Random Friday # Whatever

Yesterday was my bitch's birthday. That's right, my baby brother, Sticky is now 21. Bitch is celebrating it for three days and I'm already tired after only one. In the immortal words of Sgt Murtaugh in Lethal Weapon, I'm getting too old for this shit.

Tomorrow I say farewell to Non-Shag. Considering this week has been a roller coaster of emotional farewells (especially saying goodbye to my bestie - and not in a good way, more in an angry confrontational way) I am expecting to cry. A lot. He has been forewarned and should therefore be forearmed. I have also invested in Kleenex tissues so as to have some good come out of this.

I also have tickets to the V-Festival to see The Pixies. So very excited. And one of my bestest friends who I haven't seen in ages, and his gorgeous girlfriend, will also be there. I am planning on taking drugs and telling him how much I love him over and over spending lots of quality time throughout the day with them.

I still can't believe my bitch is 21. I remember the day he was born, etc etc. More importantly, I remember when he was toilet training and never wore undies. Must locate those photos for Saturday night when we have the huge, friend's night out at some young people's nightclub. Oh God, they will be so very young.

My arsehole ex-boyfriend and his fiance also have tickets to the V Festival. Along with his arsehole friends. Party crashers. I will be avoiding them like the plague. Especially when on drugs tired and emotional, as I may tell her a few truths she's not ready for. And punch him.

Speaking of young, a mate of mine shagged another mate's brother. We have, obviously, been giving her hell about it. She would like us to stop. I think if she can go there, so can we, therefore merciless teasing will continue forever, n'est pas?

Twenty-one. Ridiculous. Just ridiculous.

It just seems a little unlikely

This is one of the best email scams I've seen in a while:

COCA'COLA COMPANY
PROMOTION/PRIZE AWARD DEPT
COCA'COLA AVENUE
STAMFORD BRIDGE LONDON .
SW1V 3DW UNITED KINGDOM

THE COCA'COLA COMPANY OFFICIAL PRIZE NOTIFICATION

We are pleased to inform you of the result of the just concluded annual final draws held on the (1st January 2007) by Coca-Cola in conjunction with the British American Tobacco Worldwide Promotion, your email was among the 20 Lucky winners who won £1,000,000.00 each on the THE COCA'COLA COMPANY PROMOTION

However the results were released on the 18th March 2007 and your email was attached to ticket number (7PWYZ2006) and ballot number (BT: 12052006/20) The online draws was conducted by a random selection of email addresses from an exclusive list of 29,031 E-mail addresses of individuals and corporate bodies picked by an advanced automated random computer search from the internet. However, no tickets were sold but all email addresses were assigned to different ticket numbers for representation and privacy.

The selection process was carried out through random selection in our computerized email selection machine (TOPAZ) from a database of over 250,000 email addresses drawn from all the continents of the world.

This Lottery is approved by the British Gaming Board and also licensed by The International Association of Gaming Regulators (IAGR). This lottery is the 3rd of its kind and we intend to sensitize the public.

In other to claim your £1, 000, 000 00 prize winning, which has been deposited in a designated bank. However, you will have to fill the form below and send it to the Promotion manager of THE COCA'COLA COMPANY for verification and then you will be directed to the next procedures on how to collect your winning money price.

NAME:...........................
AGE:........................................
SEX:........................................
ADDRESS:...............................
EMAIL:....................................
PHONE:...................................
OCCUPATION:.........................
MARITAL STATUS.................
COMPANY:..............................
COUNTRY:...............................

Please you are advice to complete the form and send it immediately to our Promotion manager through email or fax for prompt collection of your fund from the designated bank.

(CONTACT PROMOTION MANAGER)

Name: Mr. Bruce Allen.
Phone: +44 7024025467.
Email: agent_claimoffice113@yahoo.com.

You are to keep all lotto information away from the general public especially your ticket number and ballot number. (This is important as a case of double claims will not be entertained).

Warning!!!: Fraudulent emails are circulating that appear to be from Coca Cola Lottery, but are not from Coca ColaLottery.

PLEASE REPORT IMMEDIATELY TO :
CUSTOMER CARE/COMPLAINTS DEPT AT National Coca Cola Lottery Services, 209, Stamford Bridge London England.

*Staff of Coca-Cola and the British American Tobacco Company is not to partake in this Lottery.

Accept my hearty congratulations once again!

Yours faithfully,
Mrs. Merriam Wilcox
(Online Coordinator)

I love the details. The useless info they have included about assignment of ticket numbers even though no ticket is required. The fact they tell you to report fraudulent emails to a dodgy address.

But one million pounds will certainly make my life easier. I can pay off my mortgage! Buy a car!! Finance my hedonistic lifestyle. Please, sirs, let me give you all my personal details so you can "verify" I am me.

It's just a little surprising that Coca Cola, whilst having it's own road in Stamford Brook, doesn't have it's own web domain. Surely the emails should be from someone@cocacola.co.uk, not a random hotmail address? Just a thought...

Many years ago, my boyfriend (at the time) and I were discussing safe sex. As all responsible adults should.

Actually, we were discussing how we were both paranoid about STDs. He was one of the few boys I have dated who insisted on wearing a condom until we were both serious about each other and had both had STD tests. Most guys I know are all "It's like wearing your socks in the shower", but not this one.

Anyway, we were discussing where this paranoia about STDs came from. And for both of us it was the same place. The grim reaper AIDS advertisements which had scared the shit out of us as kids.

For those of you who don't know or remember it, I'm going to do that awful blogging thing of including it as a YouTube clip here. Sorry:



This ad scared the shit out of me as a kid. Apparently, it had the same effect on my ex. Hence, our adult paranoia about all sexually transmitted diseases. Sure, it probably wasn't as scary for adults, and may have had less of an effect upon them. But it worked for the two of us.

So now there's talk about doing graphic ads regarding ice. And everyone's all "Ohhh, the teenagers will still try ice because they're teenagers and that's what they do". Well, fuck teh teenagers. Mayeb we should be aiming at scaring the crap out of kiddies. Maybe we should be aiming at prevention, rather than a cure. Target kids and maybe prevent them from taking up whatever dangerous epidemic we're advertising about now.

If an ad from 1987 with the grim reaper can still have such an effect on two grown ups a good 20 years after it was shown on tv, maybe they do have an effect, albeit a delayed one.

