the hotel shuttle to Newark and transferred to JFK from there).
Suffice to say, I did not enjoy trying to get home. 2 suitcases, 3 shopping bags and a Gucci duffel is not easy to manoeuvre. I got it all the way to Sydney though... Hooray!
I had waited in the taxi line at the airport – an hour later, I was still waiting, so I said screw it, I’m getting on a train. Cut to
running for the train down on the platform. It was monsoonal sweating. It was so hideous. I got off at Central to buckets of rain evolving from head and armpit sweat (Eww) and caught a cab from there.
So I landed at 8am, out by 8:40 and I got home at 10:40.
What a pain in the backside.
And there you have it! Trip to last the ages, not for the fainthearted, not for the not-so-fainthearted. Still, it’s one that I’ll remember for awhile…
But then I couldn’t be bothered, and upon my return I told some people that I didn’t do classes and each response was more or less “I could slap you right now”
BAHAHAHA
So final class count for the trip: A big fat 0 out of 10.
I really deserve a medal, methinks…
So anyway, in my defeatist slump, I bought myself a ticket to Woodbury Common and went shopping instead. Shopping again to the same military type precision… until I was hungry, so it fell apart and I was piss farting all over the shop(s) (...Not really piss farting per se, moreso the action of walking aimlessly, just to clarify).
So tired. Must eat.
I managed to spend the last of my money there and then 7hrs later, I was back on the bus. The lovely lady at YSL decided to give me the big massive ass bag, not only for my shoes, so that I could put all my other little bags in it. Aww bless. So it looked like I went to town on YSL and I was walking around like I did. Actually, I was around like I was Lindsay Lohan-parody in Pink’s Stupid girl video clip, complete in my oversized glasses and looking vacant. The vacant look must be derived from being hungry. And I was so hungry I coulda eaten a cavalcade of horses.Not that I eat anything besides chicken and beef. Tuna yes, but only in a can, and if it doesn’t have the seafood smell. Tuna is the chicken of the sea, you know. 
So again, after 7hrs I made it back to the hotel to drop it off. I made it back in time to watch both Gossip Girl AND Heroes, and they were both in my timetable schedule, except I realized it might be better just to see NYC one last time before I head home. I then grabbed my camera, train back and went down to WTC.
So again, after 7hrs I made it back to the hotel to drop it off. I made it back in time to watch both Gossip Girl AND Heroes, and they were both in my timetable schedule, except I realized it might be better just to see NYC one last time before I head home. I then grabbed my camera, train back and went down to WTC.Secretly, I was hoping to make it there before Century 21 closed.
Suffice to say, it was closed, so I decided to walk all the way up from WTC to 40th, documenting my walk with pictures.
I took pictures of idiotic things, like Vandam St, only because it made me laugh out loud. And guys that are 6’1 that are laughing by themselves on the street look like barrelful of craziness.
And then I was standing there thinking “now if I could get a picture of Van Damme, it would complete my joke”…
And then I was standing there thinking “now if I could get a picture of Van Damme, it would complete my joke”… Also, photos of a sign that said “Condominium”, but only photographing the first 6 letters.
I know… juvenile.
And other things on the walk… like where my imaginary band practice was…
And 10 Downing on 6th Ave…
Hello, UK Prime Minister.Jenny Craig... next to McDonalds (WTF?)And the CUTEST EVER pumpkins I had ever seen. Aww bless.The most surprising part of that walk was I passed an Urban Outfitters that was still open, so I ran haphazardly across 6th ave to get in there before the store closed and bought a few things. It was great!
Continued on and made it to 35th St (actually I chose 35th St as the point to end, because there was a Walgreens and they were having 2 for 1 deals on 99c juice cans I fell in love with.Plus I wanted to pick up some eye serum for the bags under my eyes. I actually tried it when I got back to the hotel and it works like PVA glue. It also dries like PVA glue, so really it looks like I had excess eye booger action going on. After that, I got back on the train, grabbed some maccas one last time before I headed into the hotel to pack.
Even though NYC provides a treasure trove of dining marvels, I always bought stuff from the closest takeaway place, which always seemed to be a McDonalds. I think it was because I don’t think I had the time or patience (and possibly balls) to have loner meals (“Can I have a table for 1?” BAHAHA), so it was always take away or “to go”, which I kept blanking on whenever somebody said “Is that to have here or to go?” and I would say “take away” and then both the cashier and I would stare blankly at each other until I said “to go”.
I did watch a great doco on McDonalds and how it came to fruition on CNBC. It was really interesting…. Well, at 1am, it was interesting. But the whole NY dining experience be 75% McDonalds, it totally put me off Mcdonalds and decided not to have McDonalds for awhile when I got back to Oz….
…That was, until I had it again on the night I arrived back in Oz (although, not by my choosing).
Ah fail.
Santito was in the elevator again, where he gave me his final critique. Meanwhile, what do say to people who offer praise to the outfits you put together? Do you give them a high five? Or maybe a tip? I did neither and I said thanks. It would be the last time Santito would be around to offer up a critique. Fare thee well…and live long and prosper.
