Work? What a novel concept.

I've got a lot of these little buggers floating around at the moment. No, I haven't decamped my desk and moved here, rather, I have a *ahem* date tonight and, I'm super fucking nervous!

The tall, dark mysterious stranger is taking me to this rather dubious stretch of metropolitan melbourne. I can't for the life of me decide if this is a good thing or not. I err to the side of not. Depends on where we go. Judgemental bitch, I know.

So, due to aforementioned nervousness, haven't been doing a hell of a lot at work today. Just buggerising around on the internet; moisturising my hands; ringing The Tart for fashion tips; moisturising my hands; reading other blogs; raiding the snack machine; ringing The Tart again for hair tips; moisturising my hands; sending textaslsdkwsalksjdfawdflkk.

Must have moisturised a tad too much.

My greatest dilemma today is not what sort of fees I'm going to charge my clients, rather, should I go and buy some new knickers for tonight? Not because I'm planning to make the hot sex with my handsome stranger, but, well, you know. You always feel hotter and more confident when you have a sexy pair of knicks on. *Ahem* Then again, what sort of fancy underpants-y would one be able to purchase from a suburban single mother's paradise. Order of the day would probably be NONE, or at the very least, a special looking pair of these: .
(Apologies to anyone reading whilst eating). But here are some more for good measure.

Perhaps my date might wear this:

Or go the conservative option and slip these on.

One can only wish upon a star that he will turn up in this:

There better be a lot of stars for THAT!

Ooh, my bad. That was just a bit of fun, and a chance to test work's internet 'porn' barriers. There's not going to be any underpants action; just a pleasant drink/dinner (as long as there's none of this shit involved. Truly bad-date form), and hopefully some fabulous conversation.



Wonder how I'd go trying to leave work early to get my bikini line done?

Blonded

We walked into the establishment last night; the first comment that came to everyone's lips was "gosh, there does seem to be a lot of blonde here tonight". Or words to that effect. Having decided we were going to have a 'quiet' one (ie - not get shitfaced); we got involved in the age old argument made famous by this gal. Do Blondes Really Have More Fun?

So, sitting back, drinking the dreaded purple drinks again, we catergorised the blondes into their several sub-blonde sections. Sitting from atop of our brunette perches never felt so good*

The Naturals: AKA The ones you could take home to Mum

These were the ones who had the natural blonde hair thing happening, and you could tell. Sure there may have been a few highlights here and there, but nothing more of an enhancement. From our observations, these blondes had the most admiring glances from the men in da house.

The Dirty Blondes: AKA The ones you wouldn't take home to Mum.

Dirty because they had that blondey-browney thing happening? Probably. But more-so from their dirty dancing. These girls had the heavily blonded hair, with that slight yellow look, and many with an inch+ of roots coming through. These blondes looked as though they were having the most fun; and more of them got a bit of mancandy action than anyone else from what we could tell.

The Donatellas: AKA The Barbie Dolls

Named from their tendancy to dye their hair completely platinum blonde and looking as though they just got off the plane from Ibiza all year round, these blondes tended to be of a slightly older age. Quite possibly because their generation never learnt the benefits of being understated. Everything about these chicks was over the top: the long blonde hair; permatan; overly excessive make-up (including hideous dark brown lip liner with bright red lips); and too tight/revealing clothes. Definitely a favourite with the older males, and as the night wore on, a favourite with the 20 year old boys as well.

The Normals: AKA The Everyday Blondes

This sub-section were not embracing their blondeness like all the other sections. They weren't the wholesome-y goodness of the Naturals, nor were they the skankness of the Dirties. They were definitely not Donatellas either. You've heard of the experession 'mousey brown'? Well we decided it applied in this case. Mousey Blondes. Quite content to sit and talk wit their friends over a quiet drink. Quite possibly about Brunette sub-sections.


CONCLUSION: Did the blondes last night really have more fun? Does fun constitute sleazy guys who haven't quite moved out of the '80s constantly hitting on you? It must be noted that more Blondes received male attention than the Brunettes last night, which really suggests that it really gets down to the individual's idea of fun. Which was impossible to measure comparably, and thus rendered our study useless. Being so frustrated with lack of results (both scientifically and mancandy-ly), we then proceeded to get shitfaced. So much for good intentions.