So Long, Farewell

So, as you'll all know by now, I'm moving to London very, very soon (like, on April 3).

It also means I won't be posting anywhere near as much as I have been. Those long terms readers will know I have accepted a job as a Tour Leader (not with Contiki, they rejected me), leading impresionable 18 to 30-something year olds around Europe.

So, for the next six months I will be living out of a battered old rucksack, telling people all about the sights of Europe. I have been practising the following important phrases in preparation:

1. On your left we have...
2. Everyone hold up your passports - we're not leaving til I can see them.
3. Has everyone packed up their tents?
4. Today we're driving from [country] to [country] - sit back, relax and enjoy the countryside.
5. Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!
6. Sweetie, if you're going to vomit, please aim away from me.

If I don't post very often it's because I am either catching up on sleep or the particular camp site I am staying in doesn't have internet access. But I will be trying my best to post something at least once a week.

I warn you now, most posts are likely to be along the lines of "The Ten Most Hilariously Dumb Questions Tourists Have Asked Me" or "How I Fell Over and Embarrassed Myself at the Vatican".

And if you want a postcard, email me your address. For serious. I love sending postcards almost as much as I love receiving postcards.

Class 1 - Navigation in the Rain

Good morning class (*good morning Original_Mel*). Today's lesson is an important one, so you best pay attention. W and Mex this means you, I can see you passing notes from here and will separate you if you don't look to the front.

Now, as you may be aware Australia is in a bit of a drought at the moment. But, due to unpredictable weather patterns, this does not mean we can expect no rain ever again. In fact, it means that we need to be better prepared for how to deal with the rain when it strikes, as it has done quite viciously in the past few weeks. Mushroom, thanks for finally joining us, please see me after class.

So today's class will be about how to properly navigate through the city in the rain. If you have any questions there will be time at the end of class for them to be answered.

1. Umbrellas are great, aren’t they? They keep the rain off and come in a wide range of colours. As funky and fun as they are, they do not require a seat on the train. Or bus. Putting your umbrella on the seat next to you will make it wet. Someone will then sit in it. They’ll be pissed off. And if they are like me, they will then “accidentally” brush their wet umbrella all the way up your leg, and as you get off the train run it along your back for good measure.


2. When walking with an umbrella, please remember that not everyone is as short as you. Whilst holding an umbrella just over your head height easy, it means that when walking in crowds you run the risk of taking out someone’s eye. Especially when crossing the road. For these few seconds of your life please try and raise your umbrella slightly so as to avoid my other pedestrian’s eyes.


3. Also, there is no need to vigorously shake your umbrella to dry it off when there is a crowd gathered. Your umbrella will still drip, and those around you don’t really like being covered in water. We will retaliate with our own vigorous shaking, and possibly "accidentally" smack you with our umbrella for good measure.


4. If you were stupid and didn't think to bring an umbrella, despite it being darker than a goth's wardrobe when you left for work, don't congregate at the entrance of the train station waiting for the lights to change so you can dash across to the next spot of shelter. Those of us with umbrellas will have top push through you to get to our workplaces. Some of us will kick you in the back of the knees so you move. Others will just put our shoulders down and barge. Others still will yell "Get your fat arses out of the way - it's only water not acid fucking rain you twats!". Either way we'll be pissed off.


5. You can only get so wet. Running will not prevent the rain from falling on you, it will just make you wet AND sweaty. If you're going to run between the shelter, you're going to look like a knob. I will also not appreciate you crashing into me because I am walking (under my umbrella) and you are not looking. I will get the shits.


6. Most importantly, there is no need to walk into the office and make the comment "It's raining outside!" every time you go out for a ciggie / a coffee / to check the weather. I can see it's raining. I have a window. Even if I didn't, I am smart enough to know that when you walk into the office soaked through to the core you did not swim to work from Mosman, but rather got caught in the rain without an umbrella. It's not rocket science.

Thank you class. I hope you all took thorough notes because this topic will be in the final exam. That's it W and Mex, see me after class for your detention times.

Class dismissed.

Gratuitous Maudlin Post

I have pretty much been a mess since Saturday morning.

For the first time since I decided to go to England it feels real. On Friday night I went out with some people who may seem familiar. And I'm probably not going to see a number of them again. Well, not until I get back from England, but who knows when that will be.

Last night I saw Ross Noble (again) and met up with a bunch of mates for drinks before and after. I am probably not going to see them again before I leave.

Today was my last shift at the travel agency. I'm working the close shift, which means I'm alone half the night. I have farewell drinks this week. However, one of the boys I have had a love/hate relationship with since I started (I love to tease him and he usually hates me for it) can't make it. We both just got all teary when he said goodbye. I'll miss annoying the crap out of him. Not to mention my other colleagues and coworkers who I have really, really enjoyed working with.

It's finally sinking in that I leave in one week. One measly week. Some people I may never see again. Others I will keep in contact with, but don't know when I'll actually be with them in a room again.

I know I'm about to start a whole new adventure but right now my chest aches and I'm trying to make it through my last three hours here, alone, in a travel agency, without crying.

God I sound melodramatic. But I am excited and terrified and scared and ecstatic and thrilled and miserable all at once. I don't like not being in control. And at the moment I feel like I'm riding a roller coaster with a blindfold on.

Boredom

I'm so bored this afternoon. It's my last day of work in a law firm in Australia and... well, I really couldn't care less about the constitution of an IT company in California our client might be buying. Sue me.

So I'm piss farting about on blogthings. And I found this:

Your Blog Should Be Orange

Your writing has a star quality - it's charming, bold, and flamboyant. You write what's on your mind, without fear of embarrassment later. You are one of the most honest bloggers around, and people appreciate your daring persona.

What Color Should Your Blog or Journal Be?

Hmmm, maybe not. I think I like green. Well, I do at the moment anyway. But orange is just a little too... much?

Come on comment on my nothingness. Give me something to do for the next... 64 minutes of my work day.

Should I Be Offended:

1. That my brother has stolen all of my CDs and integrated them into his collection "cause you're going overseas and someone should enjoy them".


2. That my friends are talking about me in the past tense, like I am dead/dying and not just going to the UK for a while.


3. That my best friend is not coming to my farewell party, because she "has a work thing" even though I spoke to her colleague and he said someone else could probably cover the work thing for her and she knew it.


4. That my father is telling people I am moving over the the UK to work in a law firm, and still won't accept that I don't want to be a lawyer, or in fact ever work in a law firm, ever again.


