Thursday, 15 May 2014
All week I've driving down the
Bruce Highway, away from , to a small town to do some temp work
there. The trip down is a beaut. Yes, the road is crap and there are lots of
cowboys on it, but the scenery is so Far North Cairns with sugar cane fields and banana
plantations on either side of the road competing with mountains like Walsh's
Pyramid (pictured) , Bartle Frere and Bellenden Kerr. As I was drove along thinking
about lots of things, singing along to a Tim McGraw CD at the top of my lungs and
thinking about living in a shack, surrounded by an odd assortment of farm
animals, growing vegetables and generally being the 'old ratbag woman who lives
over there in that shack.' Yeah, I'm looking forward to that. Queensland
Monday, 12 May 2014
Saturday, 10 May 2014
So, I've been fighting a long, drawn out, tense battle all to do with honouring another's actions and words. It's never occurred to me to give up. You don't give up on honour let alone the rights and beliefs of another. Because someone dies it doesn't mean their words and wishes die. Those words are as real and as important as on the day they were spoken and written down. That person depended on you to follow through and make sure their wishes were heard. They needed them to be understood. Simple as that. Giving up a fight because it's hard? No fucking way will I let someone down. Ever.
Someone said to me "Don't you wish it was happening to someone else?" My answer was no and I explained that no one else could handle this as well as I am. Yeah, I'm full of myself but my mother always told everyone her duck (me) was a swan - calm on the outside but bite your damn hand off if you pushed her. I know there are no limits to what I will do when it comes to loyalty. I don't understand disloyal people or those who think a man's words can be overturned through selfishness and bullying.
Disloyalty? You reap what you sow.
Saturday, 3 May 2014
So, Norbert died yesterday. I was pretty surprised to find him dead. I looked at Cheryl, Neville and Louise. They were looking down at him. Then they looked at me. I said, "What's the go?" They didn't respond. Budgies are like that. Inscrutable. Stoic. Closed mouthed.
Just now I went outside to bring in the dried laundry. Ursula, my beauty challenged chook, was staring at something on the grass. I wandered over and found a dead budgie. Another one. Hmmm. This was grey and not mine. I suspected this one was an escapee. I wandered over to the budgie cage and looked at my three remaining budgies. They were tight lipped but exchanging furtive glances as if they knew too much. Hmmm.
I disposed of the runaway as I did Norbert, a weird side plot in the current story I'm writing coming to mind. Will there be a third budgie death to intrigue over? Hmmm...
Tuesday, 29 April 2014
After unceremoniously being dumped by her boyfriend, Cass Kelly has had enough of men and the big city. She needs a change and a challenge. On a drunken whim, she accepts a job working in a small hotel in the outback town of Mundabucka. Men? Who needs .them? Sex? Never, ever again.
Local cowboy Evan Bates is not one to say never and makes it only too obvious why she needs men, sex and him specifically. The redheaded Cass is in his sights and he aims to get her. But lust isn’t the only thing stirring in town. It’s the annual Throcker Thrash where legendary gold is hunted and Cass is caught up in the race for it. Who wants it so badly they’ll kill for it?
Two hours later, standing at the local airport at Mundabucka with a suitcase in one hand and two cackling caged chooks in the other, Cass looked around her. Behind her was a rusted-in-parts, corrugated tin shack that served as arrival and departures for the overly optimistically named Mundabucka International Airport. In front of her was dry, red dirt as far as the eye could see. And the heat? Suffocating. Unlike Cairns it was a dry heat that sucked all the moisture out of a body. Cass felt the sweat dripping down between her breasts and clinging to the short floral sundress she was wearing.
She put both the suitcase and chooks on the ground and re-scraped her hair up into a haphazard bun on top of her head. “Frig, it’s hot.” Cass looked around her. Other than the squinty-eyed airport controller, who introduced himself as Phil, there was no one. She was supposed to be met by someone called Evan. Phil smiled when she told him this.
“Evan’s a creature of whim. He gets the call of the wild and takes off just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
Cass was impressed as not only was Phil missing two front teeth but also three fingers on his left hand and two on his right. He explained this as a ‘run-in with a pissed off wild pig.’
She looked down at the caged chickens. “Okay, so maybe this wasn’t a brilliant idea but it’s not my worst.” They cackled loudly. “Oh, shut up. I know what I’m doing—kinda.” Cass muttered under her breath and looked around her once more. There was loads of nothing for miles. “Where the hell is he?”