*Writer may or may not acknowledge that she was blonde in a previous life; quite possibly as late as three years ago. However, all photographic evidence is now 'lost' and the days of the eyebrows-not-quite-matching-the-hair are now but a distant memory.

Declaration of love

I've been living the 'pash & dash' lifestyle at the moment, but I have a confession. Actually, two confessions. But they are interconnected. And quite possibly public announcements. It's cheaper for me to put them here, than to take out a public notice in the Herald Sun. As you will see.

Firstly. I am in love. In Love. In Love. In Love. I have not felt this way since, well, since Tony Lockett retired. And the object of my affection?



Here he is on his way to our first date:



Here he is cooling off after our first date:


'Cos, I am like, so HOTT and all that.

Here he is going about his business:



He has lots of mancandy friends for me to pick from for the Tart:



Never have I felt this way about a footballer since the great man the first football god, retired.

Now, for my second declaration. I have vowed that the first man that proposes to me with 100 of these:

will win my heart.

So now, I've everything crossed for the following:
* The love of my life to google himself & happen upon this post
* The love of my life NOT to come to the conclusion that I am a stalker
* The availability of in brisbane
* The love of my life's *ahem* agreeance to all of this

So stay tuned for his comeback match when in Round 6 when he & his mates take on they of the spikey blonde hair brigade and keep your eye out for some pink ballons!!!

Lock up yo mamas....

So it's about this time of year that I trot off to BigW or whatever tight arse CD store I can find, to buy the Triple J hottest 100 CD. Because I am thinking that I'm so trendy, and a collection of trendy edgy songs on a CD will make me s'cool and hip and shit. Nope. Just because I have collected them since high school when I was too clueless/broke to buy every single CD that I liked. Tradition rocks. And added bonus this year, I don't have to share with the Ex-Fucker. Hurrah.

So I bought it about a week ago, it's been on and off in my car. Because I don't pretend to be any sort of music critic, I always like discovering songs that I haven't heard of before. Of course there are all the songs that I've probably heard enough (hello Missy Higgins, Franz Ferdinand, Spiderbait, Freestylers), songs that I've can never tire of (welcome Scissor Sisters, Little Birdy, Ben Folds, The Dresden Dolls) but this year, one in particular caught my eye.

Butterfingers 'Yo Mama'. Read the lyrics here Let's break it down:

"decided to stay home wit yo mama on my knob"

As you do.

"But I'll be at my home wit yo mama on my dick"

Glad to hear it will be at his home - wouldn't want anyone to walk in on them, now, would we?

"So I'll be staying home to let yo mama suck my nuts"

I'm sure she'll be forever grateful.

Don't know about you, but sounds like these guys need a trip to the Over 28's. I know a few 'lovely' ladies that could help out with a guided tour.

One can only imagine that the kiddies were so impressed with the oral sex references, that this song made it top 20.

Random things I did on the weekend that I do not understand

* Went shopping on 3 separate occasions, and all I ended up with was this and another black top. Why is it that when I'm cashed up, I can never find anything to buy?

* Made the hot pash with a completely anonymous South Australian for most of Saturday night and Sunday morning. In fact, an hour after being kicked out following closing time, we were still going for it. Things I do not understand about this include, but are not limited to; What his name was? Why was I a kissing a South Australian? Why did I give him my mobile number? Why was I strangely excited about the fact he knew all the words to the songs we were dancing to, and even sung a Crowded House song to me at the end of the night? At last, another nerd like me who loves to sing songs.

* Got incredibly intoxicated on this crap (insert pathetic female drinking joke comment here). I think I was taken by the pretty purple passionfruit colour.

* 'Caught up' with the Ex-Fucker for 'coffee'. Strangest part of that was - I don't drink coffee. Either does he. Go figure.

Less of a weekend, more of a 'I don't understand' moment. My dog is going to hospital tomorrow. He has a tumor the size of a small chicken fillet on his leg. I don't know if it's benign or maglignant. But happy trails, Jock boy. I love him lots. And I don't understand why it's happened to my dog.

John Howard, I love you I love you I love you, and other such utterings....