5. That my old boss refused to provide me with a reference because "you're not going to be working in the legal industry, so why bother".


6. That my co-workers from the travel agency, who I have only worked with for four months or so, seem to think my trip is more exciting than my friends who I have known for years.


7. That my ex-boyfriend told me he "wouldn't feel comfortable" letting me crash on his floor for a few days when I go back to Scotland to visit my mates. Especially considering how he abused my mates' hospitalities when he visited Australia.

I know, I know, this post is a bit "wah wah poor me". But for the first time since I made the decision to do something I have wanted to do since I was a kid (ie move to London for a while and see lots of Europe) I feel at a loss. My bestie and I had another ridiculous fight and she isn't talking to me again this week, my friends keep not inviting me to things and then telling me it's because "you're always so busy - why bother" and the only people who have actually said they'll miss me are my mum, who I will also really, REALLY miss, and Non-Shag, which I am still in denial about.

Perhaps this is the pre-international-move blues which so few country singers have sung about.

Oh No!

I missed World Frog Day.

Bugger!

I'm Bringing Lust Back

So I had this post planned in my head about how I think one of my friend's phones accidentally called mine the other night while she was having the sex. It was going to be witty, and erudite, and a little bit naughty.

But then I sat down last night to watch Spicks and Specks, as is my wont of a Wednesday night. And I instead became suffused with lust for Josh Lawson.

I have one word: PHWOAR!

I mean, I've had a bit of an old crush on Josh since seeing him rock his fucking pants off on Thank God You're Here. But then he turned up on Spicks and Specks and.... well, be still my throbbing loins.

There are a number of reasons for my sudden infatuation. Listed (in order of importance) these are:

1. He's smart


2. He's funny


3. He's fucking hot (his upper arms last night were looking particularly buff.... again, phwoar)

So Josh, if you happen to be swinging by my blog (oh come on, everyone has googled themselves at some point or another, haven't they?) then I just want to say, I'm yours.

Okay, I might have a non-shag at the moment, but for you I would eschew all contact with other men. Anything you want - no strings, strings, hell you can tie me up and spank me with a haddock if you so desire.

All I know is that, since Spicks and Specks last night, I want to make lots of the sex with you. My hormones are crazy and it's Josh Lawson they want.

He even inspired this lovely conversation between my mother and I:

Mrs Mel: He's a rather attractive young man isn't he?
Translation: Phwoar. If I were 25 years younger, I'd tap that.

Original Mel: I suppose he's alright... If you have eyes.
Translation: Back off bitch, he's mine!

Mrs Mel: Where do I know him from? He looks familiar.
Translation: So I can rush out and buy it for a bit more of a perve.

Original Mel: Thank God You're Here. He's been on it a few times.
Translation: Buy two copies - one for me, one for you.

Mrs Mel: What an attractive boy. Anyway, I'm off to bed.
Translation: Your father's probably going to get lucky tonight thanks to my new found lust for a younger man.

Okay, I just grossed myself out a little. But the point is, Josh's fabulousness transcends age.

Seriously, call me Josh. Call me now.

Why I'm Never Drinking Again Reason #8465

What I had for dinner last night:

One potato wedge (no sour cream, no chilli)
One chip with guacamole
About 8 cigarettes

What I should have had for dinner last night:

Actual food
Water

Reason:

I thought it was a good idea to drink about 10 beers in two and a half hours

Why this was not a good idea:

It was a school night
I hadn't had much for lunch
It was work drinks
I may have lived up to my nickname of Crazy Original Mel

How I am feeling this morning:

Betrayed, because Coopers Pale Ale still makes you feel like shit, even without the preservatives that other beers have
Nauseous
Confused as to why my sunnies now only have one lens
In pain, and unsure of how I got a massive cut up the front of my leg
Queasy to the point where saying, writing or even thinking the words alcohol (bleugh) and cigarettes (bleugh) make me dry wretch (bleugh)
Pretty sure that in my drunken state I was telling the boys stories that I shouldn't have
Concerned at the two phone numbers written on the back of my hand

I'd quite like to go back to bed now, please...


POSTSCRIPT: I just fainted at work. Fuck. They made me lie down on the couch and everything. And then my colleague cleared everyone out to ask me if I was pregnant. I had to come clean and admit that I was hungover as fuck and really, really should be home in bed. They are now laughing at me and won't let me go home. Bastards.


POST-POSTSCRIPT: There was no need for me to make myself ill. I just threw up my lunch without requiring any fingers-down-throat assistance. It's ever so classy having to run through your legal office to the toilets to yak your guts up due to a vile hangover. They still won't let me go home. Apparently I have to attend the settlement of a sale of property this afternoon. Which means I have to go meet with other lawyers whilst looking like a homeless person. Fucking tops.

Random #2

Morning!

Hot Fuzz is my vote for movie of the year. Fucking funny. I had the day off yesterday and was determined to go see it, whether my co-attendee wanted to see it or not. After convincing them I annoyed the shit out of co-attendee vy laughing my arse off the whole way through. And I think I may be a little bit in love with a a ginger nut.

I have started pre-packing my bags. I have eight pairs of shoes to take to England with me. Not including the pair I will wear on the flight itself. And this is me cutting down to what I think is essential. In other words, most of my luggage will be taken up with shoes. Who really needs clothes anyway?

I was out with mates on the weeekend and started talking to this boy. He reckoned he was in a band (a band which features on my iPod, actually) and I may have not believed him and told him he was full of himself. He took my number from my friend anyway. I googled said band on the weekend and he really, truly is in it (and he's not the drummer, don't worry). Does this make me a groupie? Or would I have been a groupie if I gave him my number, instead of my mate doing so (yes, we're back in year five)?

I heard the whole of Silvershair's new album yesterday, and I don't care what youse all think but I like it. Maybe not as much as I liked Diorama, but I like the direction they've taken. But then, I never was a huge fan of them back in the old Frog Stomp days.

I bought my parents a farewell pressie (even though I'm leaving not them). Dylan Moran tickets, to be exact. Now I am very jealous and want to keep them for myself, even though I won't be in Australia when the show is on.

