Imagine you are me. Go on, I know it will be hard to imagine being as cool as me, but for the sake of this story, please at least give it a go.
OK, so you're me. It's 8.40am on a Tuesday and you're running slightly late. It's not a panicked kind of late like "oh shit i'm going to get fired because i'm late for the 29th day in a row." It's more of an "I'm going to be a bit late, but that's ok because i had a fabulously relaxing night sitting on my bed in my pyjamas drinking a slurpee with my airconditioning on watching that fabulous spunk of a British TV show Spooks, and when I woke up to my alarm and someone VACUUMING in my house at 7.30 i rolled over, put my pillow over my head and went back to sleep." THAT kind of running late, you know the kind.
Anyway, this was at 8.40. By 8.45 i was starting to try and hurry a little, but couldn't help noticing when i caught sight of myself in a mirror that i NEEDED a headband today. I went upstairs and got my headband, looked fabulous, and went to the front door. I know this is getting a little long-winded people, but stay with me.
Somewhere in between the bathroom and the front door, I lost my keys. It now being 8.50, I did what any normal person would do: i picked up my spare key from the drawer where all organised people such as myself keep "spare things," decided i didn't need a house key because someone would be home when i got home tonight, and walked out the front door (which, unamusingly, locks itself).
Now, I realised as I was sitting in my car listening to the engine turn over and over and over and over and over (notice the distinct absence of FIRING here), that my car was taking rather an unusually long time to start. In fact, it most definitely Would Not Start. My super-dooper-newish-but-new-and-exciting-to-me-beautiful car was broken. Unimpressed, i did what every girl does when her car breaks down, I called my dad. My dad however, had just got on a plane. So then I called my mum. Then I called the RACV. Then I waited. And waited some more. And WAITED SOME MORE DAMMIT.
5-30 minutes they say. Over an hour says I.
Anyway, at just before 10am, a lovely gentleman from the RACV takes one look at my car and says, "it doesn't recognise ya key, love." Long story short, my spare key doesn't un-immobilise the automatic immobiliser in my car. I CAN'T DRIVE MY CAR WITH MY SPARE KEY. The doors open, the power goes on, Hell, I can sit and drain the battery for an hour with no problems, but I can't go anywhere.
Thanks.A.Whole.Bloody.Lot.
So i waited another 45 minutes for my mum to come home with a house key (geez i'm glad there's a good coffee shop near my house, it was getting HOT by this stage!), so that I could walk in and find my full set of keys on the bathroom bench, right where I had left them.
That is THE last time i decide to wear a headband to work.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Monday, February 12, 2007
Stumble across me shallow world
Last night I was having a look at who looks at my blog. That's right, you oh noble reader. OK so not so much looking at WHO looks (it's not like I have your names and addresses...or DO I?) but more looking at HOW people who visit my blog find it: did you do a google search? Or do you type in the name directly? Do you click on a link on someone else's blog?
Imagine my horror upon realising that rather a large number of people who have stumbled across my blog have done so by typing in the very strange name of a celebrity child into one search engine or another. Once upon a dim dark time, I wrote something in this here blog about the names of celebrity children. Now please understand... this could only have been in the wake of a Shiloh or Suri or some other such wondrous creation.
Now I am going to hang my head in shame and sadness at the fact the vapid and shallow people of this world are not interested in art and creativity. Oh no, they are obsessed by celebrities and glamour and style and odd baby names. Well, if YOU are one of those people BE GONE. There will be none of that here.
PS. Did you hear that supposedly Anna Nicole Smith's death had something to do with plastic surgery...OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!
PPS. two posts in less than 24 hours. What is the world coming to?
Imagine my horror upon realising that rather a large number of people who have stumbled across my blog have done so by typing in the very strange name of a celebrity child into one search engine or another. Once upon a dim dark time, I wrote something in this here blog about the names of celebrity children. Now please understand... this could only have been in the wake of a Shiloh or Suri or some other such wondrous creation.
Now I am going to hang my head in shame and sadness at the fact the vapid and shallow people of this world are not interested in art and creativity. Oh no, they are obsessed by celebrities and glamour and style and odd baby names. Well, if YOU are one of those people BE GONE. There will be none of that here.
PS. Did you hear that supposedly Anna Nicole Smith's death had something to do with plastic surgery...OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!
PPS. two posts in less than 24 hours. What is the world coming to?
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Stories of short
Argh i have SO much to do. on Thursday night I'm leaving to go to the Philippines, Thailand and Singapore for just over two weeks. This weekend, I had SO many things to do. Yesterday I did pretty much bugger all. Last night I drank ALOT, and thanks to AB and McSlurry for 4am pizza (told you guys i'd mention you!!!!!!!!!!). Today I had to do about 5 weeks worth of uni work, and I didn't even start feeling human again until about 3pm. I still think I did a good job... So while you read my short story, I'm going to go and try and get my life into some sense of order....
Nick glanced at his watch. His client was late, very late. He knew he should have escorted her himself, but she’d insisted on making her own way. She wanted to be inconspicuous. He sighed and shook his head at his own idiocy. He muttered a curse to himself and glanced out of the window at the front of the restaurant. No sign of her yet.
“What if she’s in trouble?” he thought to himself.
He was her bodyguard-to-be after all, and until she arrived, he wouldn’t know how much trouble she was in. Hell, he didn’t even know why she needed a bodyguard. There were, of course, several possibilities circulating his mind. Such possibilities included: she had a crazy ex-boyfriend; she had witnessed a mafia shooting; or she was just really, really paranoid. But until he met her, there was just no way of knowing.
His eyes strayed to his watch again before they wandered aimlessly around the room and come to a halt on a young couple in the far corner. She was angry. He was looking very, very sorry. Nick sympathised. Suddenly the girl picked up her glass of wine and threw it in the man’s face. She got up and stalked out, leaving him open-mouthed, gaping in shock. The rest of the diners stared after her, and quickly got back to their hushed conversations, pretending not to have noticed the scene. Nick groaned, feeling the other man’s embarrassment. For a little while longer he just sat, content with these few precious minutes. There was just so little time these days. Eventually, his gaze wandered across the room again.
His heart leapt in his throat as his eyes fixed on two cars making their way to the parking lot. They had both pulled in at excessive speeds, but were now slowing down. One car stopped and a woman got out, looking harassed and quite shaky. Rachel, he thought. He didn’t know how he knew that this creature was his soon-to-be-client; he just did. Nick looked more closely – she didn’t appear to have great control over the direction in which she was walking.
The other car cruised around the parking lot and started heading back towards where Rachel was stumbling across the road. Slowly seeing future events play out in his mind, Nick suddenly realized what was happening. Jumping up from his table, he knocked the contents over as he dived out the door.