“Who?” came a voice from behind her.
Cass spun around in surprise. “Where did you come from?” She asked as she surveyed the tall, lanky man with broad shoulders that most men would kill for. She looked into the bluest eyes she had ever seen and saw only amusement. Men. Amusement. Not happening.
“You’d be the city chick here to work at McNally’s Hotel.”
City chick? “I’m Cass Kelly and undoubtedly you’d be the creature of whim, Phil was telling me about.”
The dark haired man smiled. “That’d be me.” Evan Bates at your service.” He looked down at the caged chooks. “You brought chooks.” That made his smile wider.
Cass picked up the cage. “You’re quick.”
Evan scratched his head. “You know, when Jo and Flo said you were bringing them I thought the old girls had lost their minds.”
“Do you have a problem with chickens?” They were her pets. She couldn’t leave them to fend for themselves when she went bush. They were like family. Sort of.
He shrugged. “Nope. We like chickens here—preferably deep fried.”
“You fry my chickens and I will fry your ass.”
Evan arched one eyebrow. “That could be fun.” His gaze then traveled down her body, lingering on her breasts, before moving down to her thong clad feet and back up to her eyes. “What’re their names?”
“How do you know I named them?” She had but that wasn’t the point. Do I look that obvious?
“You brought them all the way to the middle of nowhere. They have to be important to you.”
The chooks were quiet as they watched him. Cass squared her shoulders. “Mitzi and Bert.”
“Yeah, what of it?”
“Bert is a boy’s name. This chook is a female,” he pointed out as he reached for her bag.
“So?” Cass knew her tone was defensive but she wasn’t in the mood to deal with a smart ass man.
Still smiling at her, he responded, “Nothing. So, one bag only?”
“I travel light.” She had left everything she owned at Lorelle’s place. Not that ‘everything’ was much. It was an old television, a purple cane chair, a sofa bed and an oversized panda she won at the Cairns show when she was twelve and was reluctant to get rid of.
“Most women travel with all sorts of crap.”
“I’m not most women.”
Again, he looked her up and down. “Nope, you’re different all right.”
She wanted to ask what he meant by that but decided against it. She had a feeling the answer would be complicated and right now she needed easy and simple. “How far’s McNally’s?”
“It’s in the middle of town so that’d make it about five kilometers from here.”
“Great. Let’s go.” She desperately wanted a shower. “Where’s your car?”
“Yeah, I rode here.”
“Well, how am I supposed to get to McNally’s?”
“On the back of my horse.”
What the? She hadn’t ridden a horse in her life and wasn’t about to now. “What about my stuff?”
“Phil will drive over later with it.”
Cass placed the chicken cage on the ground. “Fine, I’ll go into town with Phil.”
“No worries. He goes off shift in six hours.”
Her eyes widened at that. “Six hours?”
“Yep, he’s stationed here in case of emergencies.”
Cass looked around at the vast expanse of nothingness. “Like what? Aliens landing?”
Monday, 28 April 2014
So, I was talking to a very good and wise friend about various things, as we do, and the subject came up about underwear and the three minute rule. What? You don’t know what the three minute rule is? To be honest, I didn’t know about it either. We were talking about underwear and how you may notice it on someone and wonder how comfortable it is or isn’t but essentially after three minutes it’s no longer an interesting topic and underwear is just underwear. It is probably even more so a three minute deal when you live with someone all the time and what’s covering a derriere is same old same old so a three minute look sums up the interest level.
I dunno. I think I want more when it comes to underwear consideration time when it comes to important to look at underwear be they on significant others or sexy men. I don’t want to be restricted to a glance or a seen-it-all-before-look. I believe when it comes to the perusal of underwear there should be no rules. Just my thoughts as someone who constantly wanders around the house in my underwear for longer than three minutes. I couldn't live with someone who was timing me and my underwear.
Say no to rules.
Say no to rules.
Saturday, 26 April 2014
So, I've been thinking about the name for a female nemesis. I've also been dealing with this situation. Writing versus life. Then the name of the nemesis was given to me by something happening in my life. I'm calling her Temerity Cann©. Why? Because someone in real life is pissed that women can be strong and bold enough to fight against dickheads.
So, thanks so much for shoving the word 'temerity' in my face. You know how much you mean to me.