Meanwhile, I realized after buying all that crap, that I would actually have to pack it myself. I got back to the hotel at midnight. I didn’t finish packing until 3:40am - it woulda ended an hour earlier, except that I kept getting sidetracked.. and drinking Kahlua and Wine, so I was pissy pants.
BUT, when I turned the TV on in the room, guess who was on?
Yes!! It was Van Damme.
I cracked up for like 5 minutes cos I thought it was the most hilarious thing ever… but then again, I guess you crack when you don’t speak to people for awhile.
So to bed I went at 3:40, woke up 3 hours later to finish packing and then headed for the airport by 9am (since I was close to Newark and I was flying out of JFK, I took the hotel shuttle to Newark and transferred to JFK from there).
Suffice to say, I did not enjoy trying to get home. 2 suitcases, 3 shopping bags and a Gucci duffel is not easy to manoeuvre. I got it all the way to Sydney though... Hooray!
I had waited in the taxi line at the airport – an hour later, I was still waiting, so I said screw it, I’m getting on a train. Cut to
running for the train down on the platform. It was monsoonal sweating. It was so hideous. I got off at Central to buckets of rain evolving from head and armpit sweat (Eww) and caught a cab from there.So I landed at 8am, out by 8:40 and I got home at 10:40.
What a pain in the backside.
And there you have it! Trip to last the ages, not for the fainthearted, not for the not-so-fainthearted. Still, it’s one that I’ll remember for awhile…
Until next year, when I’m there for NYE.
December 2010.
Lock that in NYC, I’ll be coming (back) for you.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
You’re not really lost if you don’t know where you’re going in the first place… (oh, and “don’t stop believing”…)
Come Sunday morning, I was actually ready for classes. No hint of having to serve time on the loo, plus I had forsaken the whole Sunday brunch thing in order to get to classes on time.
So I start shaking the door like a madman….
Lo and behold, some random on the street goes “Dude, it’s a condemned building – can’t you read the signs? why are you trying to get in?”.
So then I wasn’t getting punked? Dammit!
Running count for classes: 0 out of 2, 0 out of 8 total.
Should I even bother counting the last 2?....
… But as we don’t live in the land of make believe, I decided the best place for my song was in my head. Although, it didn’t stop me from fits of giggles and wearing a little crazy on my face.
At the bottom of the escalator, past the Botticelli type figure, I came across a sign that annoyed me: “Meet the cast of Glee here on Tuesday 3rd November at 5:30pm.”
Oh STOP IT.
Why you trying to be here when I’m not? I know you see me stalking you all.
Meanwhile, cut to Monday morning while I’m watching Live with Regis & Kelly, Kelly talks about how she was in Central Park earlier and she watched while the last person in the NY marathon finished 24hours later. I was heartened by the fact she was doing it for charity, and on crutches no less.
Still, I couldn’t help thinking “I coulda beat her if I was running the marathon”.
I should punch myself in the box for entertaining that thought.
With the marathon happening, it was super hard getting into the park in the first place, then equally hard getting out of the park after 4hrs. I didn’t even make it to Strawberry Fields to have my hippie twirling moment.
Autumn in Central Park is just how they picture it in the movies. Really my kind of weather, although, I was sweating hard out and people were giving me quizzical looks as to why I was perspiring so much. Little did they know that I had just walked nearly 75 blocks up to that point – so that’s a trip up from 33rd up to 79th… and then my whole criss crossing fiasco to find Broadway Dance Center…
So being that I got lost in central Park, I had to 86 the whole museum thing and ended up coming out of the park on 79th and 5th, and it was 3pm, I pretty much had to hightail back to the hotel to get ready Rock Of Ages, the broadway musical.
So I walked all the way back to 33rd St to get on the train at 4:30. 120 or so blocks and no buns of steel to be seen, which was fine (I also stopped into Barneys on the way back).
As the show started at 7pm, I was still stuck in NJ, I caught the 6:30 train in and with 5minutes to get up to 47th from 33rd , I literally bolted from the time the train stopped, thru times square, then made it to the theatre at 7:07.
Pfft, Who needs marathons? I certainly don’t.
It’s kismet, I tell you!
Late morning, packed my dance clothes and left at 10am and went into town and grabbed a quick bite, then walked over to 57th St, where the classes where (just to make sure I knew where it was, considering that it had been 3 years since I was there).
Cut to 57th St and I’m greeted at the very same building with signs of “Posion: Do Not Enter”.
Because it was just Halloween, I thought, surely this must be a joke.
So I start shaking the door like a madman….
Or an idiot.
Lo and behold, some random on the street goes “Dude, it’s a condemned building – can’t you read the signs? why are you trying to get in?”.
So then I wasn’t getting punked? Dammit!
Using my tactical planning and CSI skills, I walked along 49th to 57th streets like a grid, covering the parts of these streets between 5th Ave and 9th Ave in a criss cross fashion. After an hour, I knew that it had moved and I was annoyed. How could I have overlooked this? So being a tight arse, I texted home and asked to look for the address. Meanwhile, that woulda been 2 in the morning, so I knew I wouldn’t get a response til like 6am. I couldn’t find an internet place anywhere up that side either, so after 2 hrs, I though screw it, I’ll just head up to Central Park.
