What a drama I was having!

Right. Yesterday was one of those days. Actually, prolly the worst of those days. Ever.

It started with innocent chest pain on Monday. At first I thought it was heartburn but ruled that out as Zantac did fuck all.

The steady series of knives remained on Tuesday so I thought I'd discuss it with Deviant. He decided to consult his doctor about the symptoms and promised to call me back.

Well, two minutes later Deviant calls back saying 'Pack your stuff, I'll pick you up and take you straight to the emergency'. Fucking great.

On arrival to the emergency, instead of the usual several hours of waiting, Nurse Sour has me strapped to an ECG sooner than I could spell 'chest pains'.

Enter Male Nurse Evil - a funny young dyslexic guy with a very strong Irish accent and sadistic tendencies. Things start turning from bad to worse when the nurse announces that he'll have to do a blood test.

--
Bunnies, at this point I feel I should share with you the fact that I'm needle phobic. And by that I don't mean that I find vaccinations and blood-works unpleasant and don't like to get them done. By needle phobic I mean that I was the kid who bit the doctor and had several nurses and a very pissed off mother chasing me down the hospital corridors for every shot... and not much has changed since.
--

Male Nurse Evil returns with the dreadful blood-works kit and I announce on spot that I'm severely needle phobic. He kindly reassures me with the words 'oh don't you worry... I've read the book so I should know how to do this.' Fantastic. How come I always score the sadistic hospital comedians?

Deviant is sitting on a chair next to my bed and I try to relax and focus on him. I concentrate on my breathing and try to calm myself down.

I'm in a party, there's groovy tunes in the background. Having a great time. All my mates are there and someone hands me a drink... no?

I open my eyes and stare straight into Deviant's face and he looks like he's about to shit himself. He's holding my head in his arms and I remember that we're at the hospital. I still have no fucken idea what has happened so I ask. Then I hear Male Nurse Evil chuckling in the background and respond 'Guess...' I remember the blood test and realise that I must have once again fainted. 'Fuck'

Deviant keeps staring at me like he's seen a ghost and later on tells me that I had fainted full on Exorcist style - gone all yellow, eyes rolling back in my head accompanied by muscle spasms and twitches. Great.

And this was only the beginning.

I had a free ride all through the torture chamber and collected enough material for a lifetime of hospital related nightmares.

I can safely say that having a cannula put it and getting hooked into 'the injector' [insert here shudders] in order to have a CT scan done (to rule out blood clots in my lungs) was the most traumatising event of my fucken life so far. I am aware of how piss weak that sounds, but my needle phobia really is THAT bad.

My heart is peachy, my lungs clot free, blood pressure too low if anything - in short: I'm healthy as a fucken horse, just happen to have a freak chest pain.

The doctor felt sorry for me in the end and told me that I 'must have had a very traumatising night. In our books you're healthy as can be. Go home and have a glass of wine. Looks like you could use it.'

Gee, thanks. Now what do I do with these track marks? I'd pass for a professional junkie.

Mac OS X compatible software needed for Polar products!

In fact, I thought I might shout this out a bit louder, just in case someone happens to be listening:

Polar is producing excellent heart rate monitors with only one flaw: the lack of Mac OS X compatible versions of up-link and web-link programs!

Shame on you Polar! Shame on you for not keeping up with the times. PCs are the ugly and clunky dinosaurs of the past and Macs are the way forward.

Bring out OS X versions of the up-link and web-link software and redeem yourself!

The angst of circled dates

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Communication

Why is it that sometimes communication just seems so very difficult?

I feel like I've been given red and green light bulbs to communicate an intricate message to a paranoid and volatile colour blind audience.

The message in my head has nothing to do with the jargon that somehow escapes my mouth when I open it. The jargon has nothing to do with the garble the other person hears. And to make matters worse, the heard garble is translated into the worst possible scenarios in the brain of the receiver.

Sending:

Message
|
Jargon
|
Garble
|
Worst case scenario

Receiving:

Worst case scenario
|
Aggravated Jargon
|
Hostile Garble
|
IMPENDING DOOM

Naturally the distortion pattern accelerates exponentially as the number of communication attempts increases.

I'm gonna sing the doom song now.

The difference between men and women

An anonymous comment made me think about the difference between men and women when it comes to shoes. While I'm a total shoe fanatic, I don't think I'd feel comfortable with a man who had a collection to match mine.

In my little world men are only allowed the luxury of shoe fetishism one way: drooling at high heels on female feet. You Tarzan - me Jane. Full fucken stop*.

None of this metro shit for me, thank you very much.

I reckon men need healthy blokey addictions like fishing gear, beer or porn... and of course shit hot sky high stilettos on female feet. Especially now that its been proven beneficial.