Thursday, 24 April 2014
"Jacqueline, is that the best you can do?" He sent a sent a smashing blow towards her nose.
She only just dodged the black, fisted boxing glove by retreating backwards, lightly on her feet as the rush of air from the power of it shot over her nose. Refocusing, she aimed an uppercut at his stomach. "Don’t call me Jacqueline."
He bowed his body backwards, deflecting the punch. "Jackie, then."
Jack Katz smiled. She knew this man of old. The games he played she enjoyed. "Do you want me to beat the shit out of you?"
Magnus Wellsby snorted at that. "Like you could. You’re just a girl, Jaq-ue-line."
Whack. Her fist connected with his jaw. Jack had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes momentarily blink in pain. She followed up with a hook to his stomach. The involuntary sound of oomph from him made her smile. He never gave away any feelings or emotions unless caught off guard. Like now. "You’re getting old, Squiggly." She danced around him punching the air waiting for him to re-group. "How old are you anyway?" He was her colleague, boss and mentor. He annoyed the hell out of her with his attitude and fascinated her with the mystery that surrounded him. One minute he was obvious, the next obtuse and confusing. Jack called him 'Squiggly' due to his dark, bushy eyebrows that looked like they had been haphazardly drawn on. Those, and his curly hair, made her think of squiggles. Of course he was the least ‘Squiggly’ man she had ever met. There was a deep, magnetic intensity about him that was both powerful and frightening. Calling him Squiggly, in her mind, slightly leveled the playing field they were on.
"Why? You interested in me?"
She bounced back and forward in front of him. Could he knock her on her ass? Absolutely. Would he? Absolutely. That was their relationship. Equal, yet not so. Jack wasn’t silly enough to think she knew everything about the dark haired man. In some ways it was probably best not to. There was a scary, intense edge to him hidden behind a charming smile. "Well, when the paramedics come it would be helpful to be able to give them your approximate age." It was then she caught her sneakered toe on the edge of a rubber exercise mat and hit the floor, landing hard on her side. The fall jarred her. She rolled over and looked up at her opponent. Jack knew being vulnerable at any stage with him was dangerous.
He laughed. "On your back, where you should be, Katz." Magnus charged her, giving no quarter.
Jack scrambled onto her knees and crawled fast along the ground. It wasn't dignified but it wasn't meant to be. She was only looking to get enough distance between them in order to get to her feet. Once up, Jack repositioned her stance. Left foot forward while her right was behind giving her strength. Her red gloved fists guarded her face. She liked boxing. It was good cardio that kept her reflexes strong and Squiggly was a good opponent. Unlike other men she boxed with, he treated her like an equal and pulled no punches. Neither did Jack. "Bring it on, Squiggly-man." Magnus charged her, fists flying, making her continuously back away. She knew she needed to get in a position where she could force him back but it was hard. He just kept coming.
"This enough for you, Katz? Do you need more? Something harder or deeper? More out of control? I know you like it like that."
She did. But not boxing. They both knew that. "I’d wear you out of we had sex." Jack was starting to sweat, trying to avoid contact with him.
He laughed at that. "I may not want to have sex with you." Magnus threw a long armed punch.
Jack managed to avoid it. Just. "That’s true. I’ve often wondered whether you like men better."
**Story 2 in the Jack Katz Zombie Hunter series
Friday, 18 April 2014
So, I'm picking up Rosie, a kelpie with a dash cattle dog in her, next Tuesday from the homeless shelter after I come back from a trip to the middle of nowhere. Yesterday I bought food and stuff so I had everything when she wanders in. Last night I put together what initially appeared to be a simple dog bed. Simple-my-arse. First of all the instructions were completely wrong for me. I think they were written for someone else...like a man. I did almost consider calling a very good male friend and requesting him to 'fix it please'. But I didn't. I girded my loins and with Allen key in hand I put the dog bed together upside down. $#^%!!!! I looked at it, upside down and thought, "That's fine. I can live with that." Then I looked again and thought "%^&*!!! Damn it, I have to pull it apart." Once apart I assessed all the pieces very, very carefully and even retrieved the instructions from the bin and after careful consideration I put it together upside down - again. %^&*!!!! What!!! I stopped and had a coffee and assessed the problem deciding it was a either a left or right brain puzzle and I hate puzzles and I absolutely knew that the instructions were wrong - stupid instructions - and none of this could possibly be my fault . And yes, I did consider super gluing that sucker together or tying it up. After another cup of coffee and a lot slapping around the face, I struggled for another 40 minutes to get the thing together. After a lot of swearing and maybe the generous application of hammer to metal, the dog bed was done. See? Easy. No problem.