Is blackmail a sackable offence under WorkChoices? One of Non-Shag's colleagues has worked out we are shagging and is now making all sorts of demands so that everyone else in the world doesn't find out. Non-Shag is quite happy for people to know (yeah, if I were a 42 year old guy shagging a 25 year old girl, I'd want people to know too). I on the other hand just don't need the complications. By demands I mean he wants an extra long lunch break, to be able to swan into work at 11 without any pay cut, etc etc. It's not like he's asking for a million dollars or anything. Not yet, anyway.

I leave in less than 2 weeks. Am officially freaking out.

That is all.

The Story So Far

So I've been told by another blogger that details of my move from sunny Sydney to dreary London are sketchy, and more info is required. For those of you who have not been paying attention, I provide a run down of what is going on. Saves me having to think of something witty to write about:

So basically, I was your average Sydney lawyer. I worked all the hours god gave me, and a few more to boot. I spent a lot of time fixing my older, more experienced and better paid colleague's mistakes, and got none of the glory. I (apparently) had senior associate prospects in the next five years.

Then one day, I realised I was miserable. Being a lawyer is, for the most part, about dealing with arseholes who get themselves into legal trouble because they are morons and then expect you to get them out of it. For nothing. And far too many of the practising lawyers out there are just as bad as people think. And law firms lie outrageously about what work you will be doing when they sucker you in to being their employee underpaid slave.

One day, after a particularly depressing couple of months where I didn't know what to do, I realised I had to get out. So I quit my job. This began what I like to refer to as my quarter life crisis.

I then started working as a secretary in the law firm from hell. I lasted four months before telling them to stick their job up their clacker.

During that period, I decided I was going to use my English passport to become another pain in the arse Aussie in London. Lord knows there aren't enough there already. London could use one or two more, surely. Plus, it may be my last chance to abuse my nan's west London apartment before she sells it to move into a more age appropriate place (read: nursing home).

I also got a second job working as a long suffering travel agent. Which, despite people largely being insane, I still quite enjoy.

I went for an interview for my number two dream job. It was an unprecedented disaster. Luckily, I had applied for two jobs with similar companies though, and managed to not fuck up the second one. And get the job.

I then had eight weeks to get my act together and arrange a move to London. I may or may not have freaked out at this point.

I moved home to get ready for Engerland. And worked various cruisy casual jobs to pay for said trip.

I met a boy man. I am refusing to think about this though, as I am in denial. It is a lovely place to be.

I now leave in two weeks. I am both shit scared and excited.

I think that sums it up. Apologies for the many links (and is there anything more up yourself than linking to yourt own goddammed blog? Computer says no).

At least this gets you up to date...

iPod Shame

I was bored at work this morning and thought I would have a bit of a look at the Top 25 played songs on my iPod. My little brother is a firm believer that you can tell a lot about a person by their 25 most played song.

I am afeared that mine tell you something I wouldn't want repeated:

1. Kanye West New Workout Plan
2. Arctic Monkeys You Probably Couldn't See For the Lights But You Were Looking Right At Me
3. Kanye West Gold Digger
4. Regina Spektor Hotel Song
5. Macromantics Scorch
6. Arctic Monkeys I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor
7. Metallica Enter Sandman
8. B-52s Rock Lobster
9. Regina Spektor Fidelity
10. Rage Against the Machine Killing in the Name
11. Violent Femmes Kiss Off
12. Prince Kiss
13. The Grates 19 20 20
14. Guns and Roses Welcome to the Jungle
15. Barbara Streisand and Barry Gibb Guilty
16. Silverchair Across the Night
17. Beastie Boys Intergalactic
18. Aretha Franklin Respect
19. Muse Time is Running Out
20. Dresden Dolls Girl Anachronism
21. Something With Numbers Apple of the Eye
22. PJ Harvey This is Love
23. The Smiths How Soon Is Now?
24. System of a Down Chop Suey
25. Smashing Pumpkins Disarm

I like the way Babs is nestled between Gunners and Silverchair. And that Kanye is up twice in the first three songs.

I recently went through my bestie's Top 25 most played songs (a feature she wasn't even aware her iPod had) and found such artists as Barbara Streisand and Neil Diamond, Bette Midler, Tori Amos, John Williamson, Kevin Bloody Wilson and a cornucopia of show tunes... which I maintain raises many questions - including "Who the fuck has John Williamson on their iPod??"

Of course, she may just be a true blue lover of all songs diva-ish, whereas I am apparently a heavy metal loving rap fan who gets down to a bit of 80s kitsch, and a few top 40 hits. Work that one out for me.

I Have to Vent

I have spent ALL FUCKING DAY dealing with Bankstown City Council as we are acting on the sale of a property which was meant to settle today.

Unfortunately, to settle we need various documents from the Council.

I honestly think it is easier to get secret CIA documents about the conspiracy to murder JFK.

So far I've been on the phone for 45 minutes - and this is just for my most recent phone call. I won't mention the other phone calls I've had all day.

I have been transferred four times so far. I have been told four different things so far. They have taken my client's money and yet are still refusing to give me the info I need. And apparently, it is council policy not to fax urgent things to people - instead they post them. Regular post, not express.

What the fuck???

I am just about ready to have a Falling Down moment. Where is my bazooka when I need it.

Fucking local government fucking inefficiency.

Voter's Apathy

It's only a week until we get to vote again. We can choose between Morris Iemma, possible stooge for the likes of Costa and Tripodi, or Peter Debnam, who another blogger pointed out looks like Frank Spencer. And also gives the Christian Right a bad name (which Fred Nile is perfectly capable of doing himself, thank you very much).

Is anyone else as bored as I am with the whole election rubbish? Every year we are asked to pick between two parties, who all lie and cheat to get in and then usually fuck us up the arse once they have power. They are largely different in name only. The Liberals are anything but, and Labor forgot their working class roots the second they dropped the "u". Yawn.

After the election what will change? The public transport system will still be shit. Teachers, nurses and cops will still be underpaid. Government employees will get flexi-days and be rewarded for inefficiency with job security, while those who work in the public sector are rammed with WorkChoices. Task forces will be set up to write voluminous reports which no one will ever pay attention to unless they are trying to score political points. Everyone will claim to be "tough on drugs", without having the slightest idea of how much fun drugs can be and why people might actually want to use them. We still won't have a water solution.

I don't know about the rest of you, but I am just so over it all. I am over Morris and his shittest advertising slogan ever. I am over Debnam and his elfin fucking ears.

