Blink and you'll miss, etc

Not fucking likely. One needs an outlet when dealing with invites to suicides* and one's best friend 'goes missing'. I kid you not.

I'm also very sick and am gathering my inspiration from clothes, shoes, papers, electrical hair appliances draped all over my WHOLE HOUSE APARTMENT ONE AND HALF ROOM BROOM CLOSET. Bring on Vogue Living.

Hence, I'm staying in bed. And you're getting a blogpost. EVERYBODY WINS! The only better-er thing could be if you were all in bed with me and we were taking turns to write a blogpost, like some tripped out spa party gone wrong. The mind doesn't just boggle, it frys itself, sunny-side up.

So while you're all Saturday-ing yourself up, and CURSING BECAUSE IT'S SUNNY AND YOU COULD HAVE WASHED instead of...whatever non-sick thing you are doing, I'm holed up with culturally approved Flavours of the World - French Onion & Cheese Shapes (not tested on a pacific atoll) and a cascade of (caffeine free) Diet Coke.

And reading this.

Riding bikes is tough people. Ever tried the spin bikes at a gym. Where your trainer makes you go two minutes on each level from easiest to hardest, then back up again from hardest to easiest, except you get confused and end up with three minutes left at the end?? Ahem. Yes, cycling is tough.

So it would appear that the very naughty American has been on the man-juice (NOT THAT MAN-JUICE, GUTTERMINDS) to win the race. Bad American. They say he might get stripped of his title. Which is only because he has obviously taken the more effective man-juice than everyone else (try adding pineapple juice next time fellas), what with cycling being "right up there with the filthiest of sports" (Some Victorian cycling minion).

Let's try sticking sticking digits up the cyclists' bums next year and then see how filthy they reckon it's going to get, eh?

So it's the usual quotes coming from the scene; 'disaster for the tour', 'innocent until B sample confirms the result', 'very, very angry' (Runner up's Mum!), 'complete audit on the sport' (ACCOUNTANTS AND BIKES DON'T MIX. EXCEPT IF THEY HAVE TUCKED THEIR PANTS INTO THEIR SOCKS; IF THAT'S THE CASE, PLEASE CARRY ON) and so forth.

It's even more scandalous because it looks naughty American could be the last the first champion to ever be stripped of his crown. Those Americans, always have to be first in everything. The last time that a 'yellow jersey/Daryl Somers fan' was disqualified from a race was 1904! I bet there was no man-juice around back then (although I bet my bottom dollar there was plenty of pineapples).

So what could it have been that disqualified the defending champion? (In case you were too lazy to read the article).

"...Maurice Garin was stripped of his title when it was judged he had taken a train during the race, rather than completing the full route".

Dude had caught a train.** WHAT GENIUS. We shouldn't be stripping Mr Garin, we should be fucking showering him with medals and honorary doctorates and Academy Awards, etc. He took a train! Bow to his mastermindedness. Now!




* Literal relaying of text message from Ex-Fucker:
"I was considering suicide a couple of weeks ago and I was going to ask you to join me".

** I know, I know. I said no more train posts.

Nup. No More.

As an aside to snot inducing sale on Sunday, it seems that snot inducing sales can bring on Cold War II, or whatevs.

So, I'm playing the part of the totally confused little un-bloc-ed country WHO HAS BEEN WAITING FOR SOME SORT OF SIGN AS TO WHETHER IT'S 'ON' OR 'OFF'.

I'm sorry, alright. I'm desperately sorry that I made it such a big deal about you not showing me the clothes you were trying on. My feelings were hurt, but I don't need to be such a drama queen.

I'm sorry, I'm trying so hard to cope with the constant long delays between seeing each other; I understand what it is like for you, and I'm trying not to let you see how hard it is for me.

I'm trying so hard to understand how you are not an 'emotion displaying person', and how it doesn't correlate to my ideal of a perfect relationship.

And also, I love you.

Even if I can't say it to your face, I need to get it out.

There.

If only Rove hadn't fucked over the interview with the Scissor Sisters.

**NB: Due to aforementioned Cold War, I honestly have no energy, or brain power, to blog properly, or at all at the moment. I need to resolve this issue first, because I can't think about anything else. So, clearly, 'Community Wednesday' will be delayed. My apols.