Sunday, 6 April 2014
I was reading this book, part of a series, by a well known paperback writer and I was about four pages into it when I found out a character died. Just like that. He's dead. I flicked back a couple of pages to make sure I hadn't missed anything and that pages weren't stuck together. I checked the series number of the book to make sure I hadn't skipped a book in between - but no, the character was dead. I avidly read on trying to work out what had happened, how the heroine was coping and wondering what she would do next now that this person had left her life. I liked that the heroine was pretty stoic, albeit heartbroken, about it and that she was getting on with her life wondering what she was supposed to do as I was wondering what she was going to do.
To me, this is a good writer and a good book. Make me think. Make me wonder. Too few people write those books and when you find them, that's golden for a reader. It beats the hell out of shag the heroine for 99 pages with a plot on one page to suggest credibility.
Monday, 31 March 2014
I was driving past one of the local schools. I was thinking how the school day seems to end a hell of a lot earlier than it used to when I was a kid. Or maybe in reality it doesn't. I always wanted the school day to finish approximately 30 minutes after I arrived and not at 3:30pm when it was scheduled to end. I didn't care much for high school. I still maintain that I would have been better going straight from primary school to working and travelling overseas. But there were these pesky rules and regulations that necessitated me turning up each day and attempting to pretend I cared.
Anyway - my point is and I do have one - as I drove past the school I was thinking about one of the high schools I went to for around 18 months - I'm an ex army brat. The school always gave one kid the responsibility of ringing the end of day school bell. At
it was a kid call Geoff. He was in a lot of classes with me - most importantly
the detestable math class that was at the end of the day. Geoff took his job
very, very seriously. I took his job very, very seriously because the minute he
stood up at 3:28pm every afternoon, in that dreaded math class, I knew that
soon there would be a reprieve and I'd be able to get the hell out of working
out the whole algebra, trigonometry and whatever whos-a-ma-jiggery problem I was
pretending to be working on. Seymour High School
Now, the thing with Geoff was he never ever rang the bell early. He was always on time...damn him. This is probably why he got the job. The school wasn't silly. He wasn't an army brat who would, undoubtedly, in a free spirited way who gives a crap way break the rules and ring the bell early and then try and look all innocent-like. No matter how many pleading looks we sent him, Geoff, stoic soul that he was, did his duty to the exact second and never wavered.
So, what's the point of all this? Geoffs keep us on track. Wanna get off the track? Ask an Amarinda.
Wednesday, 26 March 2014
I was reminded by author Anny Cook about this weird dude that can be seen on multiple ebook covers. Which weird dude you ask out of the headless men picture above? And why headless men? I'm assuming to buy the pic with a head would cost the cover artist/publisher more money. I don't know about you but I would like a hero with a head. I'd pay the extra for the head. I don't feel, as a reader, that's asking too much. I can see all three men have abs and a crotch but bring me his head - cranium that is, not dick.
Anyway the weird dude we were discussing is the one at the back with his torn 1980's style jeans and his button undone, seemingly ready to either pee or drop is pants to dazzle some breathless heroine with his love muscle. And Anny was right. I've seen him on a lot of covers so this begs the age old question - do women buy ebooks because of the covers? Do they want a man in ripped jeans and his hands on his hips as he balances on the balls of his feet to make him look, I dunno, taller? More well endowed? Is this really what women? If so, then what is the story behind the cover going to be about? Deep, spiritual messages? Man's inhumanity to man? Metaphysical forces in our daily lives and how they shape our destiny? Or just a random sex with a weird dude and his two buddies, legs astride and seemingly ready for action?
I dunno...I believe women deserve a head.
Monday, 24 March 2014
So, I went to drop off some eggs at a friend's place in between trying to mow the lawn and the showers that kept stopping me. I knew they wouldn't be home so I went around the back and dropped off the eggs and said hello to their dog Teddy. He loves everyone. The minute Teddy sees you, he loves you no matter who you are or what you look like, he will present you with a ball or a toy duck for you to play with him.