My mate did send me this cool blog link, which asks you to answer questions and then tells you what your political leanings are and which party best represents them. Unsurprisingly, the Greens best reflect my political views. Yep, I'm a dirty hippy at heart.

Bring on next Saturday. At least it's only one day every few years. Although we have the joy of another election, this time national, some time later in the year. Thank God I'll be elsewhere...

Forgive me, but I am just going to indulge my obsession a little bit this morning. It's an illness.

So I went to see Ross Noble's opening show in Sydney last night. Fucking front row seats too. And I had the proudest moment of my whole life whilst there. Anyone who was at the Sydney show will understand this, the rest of you won't. Anyway, the giant-headed-triangle-bodied baby was my father!! Yes, Ross Noble singled out my highly annoying father at the very beginning of the show, all because dad's shirt matched the decor of the Enmore Theatre (his shirt really was a plush maroon, too). I was so proud!

Of course, as it usually does with dad, pride turned to embarassment when dad then yelled "Suck Off!" at Ross Noble (focus backwards and... oh, you had to be there). But nonetheless, my family were part of the Ross Noble experience. And Ross gave my dad a toblerone which I have demanded he never, ever throw away the packaging for. EVER.

The show was hilarious. Hilarious. I spat beer out my nose at one point. My little bro has a bruise on his forehead where he leant forward laughing with such force that he smacked his head on his knee. My mother had to inhale ventolin in the interval she was laughing so hard.

And it fed my obsession just a little bit more.

Of course, I in no way think it's sad that I also have tickets to Ross' final show in Sydney (also front row, bitches!). Or that I just spent 20 minutes on the world wide interweb trying to buy tickets for a London show in November (even though I have no one to go with yet). And have failed and therefore need to call Engerland at some point to buy them over the phone. Just so you all know - in no way sad.

Only 9 days til I can see him again!

Thick as a Brick

This story reminded me of my own halycon school days.

Back when I were a young 'un, our school also had a 30 centimetre rule. Admittedly I went to an all girls school, so it never really affected us. Well, except in public.

I recall many a school assembly where we students were chastised for standing "too close" to boys when travelling to school via public transport. One day a loud-mouthed year 12 student asked how we were meant to school. See, most of us caught trains or buses which were already full to capacity with other commuters. Were we to ask all men in the carriage to move to the other end? Or should we simply all try and travel in the little gap between carriages?

She was suspended for a week for being rude. I guess that solved the problem in the short term.

We also used to have the occassional school dance. Teachers would wander round with a 30cm ruler to make sure the couples were more than 30cm apart. I kid you not. It really kills the atmosphere when your fat maths teacher is thundering towards you and your partner to make sure that you're not too close.

Anyone would think we were shagging on the dance floor*.

So good to see another school has taken the ruler and run with it. Bloody ridiculous.


* We weren't. The disabled toilets were much more private.

I think this bloke may just be my new hero.

I never learn.

I think I may have done something stupid.

I leave the country in three weeks. 21 days. No time at all.

And yet...

I have decided it's a good idea to start seeing shagging I don't know, something-ing a bloke.

There are many reasons why this may very well be stupid.

Pros:

1. I'm getting a lot of free drinks
2. And laid
3. He's quite entertaining
4. It gets me out of my parents house and away from their insanity for a while

Cons:

1. He's 17 years older than me
2. We sort of work together
3. It's a big secret
4. Did I mention I'm leaving in three weeks?

But the worst part. He mentioned may be thinking of heading over to England himself for a while. And I wasn't completely revolted by the idea.

I friggen knew this would happen. Stupid, stupid me...

I Was Never Cool At School

I could never work out why. I was nice. I went to parties. I had dodgy older boyfriends. But for some reason popularity always eluded me. By he time I was 15 I came to the realisation that most of the molls I went to high school with weren't worth the effort of friendship anyway, and I didn't even try to make friends anymore. I had lots of friends outside of school, but never any really close friends at school.

But I did have a nemesis. This bitch made my high school life hell. She was a grade A top quality mean fucker. She made the devil look like a pussy. Let us call her Evil Whore, because it's whart I used to call her behind her back.

I ran into Evil Whore on Friday night. Nine years after leaving high school the fifteen year old inside me resurfaced for a brief moment when I walked into a local cocktail bar (MY cocktail bar in MY area, not hers) and she was sitting at a table with some friends having a cocktail. After the fifteen year old Original Mel stoppped freaking out, the twenty five year old Original Mel realised that not only was I prettier, more popular and clearly had aged better than she had, but that my bitch skills had been developed and clarified since high school. So I pretended not to notice her and went on with my slugging back of numerous cocktails to numb the fear socialising with friends and enjoying a cocktail or two, waiting for my chance.

Of course, ignoring her was never going to work. On one of my trips to the bar, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around, and it was her. Evil Whore standing before me and smiling. The last time I had seen her smile was just after she found out that I had skipped school for a week to work my "weekend job" as my brother had broken his wrist and we couldn't afford the hospital fees. Evil Whore had a great time spreading that nugget of poverty around my bitchy private school. Cunt.

So I'm stood there, my mind ticking madly as to how I am going to handle this. Should I put high school bitchiness behind me and be the bigger person? Or should I let a petty high school feud spill over into my adult life? You can all guess which I chose, but I provide the full transcript for your viewing (reading?) pleasure anyway.

Evil Whore: Oh my God, Original Mel isn't it?
Original Mel: *pretending not to recognise her* Um yes? *long pause* sorry, do I know you?
Evil Whore: Yeah, it's Evil!
Original Mel: *acting confused* Evil... Sorry, did we go to uni together or something? I can't place you.
Evil Whore: No, it's Evil Whore. We were at high school together.
Original Mel: Evil Whore... Evil Whore... Oh yeah, I vaguely remember. How have you been?
*At this point Evil Whore goes on with a long story about what she has been doing since high school which I only heard about three words of as I was so busy still trying to decide whether to punch her or act like a grown up (and throw my drink in her face)*
Evil Whore: So anyway, what have you been up to since high school?
Original Mel: Oh you know, the usual. I did law at uni, I'm moving over to London in three weeks for work - I'll be spending the next six months working around Europe which is exciting. Of course, it means I've had to rent out my apartment which was a lot easier than I thought given the current market, but at least I know that if I come home I have my flat waiting for me and I don't have to worry about where I'll live. Otherwise, just the usual 17 to 25 year old stuff. (in other words, I tweaked my life to make it sound far more interesting than it really is)
Evil Whore: Do you keep in contact with anyone from school?
Original Mel: Not really. I was at uni with a few people, and I run into Druggie Wench* through work quite a bit, but I kind of purposely lost touch with everyone else when I moved to Scotland.
Evil Whore: Oh. *very long pause*
Original Mel: *with evil gleam in my eye* So, are you a lesbian yet?
Evil Whore: *shocked* WHAT???
Original Mel: Well, you were always such a cunt at school. I figure it must have been because you were trying to come to terms with your sexuality. I mean, let's be honest, you were a bit obsessed with me at high school. And I was clearly way out of your league, so I figure it must have been because you're gay.
Evil Whore: No! I am not gay! That's my boyfriend over there!
Original Mel: *not entirely convinced* Oh. *looking over at alleged boyfriend* Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sure he's... got a lovely personality? Anyway, here are my drinks, I must get back to my friends. It's been fabulous catching up. Let's leave it another nine years or so, shall we? Bye!