What's been on my mind lately? Work. I really need a break. The last time I had any sort of extended leisure time was August 2003, when the Ex-Fucker and I made like bogans and took off to Adelaide. It's not the work - I love being super organised and efficient and all kinds of shit like that; it's more the atmostphere.

I've always been taught by my mother that it is taboo to speak of politics, religion and money when in polite company. Well mum, get thee to my workplace immediately, because it seems that I'm the only one that abides by this gentile guidance. Although I'm very much in favour of expressing one's opinion, and do so myself quite often and sometimes fairly assertively, when you're in such a small office, you have to use a certain amount of moderation when discussing possibly offensive topics.

Not that religion / money / politics offend me in any way. I don't believe in God, I'm broke, and I'm a swinger when it comes to the political game. The only time I'd get offended regarding those subjects is if someone was ranting (as some of my colleagues tend to) and they have all their facts wrong. There's nothing wrong with a 'debate' but let's make it an intelligent one at least.

We often have lunches where we all sit around and make the polite chat, until someone has a little bit too much red wine, and arks up about the latest report they saw on A Current Affair or whatever. Before long, you've got people throwing bread rolls around, waving their arms in the air like crazy Italian people and my very favourite, going the finger point. Oh, is there any more aggressive move than the finger point. Love. It.

So now you have a whole office of people, who far from just respecting other people's viewpoints and different stances, because, let's face it, we are all different, are now jumping down each other's throats and whispering bitchy asides to anyone who'll listen. And it doesn't get left at the lunch table. Noooo, grudges are held and carried on to all sorts of normal work, thus creating tension and giving me a headache that I don't really need. I've been accused of being of the 'uni slacker' generation. Oh, sorry, just because I decided to further my education, I'm a slacker with no work ethics, is that the case?

To highlight my point, I told someone today that they were 'filled with the milk of human kindness', quoting that great line from Macbeth, rather sarcastically might I add. The comment back to me: "Oh, sorry, I went to a government school, none of that fancy stuff for me". Fuckwit. I think we studied Macbeth in year 10 or 11 English, and I WENT TO A GOVERNMENT SCHOOL. It just so happened that quote has stayed with me, because at the time, we were all like 'boobs' and 'milk' and 'full' and other teenage innuendos.

I've decided my issue really is to get a new job; however, finding the right one for me is going to take some time. So, tomorrow, without further ado, I go to my John-Howard-Blowing boss, and will ask for some time off. For possibly July....

Weekend Shorts, before blogger takes over the world....

I have been having a showdown with blogger lately. For the last few days, I have written out a post, spent ages editing it, and then when it comes time to post or save, blogger conveniently 'gets an error', and I lose everything. Mind you, I was being a little rant-y in a couple of them, so it's probably all for the best. So tonight it's like Weekend at Martie's, except I'm not dead and being carried everywhere like the Pope (for *ahem* god's sake people, a little respect!).

Okay, because I'm like, a slacker in sheep's clothing, my weekend starts on a Friday. Even better for me, I'm only working half a day tomorrow. Well, I have to go into the CBD for some training, but I'm not going back to work. So what else does my weekend entail? Hmmm. Let's see.........

* Friday night: a bit of retail therapy with Tart. Actually, after the week of Ex-Fucker that I've had, it will be more than a bit. I have already withdrawn some cash so I can spend more on my eftpos card. Yes I know that shopping centres are rather lame-o and terribly suburban, but it is a Friday night; it's (relatively) family friendly and just around the corner. Bite me, trendoids.

* Saturday morning my magic massage man does his stuff again on my ailing chest. Bliss. He will probably get me to open up again; apparently your lung points are also your grief points. All I can say is that he better have a box of these handy.

* Then off to see these champions take on these surprising winners last week at the telstra dome. Boy, I can't wait to pay $4.80 for some beer. Hurrah for smuggled in drink bottles.

* Unfortunately, will probably make our way here after the game. Which is not so bad, as I will get to indulge in my favourite gambl-y type pasttime, but will take a turn for the worst when Tart inevitably drags me here. And I won't even have a sparkly mask on. Hopefully I'll be drunk enough to forget everything.

* Then Sunday, shall be spending everything I didn't spend the other two days. Broke and happy. That's me. Broke and happy.