Running count for classes: 0 out of 2, 0 out of 8 total.
Should I even bother counting the last 2?....
I moseyed along all grumpified via Columbus Circle, and went into the Time Warner bldg and saw that statue (of the voluptuous lady) that was featured in the movie Enchanted. I was then overcome by song, where I wanted to twirl around and hope that there were secret dancers to help assist me in my song….
… But as we don’t live in the land of make believe, I decided the best place for my song was in my head. Although, it didn’t stop me from fits of giggles and wearing a little crazy on my face.
At the bottom of the escalator, past the Botticelli type figure, I came across a sign that annoyed me: “Meet the cast of Glee here on Tuesday 3rd November at 5:30pm.”
Oh STOP IT.
Why you trying to be here when I’m not? I know you see me stalking you all.
What I didn’t account for on that lovely Sunday, was the NY marathon. If I had known that the marathon was on…. Ok, I’ll stop it there, because you and I both know that I could never run a marathon, let alone 200 metres. It’s just not in my nature.
Meanwhile, cut to Monday morning while I’m watching Live with Regis & Kelly, Kelly talks about how she was in Central Park earlier and she watched while the last person in the NY marathon finished 24hours later. I was heartened by the fact she was doing it for charity, and on crutches no less.
Still, I couldn’t help thinking “I coulda beat her if I was running the marathon”.
I know, I know.
I should punch myself in the box for entertaining that thought.
Back to the story: Central Park was beautiful – saw lots of squirrels and had a hot dog over the ice rink with the Zamboni Machine shaving that ice down. It was just as well that I didn’t eat Sunday brunch in the park, cos frankly, I had no idea where it was. The map didn’t help either. I gave up looking for it after an hour, so no vanilla French toast for me.
With the marathon happening, it was super hard getting into the park in the first place, then equally hard getting out of the park after 4hrs. I didn’t even make it to Strawberry Fields to have my hippie twirling moment.
Autumn in Central Park is just how they picture it in the movies. Really my kind of weather, although, I was sweating hard out and people were giving me quizzical looks as to why I was perspiring so much. Little did they know that I had just walked nearly 75 blocks up to that point – so that’s a trip up from 33rd up to 79th… and then my whole criss crossing fiasco to find Broadway Dance Center…
So being that I got lost in central Park, I had to 86 the whole museum thing and ended up coming out of the park on 79th and 5th, and it was 3pm, I pretty much had to hightail back to the hotel to get ready Rock Of Ages, the broadway musical.
So I walked all the way back to 33rd St to get on the train at 4:30. 120 or so blocks and no buns of steel to be seen, which was fine (I also stopped into Barneys on the way back).
Then with only 5minutes until the train was to pull into Newark Penn Station, the train stopped.
Turned out that the station was on lock down and was swarming with cops.
My gosh! I just missed out on my chance to be the next “Chk-chk-boom” girl! Oh great.
An hour later of sitting on the train, trying to create anagrams out of the signages in the carriage, we finally pulled in. I ran to the hotel to change and whatever and I got back to the station at 6:10, only to find out that the train had left at 6:09.
Dammit!
As the show started at 7pm, I was still stuck in NJ, I caught the 6:30 train in and with 5minutes to get up to 47th from 33rd , I literally bolted from the time the train stopped, thru times square, then made it to the theatre at 7:07.
Pfft, Who needs marathons? I certainly don’t.
So I hadn’t missed anything (luckily). Rock of Ages was an AMAZING show.
It’s the best show I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying a lot. It was in this quaint little theatre and I had so much fun at it, even by myself (and yes, I did attend the proceedings by myself).
Best thing? The show ends on “Don’t Stop Believing”.
It’s the best show I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying a lot. It was in this quaint little theatre and I had so much fun at it, even by myself (and yes, I did attend the proceedings by myself).Best thing? The show ends on “Don’t Stop Believing”.
It’s kismet, I tell you!
So I walked all the way back to the train singing my songs, on the highest of highs – I coulda danced with hobos.
It certainly cancelled out the schmozzle that was earlier that day…. But in saying that, I don’t really care if I get lost somewhere.
Just as long as I’m not with anyone…
… then that situation becomes crazy personified..
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Run and sit at the same time? That’s unpossible!
Continuing on...
Instead of classes, I ended up going into Manhattan to have a look around Macy’s. Really, I went there to get their international traveler card, but after awhile in Macys I got bored, so I walked out with nada. I also tried to look for a netbook as well, but it wasn’t as great - or as cheap for that matter - as the one I had seen on Sears website, which is the reason why I went to Sears in the first place, except my hopes and dreams were dashed when I was told at Sears that you can only buy netbooks online.
Overnight, I had managed to develop the runs, which is how my body thanks me for travelling for more than 24 hours. It usually happens 2 days after landing so it came as no surprise, cos I’m a 3 times a day sorta person (not that you wanted to hear that, but I think bowel movements in general are quite important to maintain one's constitution...), so I was bestowed with the honour of sitting on the porcelain throne from 5am – 10am.