Crazy Prices

I don't know how a going to a 40% sale at Surf Dive'N'Ski can make me cry, but I'm sitting here with tears and snot everywhere. Classy.

I feel so, inadequate.

Community Wednesday

EVERYONE'S got a regular feature on their blog; Desci has Freakline, Fits has Friday Questions, Spin has Neighbours recaps, Steph has Mid-week Banality Fests and Lefty has...Cat Pictures. Now 17 years later, Martie is getting one too.

So, welcome to Community Wednesday. Just like the page in Womens Day, only crunchy.

Rules of Engagement are very simple. Missing 'Hawaiian Snoopy'from your Happy Meal collection circa 2001? Want to know where you can get your hands on a copy of the 'Darryl & Ossie' vinyl? Even looking for a new housemate?

Then, email me at theonewiththegreenhair@hotmail.com, with what exactly you are after (the more details the better), and we will do our best to bring your wishes to fruition.

Every Wednesday, I will post a new Community noticeboard with your emails, to which people can reply to in the comments, or via your contact details that you left in your notice. If you want to remain anonymous, then it's best that you email me first, as I don't want to be an intermediary passing on the goods or money. Just think of me as your local Coles notice board!

So. To get the ball rolling, here is something that I DESPERATELY want, but have not been able to find - maybe someone somewhere has seen them:

***
WANTED:
Woollen, fingerless gloves, that have a little 'cap' attached that you can pull over your fingers (so that they look like mittens) when you are finished with the fingerless part. In case that is confusing, here is a picture to help, proudly brought to you by MS Paint:


(Whoops, I appear to have stolen someone's whole blog there)

Anyway, if you have seen these being sold anywhere - and I have a feeling they are more likely to be on the trendy, artsy side of town, as opposed to the toffy, Country Road leather glove side of town, please let me know in the comments. Possibly before the end of Winter, as I would very much like to wear these around the city smugly.

***

And that's it. That's how easy it is. So get cracking people. And we will reconvene back here next Wednesday for some more Community action.

Weekend update of death

I was all over the shop this weekend.

Friday night - I wrote myself off watching the sad sad remnants of my favourite cover band, Crazy Haus. OMGWTFBBQ - Terrence cut all of his hair off! Noooooooo. He looks - odd.

Saturday - Father Martie and I took ourselves off to the football, in perfect wintry conditions. HURRAH! I LOVE paying $800 for a warm bottle of diet coke, and a cold hot dog. Good to see some things never change. AND, St Kilda won. Suck it up, Daddy.

Saturday night - Do yourselves a favour, and DON'T go and see Superman Returns. Unless you wanna play Spot the Aussie (apparently it was filmed here?), it is lame, and can't make up its mind if it is a serious action movie, or a highly camp funfest. I did have nice pizza for dinner though.

Sunday - Possibly spent the whole day in bed...possibly watching The Poseidon Adventure...eating sausage rolls...drinking chocolate milkshakes. I love winter.

In other news, I seem to be feeling a lot better now, from last week. You're all gorgeous for sending me your best wishes. I'm still hurting, and still fucking around*, but secretly, the drama is better than nothing at all.



*Not literally fucking. It's Morals July.

****UPDATED: The one without a title

Kids: take note. Being in love hurts.

It causes you to leave ridiculous comments on other people's blogs.

It causes you to bust out the BBQ shapes at 11:30pm on a school night.

Even worse, it causes you to finish off the Mint Chocolate Baileys on a school night.

It makes you stay up until midnight on a school night.

It makes you sent ridiculous text messages to assholes.

It makes you vote in Big Brother evictions. (SMS 199 EVICT with the message 'Krystal'. Please, for my sanity).

It makes you neglect to bring your washing inside in the midst of gale force winds.

It makes you feel like going running at 12am at night.

It causes you to die just a little inside when the person you love...just doesn't love you back.

It makes you write seventy five hundred morose blog posts that make you seem like a shallow, narcissic bore.




At least it's not about trains.