Unfortunately, I won't get to make the sex this weekend. Sugardaddy has the kids; I've vowed never to go back there with the Ex-Fucker, and unless some random hotness shows up here (and I very doubt that there will be), then I'll be nunning it. Which is kinda good, because some, uh, areas, need some, uh, attention, as they say in the classics. Nope, it's just vodka and shoes and boys in football shorts for me this weekend. And ya know, I think I like it.

Queensland: On the bleak side of sunny

The Tart is thinking of chucking a Scott and Charlene and moving to QLD. She, along with thousands of other Neighbours 'stars' and Victorians, is moving to the sunny state in the hope of a better life and well, some sunshine.

Now, don't get me wrong; I don't hate QLD, I haven't been there since I was eight, and quite frankly, all I was concerned with at the time were the rides, so I really can't remember much else. But doesn't it seem that there is a fuckload of people moving to QLD to 'get away from it all'? Tart is the 4th person I know that has moved there to get a better life in the last year.

So what is it about QLD? Is it some big fuck-off halfway house for miscreants and people who want to whinge about their life in general? (FOR THE RECORD, Tart is moving up to be closer to all her family, who now reside up there). Does QLD really offer such a good life to those down on their luck, that all of a sudden once they move up there, they are suddenly blessed with good fortune and happiness? What does QLD think of these vagabond soapie stars and depressed Victorians moving up and taking over their jobs and houses and so forth? Do QLD'ers ever move down here? Probably not.

Why am pondering so many inane QLD questions? Oh yes, that's right. Tart has asked me to move up with her. I have so far resisted the idea and managed to put it off. However, recent, cunt-like developments and the fact that I'd have to organise serious holiday time have forced me to consider the idea. After all, that's what one does when one's bestie is going to up and leave the state, isn't it?

I sat down and had a look at the real estate scene tonight, just to show that I am properly researching this idea. Well fuck me, now I know what QLD'ers think of us moving up there: Their real estate prices are insane - they have inflated them just to piss the Victorians off. Forget Geelong & Dandenong fighting it out to be Victoria's second city; I think we've found our winner in Brisbane! Seriously, we are talking Melbourne prices, for, well, not Melbourne. And considering on my must have list was; A pool; Airconditioning; Open spaces and lots of light, I might as well move to Brighton. It, on most accounts, would be cheaper.

So I have drawn up a list of pros & cons about the move:

CONS
----

1. Missing Mum & Dad
2. There are more opportunities to follow my chosen career path in Melbourne
3. Housing is fucking expensive
4. The climate: I don't do humidity
5. Miss my friends
6. Miss the Ex-Fucker, and any opportunity we might have to reconcile (Fuck off, you knew he'd make the list)
7. I don't tan very well.
8. Living with the Tart can get on my nerves
9. I don't want to be seen as a person 'running away from it all'

PROS
----

1. Getting away from Mum & Dad
2. Houses are expensive in Melbourne; shoeboxes are expensive in Melbourne
3. Sunshine
4. What fucking friends?
5. Get away from the Ex-Fucker and all of his shit
6. Easy access to stalk Jonathan Brown
7. I'll MISS Tart so so so so much, and all of our alcomohol fuelled nights
8. I'll miss my godson & watching him grow up
9. Did someone mention Jonathan Brown????????????

Hmmm, most of those cancel each other out, hence rendering my list useless and forcing me to play with the press-button-laughy-thingy on the desk a million times in pissed-off-ness at waste of time and typing.

However, this will be one question that I will ponder in the coming months; and one that is liable to make or break me.

Perhaps I'll consider Adelaide???????

I go to church, everrry Sunday

And so the Pope is dead. I am not a religous person, never have been, and do not envisage myself as ever will being. I am, however, interested in religon for its historical value; the power, the money and the beliefs as compared to another religon. This is because I am mad keen on historical nerdy crap; in particular, I am studying my way through The Tudor Age at the moment. The influence that religon had back then is mind-boggling. Marriage, murder, and general mayhem is all attributed directly to religon. One cannot wait to get into the Stuart succession with the parliamentarians, etc. (What a cool group!).