_______________________________
She fumbled with her shirt buttons, her hands shaking. All she had to do was meet this guy and then he could take care of whoever had been stalking her. Simple. He was a professional. He would be able to help her. No big deal. She tried to make herself believe it, but with little success.
After securing the doors and windows of her house, she checked that it was all clear outside and made a run for her car. She leapt from the top step of her house and bounded across the front yard as quickly as possible, not caring how she looked. Before she knew it, she was through the door of her old car, safely locked in.
Inside, she breathed a sigh of relief and turned on the engine. She only lived ten minutes away from the restaurant. What could happen in just ten little minutes?
After driving for what seemed like an eternity, Rachel glanced into the rearview mirror. Her heart sank. She was being followed. Somehow she knew that the car behind her contained the twisted man who had been stalking her.
She pressed her foot harder onto the accelerator and forced her car to speed up. Her eyes widened as she looked into the mirror once more. The car behind had also sped up. She had the sinking feeling that the stranger was getting a thrill out of playing with her mind – if he had wanted to catch her, he surely would have done so by now. Her hands began to quake violently with every further second she drove. Her vision blurred slightly, and she began to lose control of the steering.
“Don’t panic,” her head told her. “You’re nearly there.”
Too late, her heart replied, and there were the headlights of the other car, gradually gaining on her. There was no chance that she could outrun this maniac! Rachel was sure that if she forced her car to go much faster, it would either blow up – she was no expert when it came to motor mechanics – or she would likely be arrested. Unfortunately, it hadn’t registered in her mind that she would actually be safer locked inside a jail cell for a while than she was on a deserted road with a crazy and likely dangerous stalker close behind.
As she began to wipe away the sweat from her face, she realized that in fact there were also tears there. Rachel had never been good at performing under pressure, this was about the most pressurized a situation in which she’d ever found herself. She shook her head and cursed, trying to snap herself out of the panic, but succeeding only in losing control of the car for a few moments. Brushing a sleeve across her forehead, she again looked into the mirror. The car was definitely gaining on her and getting closer by the second. She could just make out the shadowed silhouette of a tall, muscle-bound man. Well, either that or a woman who was very in touch with her masculine side.
“He’s just playing games,” she tried to tell herself. She wasn’t very convincing.
Abruptly, the restaurant came into view. She wondered if she would, having made it as far as the car park, even make it into the restaurant before the psycho caught her once and for all. She panicked and sped around the corner with little care for who or what scuttled out of the way. The restaurant was so close that some part of her just knew she would make it; yet, so far that it seemed miles away and impossible to reach before her time ran out.
She chided herself for being so dramatic and pulled into the restaurant parking lot, praying that the other car would continue on its way and pass her, that she was imagining the whole situation. It kept following close behind. She jumped out of the car, intending to make a run for it, but found she had little control of her actions. She turned to assess the other car’s progress, and froze. The other car was cruising lazily down to the other end of the car park, and was now turning back towards her. As it sped up, she desperately tried to get out of the way, but her body failed her. Rachel screamed momentarily before she was winded as she was knocked to the ground. A tall, slim, but heavy body of a man covered her completely.
“Good to finally meet you, Miss Smyth,” said a deep voice, presumably belonging to the man who was currently crushing her. How did he know who she was?
“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Nick James, your new bodyguard.”
____________________________________
I watched her. For months, I watched her. She stole my life. She stole my job. She used me. Nobody does that to me. But she did. So she left me with no choice – I had to take away her life, her loved ones. That’s why I did it. That’s why people had to die. It was because of her. All because of her. It’s all her fault.
I tried to be nice to her. I tried to be a good neighbour. I thought she loved me – she’d never actually said it but then, women can be like that. Everybody knows that women say one thing and mean another. She’s just like all the rest of them. I knew that she was just being coy, that she would eventually admit her feelings. Didn’t she realize I gave up everything for her? I lost my job because they claimed that I was never there. Of course I wasn’t there - I had to look after her, to protect her. So I took a few days off now and then. She pretended she didn’t notice me following her on those days, but I know she did. I know she appreciated my level of interest and concern with her life. I wouldn’t have cared about the job, but then I saw her with a man, my brother. She cheated on me. She couldn’t deal with the depth of our relationship, and she didn’t know how to tell me. She should have talked it through with me. I could have made her understand that it was ok. She didn’t have to cheat on me, when she knew I was watching. She should have told me. I would have been ok with it, I’m sure. I’m a reasonable man. She made me end my own brother’s life. She forced my hand, and now she has to understand that I don’t like that. I am the master of my destiny, and I will not be manipulated.
I watched her coming home from work tonight. I watched as she locked all her doors and windows, as if she really though that a few locks would stop me. I’m sure she was just making a show of it, she knows I can get at her if I want to. She’s been rather jumpy lately. Mind you, finding your cat dead in your bed can have that effect on some people.
I’m following her now, in my car. Stupid bat hasn’t even noticed. I’ve been right behind her for almost five minutes so far, but she looks perfectly at ease. She isn’t even sorry! She should be dripping with guilt at the way she treated me – the things she forced me to do.
Her car is beginning to speed up. Her posture is stiff. Oh good – I hope she knows that she’s going to die, that dying is her punishment for being so heartless and stupid. She can’t outrun me; her car is far too slow. I can catch her in a heartbeat, but I won’t. Not yet. I want her to fear. I want her to be scared of me and of her short time ahead. She will never feel calm or happiness again. She toyed with me, and now I am going to have my fun, to seek my revenge. The irony is, that I’m doing this to teach her a lesson, but it will be her final lesson. There is no more learning to be done once this lesson is over.
I’m watching her car pull slowly into a parking lot and admiring the length of those legs! She is stumbles from the driver’s seat and starts towards the restaurant. She didn’t even close the door. Realisation of what’s happening must have hit her. She knows now that little things like that don’t matter. All that matters is being true, true to me. I notice the uncontrollable quaking of her whole body. It’s working. She is terrified of me, but not nearly as terrified as she could be. SHOULD be. Not nearly as terrified as she will be.
Slowly work my way around the other side of the car park. Turning towards her, I rev the engine. Has she realized yet? Aiming towards her, I plant my foot on the accelerator. Utter terror spreads across that pretty little face of hers. She doesn’t even try to run. She knows she deserves this.
A movement to my right has just caught my peripheral vision. A man is running for her – he looks slightly panicked. I seem to be having this effect on a lot of people lately. I glare at him as he pushes her out of my path and lands on top of her on the ground. I begin to berate him out loud. Getting angrier by the second. I look in the rearvision mirror: She’s still alive. Moving. She has learnt nothing. She is probably in shock.