Let me tell ya... it ain't like winning the Miss Universe title.
When I did end my shift as ruler of the bathroom, I took a blocker that morning cos I was determined to get to Secaucus to Gucci and other stores in the area. Turned out the determination worked and I didn’t need to go at all during the time to Secaucus.
Oh Secaucus, with its Bon Jovi-esque ruggedness…
What I didn’t realize was that, being that I had envisioned the area to be like a Rodeo Drive type entity, where I could flitter from shop to shop and everything was a stones throw away. The Secaucus outlets were far from it. It was more like the industrial area without any traffic. And everything was more like…erm… opposite to a stones throw away.
It was so weird, and yet when you stepped into Gucci, it was like a real Gucci store. Again – super weird. There, I was met by an energetic pocket sized man again, who was always just around the corner to assist me in my pursuit to be tragically covered in Gucci from head to toe. Unlike his 3 cohorts, who were more interested in bitching about the another assistant working on the other side in non-secretive stage whispering.
Ah hello, if I can hear, so can your work friend.
After tripping to a couple more stores (when I mean a couple, it’s just 3 – and those 3 were a bit of a trek to get to), I had to wait like an hour for the bus, which gave me the freedom to stand there, in drizzly humid weather, to wonder: 1) Why I didn’t have a limo?; and 2) Why on earth did I not put any cigarettes in my bag? The bus arrived and I realized it was taking me in an entirely other direction, but that’s ok, I knew where it was going anyway.
Once I got to the end of the bus trip, I got off, helped a lady off the bus with her bags and moved them across to her other bus stop.
I think she was my only friend. Aww. If only I could remember her name...
Made it back to the hotel, luckily enough I had only been seated for 5 minutes, before I was off again on my second tenure on the porcelain throne. So classes weren’t on the cards. Better to be safe than sorry…. Or moreso, better to be safe than embarrassed. Any type of jumping action would perhaps leave me in a mess, methinks.
So running total for classes that day: 0 out for 3, total 0 out of 6 so far.
4 classes to go….
Instead of classes, I ended up going into Manhattan to have a look around Macy’s. Really, I went there to get their international traveler card, but after awhile in Macys I got bored, so I walked out with nada. I also tried to look for a netbook as well, but it wasn’t as great - or as cheap for that matter - as the one I had seen on Sears website, which is the reason why I went to Sears in the first place, except my hopes and dreams were dashed when I was told at Sears that you can only buy netbooks online.Oh hello.
Leaving Macys, I walked up and down 5th, 6th and Madison Ave, from 25th up to 59th. So I walked my buns off. Run free too.
Did I tell you it was rainy too?
I then went up Empire State Building. I was met at the security check point with the news that visability was down to 50% and that I was unbelievably sweaty for the rainy weather. As I am me, I'm quite aware of the perspiration levels I'm currently experiencing and I didn't need the running commentary.
I then had the pleasure of having my photo in front of a wall by a nice young woman who was so good at her job, she didn't even look at either the photo subject or into the lens while she was clicking. She was so multi talented, she was holding a conversation with her friend planning their party plans for Halloween.
Someday, I hope to have the same time management skills she possesses. It should help me with a sweeping victory in next years Miss Universe.
Up on the 82nd Observatory Deck, it was good. I took photos like a pro, and having the slight fear I would be blown off the side off the building, I decided to masterfully use a kung fu defence stance everytime I went to take a photo. It was to make sure that my weight was centered, although to the layman's eye, it would look more like a stance you take hovering over a public toilet. I didn't care though, it made me feel safe and obviously self-deluded in the knowledge that that particular stance was the reason I didn't go sailing over the side of the building.
I did tell you it was raining, right?
I was up there for a total of 20mins. So that was a dollar a minute. Mind you, it was raining and there’s only so many pictures you can take before it gets boring.
I then ended the night at Wendys eating (it was my local Wendy’s from the last time I was in NY) until the rain subsided, cos it was pouring hard out when I came out of the Empire State Building.
With 6 blocks to walk to get to my train back, I didn't mind walking in the rain. Partly because I was having my walk-in-the-rain-sexy-pants moment, and mainly because it meant that I got a loner seat back, cos no one ever wants to sit next to the drowned rat.
Hooray for loner seats!
Hmm... Only 3 days and I've already got a little crazy on my face...
You know it’s probably a good outlet store when the bus you’re on passes the local prison…
Here's a recount of the recent trip... split over a few entries to maximize reader pleasure.
Or maybe just because it's long winded.
In any case, enjoy!
*******
So, my trip started with so much promise.
Checked into the hotel @ 10:30pm Thursday, where I first met one of the maintenance guys – I don’t know his name, so I’ll call him Santito: very nice elder gentleman, mid to late 40’s. Anyway, Santito not only is the hotel maintenance guy, BUT also doubles as the hotel’s fashion police. If there’s an outfit that Santito doesn’t like, you only need to look at his face. Luckily, Santito had nothing but praise for my colour palette I chose for the day.