(* Of course, gay men are a delightful exception to the rule and make the best shopping company.)

Today I feel like a lazy old cunt

I'm the worst slacker out there.

I haven't been running in the mornings, which I suppose is sorta understandable considering that torrential downpours have been more of a rule than an exception for the last couple of weeks.

While the running may well be tied to the weather, that doesn't give me a reason to skip the gym tho. It shits me to no end, that I'm paying for a gym membership and not using it. How stupid is that?

I signed up for a membership with Deviant quite a few months ago, but haven't really used it that much lately. When he fucked his back up and had to stop going to the gym, I stopped going as well. So slack.

Now I've even got brand new runners and gear, and I'm still not going. The problem is that I could really use the extra energy provided by an active exercise routine.

I think I'm going to make it my mission to attend a class either tomorrow or Friday morning. Need to check out the timetable.

I hate wasting money I could be buying shoes with.

Wanker warning?

Ok bunnies, help me out here. I just can't get my head around this shit.

Why is it, that if you buy a very nice sporty car, you need to choose the ugliest fucking colour available that just screams out loud: 'TINY PRICK'?

If you buy a fucken Lamborghini, why does it have to be bright canary yellow? And just then, I saw a bloody neon orange Audi TT drive by my place. I mean, WTF?!? Audi TT is a beautiful car... why the fuck would you go and ruin it with a colour like that?

Could it be that the demographic buying these cars just happen to be the infamous dickless wonders out there?

Maybe the bright colours are a wanker warning to be interpreted as: 'Warning: Lacking cock and style'. I suppose it sorta make sense - like venomous snakes/bugs/fish are often really brightly coloured in nature to warn anyone to go too near.

At least its a clear 'stay the fuck away' sign for me.

Warning: highly superficial whinge ahead

It never fails to amaze me how fucken difficult it seems to be to come up with a good quality nail polish. I mean, its not fucken brain surgery is it?

I've been through every bloody brand out there, from professional to cheap shit, and all I ever seem to find is new disappointments.

If you find a good selection of colours, you can be sure that the consistency makes application impossible, and you'll end up looking like you paid an orphan missing both hands and a right foot to perform your manicure.

Then again if you find something that's relatively painless to use, you can be sure that it'll chip off by evening tea.

And if ever you are lucky enough to find something that looks decent enough at least in candle light and doesn't cause you to have kittens during application, you'll find it dried unusable before the next time you open the bottle.

Yes. Bad nail polishes are the nail rot of the beauty industry, and an eternal source of anguish to a slinky heel addict such as myself.

In fact, I - and I consider myself somewhat of a professional here with my three years of formal training in the field of beauty combined with countless years of being an intolerably vain cunt - have only found three nail polishes worth my time so far.

Ready for it ladies? Here comes:

To create those perfect porn red toenails to top off the seamed black fishnet veiled legs, the only option is

Revlon:
680 Revlon Red
The definition of the Real Classic Vamp Red[tm].
Easy to apply evenly, dries quickly and lasts well even on toenails.



For - and I quote Deviant here for the definition - 'the perfect pussy pink' toenails go for

Max Factor Nailfinity:
830 Dusky Rose
A new addition to my favourites. Dries almost instantly, super easy to apply and lasts incredibly well. On my first bottle tho, so can't say how well it keeps in use.



And last but not least the perfect everyday coat for a neat manicure is

Maybelline Wet Shine:
30 I-Scream Ivory
Thanks to Miss Pearl for pointing me to this little bottle of perfection. Painless to use, and just one coat looks so very natural yet classy. The only downside is it'll thicken up by the time you reach half empty.

There. I don't want to count how many fucken dollars I've spent to come up with that short list, but fuck me I'm sticking with it!

--

Note to self: After finding a product that works and managing to apply it in a decent manner, don't fucken type a blog post whilst waiting for your nails to dry. The keyboard will always, ALWAYS fuck up at least a nail or two. Never learn do you? Fucken daft old cow.

graduation retrospective

right. graduation. where the fuck should i begin?

in short, it was a bloody catastrophe.

the venue was even cheaper and dodger than last year, which alone was nothing short of a miracle. and naturally, since i had equipped myself with the hottest brand new black leather pumps and a skimpy lil black dress, the weather was a textbook example of a torrential downpour. great.

little did i know that this was merely the beginning.

see, this was supposed to be A Big Day. i was graduating with first class honours and on top of that scored a university medal that was presented at the graduation ceremony. nothing quite like strutting the red carpet with a medal in one's hand to stroke that academic wank of an ego.