I will get her.
I will get her.
It was with this thought running through my head, that I re-focused my eyes on where I was heading and saw the solid brick wall looming. My last moments should have been hers, and now it’s too late. She caused me to kill, and then, ultimately, she killed me.
Nick glanced at his watch. His client was late, very late. He knew he should have escorted her himself, but she’d insisted on making her own way. She wanted to be inconspicuous. He sighed and shook his head at his own idiocy. He muttered a curse to himself and glanced out of the window at the front of the restaurant. No sign of her yet.
“What if she’s in trouble?” he thought to himself.
He was her bodyguard-to-be after all, and until she arrived, he wouldn’t know how much trouble she was in. Hell, he didn’t even know why she needed a bodyguard. There were, of course, several possibilities circulating his mind. Such possibilities included: she had a crazy ex-boyfriend; she had witnessed a mafia shooting; or she was just really, really paranoid. But until he met her, there was just no way of knowing.
His eyes strayed to his watch again before they wandered aimlessly around the room and come to a halt on a young couple in the far corner. She was angry. He was looking very, very sorry. Nick sympathised. Suddenly the girl picked up her glass of wine and threw it in the man’s face. She got up and stalked out, leaving him open-mouthed, gaping in shock. The rest of the diners stared after her, and quickly got back to their hushed conversations, pretending not to have noticed the scene. Nick groaned, feeling the other man’s embarrassment. For a little while longer he just sat, content with these few precious minutes. There was just so little time these days. Eventually, his gaze wandered across the room again.
His heart leapt in his throat as his eyes fixed on two cars making their way to the parking lot. They had both pulled in at excessive speeds, but were now slowing down. One car stopped and a woman got out, looking harassed and quite shaky. Rachel, he thought. He didn’t know how he knew that this creature was his soon-to-be-client; he just did. Nick looked more closely – she didn’t appear to have great control over the direction in which she was walking.
The other car cruised around the parking lot and started heading back towards where Rachel was stumbling across the road. Slowly seeing future events play out in his mind, Nick suddenly realized what was happening. Jumping up from his table, he knocked the contents over as he dived out the door.
_______________________________
She fumbled with her shirt buttons, her hands shaking. All she had to do was meet this guy and then he could take care of whoever had been stalking her. Simple. He was a professional. He would be able to help her. No big deal. She tried to make herself believe it, but with little success.
After securing the doors and windows of her house, she checked that it was all clear outside and made a run for her car. She leapt from the top step of her house and bounded across the front yard as quickly as possible, not caring how she looked. Before she knew it, she was through the door of her old car, safely locked in.
Inside, she breathed a sigh of relief and turned on the engine. She only lived ten minutes away from the restaurant. What could happen in just ten little minutes?
After driving for what seemed like an eternity, Rachel glanced into the rearview mirror. Her heart sank. She was being followed. Somehow she knew that the car behind her contained the twisted man who had been stalking her.
She pressed her foot harder onto the accelerator and forced her car to speed up. Her eyes widened as she looked into the mirror once more. The car behind had also sped up. She had the sinking feeling that the stranger was getting a thrill out of playing with her mind – if he had wanted to catch her, he surely would have done so by now. Her hands began to quake violently with every further second she drove. Her vision blurred slightly, and she began to lose control of the steering.
“Don’t panic,” her head told her. “You’re nearly there.”
Too late, her heart replied, and there were the headlights of the other car, gradually gaining on her. There was no chance that she could outrun this maniac! Rachel was sure that if she forced her car to go much faster, it would either blow up – she was no expert when it came to motor mechanics – or she would likely be arrested. Unfortunately, it hadn’t registered in her mind that she would actually be safer locked inside a jail cell for a while than she was on a deserted road with a crazy and likely dangerous stalker close behind.
As she began to wipe away the sweat from her face, she realized that in fact there were also tears there. Rachel had never been good at performing under pressure, this was about the most pressurized a situation in which she’d ever found herself. She shook her head and cursed, trying to snap herself out of the panic, but succeeding only in losing control of the car for a few moments. Brushing a sleeve across her forehead, she again looked into the mirror. The car was definitely gaining on her and getting closer by the second. She could just make out the shadowed silhouette of a tall, muscle-bound man. Well, either that or a woman who was very in touch with her masculine side.
“He’s just playing games,” she tried to tell herself. She wasn’t very convincing.
Abruptly, the restaurant came into view. She wondered if she would, having made it as far as the car park, even make it into the restaurant before the psycho caught her once and for all. She panicked and sped around the corner with little care for who or what scuttled out of the way. The restaurant was so close that some part of her just knew she would make it; yet, so far that it seemed miles away and impossible to reach before her time ran out.
She chided herself for being so dramatic and pulled into the restaurant parking lot, praying that the other car would continue on its way and pass her, that she was imagining the whole situation. It kept following close behind. She jumped out of the car, intending to make a run for it, but found she had little control of her actions. She turned to assess the other car’s progress, and froze. The other car was cruising lazily down to the other end of the car park, and was now turning back towards her. As it sped up, she desperately tried to get out of the way, but her body failed her. Rachel screamed momentarily before she was winded as she was knocked to the ground. A tall, slim, but heavy body of a man covered her completely.
“Good to finally meet you, Miss Smyth,” said a deep voice, presumably belonging to the man who was currently crushing her. How did he know who she was?
“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Nick James, your new bodyguard.”
____________________________________
I watched her. For months, I watched her. She stole my life. She stole my job. She used me. Nobody does that to me. But she did. So she left me with no choice – I had to take away her life, her loved ones. That’s why I did it. That’s why people had to die. It was because of her. All because of her. It’s all her fault.
I tried to be nice to her. I tried to be a good neighbour. I thought she loved me – she’d never actually said it but then, women can be like that. Everybody knows that women say one thing and mean another. She’s just like all the rest of them. I knew that she was just being coy, that she would eventually admit her feelings. Didn’t she realize I gave up everything for her? I lost my job because they claimed that I was never there. Of course I wasn’t there - I had to look after her, to protect her. So I took a few days off now and then. She pretended she didn’t notice me following her on those days, but I know she did. I know she appreciated my level of interest and concern with her life. I wouldn’t have cared about the job, but then I saw her with a man, my brother. She cheated on me. She couldn’t deal with the depth of our relationship, and she didn’t know how to tell me. She should have talked it through with me. I could have made her understand that it was ok. She didn’t have to cheat on me, when she knew I was watching. She should have told me. I would have been ok with it, I’m sure. I’m a reasonable man. She made me end my own brother’s life. She forced my hand, and now she has to understand that I don’t like that. I am the master of my destiny, and I will not be manipulated.