*****UPDATE*****
It also causes you to forget to title your blog posts

The weekend that was

I'm not getting any sex. WAHHH

I went to a 30th at a Melbourne pub, where a vaguely familiar celebrity served me free beer until I tortured myself and caught the train home.

I still didn't get any sex. SUCH A WASTE OF A BRAZILLIAN.


OMFG YES. Bring it.
Mint. And Chocolate. And Baileys. Liquid orgasm.

Should drink it, BECAUSE I'M NOT GOING TO ORGASM ANY OTHER WAY.


Purple is the new pink. Remind me for when I finally get around to having my housewarming party.

My best friend made me cry on Friday night.

My extremely lame excuse of a 'male partner' made me cry on Saturday.

A kind (and very drunk boy) cheered me up, even though he was sad himself. (Thanks, H/M).

I bought two new bras, at the NEVER TO BE REPEATED MYER SALE. The two bras that I bought, were both full price.

I've decided that I can never have anything but an Oroton wallet, being the snob that I am. Even though I saw a perfect brown leather one at the NEVER TO BE REPEATED MYER SALE today, at the perfect price, I couldn't buy it because the name on it wasn't right.

No Sex. No Love. No Intimacy. It's all about the Money & Going on Holidays.

Bah.

"I'm addicted to you, but I know that you're toxic"

Britney Spears is a fucking genius. This is philosphy, 21st century style.

It encompasses so many human relationships; we know they're bad for us, but we just keep on going back. And back.

Take this example:

Girl A finally had it with Boy A's treatment of her, and exorcised him from her life. But soon after, she felt lonely, and craved his on-off attention. So much so, that they decided to spend the weekend together in the city, and she spent all her hard-earned on dinner, drinks and gambling, even when he earns twice as much as her. So desperate was she for his attention, she even bought him a ring to symbolise her feelings, when all he'd ever bought her was...well, we won't go there.

And to think, she did all this, while she knew there was another waiting in the wings; another who would wine and dine her, and buy her jewellery, and give her the sense of belonging that she craved.

Don't you just want to slap her stupid??




On the other hand.....

Machines with a heart

I don't know if this is indicative of my current state of mind, or if anyone else thinks it is a highly traumatic advertisement but:

You know the ad with the ANZ ATM? The one where he (The ATM) follows the guy around all day, until he finally needs to withdraw money, and The ATM is standing there faithfully, all out of breath, waiting for him?

That ad makes me cry.

I look at The ATM as a dog, ever faithful, and to see it chasing after that horrible man, apparently unwanted, breaks my heart.

To the extent where I now have to change channels whenever it comes on.




So now, when I open up my retirement home for dogs; I think I'll have to open a separate section for ATMS.

Train wreck

Hi team.

Yes, I've been MIA. It's kinda like that when you're minding your own business on a train, and then you get told you're 'too large to be entitled to a seat'.

It seems some random cunt (male, caucasian, early 40's, crewcut, ugly coat) decided to sit right next to me, when there were plenty of empty seats (even one right next to him), and proceeds to encroach on my arm space, pushing against my arm.

Not one to back down, I pushed back against his arm. It was fairly amusing at this point, and I'd imagine we would have looked more at home on a football field.

Finally, he decides to initiate 'conversation':

Random Cunt: "Gosh, you like to take up a lot of room, don't you?"

Me: "What would you have me do, sit in the aisle?"

RC: "Well yes, I mean, you're half on my seat"

At this point let me clarify that when Mr Perfect sat down, he bustled his way onto part of my coat, which was draped over the point in the middle of the two seats. So while my coat was stretched over to his side, my ass was nowhere near his godd damn seat.

But try explaining that to RC:

RC: "You're not entitled to one and a half seats, even if you are large."

Me: "Well, feel free to fuck off to any other seat if you wish."

As the Cocklord was getting off, he attempted to kick me. Me, being a kickboxing 'veteran' had the upper hand, and got a good one into his shin, half tripping him up. Take that!

However once the initial adrenaline wore off, I was quite upset, and spent the rest of the train ride with wet eyes. And, the majority of the weekend quite intoxicated, and quite possibly making a fool of myself in front of my new boss. At least I was making myself feel better.

So yes. Note to self. Toughen up when in city. And on trains. And promise; no more train posts.