It’s great when people notice your outfits. Let me tell ya, it’s not easy… Which probably accounts for why I’m late everywhere – but that’s another story.
Friday morning, I was up and at 'em at 8am to get to 125 18th St in Chelsea, NYC – YSL sample sale. I was met with a lot of early-bird fashionistas trying to score themselves a bargain. The sale would’ve been great for me, except their men’s selections were hideous. Remaining shoes were like a size 7 and a horrible dark teal colour, and the men’s clothing were made for men the size of hobbits or pocket gays. I felt like the moose in the middle of swans - all clumsy and oafish.
But then I have the height of a supermodel, so suck on that.
Ah well.
After a good 20 minutes of pretending to look around, I left and I hopped back on a train to NJ to get to Jersey Gardens.
(Meanwhile, I had no idea that if you buy a weekly on NJ transit, that the weekly actually starts from the next day. That was so dumb. It completely defeats the purpose of buying a weekly.)
Changing at Newark Penn and on the bus to Jersey Gardens.
Onwards to victory!
Ok, so the bus trip itself took like an hour to get there. I didn’t mind so much, since I was by myself. If anything, it was interesting: the bus went through like the port area of Elizabeth NJ, then past the prison, then to Ikea, then to Jersey Gardens.
Super weird.
I kinda felt like Alicia Keys in the Fallin’ video clip – except I wasn’t going to visit my prison bound boyfriend… more like picking up Nike hi tops. Err.
Smack bang in the middle of nowhere.. it was the eeriest feeling , it was like I was the only who knew this place existed – no cars anywhere to be seen. Only the sight of 4 hoodlums provided me with the relief that this place was indeed open. (Meanwhile, cut to like an hr later and out for a smoko, did I realize that people parked on the other side of the mall – and there were buttloads of cars on that side).
Ok, for those who reaaally know me, I’m broke nearly all of the time and that’s because I cannot at all resist a bargain. I hear people say this all the time, but I mean it when I say I truly am the world’s best shopper.
Shopping to me is like a tactical assault, I hate going in willy nilly… that’s just foolish and frankly amateurish: that is how you end up with an orange bowler hat and clogs.
Prior to arriving, I always ALWAYS study the mall map, calculating the most economical route to get from store to store. I also spend the first 2 hours going into stores and sourcing first what I want to purchase, then add it to my list. Once I’m down to the list, then it’s time to go shopping. Never rush the art of shopping. Or it will come back to bite you in the ass.
Plus (in the midst of my research of Jersey Gardens in particular), the best thing was that as it’s in a Urban Development Zone - I don’t exactly understand what it means, but the gist of it is that there’s no sales tax on clothes and shoes.. Hurrah!
And shop I did, where I ended up buying luggage while I was there to carry everything around. And not just any luggage. I bought Calvin Klein suitcase.
I know, right?
Flash.
Actually, I could say that I was inundated with shopping bags, but the real reason for buying a suitcase was: 1) I actually did need a second suitcase (taking an empty suitcase with me from Sydney seems a little stupid); and 2) I’m lazy. I don’t want to carry stuff in bags, I want it wheeled in one compact and elegant suitcase.
So I had a ball, and then realized that I was running late as my 1st class, which was in NYC at 4:30. Since it was 3pm and I hadn’t finished shopping, I thought bah, I’ll miss the 1st class. So I continued shopping until the suitcase was full, and then I left at 3:45, in time for the bus. Although, since I was on the bus, I failed to factor in the 2nd class start time - and getting to it, so I missed that too.
Back at the hotel, I didn’t have time to marvel over my purchases. That was because I ended up falling asleep in the middle of the pile of stuff I had bought, so then I missed the 3rd class too.
So running class count for the day: 0 out of 3.
Oh well, there’s still 7 classes to go…
I then decided it was the optimal time to have a look in Sears. I have had an obsession with Sears since about 14, and then further increased while watching Extreme Makeovers: Home Edition. To my disdain, it was anti-climactic. It wasn’t as magical as I thought it would be…
..So I’ve now replaced Sears with Walmart.
Walmart shall now be my new obsession...
Or maybe just because it's long winded.
In any case, enjoy!
*******
So, my trip started with so much promise.
Checked into the hotel @ 10:30pm Thursday, where I first met one of the maintenance guys – I don’t know his name, so I’ll call him Santito: very nice elder gentleman, mid to late 40’s. Anyway, Santito not only is the hotel maintenance guy, BUT also doubles as the hotel’s fashion police. If there’s an outfit that Santito doesn’t like, you only need to look at his face. Luckily, Santito had nothing but praise for my colour palette I chose for the day.
It’s great when people notice your outfits. Let me tell ya, it’s not easy… Which probably accounts for why I’m late everywhere – but that’s another story.
Friday morning, I was up and at 'em at 8am to get to 125 18th St in Chelsea, NYC – YSL sample sale. I was met with a lot of early-bird fashionistas trying to score themselves a bargain. The sale would’ve been great for me, except their men’s selections were hideous. Remaining shoes were like a size 7 and a horrible dark teal colour, and the men’s clothing were made for men the size of hobbits or pocket gays. I felt like the moose in the middle of swans - all clumsy and oafish.