well, there i go, waiting for my moment in the spotlight and watch my good uni mate pg strut through the carpet and pick up his perty lil trinket. next was going to be me. fantastic, i thought. this is it.

i hear my name announced - ignoring the fact that she made it sound like i was bloody italian - there i go stepping on to the red carpet. walk up to the dean to shake his hand. my moment.

well guess what the old geezer decides to ask? 'is your family here to celebrate with you?' no you fuckwit. and haven't seen any of them for years. thanks for reminding me.

but wait. it gets better.

instead of handing me my trinket, he just gets rid of me and sends me walking off the stage. furious, i return to my seat and spend the rest of my ceremony cursing him to the lowest of all hells while staring at my precious trinket sitting on the table in the middle of the stage.

so eventually, i end up receiving my university medal in the janitor's closet from the fucken janitor. the cunt had the balls to shake my hand too. congratulations my arse.

but as usual, that's not all.

as the icing on the cake, my honours supervisor ends up pouring his coffee into the bright white velvet lined box holding the trinket.

motherfuck.

bloody fucken hell!

what a friggen morning!

ok. the office i currenly work in (and am desperate to get out of) just moved to new premises. the new office is literally a 5 min drive from my place. which is great.

or would be if i drove. but i don't. [insert here a rant abt oz ppl driving on the wrong bloody side of the road]

so, since i'm such a good girl and wanted to make sure that i'd arrive on time, i left my place more than an hour earlier than i had to be at the office.

i had to walk 2k to the bus stop, take a bus close to work and that was supposed to be it. sounds easy enough, right?

WRONG. first i'm walking through kings cross and get hassled by the usual bums and crack whores. that's no biggie. i'm already used to it.

then i walk to oxford street and get hassled by a crack whore in drag for some change and a ciggie. well s/he didn't get either. by this time i was already starting to get over it as i had been walking for a goor 20 mins and it was pissing down.

then i find my busstop on flinder st and realise that its located between a dodgy club and a sauna.

there i am, dolled up for yet another interview, surrounded by whores, drugged up party boys still continuing from saturday's mardi gras and a couple of rather frisky bears in their biker leathers.

and its pissing down. i was not happy.

then the bus finally came and i thought things were looking up. until i realised that i had no clue where it was taking me and i got friggen lost in kensington. which i btw don't know at all. so when the scenery wasn't getting any more familiar i just get off the friggen bus.

there i am, walking in the fucken rain again. lost as all hell for another half an hour. in the end i just get really fed up and grab a cab.

NOT a good morning.

but, then i get a phone call that gives me a little hope that things might be getting better... wish me luck!

encounters

went to newtown yesterday with miss pearl and we sat down in this nice lil joint for a much needed caffeine fix.

we order our coffees and sit down being all antisocial - me scribbling shit into my newly purchased calendar while she's trying to decipher a russian vogue - when some random guy in his mid thirties walks past our table and wishes us a nice rest of the day.

not paying much attention we reply and go back into hugging our frothy steaming cups. after a while i get up to pay for our coffees and the man behind the counter kindly informs me that the man that left a while ago had paid for us.

now how nice is that?

fuck men approaching at a bar counter going 'ooh look at 'em tittyboobs! how abt i ply with copious amounts of alcohol in order to have a squeeze on them puppies later?'

no. this was an honest kind gesture from a random bloke that resulted in cheering up my day and restoring just that little bit of trust in humanity.

now of course he might be a raving homicidal lunatic stalking his future prey, but still it did make me smile.

--

and on the encounters of the other kind, i ran into my downstairs neighbour a couple of weeks ago.

i was having a fantastic time spending valentine's with deviant after he had been away fishing for weeks - when we suddenly got rudely interrupted.

this chicky shows up behind my door kindly informing that the neighbours were planning to make an official complaint in case i fail to keep the noise down from now on. now the only problem of course was, that the source of that noise was keeping me up too every fucken night and i was most certainly not the cause of it.

instead of finding out who it was that has been keeping the entire building up every night from midnight to 5am, she decided to point a finger at me for no reason what so ever. i kindly explained her the situation pointing out the slight error in her judgment, offered my full support in the crazed mob witch hunt once the correct culprit had been identified, and got rid of her.

yesterday i heard that she had been discussing this lovely encounter with another neighbour of mine who also happens to be a friend. i believe her comments had been along the lines of: 'she's not very nice at all, is she?' 'i think she has a lot of men up there...' and when my friend cracked up and said she doubted it since i have a boyfriend, the dear downstairs neighbour had corrected my friend that no, really, i do have a lot of different men visiting my apartment all the time.

cracked me up.