I watched her coming home from work tonight. I watched as she locked all her doors and windows, as if she really though that a few locks would stop me. I’m sure she was just making a show of it, she knows I can get at her if I want to. She’s been rather jumpy lately. Mind you, finding your cat dead in your bed can have that effect on some people.
I’m following her now, in my car. Stupid bat hasn’t even noticed. I’ve been right behind her for almost five minutes so far, but she looks perfectly at ease. She isn’t even sorry! She should be dripping with guilt at the way she treated me – the things she forced me to do.
Her car is beginning to speed up. Her posture is stiff. Oh good – I hope she knows that she’s going to die, that dying is her punishment for being so heartless and stupid. She can’t outrun me; her car is far too slow. I can catch her in a heartbeat, but I won’t. Not yet. I want her to fear. I want her to be scared of me and of her short time ahead. She will never feel calm or happiness again. She toyed with me, and now I am going to have my fun, to seek my revenge. The irony is, that I’m doing this to teach her a lesson, but it will be her final lesson. There is no more learning to be done once this lesson is over.
I’m watching her car pull slowly into a parking lot and admiring the length of those legs! She is stumbles from the driver’s seat and starts towards the restaurant. She didn’t even close the door. Realisation of what’s happening must have hit her. She knows now that little things like that don’t matter. All that matters is being true, true to me. I notice the uncontrollable quaking of her whole body. It’s working. She is terrified of me, but not nearly as terrified as she could be. SHOULD be. Not nearly as terrified as she will be.
Slowly work my way around the other side of the car park. Turning towards her, I rev the engine. Has she realized yet? Aiming towards her, I plant my foot on the accelerator. Utter terror spreads across that pretty little face of hers. She doesn’t even try to run. She knows she deserves this.
A movement to my right has just caught my peripheral vision. A man is running for her – he looks slightly panicked. I seem to be having this effect on a lot of people lately. I glare at him as he pushes her out of my path and lands on top of her on the ground. I begin to berate him out loud. Getting angrier by the second. I look in the rearvision mirror: She’s still alive. Moving. She has learnt nothing. She is probably in shock.
I will get her.
I will get her.
It was with this thought running through my head, that I re-focused my eyes on where I was heading and saw the solid brick wall looming. My last moments should have been hers, and now it’s too late. She caused me to kill, and then, ultimately, she killed me.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
EXTRA EXTRA READ ALL ABOUT IT!
Oh how I do love to write, but there seems to be too little time to do it these days. I've been pondering alot lately what my course of action in life is going to be. Do i want to be a writer?
I've decided no. Mainly because, when i HAVE to write on a certain topic, a certain amount of words, by a certain time, it tends to lose all it's fun.
One of my friends is sure that she's a dancer in a lawyers body, but i reckon that if she'd taken up dancing for a career, it wouldn't bring her as much joy as it does now as a release from her legal high flyer world.
Writing is going to be an extra, and i'm ok with that.
I've decided no. Mainly because, when i HAVE to write on a certain topic, a certain amount of words, by a certain time, it tends to lose all it's fun.
One of my friends is sure that she's a dancer in a lawyers body, but i reckon that if she'd taken up dancing for a career, it wouldn't bring her as much joy as it does now as a release from her legal high flyer world.
Writing is going to be an extra, and i'm ok with that.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
iSSues
Please see below for explanation of my permanent relationship iSSues... they obviously started early!
HOW DO YOU DECIDE WHO TO MARRY
(1) You got to find somebody who likes the same stuff. Like, if you like
sports, she should like it that you like sports, and she should keep the
chips and dip coming.
- Alan, age 10
(2) No person really decides before they grow up who they're going to
marry. God decides it all way before, and you get to find out later who
you're stuck with.
- Kristen, age 10
WHAT IS THE RIGHT AGE TO GET MARRIED?
(1) Twenty-three is the best age because you know the person FOREVER by then.
- Camille, age 10
(2) No age is good to get married at. You got to be a fool to get married.
- Freddie, age 6 (very wise for his age)
HOW CAN A STRANGER TELL IF TWO PEOPLE ARE MARRIED?
(1) You might have to guess, based on whether they seem to be yelling
at the same kids.
- Derrick, age 8
WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR MOM AND DAD HAVE IN COMMON?
(1) Both don't want any more kids.
- Lori, age 8
WHAT DO MOST PEOPLE DO ON A DATE?
(1) Dates are for having fun, and people should use them to get to know
each other. Even boys have something to say if you listen long enough.
- Lynnette, age 8 (isn't she a treasure)
(2) On the first date, they just tell each other lies and that usually
gets them interested enough to go for a second date.
- Martin, age 10 (Who said boys don't have brains)
WHAT WOULD YOU DO ON A FIRST DATE THAT WAS TURNING SOUR?
(1) I'd run home and play dead. The next day I would call all the
newspapers and make sure they wrote about me in all the dead columns.
-Craig, age 9
WHEN IS IT OKAY TO KISS SOMEONE?
(1) When they're rich.
- Pam, age 7 (I could not have said it better myself)
(2) The law says you have to be eighteen, so I wouldn't want to mess
with that.
- Curt, age 7 (Good Point)
(3 ) The rule goes like this: If you kiss someone, then you should
marry them and have kids with them. It's the right thing to do.
- Howard, age 8 (Who made that rule?)
IS IT BETTER TO BE SINGLE OR MARRIED?
(1 ) I don't know which is better, but I'll tell you one thing. I'm
never going to have s@x with my wife. I don't want to be all grossed
out.
- Theodore, age 8 (Too much detail for his age)
(2 ) It's better for girls to be single but not for boys. Boys need
someone to clean up after them.
- Anita, age 9 (bless you child)
HOW WOULD THE WORLD BE DIFFERENT IF PEOPLE DIDN'T GET MARRIED?
(1 ) There sure would be a lot of kids to explain, wouldn't there?
- Kelvin, age 8
And the #1 Favourite is........
HOW WOULD YOU MAKE A MARRIAGE WORK?
(1 ) Tell your wife that she looks pretty, even if she looks like a
truck.
- Ricky, age 10 (The boy already understands)
HOW DO YOU DECIDE WHO TO MARRY
(1) You got to find somebody who likes the same stuff. Like, if you like
sports, she should like it that you like sports, and she should keep the
chips and dip coming.
- Alan, age 10
(2) No person really decides before they grow up who they're going to
marry. God decides it all way before, and you get to find out later who
you're stuck with.
- Kristen, age 10
WHAT IS THE RIGHT AGE TO GET MARRIED?
(1) Twenty-three is the best age because you know the person FOREVER by then.