But then I have the height of a supermodel, so suck on that.
Ah well.
After a good 20 minutes of pretending to look around, I left and I hopped back on a train to NJ to get to Jersey Gardens.
(Meanwhile, I had no idea that if you buy a weekly on NJ transit, that the weekly actually starts from the next day. That was so dumb. It completely defeats the purpose of buying a weekly.)
Changing at Newark Penn and on the bus to Jersey Gardens.
Onwards to victory!
Ok, so the bus trip itself took like an hour to get there. I didn’t mind so much, since I was by myself. If anything, it was interesting: the bus went through like the port area of Elizabeth NJ, then past the prison, then to Ikea, then to Jersey Gardens.
Super weird.
I kinda felt like Alicia Keys in the Fallin’ video clip – except I wasn’t going to visit my prison bound boyfriend… more like picking up Nike hi tops. Err.
Smack bang in the middle of nowhere.. it was the eeriest feeling , it was like I was the only who knew this place existed – no cars anywhere to be seen. Only the sight of 4 hoodlums provided me with the relief that this place was indeed open. (Meanwhile, cut to like an hr later and out for a smoko, did I realize that people parked on the other side of the mall – and there were buttloads of cars on that side).
Ok, for those who reaaally know me, I’m broke nearly all of the time and that’s because I cannot at all resist a bargain. I hear people say this all the time, but I mean it when I say I truly am the world’s best shopper.
Shopping to me is like a tactical assault, I hate going in willy nilly… that’s just foolish and frankly amateurish: that is how you end up with an orange bowler hat and clogs.
Prior to arriving, I always ALWAYS study the mall map, calculating the most economical route to get from store to store. I also spend the first 2 hours going into stores and sourcing first what I want to purchase, then add it to my list. Once I’m down to the list, then it’s time to go shopping. Never rush the art of shopping. Or it will come back to bite you in the ass.
Plus (in the midst of my research of Jersey Gardens in particular), the best thing was that as it’s in a Urban Development Zone - I don’t exactly understand what it means, but the gist of it is that there’s no sales tax on clothes and shoes.. Hurrah!
And shop I did, where I ended up buying luggage while I was there to carry everything around. And not just any luggage. I bought Calvin Klein suitcase.
I know, right?
Flash.
Actually, I could say that I was inundated with shopping bags, but the real reason for buying a suitcase was: 1) I actually did need a second suitcase (taking an empty suitcase with me from Sydney seems a little stupid); and 2) I’m lazy. I don’t want to carry stuff in bags, I want it wheeled in one compact and elegant suitcase.
So I had a ball, and then realized that I was running late as my 1st class, which was in NYC at 4:30. Since it was 3pm and I hadn’t finished shopping, I thought bah, I’ll miss the 1st class. So I continued shopping until the suitcase was full, and then I left at 3:45, in time for the bus. Although, since I was on the bus, I failed to factor in the 2nd class start time - and getting to it, so I missed that too.
Back at the hotel, I didn’t have time to marvel over my purchases. That was because I ended up falling asleep in the middle of the pile of stuff I had bought, so then I missed the 3rd class too.
So running class count for the day: 0 out of 3.
Oh well, there’s still 7 classes to go…
I then decided it was the optimal time to have a look in Sears. I have had an obsession with Sears since about 14, and then further increased while watching Extreme Makeovers: Home Edition. To my disdain, it was anti-climactic. It wasn’t as magical as I thought it would be…
..So I’ve now replaced Sears with Walmart.
Walmart shall now be my new obsession...
Monday, October 26, 2009
And the Jay-P song was on?...
So,
You can imagine my disdain when I finally heard Party in the USA yesterday (I know... delayed - I just wiki-ed it and turns out I'm 3 months late). In the midst of drinking Sauvignon Blanc (read: "Earthy" tones, as I put it), I managed to catch this song twice in the one sitting with one of my besties, Nell. But I found that with each play, the song was beginning to stick in my head, much like when you have fish and then you discover on swallowing, that there was a fish bone in there and it's stuck in your oesophagus: It's terribly irritating.
However, being cleverly optimistic about my new problem, we chose to utilize the powers of that song for good, rather than evil, by name-checking ourselves in the song.
Since Jay-Z is much akin to Jay and my last name initial P, I chose to name-check myself in the first verse (much to my girlish squeal of delight), and when I had decided Nell (using her operative pet name "Nelsie" to better conform to the lyrical flow of the song) would serve as the name-check in the 2nd verse, she guffawed at the prospect. Luckily she had not been holding any liquid in her mouth, otherwise she would certainly have sprayed the contents all over my lovely Sunday ensemble (footy socks and all).
I had then turned to Jo (Nell's boyf) to see if he would like to be included in the name-checking, but from the looks of it, I was probably best off not adding his name to the song (although, I did try it in my head, and it works. So Nell and I can sing it quietly without disturbing... and possibly damaging his psyche...)