So, I see him. He sees me and is excited. I'm not sure how he did it but in his rush to grab this mangy duck toy he turns himself in such a way that he smacks his face on some brickwork. Bloody hell! You had to go do that I my watch! Chooks never do that. Undeterred Teddy presents me with the duck. He has knocked a chunk of skin out near his eye. I said to Teddy, who, understands me completely, "Boy oh boy, you're going to get us in trouble when your parents get home." I had inadvertently broken their loveable yet clumsy dog. Teddy, despite a bloody looking non bleeding gash in his skin just keeps nudging the duck at me with a look of "Forget about them. I'm totally in love you with, now play ball with me."
What is the point to this story you ask? Maybe it's that dogs are simple creatures who accept things and move on. Maybe it's about the fact that a dog takes every chance at happiness that he can get. Maybe if he'd been a human, he'd be whining at the chunk of missing skin, annoying the crap out of everyone. Maybe we should be more like dogs though possibly less clumsy when excited. I dunno. Maybe dogs are better than humans in their acceptance of others.
Yes, I did go back and check on him after the first visit. Yes, this meant I had to play another round of throw the duck, then the ball with Teddy. Yes, I rang and left a message with his homeward bound parents about what happened and that I did not deliberately break their clumsy dog.
Yeah, maybe a dogs life is pretty good. No worries, a thick skull and a couple of toy ducks and life is as good as you make it.
Wednesday, 19 March 2014
So, I've been working this temp gig to earn some money because for some reason the Lotto doesn't seem to paying me out millions of dollars. Kinda weird really because that's why I play it but there you go.
I was working with this woman yesterday - actually, working is probably the incorrect term as we spent most of the day talking. After talking to her I've decided I want to grow up to be her. Why? Because when she retired she and her partner hit the road and travelled
working odd jobs and
seeing the country and basically just enjoying the adventure. Currently she
lives on a boat in the Whitsundays and they travel up and down the east coast
just going where they want and living as they please. No, they're not rich.
They worked hard all their lives and saved to get to the point where they
are now. Talking to her was like talking to myself in 15 years time. Australia
I believe every so often life gives you glimpses of the future to remind you that yes, you may be going through crapacious times but there is a reason to it all so hold on and do what you have to in order for better days to come. I believe...
Monday, 17 March 2014
I had a face off with a bully yesterday. She thought I was a victim. Why? I'm not sure. Maybe because I'm an average woman with average looks and her need to try and pick on someone was transferred to me. I spent my childhood with a bully who tried to stomp on my self esteem and destroy me. Bullies are like that. By their very nature they are weak people who try to demolish the strength of others to make them feel better about themselves. Get a frigging self help book or see a psychiatrist I say. Unfortunately for the bully I faced on the job, I detest bullies and I will never put up with the rot they go on with. I stood my ground and I dealt with her letting her know I was the absolutely wrong person to toy with. I also reported her actions because while I can look after myself another may not be able to and she needed to be officially stopped. Tattling? No. Someone has to say something to stop something. She got stopped.
Today, a woman at the gym was telling me about the stress of a bully who was making her life a nightmare. After I left her I was wondering to myself are bullies more recognizable now? By that I mean did people in the past just suck it up and forge ahead, saying nothing as they got on as best they could against the bully. I don't recall an outcry against bullies in school thirty or forty years ago. Did that allow the bullies to grow up and create more bullies to the point that they can be found everywhere and that has caused people to stop and think about the evil of bullies and how they should be stopped? Is it that we understand our rights more? Do we remember as kids that one person that pushed us too far and stiffened our resolved to never be pushed that far again?
I dunno. All I do know is if a bully tries to hurt you and doesn't succeed, there will be a dozen more people that bully will try and attack. Stand your ground and be the one who stops them. Yeah, it's hard work but you never want that happening to someone else.
Wednesday, 12 March 2014
So, I'm working at a temp job at the moment. It involves liaising with members of the public for a week and a bit and there is a hell of a lot of walking involved. I have another person as my partner on this chatting-walking gig. Never met her before today but she made it very clear to me that she, let's call her, er, Charlene was doing the job to scope out 'talent' to find her future husband. She wants to get married, she already has an engagement ring - her Prince Charming does not have to fork out for this - and she WILL get married. There is no maybe in this. Charlene is a woman possessed. I found her intense need to hog-tie a man to her for marital-there-is-no-way-we-will-ever-divorce-wedded bliss fascinating and scary. On one hand she knows what she wants - man, wedding ring and to become Mrs Charlene X. On the other, in my opinion, she's scary obsessed to the point of not being realistic. I get that some women would like to be a 'couple' but there is also the fact that not everyone marries. Sometimes fate just doesn't make it so. I did point that out to her. Charlene's thoughts on this are because too many women get involved with ' losers' and give up on marriage and 'fate' is stupid. I personally think women like Charlene, who are so marriage obsessed, scare men away. What man wants to be driven to marriage? And to have your own engagement ring to expedite the proceedings? Scary much? It begs the question what happens to the Charlene's of the world if they do not marry?