- Camille, age 10
(2) No age is good to get married at. You got to be a fool to get married.
- Freddie, age 6 (very wise for his age)
HOW CAN A STRANGER TELL IF TWO PEOPLE ARE MARRIED?
(1) You might have to guess, based on whether they seem to be yelling
at the same kids.
- Derrick, age 8
WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR MOM AND DAD HAVE IN COMMON?
(1) Both don't want any more kids.
- Lori, age 8
WHAT DO MOST PEOPLE DO ON A DATE?
(1) Dates are for having fun, and people should use them to get to know
each other. Even boys have something to say if you listen long enough.
- Lynnette, age 8 (isn't she a treasure)
(2) On the first date, they just tell each other lies and that usually
gets them interested enough to go for a second date.
- Martin, age 10 (Who said boys don't have brains)
WHAT WOULD YOU DO ON A FIRST DATE THAT WAS TURNING SOUR?
(1) I'd run home and play dead. The next day I would call all the
newspapers and make sure they wrote about me in all the dead columns.
-Craig, age 9
WHEN IS IT OKAY TO KISS SOMEONE?
(1) When they're rich.
- Pam, age 7 (I could not have said it better myself)
(2) The law says you have to be eighteen, so I wouldn't want to mess
with that.
- Curt, age 7 (Good Point)
(3 ) The rule goes like this: If you kiss someone, then you should
marry them and have kids with them. It's the right thing to do.
- Howard, age 8 (Who made that rule?)
IS IT BETTER TO BE SINGLE OR MARRIED?
(1 ) I don't know which is better, but I'll tell you one thing. I'm
never going to have s@x with my wife. I don't want to be all grossed
out.
- Theodore, age 8 (Too much detail for his age)
(2 ) It's better for girls to be single but not for boys. Boys need
someone to clean up after them.
- Anita, age 9 (bless you child)
HOW WOULD THE WORLD BE DIFFERENT IF PEOPLE DIDN'T GET MARRIED?
(1 ) There sure would be a lot of kids to explain, wouldn't there?
- Kelvin, age 8
And the #1 Favourite is........
HOW WOULD YOU MAKE A MARRIAGE WORK?
(1 ) Tell your wife that she looks pretty, even if she looks like a
truck.
- Ricky, age 10 (The boy already understands)
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Thwack.....thwack.
There is something satisfying about the resounding thwack of a tennis ball being hit skillfully in the right direction by a tennis racquet. I'm not sure what it is, but I know it's something I never, ever hear on the rare occasion that I've played tennis.
Now, in general, i'm a pretty physically skillful person. I'm not being arrogant, i'm being honest. I'm pretty good at many things, especially sports. However, tennis, and in fact most ball sports, remain somewhat of an enigma to me. The whole hand eye co-ordination thing just doesn't come naturally: I can co-ordinate the hands, and I can co-ordinate the eyes but when it comes to getting them both happening at once, i just cannot get that shit together.
I had tennis lessons in grade 6: it lasted exactly one term. I'm not sure if my tennis teacher or my parents thought that was enough, but it was decided I should stick to what I was good at, staying far away from anything remotely round that flew at great speeds in my direction. Apart from waterpolo (the ball is big, and yellow, and rarely flies at any speed), this is a rule of thumb I have pretty much stuck to ever since. I would love to be one of those people who eventually plays social tennis. Sure, the social part I have downpat, the tennis, no.
I think this is possibly why I enjoy watching the tennis so much. Oddly, it doesn't in any way make me feel inferior. Instead, I sit transfixed in front of the telly each night and all weekend, staring in awe at this immense skill these athletes have, which I for some reason cannot even remotely begin to master. It is quite convenient that the Australian Open falls at this time of year, because it means when I finish work I can go straight home and plonk myself in front of the tv or in bed and stay there for the whole night. I think anybody watching me watching the tennis would probably laugh: I ooh, I aaah, i shout and cheer at the screen. I jump around when I get excited by a close game, and I give much needed and highly valuable tips to whoever happens to be doing the wrong thing at the time: my arm-chair coaching skills are second to none.
Many people I've spoken to in the last couple of weeks have made noises along the lines of "Tennis, oh how boring." To those people: I challenge you to find another game in which almost every game is nail-bitingly exciting, and involves such a high level of skill, over such a long period of time. Each of the grand slams is like a marathon... in fact, longer than a marathon! Many of the 5 set games the guys play go for 3 or 4 hours, and I don't think you'd find many marathon runners doing 4 or 5 or 6 marathons in a two week period... much less doing that four times a year at 18, 20 or 22 years old.
I will forever remain a fan of tennis. In my imagination I am a tennis star, unfortunately for me though, I have a feeling this is where my skill will remain!
Now, in general, i'm a pretty physically skillful person. I'm not being arrogant, i'm being honest. I'm pretty good at many things, especially sports. However, tennis, and in fact most ball sports, remain somewhat of an enigma to me. The whole hand eye co-ordination thing just doesn't come naturally: I can co-ordinate the hands, and I can co-ordinate the eyes but when it comes to getting them both happening at once, i just cannot get that shit together.
I had tennis lessons in grade 6: it lasted exactly one term. I'm not sure if my tennis teacher or my parents thought that was enough, but it was decided I should stick to what I was good at, staying far away from anything remotely round that flew at great speeds in my direction. Apart from waterpolo (the ball is big, and yellow, and rarely flies at any speed), this is a rule of thumb I have pretty much stuck to ever since. I would love to be one of those people who eventually plays social tennis. Sure, the social part I have downpat, the tennis, no.
I think this is possibly why I enjoy watching the tennis so much. Oddly, it doesn't in any way make me feel inferior. Instead, I sit transfixed in front of the telly each night and all weekend, staring in awe at this immense skill these athletes have, which I for some reason cannot even remotely begin to master. It is quite convenient that the Australian Open falls at this time of year, because it means when I finish work I can go straight home and plonk myself in front of the tv or in bed and stay there for the whole night. I think anybody watching me watching the tennis would probably laugh: I ooh, I aaah, i shout and cheer at the screen. I jump around when I get excited by a close game, and I give much needed and highly valuable tips to whoever happens to be doing the wrong thing at the time: my arm-chair coaching skills are second to none.
Many people I've spoken to in the last couple of weeks have made noises along the lines of "Tennis, oh how boring." To those people: I challenge you to find another game in which almost every game is nail-bitingly exciting, and involves such a high level of skill, over such a long period of time. Each of the grand slams is like a marathon... in fact, longer than a marathon! Many of the 5 set games the guys play go for 3 or 4 hours, and I don't think you'd find many marathon runners doing 4 or 5 or 6 marathons in a two week period... much less doing that four times a year at 18, 20 or 22 years old.