Reading back, I am slightly concerned that I used the expression 'mad keen'. Odd.

But I digress. With all the hoo hah over the Pope's death, it is amazing to see how many people around the world are still essentially 'sucked in' by the teachings of the Catholic church, and its money grabbing ways. A friend was describing how a parcel of land next to her kids' (catholic) school was up for sale. The kids used it for sports, actvities, etc. It was owned by catholic church nuns. Said vacant land was in a fast developing, well-to-do sort of neighbourhood. School & community offered a seven figure sum - the nuns sold it to developers for a higher price. Lesson of the day kids; The Catholic Church is a shrewdly run business and if you really want faith, you will find it within yourself, instead of donating your faith on a collection plate.

Don't get me wrong, I am not against people following Catholicism, going to church, having faith is someone that may or not exist. Deep down, I think we all have faith in something that doesn't exist - whatever floats your boat. I am also aware that there are some relgions out there that don't seek to make 'profit'. My research really hasn't stretched into all of the religions as of yet; I am really only studying the break from Catholicism to Church of England - as it's relevant to my study of the history at that time. Needless to say that studying the different religous factions is going to be one hell of an interesting task.

Honestly, I hope the Pope rests in peace. I admire him for his devotion to his god; I only hope he is not disappointed when he gets where he is going. With all the talk in the last few days of the Pope meeting his maker; imagine if he died, and it was just 'nothing'. No meeting St Peter at the gates, no welcoming arm of the person/entity you have served your whole life for. Just 'nothing'. You'd be pissed, wouldn't you? All of that for nothing. My own views on the 'afterlife' are somewhat torn between several thoughts - all of which are far too rough to wax eloquent on them here. But, I hope Jean Paul II finds what he's looking for. I hope we all do.

Random Saturday Pieces

Yes. I'm aware that my following up to Influential People I, was promised. I sat down to nut it out earlier today, and decided that I really couldn't do justice to these brilliant women at this stage. Besides there are a few recent developments that I am bursting at the seams with;

* The Ex-Fucker has been contacting me for the past couple of days, wanting to know if we can 'catch up'. Pah! It sounds like we're long lost friends, one of whom has just returned from overseas and we're going to have a natter 'bout the good old days. No Siree. Not. Going. There. As much as I'd like to. But really, Thursday night, I was still feeling rather poorly, and last night, I already had plans. Sex with the Sugardaddy. But of course I told the Ex-Fucker that I was still sick.

* Sparkly boy JJ called me! Whilst I was driving to the Sugardaddy's house (Insert Irony Appreciation here). Imagine my surprise driving along St Kilda road and I answer my phone to Him. Oh! My! God! I pulled over (because I think it's rude to talk for too long into the loudspeaker gizmo; and I'm too cheap to get a handsfree), and chatted for about half an hour. In the end I had to apologise and say that I would call him back another time (fuck, my phone bill), because I was on my way out. He was all really nice about it, then suggested that we 'catch up' (NOTE to self: 'catch up' is 2005 buzz phrase, so it seems) tonight (Sat)! Not thinking, I told him that I already had other plans and as I hung up I wanted to beat my head against the steering wheel for chickening out. (Thanks, Boris). As I continued my journey, I realised why. For a 27 year old, he sure did sound like a 20 year old! Too true, just the kinda things he spoke about, and the way he spoke about them, freaked me out.
It's maybe too early to tell, yes I know, nerves, etc. BUT, I think I kinda liked it better when he was my internet/e-mail courtier; I could have my romance and fantasies and dreams, and there weren't any boy/men running around. Oooh, harsh. My bad.

* Went to my massage therapist today. He's a gem: practically all 'cough-y' type stuff is gone. (Un)fortunately, therapist is also a fairly gifted counsellor as well. He got me talking about the Ex-Fucker and my bad posture; sadness; guilt; breathing problems are all kinda linked. Which is kinda cool. And I know a cool trick about correcting my posture too. Nyah Nyah, not sharing. Get your own massage therapist.

Not up to anything particularly outrageous tonight. Perhaps Tart & I will do dinner or something as equally subdued. Saving money is a bitch, mang!1! Besides, my hair is looking pretty skanky at the moment, and we all know what they say about gals with skanky hair...