the only person who has visited my apartment while i have lived in it is deviant. maybe the poor lil chickling just doesn't believe that one can have a healthy(?) sex life while in a monogamous relationship?

people. what are we going to do with them?

sheer stressful agony

*deep sigh*

life is not at all trouble free between the shoeboxes at the moment.

the good news is, it looks like my arse can be saved and i have found a three month contract to play me more time. my current employer promised to employ me on a contract to save my arse, but the position they're offering me is shite. however, i dare say that three months of sheer agony can be seen as the lesser evil when compared to relocation to finland.

motherfuck.

good news is that i got a few good contacts yesterday and one of them already resulted into an interview. funny that. the contact was purely accidental over a glass of wine and i found myself sitting at an interview under 20hrs from the first contact. sweet.

the job would be exactly what i'm looking for and i got along great with the guy i would be working with. so keep those paws crossed bunnies.

the bonus in this case is that it is an international company and they already have ppl on sponsorship working visas.

i should hear from them soon and hopefully he was as impressed by me as i was by him and the company...

freak magnet

why is it that i always attract the freaks?

whether it be a bus stop, a train or a bar, if there's any freaks in the immediate vicinity, you can start placing bets that they'll glue themselves on me sooner or later.

there i was, sitting on a train heading down the coast, reading my book and minding my own bloody business.

i noticed him from the corner of my eye walking past a few times and then sitting down on the opposite side of the aisle. i was trying my best to look entirely swept away by my book while he was trying to crane his neck back and forth in order to get my attention.

in the end i guess he got frustrated and abandoned the subtle ways of getting in contact and instead bellowed off the top of his lungs: 'oi miss... i was wondering... really nice pouty lips you've got... you mind if i draw your portrait?'

judging by the volume, he had already downed quite a few drinks, and the jolly clinking from the bag by his feet hinted that he had a few more to go.

the poor bugger turned out to be an art school drop out - 'yeh i've been at tafe for three years and that was great... but fuck uni. all that bloody theory. fuck that. who needs theory anyway? ...i dropped out.' - and was comparing his lack of interest for art school to that of dali's. 'they couldn't teach him anything either...'

while quite attractive and entertaining, he was certainly not the brightest crayon in the box. kept me amused for the majority of my trip tho, so it was all good. silly rabbit.

attack of the clones?

has anyone else noticed that all the prozzies in kings cross have the same face? its like that fucked up aphex twin video clip.

there they are, strutting along the length of the strip in their trashy gear not leaving nearly enough for imagination, and endlessly sucking on their fags. oblivious to the daily rhythm of the rest of the world, they seem to be on the job 24-7.

never mind the track marks, the anorectic limbs or the filthy hair, what keeps freaking me out is their faces. its like an army of zombies sharing the same features brutishly carved out of grey saggy skin.

eyes sunken so deep into their sockets that you hardly even notice the unfocused and uninterested stare in them. sharp cheekbones carrying wrinkled layers of dark heavy luggage as if packed ready for an early checkout. and what looks like endless decades of self-abuse weighting down hollowed cheeks on both sides of the bare thin line of a mouth. no doubt there used to be a pair of lips to it.

and the same cloned again and again along that few hundred metres.

i thought i'd get used to it. at least after a while. but its still as unnerving and distressing.

runner suits

warning: ranting ahead.

now bunnies, i'm sure i can't be the only one who has noticed the awful, AWFUL runner suits all around the city during business hours?

a runner suit is of course a person wearing neat business attire polished off with a dirty old pair of runners on their way to or from the office.

what the fuck is the deal with that???

don't get me wrong bunnies, i'm all for a little exercise & fitness, and i'm a big fan of smart and well fitting office attire. but don't - for fuck's sake - go and combine the two!

if you want to walk to work in your business clothes, suffer in your heels woman!

or, if you don't want to destroy your gorgeous new biancos on the walk in and out of the office, carry them in and wear a cute pair of flats during the walks. even a pair of friggen double dragons* do a decent job.

if you must wear your runners, then change your entire fucken outfit to suit them!

what the fuck is it with these people??? *bangs head on desk*

(* double dragons = default aussie thongs/flip-flops)

i want / you want / he wants / who wants?

every now and then life seems to drop us at major intersections.

no signs in sight, we are left there to figure ourselves out with the aid of more or less blurred intuition.

at the moment i feel like i've been stranded at these crossings in all major areas of my life. somewhat confusing and frustrating. i would have rather dealt with them one at a time. but i suppose you don't always have a choice.

i need to decide what it is that i want, then figure out which of the roads ahead provides me with it, and repeat the same on all areas of my life.

on some matters i'm afraid i will need to take a very strict line in order to take care of myself. some things just can't go on as they have, and i will need to make big decisions one way or the other.

i just wish this great big tangled ball of yarn would start unraveling from one end or the other so that i can get on with my life...

busy busy busy

bunnies, it has been a good week.

i've been working two jobs, as i started the new one this week. the position at the new place feels like its made for me, so i really hope it will turn into a full time position soon.

i've still done my old job for the other three days of the week, and it just seems so very boring compared to the new place. i've outgrown my role so badly that all it does is bore me to death. i can get my whole day's tasks done in about half an hour, and the rest is boredom galore.