I will forever remain a fan of tennis. In my imagination I am a tennis star, unfortunately for me though, I have a feeling this is where my skill will remain!
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Memories of a black line
This morning I visited a very familiar but also very distant place from my past.
Ok, so I'm probably being a little dramatic....I mean, it's not like it's a place from 20 years ago, or even 10 (actually it started about 11 years ago...) and it's not even as though I haven't been there since i stopped going there, if that makes ANY sense (it makes sense in my mind and that's what counts!).
This place is somewhere I know really well, somewhere I spent alot of time until I was about 18, and somewhere I had some of my favourite and most precious memories, for a variety of reasons.
Hands up who's worked out where I'm talking about?
heh heh you were sitting at your own computer with your hand up in the air, weren't you? Ok, so since you endured looking so silly for me, i'm going to tell you what the hell I'm on about.
This morning I got up early (for me) and I went to a pool. I joined a club. I went swimming. With a squad. With a coach and everything. In fact, the pool was MSAC - my old training pool. The club was Vicentre - my old club. The squad was the Swim Advantage squad (basically for triathletes and old people)- NOT my old squad! They train three times a week, and I have decided that for something I used to love so so so so so much, I really don't swim very much any more, and I missed it. So instead of doing what i've done for the last year or so, and going to the pool once or twice a week by myself and doing an easy km or two, that I would put some structure into it. I am now officially going to be "training" (I use this term quite liberally) three times a week, and doing about 3kms at a time...to start with at least!
Today, even though by the end i was embarrassingly wrecked, i absolutely loved every single second of the session. EVERY SINGLE ONE. I loved my first dive in, I loved the fact that I still can't, no matter how tired I am or fast I want to go, leave early in any set. I loved the fact that I still push off every wall in a perfect torpedo, I still don't breathe on the first stroke up or the last stroke into a turn. I love that I still thought about doing perfect turns, and I still counted my strokes when I was doing breaststroke. I still thought about not doing a big dolphin kick at the end of my split stroke, and not letting my feet sink at the end of my breaststroke kick. I love that I made the times for each set, and that I still counted each lap and repeat exactly the same way in my head. I still got annoyed at having to pass people who seem not to notice someone's trying to pass them(!!!!) and I still got annoyed at people who crowd at the end and wouldn't let me finish at the wall on every lap.
No no no, i'm not a perfectionist!
To most of you reading this, almost none of that will make any sense, but that's ok. To those of you who feel the same rush of excitement and enjoyment when you look back on those days, those who so loved that time, and who now appreciate and cherish every little thing it taught you, who remember every second of every race, every medal on the podium, every record, those people might have some idea how I feel right now. I know not everybody loved the sport like did, but that part of my life is, and will remain, one of the most fun-filled, educating, exhausting and exhilarating times of my life.
Remember the time in your life, before it all fell apart, before you got all confused, before you decided to change everything, before you got lazy, and before you stopped caring. Remember when you knew who you were, and everybody else did too. Remember the time when you were doing exactly what you wanted to do, and you were brilliant at it.
About 5 years ago I made what i now think was one of the stupidest decisions of my life. Actually, I made a few of them, all within a few months. They were decisions I had to make, just as the last 5 years was a journey I had to take, but it is only really in the last year or so that I've been able to start to get my head back together and my life back into order. This morning, this feeling, represents a very large piece of that.
Ok, so I'm probably being a little dramatic....I mean, it's not like it's a place from 20 years ago, or even 10 (actually it started about 11 years ago...) and it's not even as though I haven't been there since i stopped going there, if that makes ANY sense (it makes sense in my mind and that's what counts!).
This place is somewhere I know really well, somewhere I spent alot of time until I was about 18, and somewhere I had some of my favourite and most precious memories, for a variety of reasons.
Hands up who's worked out where I'm talking about?
heh heh you were sitting at your own computer with your hand up in the air, weren't you? Ok, so since you endured looking so silly for me, i'm going to tell you what the hell I'm on about.
This morning I got up early (for me) and I went to a pool. I joined a club. I went swimming. With a squad. With a coach and everything. In fact, the pool was MSAC - my old training pool. The club was Vicentre - my old club. The squad was the Swim Advantage squad (basically for triathletes and old people)- NOT my old squad! They train three times a week, and I have decided that for something I used to love so so so so so much, I really don't swim very much any more, and I missed it. So instead of doing what i've done for the last year or so, and going to the pool once or twice a week by myself and doing an easy km or two, that I would put some structure into it. I am now officially going to be "training" (I use this term quite liberally) three times a week, and doing about 3kms at a time...to start with at least!
Today, even though by the end i was embarrassingly wrecked, i absolutely loved every single second of the session. EVERY SINGLE ONE. I loved my first dive in, I loved the fact that I still can't, no matter how tired I am or fast I want to go, leave early in any set. I loved the fact that I still push off every wall in a perfect torpedo, I still don't breathe on the first stroke up or the last stroke into a turn. I love that I still thought about doing perfect turns, and I still counted my strokes when I was doing breaststroke. I still thought about not doing a big dolphin kick at the end of my split stroke, and not letting my feet sink at the end of my breaststroke kick. I love that I made the times for each set, and that I still counted each lap and repeat exactly the same way in my head. I still got annoyed at having to pass people who seem not to notice someone's trying to pass them(!!!!) and I still got annoyed at people who crowd at the end and wouldn't let me finish at the wall on every lap.
No no no, i'm not a perfectionist!
To most of you reading this, almost none of that will make any sense, but that's ok. To those of you who feel the same rush of excitement and enjoyment when you look back on those days, those who so loved that time, and who now appreciate and cherish every little thing it taught you, who remember every second of every race, every medal on the podium, every record, those people might have some idea how I feel right now. I know not everybody loved the sport like did, but that part of my life is, and will remain, one of the most fun-filled, educating, exhausting and exhilarating times of my life.
Remember the time in your life, before it all fell apart, before you got all confused, before you decided to change everything, before you got lazy, and before you stopped caring. Remember when you knew who you were, and everybody else did too. Remember the time when you were doing exactly what you wanted to do, and you were brilliant at it.
About 5 years ago I made what i now think was one of the stupidest decisions of my life. Actually, I made a few of them, all within a few months. They were decisions I had to make, just as the last 5 years was a journey I had to take, but it is only really in the last year or so that I've been able to start to get my head back together and my life back into order. This morning, this feeling, represents a very large piece of that.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Not my choice BUT....
Hmm. probably not my first choice for wedding attire... but each to their own!
Doesn't the warmth and love radiating from this bunch just warms the cockels of your heart?