So, I guess that means I kinda like that song.
Whoops.
I guess that whole idea of wearing short shorts with cowboy boots is an idea both Nell and I are looking forward to entertaining when summer is here. Now all we need are pick up trucks and for one of us to learn how to drive...
Toot toot.
Meanwhile, since we were waiting for Jo to come back with foodage, we decided to have ourselves a glass of moscato, which I adored. There's nothing like a wine that doesn't taste like wine. I coulda sat and drank that all day, except I was adamant on making a 4pm class at SDC (Sydney Dance Company). But after we shared the Sauvignon Blanc, it was probably not on the cards (or perhaps never on the cards to begin with).
Too much fun was had discussing the realms of SS (where Nell works and I used to), then Xmas parties (I'm hot on the idea of dressing like Lady GaGa, while Nell is not), to my impending trip, to selling body parts we don't need to make some quick cash. Discussions led to current pop stars as well as Glee, of which we both heart.
I'm actually quite surprised our conversations didn't lead to bowel movements (as they usually do), so kudos to us for pretending to act like civilized people.
Meanwhile, Nell decided it would be a great idea to make omelettes. And because I heart both eggs and cheese (she used 2 types of cheese), who was I to say no? So she made us all eggs over toast, albeit with a strand of her beautifully conditioned hair. Not that I cared, because I know her well enough to know that that hair was probably placed there with love. And probably because we were both slurrishly jovial and slightly inebriated. So, like a trooper, I pulled it out, we giggled about it and I continued eating.
If it were anyone else, I probably wouldn't have bothered to continue eating...
...Actually, I lie.
I have no standards. Hell, I'd lick my plate at restaurants if no one was looking.
But that's another story.
So, all in all - it was a great day. Fun had by all the kiddies. And the discovery of a new type of wine that I now heart.
And when you're listening to Party in the USA, embrace it. And don't forget to name-check me.
Actually, I'd prefer if you film yourself singing it name-checking me and then posting it on YouTube.
P.S. I just made up the word slurrishly, so use it and spread it around like wildfire.
You can imagine my disdain when I finally heard Party in the USA yesterday (I know... delayed - I just wiki-ed it and turns out I'm 3 months late). In the midst of drinking Sauvignon Blanc (read: "Earthy" tones, as I put it), I managed to catch this song twice in the one sitting with one of my besties, Nell. But I found that with each play, the song was beginning to stick in my head, much like when you have fish and then you discover on swallowing, that there was a fish bone in there and it's stuck in your oesophagus: It's terribly irritating.
However, being cleverly optimistic about my new problem, we chose to utilize the powers of that song for good, rather than evil, by name-checking ourselves in the song.
Since Jay-Z is much akin to Jay and my last name initial P, I chose to name-check myself in the first verse (much to my girlish squeal of delight), and when I had decided Nell (using her operative pet name "Nelsie" to better conform to the lyrical flow of the song) would serve as the name-check in the 2nd verse, she guffawed at the prospect. Luckily she had not been holding any liquid in her mouth, otherwise she would certainly have sprayed the contents all over my lovely Sunday ensemble (footy socks and all).
I had then turned to Jo (Nell's boyf) to see if he would like to be included in the name-checking, but from the looks of it, I was probably best off not adding his name to the song (although, I did try it in my head, and it works. So Nell and I can sing it quietly without disturbing... and possibly damaging his psyche...)
So, I guess that means I kinda like that song.
Whoops.
I guess that whole idea of wearing short shorts with cowboy boots is an idea both Nell and I are looking forward to entertaining when summer is here. Now all we need are pick up trucks and for one of us to learn how to drive...
Toot toot.
Meanwhile, since we were waiting for Jo to come back with foodage, we decided to have ourselves a glass of moscato, which I adored. There's nothing like a wine that doesn't taste like wine. I coulda sat and drank that all day, except I was adamant on making a 4pm class at SDC (Sydney Dance Company). But after we shared the Sauvignon Blanc, it was probably not on the cards (or perhaps never on the cards to begin with).
Too much fun was had discussing the realms of SS (where Nell works and I used to), then Xmas parties (I'm hot on the idea of dressing like Lady GaGa, while Nell is not), to my impending trip, to selling body parts we don't need to make some quick cash. Discussions led to current pop stars as well as Glee, of which we both heart.
I'm actually quite surprised our conversations didn't lead to bowel movements (as they usually do), so kudos to us for pretending to act like civilized people.
Meanwhile, Nell decided it would be a great idea to make omelettes. And because I heart both eggs and cheese (she used 2 types of cheese), who was I to say no? So she made us all eggs over toast, albeit with a strand of her beautifully conditioned hair. Not that I cared, because I know her well enough to know that that hair was probably placed there with love. And probably because we were both slurrishly jovial and slightly inebriated. So, like a trooper, I pulled it out, we giggled about it and I continued eating.
If it were anyone else, I probably wouldn't have bothered to continue eating...
...Actually, I lie.
I have no standards. Hell, I'd lick my plate at restaurants if no one was looking.
But that's another story.