With that I spun off back to my friends, where I collapsed in a fit of giggles. When I sent my bestie back to the bar five minutes later Evil Whore and her friends were all gone. Bitch better not come back to my cocktail bar ever again.

And you know what? It felt fucking good. I am better than her. I always was. But I'm glad that the fifteen year old me had one last chance to be a fucking bitch back. Better nine years after high school than never.



* Yet another evil bitch I wound up being stuck at school and then uni with, who for some reason thought I was her best friend at uni despite the fact I hated her and was horribly rude to her whenever she came to join me at the bar. Oh, and I fucked her boyfriend at uni just because I could. I'm still not sure if she realises that was me, she's such a wastrel crack whore (and a lawyer to boot!).

I Command Thee - De-Lurk!

Okay, I've been meaning to say this for a while now.

I check my Sitemeter Thingie every now and then cause I like knowing where people that end up here come from. And the world map is my fave, with it's little green and red dots. Love it.

But I've notices I have an increasing number of visitors from the old US of A in recent months. And I can't work out why. I have one friend in the US, who doesn't know I have a blog. I spend a fair old amount of time doing some US bashing. All of ym linked blogs are Aussie or British bloggers. I can't figure it out.

And right now the people from the following places are on this blog:

1 De Pere, Wisconsin 10:37:20 pm
2 Tumba, Stockholm 10:37:23 pm
3 Cleveland, Ohio 10:35:01 pm
4 Melbourne, Victoria 10:34:25 pm
5 Greenwich, New South Wales 10:33:40 pm 1
6 Westwood, New Jersey 10:30:08 pm
7 Sydney, New South Wales 10:34:35 pm (ummm, I think this is me)

So to the three out of seven people from the US, I command thee to delurk and tell me how you found me. I am just curious is all. I promise I will be nice.

That's all.

RSVP

I found out on the sly last week that the reason a friend of mine is too busy at the moment to hang out with us is because she is registered on RSVP.com and has started with the internet dating.

Is it bad that I have spent all this week trying to find her profile on there? And laughing at some of the truly deplorable profiles. I recall once being told that the best way to get a profile for internet dating is to get your best mate to write it, as they will be more honest and are more likley to write about traits and parts of your personality that you don't notice. Some people online really should take this advice. Except the girl who said she doesn't really hang out with her girlfriends "because chicks are always jealous of me, and I like it that way".

Anyway, once I post this I am going back to the frontlines of internet dating to refine my searches even more and locate my mate. I think she must be lying about her age, because I certainly haven't found her searching under her actual age. I could always ask her to give me the link to her profile, but then I would be admitting I knew she was internet dating. And she obviously doesn't want us to know that just yet... But if I find her profile I can drop not-so-subtle hints and make her come clean. Evil? Yes. Would she do it if it were the other way round? Hell yeah.

I'm not a dumb person. I got honours in my bachelor's degree, had a distinction average before I "suspended" my master's degree, I can understand and comment on current affairs, politics, big issues which affect our day to day life, I have been known to engage in deep philosophical arguments about wide ranging issues, and am able to form and expouse my own opinions on numerous matters.

And yet sometimes I hear the words coming from my mouth and I feel like my brain has been highjacked by some dumb blonde called Candy. Honestly, I say the dumbest fucking things sometimes. Aside from living with foot in mouth disease for often weeks at a time, sometimes my brain just turns off and my mouth keeps on a running.

I have recreated a number of actual conversations I had this week, just to illustrate my point. Please don't judge me.


Me: You're not listening to my words!
Ex-colleague: I am, it's just your words don't make any sense!
Me: *sigh* I was saying how Natasha is emasculating Sarah more and more each day
Ex-colleague: See, that makes no sense. Neither of them are men.
Me: What are you on about? Natasha is becoming more like Sarah all the time. She wants to be Sarah.
Ex-colleague: *long pause* Emulate, you retard. The word is emulate, not emasculate.
Me: Oh yeah. I always fuck that up. Stupid similar words.

Me: I think I'd like to have "Add It Up" as my wedding song if I ever got married.
Good friend: *not really listening* Cool... wait, did you just say "Add It Up"? By the Violent Femmes??
Me: Yep.
Good friend: The song that Troy sings to Lelaina in "Reality Bites"? That has the touching line "Why can't I get just one fuck"? That's what you want as your wedding song???
Me: Yeah. Well, I wasn't really thinking about the words. It just has a good tune to dance to.

Imagine me sitting on a packed train listening to my iPod
Girl next to me: *tapping me on the shoulder*Excuse me, I don't mean to listen in but are you listening to Barbara Streisand's "Guilty"?
Me: *warily* Maybe...
Girl next to me: I love that record! I have it on tape at home!
Me: I bought in on CD specifically for my iPod. I don't care how unfashionable it is, I think the song "Guilty" is the best song that Bill Gibson* ever sang!
Girl next to me: ...Don't you mean Barry Gibb?
Me: Blonde moment! Yeah, Barry Gibb. From the B-52s.
Girl next to me: *edging away*Or even the Bee Gees...

Me, watching tv: I wonder how they filmed that.
My brother: What?
Me: That spinny kicky thing he just did while flying. That would take some serious wires and green screen action. You know, like in the Matrix.
My brother: Are you for real?
Me: Yeah, why?
My brother: It's a cartoon, Mel. I'm thinking they just drew it and left the wires out.
Me: Oh yeah. Pretend I didn't just say that.
My brother: I am so telling everyone you said that. EVERYONE.