Monday, 10 March 2014
So life has been very weird, complex, difficult, different and sporadic for a while. But that happens. It's probably all to do with the tides, the moon, what colour undies you're wearing, what fruit is in season, the job market and complex stuff like that. It's been trying. But I also keep trying purely because as annoying as life can be, I can be more so.
Jobs have been weirdly sporadic and since being made redundant last year, I've done a lot of diverse things. I'm flexible like that. You wanna pay me? Sure I'll turn up. No, I'm not much fussed what I do for the money because I'm sure I'll be able to do it because like any hired gun flexibility is the key and hell, longevity is not an issue. Like Darth McVader above. Give me a moment and I'm sure I can take a crack at the unicycle thing. As for bagpipes? How hard can they be?
I got a call from the temp agency today to do some work this week and next. It's essentially telling people where to go. You know - directions - go left, go right, go to the far queue. I said - sure, no worries. One day I may get a real job but due to this cycle of what-the-fuckery that I find myself in, I can be a temporary person once more. Pay me and it shall be.
Sunday, 9 March 2014
So, I just came back from the hairdresser. I like going there as I can read all the trashy magazines, especially the old ones from last year. I like to read over the horoscopes to see if anything that was predicted in 2013 actually happened. I'm a Scorpio. It was predicted the following would happen to Scorps...
- You will find the great love of your life - er, no.
- You will marry - see above.
- Great wealth will come your way - er, no.
- You will want for nothing as the universe will answer your every call - I may have been asleep and missed that call. Was a message left?
- Your dream job will come to you in an unexpected way - negatory.
- The end of 2013 and the start of 2014 is your year Scorpio. I will be golden - it's actually been pretty puce bordering on blech.
- You will experience great periods of happiness - thank god for chocolate.
- You and your partner could expect a bundle of joy - hmmm, if I could find this partner I would ask him where this ' bundle' is and what's my share.
- Your inquisitive mind will lead you down paths that will see you accumulating great knowledge - er, no.
- You will be spiritually enlightened - no, unless the spirits were alcohol based.
- You will want for nothing - uh huh.
I like reading my horoscope but on the whole, it's pretty much a load of bullocks. The love of your life? You find him or you don't and the world still turns. Great wealth? Never known money to come to you without hard work. Dream jobs? Ain't no such thing. Happiness? You have to be happy with yourself or at least give yourself a break and accept you can equally stuff up or star. Horoscopes. Enjoy them but believe them? Believe only in yourself.
Friday, 7 March 2014
I changed the route on my run this morning and ran through the city. Only problem with this is you can see your reflection in the shop windows when you run. Yeesh. While the fact you can run without dying is a good thing, you don't want to be looking at yourself when you do it. Scary stuff. It'd put you off exercise for life.
Exercise. Don't look - don't see - just do it.
"Exercise is done against one’s wishes and maintained only because the alternative is worse." - unknown
Wednesday, 5 March 2014
So, I was reading this magazine article on why you should never ever, ever be the first person in a relationship to say “I love you.” Why? Well, there are lots of reasons, said the magazine writer, that indicate those three words lead to doom and doom is bad.
Why do we need to contemplate the perplexing who says “I love you” first situation? Well, according to the article you apparently don’t want to say it and not have it said back because it can be awkward. There’s also the issue of “I love you too” when its said too fast after your declaration of love. They say this can be bad because the fast "I love you too" can indicate panic from the other person. Panic is akin to doom, it seems. To counter this it appears you have to wait for the perfect “I love you” moment and even if this serendipitous moment does occurs, you can’t be sure that the object of your affection loves you back because apparently they could just be trying to make you happy by saying what they think you want to hear. See above. The after the fact “I love you” is a minefield that must be negotiated carefully due to the need to please factor.