Doesn't the warmth and love radiating from this bunch just warms the cockels of your heart?
Monday, January 15, 2007
A close friend said...
"A close friend said..." Just how many times do we read that in trashy magazines and newspapers...? Ok, so some of you might not read trashy magazines all that much, but take it from someone who used to alot (not so much any more, but i'm not completely guilt-free!)... A
ccording to these writers, everybody has a close friend who is willing to spill the beans. I hesitate to call these people journalists, because I think the term journalist brings with it some integrity, respect and responsibility or duty to tell the truth and report the facts: these people are simply gossip-mongerers. Now, i know that's their job, but please, read the following statement from today's Age:
Denise Richards and Richie Sambora are, apparently, getting married.
ccording to these writers, everybody has a close friend who is willing to spill the beans. I hesitate to call these people journalists, because I think the term journalist brings with it some integrity, respect and responsibility or duty to tell the truth and report the facts: these people are simply gossip-mongerers. Now, i know that's their job, but please, read the following statement from today's Age:
Denise Richards and Richie Sambora are, apparently, getting married.
"Denise loves Milan so it will probably be there."
Now ponder the following questions:
1) Exactly what possibility do you think there is that this "friend" actually exists?
2) If this "friend" does exist, do you think said friend is actually
- a) the dog-walker's friend's uncle, but they really DO have a close relationship
- b) the cleaner's daughter
- c) Denise's stalker
- d) Charlie Sheen
...Oh thankyou for that pearl of wisdom, oh un-named-but-oh-so-close wise one. We shall hang on your every word in the future.
Ah I guess if I'm actually reading this crap, I shouldn't really be surprised at the results...
Friday, January 12, 2007
On the way out
OK... recent events have led me to seriously consider moving out of home. Now this has happened before, but never before have I actually decided it's a better idea to move out than it is to stay at home.
This is quite disappointing, because as many of you know, we've recently moved into an AWESOME house. My bedroom has become just about my favourite place in the world, and i have absolutely the best wardrobe imaginable (and for you blokes, yes this on its own is reason enough to love a house!).
If I move out, i'll most likely have to leave my beloved puppy at home, and I would miss him terribly. He would also miss me. At about 5 o'clock every afternoon he goes and lies down at the front door waiting for me to come home, and he doesn't eat except when I sit down to eat, or at least look like i'm not going anywhere in a hurry. He comes and sits on the end of my bed when i'm awake, and I'm pretty sure he knows what I'm about to do before I even do it.
I'll miss living with people... knowing that when I get home there's usually going to be someone home, someone who knows me really, really well.
I'll miss having lots of money. I know this sounds silly, but living out of home creates alot more costs than I'm used to paying... Lets face it, $100 a week board is a pretty cruisey deal...
I'll miss teaching on our beautiful piano... I suppose if necessary I probably still could teach at home, but I think i'd probably prefer to be totally gone.
What I'm looking forward to about moving out:
Being able to cook for myself. I'm not a great cook, but I get by, and it means I can decide what I want to eat and when.
Not having to talk to anyone when I don't feel like it.
Not having big fights over nothing.
Playing my music really, really loud.
Not being constantly nagged about doing things.
But the thing I'm most looking forward to, is not just actually feeling like I CAN be independent when necessary, but actually BEING independent. I've had enough of being treated like a child. I've just had enough.
This is quite disappointing, because as many of you know, we've recently moved into an AWESOME house. My bedroom has become just about my favourite place in the world, and i have absolutely the best wardrobe imaginable (and for you blokes, yes this on its own is reason enough to love a house!).
If I move out, i'll most likely have to leave my beloved puppy at home, and I would miss him terribly. He would also miss me. At about 5 o'clock every afternoon he goes and lies down at the front door waiting for me to come home, and he doesn't eat except when I sit down to eat, or at least look like i'm not going anywhere in a hurry. He comes and sits on the end of my bed when i'm awake, and I'm pretty sure he knows what I'm about to do before I even do it.
I'll miss living with people... knowing that when I get home there's usually going to be someone home, someone who knows me really, really well.
I'll miss having lots of money. I know this sounds silly, but living out of home creates alot more costs than I'm used to paying... Lets face it, $100 a week board is a pretty cruisey deal...
I'll miss teaching on our beautiful piano... I suppose if necessary I probably still could teach at home, but I think i'd probably prefer to be totally gone.
What I'm looking forward to about moving out:
Being able to cook for myself. I'm not a great cook, but I get by, and it means I can decide what I want to eat and when.
Not having to talk to anyone when I don't feel like it.
Not having big fights over nothing.
Playing my music really, really loud.
Not being constantly nagged about doing things.
But the thing I'm most looking forward to, is not just actually feeling like I CAN be independent when necessary, but actually BEING independent. I've had enough of being treated like a child. I've just had enough.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
poeme
So i'm kind of doing a writing course... actually i'm doing a communications course, but the subject i'm doing at the moment is creative and professional writing. The other day, I had the most difficult and unenjoyable experience of any writing I've ever done (and i've done a bit...). I had to write a sonnet.
that's right, A SONNET.
Oh COME ON... who actually WRITES SONNETS after 1852? Why would I want to, much less ever NEED to know how to write a sonnet? Iambic pentameter is a very funky sounding term, but one which I hope never to have to use in any context ever again.
Got that? NEVER AGAIN.
Oh right, and did I forget to mention, the sonnet had to be about the weather.
Now, I don't think I have ever submitted (or indeed even written!) something that I honestly thought was just terrible, until now. Nor have I ever written something that so DESPERATELY needed more work, but been unable to bring myself to even think about, much less look at it again.
So without further ado, my sonnet.
To those who like their winter days, please come
To our fair town, we’ve hail and wind to spare.
For when it’s cold it chills right through your hair.
Then suddenly through rain, there’s warmth, the sun.
A multitude of rainbows grace our shores
And never do we know quite what we’ll get.
But here in Melbourne we are used to it
With freezing sun and tepid rain galore.
Am I someone who would prefer more heat?
Perhaps for holidays and tans and at
the beach. But when the sun begins to beat,
My dreams consist of snow and ice and sleet.
So I resolve to be a person that
Enjoys each day, and never thinks to weep.
that's right, A SONNET.
Oh COME ON... who actually WRITES SONNETS after 1852? Why would I want to, much less ever NEED to know how to write a sonnet? Iambic pentameter is a very funky sounding term, but one which I hope never to have to use in any context ever again.
Got that? NEVER AGAIN.
Oh right, and did I forget to mention, the sonnet had to be about the weather.
Now, I don't think I have ever submitted (or indeed even written!) something that I honestly thought was just terrible, until now. Nor have I ever written something that so DESPERATELY needed more work, but been unable to bring myself to even think about, much less look at it again.