So, all in all - it was a great day. Fun had by all the kiddies. And the discovery of a new type of wine that I now heart.
And when you're listening to Party in the USA, embrace it. And don't forget to name-check me.
Actually, I'd prefer if you film yourself singing it name-checking me and then posting it on YouTube.
P.S. I just made up the word slurrishly, so use it and spread it around like wildfire.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
If I’m receiving spam from myself, should I punch myself in the box?
How on earth is it possible that my inbox is being spammed by my own email address?
Ok... using my MacGyver skills, I originally thought that it could be that they have my password and that’s how they’ve been doing it. Being that of only holding a mind that is akin to Bathurst St, Sydney (i.e. one track), I was ensconced by this revelation and was adamant that this would solve my spam problem.
But upon changing my password, my CSI skills started working and I immediately thought “Hang on… they don’t really need your password, stupid. It’s just your email address.”
Fail.
So, then I waited for a couple of days, hoping against hope, that the tide of spam would cease and desist…
It worked for a total of a day. Then, just like flies to poop, they swarmed in again.
Utter fail.
So really, nothing’s changed – I’m still getting spammed, but on the bright side… at least I changed my password.
Hang on – that’s not a bright side…
Erm… well, at least the discount of online pharmacy meds has gone from 60% off to 90% off...
….Hmm…
I’ll be back – I’m off to punch myself in the box.
Ok... using my MacGyver skills, I originally thought that it could be that they have my password and that’s how they’ve been doing it. Being that of only holding a mind that is akin to Bathurst St, Sydney (i.e. one track), I was ensconced by this revelation and was adamant that this would solve my spam problem.
But upon changing my password, my CSI skills started working and I immediately thought “Hang on… they don’t really need your password, stupid. It’s just your email address.”
Fail.
So, then I waited for a couple of days, hoping against hope, that the tide of spam would cease and desist…
It worked for a total of a day. Then, just like flies to poop, they swarmed in again.
Utter fail.
So really, nothing’s changed – I’m still getting spammed, but on the bright side… at least I changed my password.
Hang on – that’s not a bright side…
Erm… well, at least the discount of online pharmacy meds has gone from 60% off to 90% off...
….Hmm…
I’ll be back – I’m off to punch myself in the box.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
First Blog.... Eek!
So...
Being suckered in to the realm of blogging by my friend Nell, who is already happily blogging away on birdsandbooks.blogger.com (at least, I think that's her link...). Well, not really suckered per se - moreso a little intrigued... I think I'm just relishing this opportunity because it probably means I'm not left limited to 140 characters per blog (ala twitter) and am free to go on long winded tangents.
Not to mention the instant rock star fame.
Wait... there isn't?..
Ah well. Que sera sera, whatever blah blah blah.
Now, you'd think with the title "I Heart Cake" that this would be a forum for cakes, tortes, flans, gateaus and the like, and I am terribly sorry - but you have been deceived :(
I just happen to heart cake. If I could, I'd eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner - which, coincidentally, I have actually done once.
It didn't end well.
Vomit. Tears. Oh, the horror.
Still, it doesn't mean I'd give up trying.
Perhaps I should've chosen a more structured plan, like Mudcake in the morning, a flan for lunch; and a creme brulee for dinner - you know... change up the type of cakeage, rather than trying to stick to one particular cake. That makes sense.... kiiiiinndaa...
Not really.
Anyway, it's more to do with being a statement. I like to think it's a great conversation starter:
"I heart cake"
"Really? I heart it too"
"Great! Let's be friends!"
And ta-da! there's a new friendship forged.
So if you're one who hearts cake, among other things, feel free to drop on by :) I can't promise that it'll be a fun ride, but at least it'll be interesting...
Being suckered in to the realm of blogging by my friend Nell, who is already happily blogging away on birdsandbooks.blogger.com (at least, I think that's her link...). Well, not really suckered per se - moreso a little intrigued... I think I'm just relishing this opportunity because it probably means I'm not left limited to 140 characters per blog (ala twitter) and am free to go on long winded tangents.
Not to mention the instant rock star fame.
Wait... there isn't?..
Ah well. Que sera sera, whatever blah blah blah.
Now, you'd think with the title "I Heart Cake" that this would be a forum for cakes, tortes, flans, gateaus and the like, and I am terribly sorry - but you have been deceived :(
I just happen to heart cake. If I could, I'd eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner - which, coincidentally, I have actually done once.
It didn't end well.
Vomit. Tears. Oh, the horror.
Still, it doesn't mean I'd give up trying.
Perhaps I should've chosen a more structured plan, like Mudcake in the morning, a flan for lunch; and a creme brulee for dinner - you know... change up the type of cakeage, rather than trying to stick to one particular cake. That makes sense.... kiiiiinndaa...
Not really.
Anyway, it's more to do with being a statement. I like to think it's a great conversation starter:
"I heart cake"
"Really? I heart it too"
"Great! Let's be friends!"
And ta-da! there's a new friendship forged.
So if you're one who hearts cake, among other things, feel free to drop on by :) I can't promise that it'll be a fun ride, but at least it'll be interesting...
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