--

i've started reviving my creativity and it feels very refreshing. i've been doodling and gluing in bits and pieces into my little black book, and for some silly reason i'm quite excited about it.

--

i discovered a new ambition in me and i'm in process of trying to engage writing on a more professional level. i had a couple of short art essays published last week and the beast of lyrical exhibitionism is starting to grow stronger.

--

and on a completely different front, i have - surprisingly - been in daily contact with deviant, despite him embarking on his half-a-year fishing mission.

i wasn't expecting to hear from him for a while, but instead i've been receiving messages or phone calls every day ever since he left.

slightly confusing, but he sure knows how to make me smile.

i received this pic yesterday. it looks like boring his arse off sitting on a rock and staring at a bloody balloon has already started to play on his poor lil brain. i reckon he's delusional and thinking he's a pirate.

or maybe this was in reference to the following message declaring that he was in fact bored and required a delivery of finnish meat for biting purposes.

sometimes men can be like teething puppies: gnawing and biting everything they can get their hands on. quite adorable.

lil bit of this and lil bit of that

oops. i think i managed to stir up a fair bit of shit with my foaming in the mouth rant the other day. i've received quite a few 'wtf?!?' messages from ppl who thought i was addressing them. silly bunnies. you are still in the good books.

--

had my first day at the new job yesterday. i'm doing two jobs part time at the moment hoping that i will impress the new company within the next couple of week so throughly that they'll offer me a full time job.

had a great day actually, i was really busy from the moment i walked in. there's everything to do from scratch, the ppl were really nice and the day went very quickly.

the only issue i had with it was working in an open office with a chicky with the most annoying laugh in the world. think you know someone with an awful laugh? think again. this was agony. and constant too.

if they hire me full time i'll buy kick arse headphones and crank out tool to keep her laughter from interfering with my universe.

--

oh also, i got somewhat inspired by a recent comment on breakup and came up with this formula. what do you think bunnies?

((H*B)-(xH*xB)) + D*V + I
------------------------- * w = S
            m

H = your hotness
B = your brains
xH = ex's hotness
xB = ex's brains
D = dirt involved in the breakup
V = the extent of her vindictiveness
I = the degree of her intoxication
m = relationship months
w = weeks since breakup
S = your likelyhood to score

estalking

heh. sometimes when i catch up with my mates irl, they already know what's happening. when i start telling a story, they blush and finish the story confessing that they read my blog.

that's funny and its fine. i have absolutely nothing against that.

what i don't understand however, is stalking me through my blog after cutting off all contact irl. you know who you are.

whatever your reasons might have been, if you don't have the balls to face me, or keep in contact through the traditional channels, why the fuck would you go through the effort of estalking me? and why the fuck would i want your help after more than a year of radio silence?

fair enuff, this shit is published on the bloody internet, so its out there for you to read. and really, i don't care either way.

i just don't get it.

mind boggles.

oncoming inspiration...

i've had this wave of inspiration trying to overcome me for quite a while.

you know that feeling when you grow more and more restless by the day and just have this overwhelming need to draw/write/paint/make a book/prepare an etching plate/whatever?

and its all you can think of...

then you go and pick up a pen, and it doesn't work. it doesn't do what you imagine it would. the pathetic scribbles on the paper in front of you have nothing to do with the divine inspiration throbbing in the back of your mind.

so you so back to being restless and a couple of days later you start to write. only to repeat the previous disappointment. and back to frustration you go again.

i believe i received this annoying trait from my mother's milk, as she is one creative nut.

i remember waking up one sunday morning to this hell of a racket. as i followed the noise i encountered the most bizarre sight:

my mum - and don't forget this was about 07:00am sunday morning - had jacked a whole wall full of inbuilts up half a meter using car jacks. apparently, half way through her morning coffee, it had occurred to her that there's plenty of waste space there and she could easily lift them to fit a row of drawers underneath.

later on she confessed that she had been suffering from an oncoming inspiration for weeks.

yeh. psycho. good entertainment value tho.

let's see what i get up to if this keeps on building up like it has for the past couple of weeks...