So without further ado, my sonnet.
To those who like their winter days, please come
To our fair town, we’ve hail and wind to spare.
For when it’s cold it chills right through your hair.
Then suddenly through rain, there’s warmth, the sun.
A multitude of rainbows grace our shores
And never do we know quite what we’ll get.
But here in Melbourne we are used to it
With freezing sun and tepid rain galore.
Am I someone who would prefer more heat?
Perhaps for holidays and tans and at
the beach. But when the sun begins to beat,
My dreams consist of snow and ice and sleet.
So I resolve to be a person that
Enjoys each day, and never thinks to weep.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Secrets...
My Christmas present from my brother arrived yesterday... yes, it was a little late, but it's ok, I won't hold it against him. I was totally surprised... totally. And i don't get that many presents that are a TOTAL surprise, and so.... secretive.
SO do you want to know what it is?
Do you?
I'm guessing you do....
It was the book of PostSecret. THat's right, the website I have spent so many hours trawling over the last couple of years has a book.
I don't know why i'm so intrigued by this blog... by the secrets of all of these random people, except that possibly because time I read them, I'm reading my own secrets... they're my secrets, but I've never sent them a postcard. I've thought about it many times, but never quite got there. I have so many secrets from so many different people. In fact, I don't think there is anybody in the world that knows everything about me, and I like it.
When I read this book, it reminds me that there are thousands of other people in the world feeling exactly the same way I am at any moment.
I guess i'm not as unique as I thought...
SO do you want to know what it is?
Do you?
I'm guessing you do....
It was the book of PostSecret. THat's right, the website I have spent so many hours trawling over the last couple of years has a book.
I don't know why i'm so intrigued by this blog... by the secrets of all of these random people, except that possibly because time I read them, I'm reading my own secrets... they're my secrets, but I've never sent them a postcard. I've thought about it many times, but never quite got there. I have so many secrets from so many different people. In fact, I don't think there is anybody in the world that knows everything about me, and I like it.
When I read this book, it reminds me that there are thousands of other people in the world feeling exactly the same way I am at any moment.
I guess i'm not as unique as I thought...
Monday, January 08, 2007
2007 is a New Year
Well dear friends. It really has been QUITE some time, hasn't it? A very busy, fun-filled and EVENTFUL time, but a long time nonetheless.
First of all, Happy New Year everybody!
Anyway, without further ado, I guess I had better start from the beginning.
In the beginning there was god... oh wait. not that beginning.
As I look back... my last post was November 22nd. This date isn't particularly significant, other than that you may have guessed by reading it, I was in quite a shit mood with a certain person. I am filled with pleasure, pride and all good things to be able to report that I no longer have to deal with this person... Yes, that's right, FINALLY he has been given the can. Lets all cheer together! YIPPEEEEEEEE!
November and December were particularly busy months for me... at the start of November I began a new job... actually I began a new job, whilst continuing to do my old job. Hello, my name is tammy-two-jobs. Basically, someone at my work left, and I am now doing her job and mine. TO begin with, I was totally ridiculously and utterly busy. My workload literally tripled, and I didn't have a spare moment at work to scratch my... well.. you get the idea. At around the same time, I started studying again, so was busy with trying to get assessments in on time as well.
Fortunately, whilst I am still very busy, the learning curve I was hurtling up has become somewhat less steep, and particularly in this fairly quiet time of year, I have a little more time to do things like write in blogs!
Also, my sister was here for about 6 weeks leading up to her wedding. the end of November and all of December were filled with all the fun and busy things that entailed, and I totally and utterly adored having her with us for that time! It's been a number of years since she was living at home, much less in the same country, and it was so nice to just be able to call out and have her answer, and go for walks, and coffees and movies etc. All those things I hadn't even really realised I missed so much! The wedding itself was on December 28th in Busselton in WA, and i was the first time in about 10 years that our entire family has been on holiday together! The day was beautiful, Georgie and Ed looked gloriously happy, the whole week was HUGE fun, and i'm quite sure will be one of my all-time favourite memories forever! I'll post some photos below so you can all get an idea of how it went down.
Now i'm back at work, and after nearly 2 weeks off over Christmas, lets just say I had a very consistent workload for the first few days of January! I've just booked my next overseas holiday, to the Philippines to do some scuba diving, Koh Samui in Thailand with Georgie and Ed for a few days, and then back to Singapore to stay with them for a week. I am really looking forward to this, and whilst I don't really feel that I desperately NEED a holiday like I did before Christmas (if I'd had to work one more day i think i'd have died!), i'm sure that by the middle of Feb when I leave, i'll be needing it as much as ever!
One of the more recent comments from a friend on this blog read along the lines of: "there's a cynic in all of us." I was recently described as a fountain of sarcasm... and this made me laugh.. because it's true. The end of last year was a busy, stressful and highly emotional time for me (for many reasons, mainly work-related!). I didn't much enjoy the way I felt, and was made to feel, and I have made a resolve that this year will be different. I so enjoyed getting away from it all, remembering what it is to relax and enjoy myself, enjoy the company of my brilliant family and friends, and be reminded what life is all about. Tammy the cynic is gone. Tammy the fun, relaxed and excited little lady is back... the one who does things OTHER than work, who makes the effort to keep in contact with her friends, regardless of how little time she may have to see them, the Tam who stays fit and healthy and has things to look forward to, the Tam who sometimes says NO when people ask her to do things, and who spends some time doing things for herself, the Tam who is HERE and loving it, instead of wishing she were somewhere else.
I'm not committing to writing in this blog every day, because realistically, it won't happen. But i am going to try to update it MORe regularly, and also to keep up to date with reading all those blogs i used to love so much, but haven't checked for months!
so welcome back to my life everybody, and welcome back me.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Thought for the Day
People's true colours always shine through eventually, no matter how they try to hide them.
Some people are just bastards!!
Some people are just bastards!!
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Daylight is the same...
Daylight savings has really thrown me for six this time. I am all over the place. Monday morning i was at work at 7.30am (which really felt like 6.30am) and i was fine. Not a problem. tuesday i didn't get here until 9am, and have been totally wrecked for the rest of the week. I just can't work out what time it is. Everything seems wrong. it's nice that it's still light at 8pm, but really, i think i'd rather not have this adjustment every 6 months. What's so wrong with the night starting when it starts, and ending in the morning? The number of hours is exactly the same... people should just get up earlier if they want more daylight. Why do we insist on changing the time? Not only that, but why do some states have it and some states not have it? it's ridiculous. I am hereby casting my vote for abolishing daylight savings time altogether.
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