If by now, you’re still thinking – “Bugger it, I still want to say ‘I love you’" to someone, I say go for it you crazy fool you but remember there’s the theory you’re not to say it until you’ve been on 5 dates and then it’s better for the man to say it first because…well, I’m not sure. The article just reckons its better that way as it gives the man the edge and feeling of control. But I gotta say if he says it and she doesn’t or she runs screaming away then I’m thinking there’s not a lot of control going on there.
Then there’s always the right way to say “I love you” apparently. You have to create ‘a moment’ and never ever say it when you’re drunk. Yep, I’d have to go along with this because drunks love everyone and sincerity isn’t their strong point. You should also never apologise for saying "I love you" even when he or she doesn’t love you back. I think you’re supposed to smile, be all stoic like and make light of pouring out your deepest feelings and pretend your heart isn’t stomped on by an uncaring sod as you go off to get stinking drunk enough to say “I love you” to complete strangers who will smile and pity you but it doesn't matter because you won’t remember saying those three words to them. And for god sake, if you do say those possibly three doom ridden words, the article says don’t answer for the other person. I’m not sure how that goes unless Bob says, “I love you, Mary and I know you love me so it’s a done deal. You’re in this for life with me so don’t even think of arguing with me because no man will ever love you as I do.” In this case I would say step away from Bob, no matter how much he loves you. Bob is a problem.
All in all, my personal opinion is it’s probably best if you just slug someone in the arm and forgo the ‘I love you’ thing. I’ve said those words and I’ve done the slugging someone in the arm thing. Go with the arm.
Tuesday, 4 March 2014
So, my computer has been at death's door for a while with it's flickering, coughing, stuttering and flat out disinterest in any command I gave it. I was nursing it along - ok, yelling at it - when it kept doing the dying swan routine. Today, it carked it (died). It was, in Amarinda terms, foccaccia'd. Bugger. But then, I thought to myself, you have a back up laptop, you smart, practical hoarder you. I hauled out this ancient specimen thinking this will solve all problems. It didn't. I turned it on, it spluttered, burped, groaned and then died. Another foccaccia'd moment. I sighed.
A friend rang me a bit later and I told her what happened and she said 'What next for you? Were you cursed by an evil goblin? Your life is going to hell in a handbag.' Yep, life has been a tad trying of late and stuff has happened that I could have lived without dealing with. But, all things considered, two foccaccia'd computers purely means that I should expect two good things to come out of said foccaccia-er-ing. Believe it and it will be. No, I'm not on drugs. I'm a Scorpio. We always regenerate.
Sunday, 2 March 2014
I was driving home last night after the basketball – which the home team won – amazing, Grace – and I was thinking about life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, men and all that male-dom encompasses, the battle I’m fighting and questions like did I have enough petrol to get home? When did I eat last? Lordy, I’m tired, tired, tired. How much money do I have in my purse? And then, for some reason a person I used to work with, maybe 10 years ago, came to mind. Why? I dunno. Her name was er, let’s say Odette…yes, Odette. As I drove in the dark, I recalled the first time I met her. I was working at Telstra – pukeable telecommunication company – and I moved desks – they did that a lot at Telstra – think Titanic and the deck chairs - to sit next to her. As I dumped my crap on the desk, she turned and said to me ‘”I like penis – a lot and I’m very loud and I’ll drive you crazy.” My response to that was “I’m happy you like penises. I have no personal objection to them. However considering your ‘very loud’, I’d prefer you don’t bring a penis to the desk and get all excited 'cause I will have to tell you to shut up.” We got on well, me and Odette, the penis lover. I’m not sure what happened to her in the end. There were lots of stories about Odette. I do know the very last time I saw her she had come stomping into work, a plastic bag in her hand and the charred remnants of her work uniform inside. “I set it alight last night,” She said to me in a casual who-gives-a-crap-tone. “Good one,” I responded, because I always enjoy decisive action. She then marched up to management, handed them the scraps of uniform and then left the building, head held high and undoubtedly thinking about the pursuit of penises.
So, what does that all mean in the scheme of things and of me, driving home in the dark, contemplating life? I think it is supposed to mean that it’s okay to set things alight to in order to move on and that sometimes you have to declare your intentions and your desires – be they penises or not – and just get on with who you are as a person without thinking about petrol, food, the arseholes you battle or tiredness because you only get so many chances to burn bridges and to right wrongs. It’s all just about declaring who you are, defying those who don't like that and then keep moving regardless of what's ahead.