I'm just going to go now and hide under my desk, awaiting the return of my brain. If anyone sees it, please ask it to come home quickly. I miss it.



*Bill Gibson being the older brother of a girl I went to high school with

I'm in love

I'm helping out a lawyer friend of mine for the last four weeks of my time in Sydney by working as her legal secretary. I only started yesterday and, well, I think I'm a little bit in love with her firm.

First, I can access the internet. ANYTHING on the internet. My blog. Internet banking. Hotmail. MSN Messenger (I'm online and chatting with friends like it's going out of fashion). If I were so inclined, pornography. It is so... liberating.

Secondly, no one starts at 9am. I was the first person in the office yesterday AND today. I love it. Everyone else swans in when they feel like it. And no one cares so long as they all get their work done.

Thirdly, I am being taken out for lunch every day this week. The head guy is so happy to have help (their last secretary was a mad alcoholic who just didn't turn up and when she did didn't do anything) that he keeps organising lunch outings for everyone to welcome me. And they seem to take me on about eight coffee breaks a day - I have had to switch back to herbal tea due to my fears of excess caffeine injestion.

Fourthly, and this is possibly the most important, they have the radio on all day long! Okay, it's Nova instead of Triple J, but I CANNOT work without music, and yet have found law firms unwilling to let me have my ipod / radio on. Oh, and they have a massive collection of LPs AND a record player in case we get sick of the radio. Fucking awesome.

Fifthly (and finally), for a firm of only eight people they have the biggest (and fullest) alcohol fridge I've ever seen. Even though I am still doing my not drinking to excess thing, it is so pretty!

Does it make me want to go back to being a lawyer? No. Am I rethinking getting out fo the legal industry? No. But I am pretty sure that whatever industry I go into now I am going to look for small friendly workplaces to work in, and avoid the big corporate wanky type places. Sure, the money isn't as huge, but neither is the stress, the drama or the chaos.

So I've been working in a travel agency for three months solid now. And in that time I have learned many an important thing or two (for example, that bungee jumping is illegal in NSW but not Queensland). But I think the most important thing I have learned is that many cultural stereotypes are 99% true.

This isn't a bad thing. When customers come in part of our sales program requires that we ask where in the world the customer is from. And it also means that we can subtlely change our tack depending on a person's background.

But no more of this boring sales talk today. I am instead going to share with you those stereotypes which I find to be, 4 out of 5 times, fitting.

German Tourists

German tourists are easily spotted. There is always a man travelling with them who is wearing a zip up, sleeveless jacket type thing with lots of pockets in it. He is also wearing socks and sandals. Ands if there are any older German ladies travelling with them, she will have slightly fly-away / frizzy hair and will not be wearing any make up. They will invariably want to drive across Australia or catch a train - not fly. Young German women can be very in your face, but also have a quirky sense of humour once they warm to you. Don't mention the war*.

Japanese Tourists

Amazingly polite. Will apologise for their English before using better grammar and vocabulary than a native English speaker. Bow as they leave the store - even the kids. It's so cute!!

French Tourists

Have the cutest todlers, especially with their little French accents. They will always ask if you speak French before proceeding to book a tour/holiday in perfect English. However, the family will converse during said booking many times in French, oblivious to your presence. Only one person will ever be designated as the speaker, the others will direct questions at him/her and the speaker will then ask you. When you respond they will all nod but the speaker will translate again anyway.

Scandinavian Tourists

Very friendly. Always have a fabulous tan, despite being from a ridiculously cold country. Do all sound a bit like the Swedish Chef from the Muppets. Swedish tourists in particular will want to know about hiking tours and how long it takes to walk between various Sydney highlights. Norweigan tourists all seem to be certified scuba divers. Danish tourists always laugh when you mention Princcess Mary and ask if they happen to be a prince / princess.

American Tourists

Loud. Do not seem to come in "average" sizes, are either fat or anorexic. Did I mention loud? Are also some of the worst offenders for not consulting a map of Australia before they arrive and saying things like "I want to drive to Ayers Rock for the day tomorrow, can you give me directions?" or "How do I organise a barrier reef cruise from Sydney?" (to which the correct answer is - fly to Cairns).

Southern Americans particularly like making you repeat things (my word for today was "February", which I was asked to repeat eight times) so they can laugh at how our accent is different. Noo Yawkers are funny and expect everything to happen, like, yesterday. They do eventually chill when you explain Australia is laid back and to take a deep breath and enjoy their holiday. Californian women can be spotted by their fish-esque lips and orange tans. Floridians by their bleached hair and orange tans. All use the term "fanny pack" and wonder why we piss ourselves laughing**.

Chinese Tourists

Seem to travel in large family groups, invariably with one really, really ancient grandparent who speaks no English but smiles at you and pats your hand as you assist them. Will always ask about discounts and pay in cash. Their children are often dressed in the same / similar clothing.

Canadian Tourists

Do not ask if they are American. Do not infer that they are from America. In fact, just try to avoid the whole America theme as much as possible. If you are in doubt as to whether they are Canadian or not, either subtlely drop Degrassi Junior High into the conversation (easier than it sounds) or make them say the word "about". If they say "aboot" proceed to sling mud at America whilst praising Canada's lovely mountains / cities / cultural diversity. And as my learned colleague noticed, they are all terribly healthy looking. Bastards.

Indian Tourists

Have amazingly clear skin - does no one in India suffer from acne?? Honestly, they have the most even skin tone of any nationality. Indian women also have lovely long, thick hair! And don't even get me started on the colourful saris some of the women wear - simply beautiful and why have saris never caught on as a fashion trend in the west? Anyway, Indian tourists are also big ones for always asking about discounts and paying in cash. Those who pay with credit always seem to use Amex cards.

English Tourists

Will always, without a doubt, ask for a recommendation regarding where they can get "proper" food. This is your cue to point them to the nearest fish and chip or pizza shop. Often need to be talked into doing things (exact quote "Nah, I don't really weant to do a Sydney Harbour Bridge Climb. I went up a bridge in New Zealand last year and it wasn't very good"). I am still trying to work out why all blokes from northern England have that hair that is cut really short and yet they have a gelled, sticky down-y fringe stuck to their forehead. If anyone can explain I would appreciate it. Not always whingers, but fuck, some of them really can whinge for England. The rest are piss funny once you warm them up.

Noo Zulund Tourists

Oh my Southern bretheren, how I love you. Just say the word "six" for me once more, pretty please. Now tell me about how you went to the beach wearing nothing but your jandals and togs, with a full chilly bin to have some "fush and chups". Puh-lease?!



Also, there are a few stereotypes about Aussie tourists I would also like to set straight:

Victorian Tourists

Don't think it's funny if you tell them that you "won't hold [being Victorian] against them". In fact, usually are a little brusque at first as they expect a Sydney sider to rubbish Melbourne / Victoria, but will lose the icy edge once you assure them that you don't automatically hate Victoria simply because you are from Sydney. And I have to say, despite the fabulous shopping in Melbourne, far too many Melbourne women wear patterned shorts when on holidays. Please can we stop this alarming trend? If not for me, then for the sake of your children who have to be seen in public with you wearing dire shorts.

Queensland Tourists

Wear stubbies. In the middle of winter in torential hail and force eight winds still wear stubbies, a t-shirt and a baseball cap without fail. Have a broader Aussie accent than Sydney siders. Will always book a jet boat ride before they book anything else in Sydney - and sometimes two or three.

South Australian Tourists

Do not take kindly to being told that Adelaide is a city of churches and perverts. Also don't take kindly to being asked if they come from anywhere near Snowtown, or whether you can get a tourist snap taken of yourself leaping from a barrel outside the bank***.

Western Australian Tourists

They do things different in WA, don't they? Really different. I mean - faaaaaaaark! I love you, but sometimes I wonder if we really are all from the same country or if it's a sneaky trick being played by cartographers the world over.



*gratuitous Fawlty Towers reference, obviously
** in Australia your fanny is your vadge - we call fanny packs "bum bags"
*** yes, I really did ask and yes, they really didn't appreciate it****
**** I'd pay good money to have a holiday snap like that, incidentally

I've had a brainwave

This is the first year I will be spending Xmas away from my family.

I don't like that idea. As much as I whinge about my family sometimes, I really quite like them. And I cannot imagine spending Xmas away from them. My aunt, uncle and cousins I love spending Xmas without, but not mum, dad and my little bro. Too weird.

So, in the spirit of family togetherness, I have come up with an idea - mum and dad and my little bro fly to Spain, and we spend Xmas there! How great is my idea??

Of course, my mother thinks this is just an excuse for me to get a free holiday to Spain. I mean, obviously I would expect them to pay for my little brother and my accommodation. But we'd be in Spain - how awesome is that?

"So, what did you do for Xmas?"
"Oh, you know, spent it with the family, like always. But in SPAIN, bitches!!"

Now I just need to prove to my family the benefits of my brainwave. I think I have my little bro onside. I just need to convince the ones with the credit cards...

Thought That Kept Me Awake Last Night 2

I've been suffering from insomnia a bit recently. Anyway.

You know when you have a glass of water with a lump of ice in it? Well, as the ice melts, the water level does not rise. So I was wondering why, when people are talking about the melting of the polar ice caps, they talk about sea levels rising. From my rudimentary understanding, the North Pole is just a big block of ice and no land. And the South Pole, while it does have land, most of it is ice which is already in the water. So surely if they melted the sea levels wouldn't go up too much.

Sure, I understand that the melting of glaciers, etc which are on land would make a difference to the water levels, but that's not what I'm always hearing about. I'm hearing about melting of polar icecaps.

This is a serious question. I'm not discounting global warming or anything, and I do understand climate change is a big issue, but I just want to understand. And you never learn anything if you don't ask.

Thanks.

Bank Tellers Scare Me

This is a transcript of an actual conversation I had at a bank yesterday. Which bank? Exactly.

Original_Mel: Hi. I'm restructuring my mortgage and would like to redraw the extra money I have paid onto it.
Idiot Bank Teller: I don't know how to do that.
Original_Mel: Uh, well maybe you could find me someone who can?
Idiot Bank Teller: *sigh* Fine. But it might not work. So what account do you want to withdraw money from?
Original_Mel: No no, I want to redraw money from my mortgage. I have made extra payments and now I want to redraw them.
Idiot Bank Teller: Oh. *taps at computer for a bit* Do you want cash or a cheque?
Original_Mel: Neither. I want it put into my savings account linked to the mortgage.
Idiot Bank Teller: Oh. *taps at computer for a bit* Okay. You have to sign for it.
Original_Mel: Not a problm. *signs withrawal slip*
Idiot Bank Teller: *taps at computer for a bit* I need two signatures.
Original_Mel: But I'm the only account holder.
Idiot Bank Teller: Oh. *taps at computer for a bit* Yeah, the computer says I need the other account holder to sign for the redraw.
Original_Mel: Listen to me carefully - I am the one and only account holder. There is no one else on the account or the mortgage. Just me.
Idiot Bank Teller: *taps at computer for a bit* Well I need the other signatory to sign.
Original_Mel: I'll say this again. There is no other signatory. There is no guarantor, there is no other person listed anywhere on the mortgage. It's just me.
Idiot Bank Teller: Well the computer says I need two signatures.
Original_Mel: Okay, give me back the withdrawal slip *Idiot Bank Teller hands it over. Original_Mel signs for a second time* There you go. You now have to signatures.
Idiot Bank Teller: They have to be from two different people.
Original_Mel: *pissed off* Fine. *to man next to her* Hi there, could you sign this withdrawal slip for me? The bank needs two signatures. I'm Original_Mel by the way.
Idiot Bank Teller: Oh no, the other signature has to be from the other account holder.
Original_Mel: Listen sweetheart, I'm going to say this only once more, so listen up before I cause a scene in your bank. *yelling* There is no other account holder. There is only me. There are no other signatories, no other authorised persons, no guarantors, no fucking anything except me. ME ME ME. *very very quietly* So either give me my fucking money or get your manager for me, NOW.
Idiot Bank Teller: But...
Original_Mel: And if you tell me once more that "computer says no" I swear I will jump the counter and ram your keyboard down your throat. Get someone who knows what they are doing.

After talking to a dull, short, bespecalled, cardigan wearing man who was allegedly the branch manager, it turned out my bestest friend was in the wrong account, and was trying to redraw money from someone else's mortgage. Fucking idiot.

They have control of you money. Don't you feel well protected?