quizzical expression

I happen to have a friend who said, and I quote, "I'm going to do this quiz and post it on my blog. Then I'm going to go and destroy fate."

I thought was pretty cool, even if he didn't exactly say it like that... But I digress once again. Because I am bored, I too decided to do the quiz. And here's the result:

Person/Thing Who:-

1) Slept in your bed: If a "thing" slept in my bed I'd be worried. If anyone besides me slept there, I'd be charging money.

2) Saw you cry: I'd say my mum. No, not your mum. My mum.

3) Made you cry: Lately I've been brought to tears by this cough that gives my abs a workout. But I've cried when my favourite pet died a while ago. Saddest moment ever. Oh, and Star Wars made me cry. That was so lame, I had to weep for it.

4) You went to the movies with: My brother. Saw King Kong. Good movie. That girl has the best scream I've ever heard.

5) You went to the mall with: A friend from high school who shall remain anonymous. She's cool.

6) Sent you a txt message: The friend who also inspired me to this quiz of boredom. He said something about hibernation. Freaky mammal.


Have You Ever:-

7) Said "I love you" and meant it?: Possumly. Although I say it so many times to so many people I can't even remember what it means. I love you.

8) Gotten in a fight with your pet: I wrestle my dog all the time. He's getting fat so I own him even more. Stupid dog.

9) Danced naked: I swear she made me do it. At gunpoint...

10) Dreamed something really crazy and then it happened the next day: I once dreamt that a giant beach ball filled with balloon people came to my backyard and I used it in my ploy for world domination... Oh wait, no, that didn't happen the next day. I did however say "tsunami" out of nowhere a day before the tsunami hit that place. Freaky.

11) Had an imaginary friend: They're real damnit!

12) Do you have a crush on someone: No, but I want to "crush" Gabrielle Richens.

13) What book are you reading now: Warlock. For the third time.

14) Worst feeling in the world: Waking up after having no sleep.

15) Future son's name: Pary. Nuff said.

16) Future daughter's name: Jenna, in honour of the good friend that has disappeared.

17) Do you sleep with a stuffed animal: No, I sleep with live animals...

18) What's under your bed: Bodies.

19) Best sport to watch: Girls on Trampolines.

20) College plans: ... Huh?

21) Piercings/tattoos: No/No. Though I wouldn't mind a tattoo of my own design. Maybe.



EXTRA STUFF :-

1) Do you do drugs: They stop the voices in my head...

2) Who are your good friends?: They know who they are.

3) What are you most scared of: Little children.

5) Where do you want to get married: On the moon?

6)Who do you really hate: The person inside my head who stops me from doing things. Bastard. Shutup already!

7) Been in Love: ...yes, unfortunately.

8) Do you drive: I drive myself crazy! Yes I drive. Jeez.

9) Do you have a job: Nope! Do I get some kind of compensation now? Oh wait, not aboriginal...

10) Do you enjoy being around people: People make me sick. Uh, I mean... sure!

11) Are you for world peace: It is impossible.


IN THE LAST 72 HOURS, HAVE YOU:-

1) Cried: Nyet.

2) Bought something: Nope.

3) Gotten sick: I've been sick for a while now. Fkn cough.

4) Sang: Heh. Yeah.

5) Wanted to tell someone you loved them: Yes. I love you.

6) Met someone new: Nein.

7) Missed someone: Yes.

8) Hugged someone: ... Yep.

9) Kissed someone: No. Well, technically yes. But don't tell anyone.

Well, that was good for a few minutes. Now time to do something productive. "Pro-duck-tive" ... fucken ducks.

casual formalities

I woke up this mornafternoon and decided to post here. Because it's Christmas Eve apparently. Last I remember it was December Somethingth and Christmas was the usual "few weeks away." But now, it's the Eve. Of That Day. What this means is that anywhere after 12am, Santa will arrive on his sled, possibly parking it on the roof and causing structural damage. He will then realise that there isn't a chimney to be found in the entire city and will resort to burglar tactics, ensuring widespread panic and chaos for the next week as investigators attempt to uncover the man behind the large red suit. Last seen heading North with a large suspicious bag in an 1800 model, 6 RP (Reindeer power) sleigh. If I got the number of reindeers wrong, sue me. I will get the best lawyers and reverse the lawsuit.

Thinking about Christmas now is amusing. The childish excitement has long since gone and I'm left with the classic "ba-humbug" syndrome. Also, fanciful fairy tales are funny. Makes me think some homeless person on an acid trip made it up way back when. Of course he got the acid from the future... But I digress from the inevitable link that is right. Over. Here.

While you read that I'm going to go get something to eat.

I assume by the time it took me to reheat last night's dinner and grab a drink that you have finished reading. If not, you are a slow reader or I have become truly talented in reheating leftovers. Or both.

Since you're now full of juicy facts, did you ever notice that alot of the excitement around Christmas is commercial? I swear the directors and board members of companies have orgasms at every major holiday event, because it means more money they can put into a bank that collects dust or becomes part of some dodgy movie involving five intelligent sea urchins and a squid named Chuo. The plot can be stupidified and as long as the word "Christmas" is mentioned somewhere in the title, it's perfect. Just as every product known to man is apparently perfect as a Christmas gift. And they say it's the thought that counts. Bah! I know of cases where it's the after-thought.

Like the dreaded chocolate gift. You will see them in stores before you even know Christmas is a "few weeks away." They seem innocent enough, but you never overlook them. They're cunning marketing schemes. Got nothing else to buy that third cousin, six times removed? Seasonal chocolate gift pack by Cadbury. It's the after-thought that counts. Feel cheap because you didn't spend much on someone, or they got you something and you didn't even think about them? Chocolates.

My warning to you this year, if you wish to never have the title of "Lord Aftah Thort", is to step away from the chocolate display and put those gift ideas where I can see them!

Now, steering away from the day that will be, I am very upset. My chair, nay my Throne, is sitting a meter away from me, with a sad patch of glue giving me hope that it may be used once more. Yes, the chair broke. At the armrest that isn't really rested on. Go figure. If I have to put the big guy down, I will go into mourning with the Buddhist monks I befriended recently. During that time I will also develop a cunning heist plan - I have family contacts in the business of office chairs. There will be balaclavas, sharp witty dialogue and even a sassy chick in the group who makes cold comments at anyone who hits on her, but she secretly wants to bone the leader, which is me.

Or, to save me time you could go out and buy me a new chair seeing as it's my birthday 2 weeks after Christmas. Ah yes, Christmas, New Years and Pary's Birth. Surely the three greatest events in a year. All in one neat package of drinking, eating, mauling intricately-wrapped gifts and admiring girls who have "santa's little helper" outfits on.

On the end note of this rather large clump of textual extravagence, I am unemployed. But! I have a plan. More on that later. Maybe before it is put into action, maybe 6 months after. Until then, I wish you a Mary Christmass and a Happeh Knew Yere. And you can wish me a Happy Birthday in about 2 weeks when I will be "indisposed" and possibly nekkid.

the stripper who loved me

Well.. it's been a while. Again. I have some good news, some bad news and some ugly news. But first, I'll begin with the sexy news. About two (2) days ago, I got a haircut. Oh noes! Oh yeos! I did. Fret not though, for I refuse to part with all my hair. Just the massive clump that can get a bit wild. Wild like a Friday night at a strip club! Which is where I was last Friday. Free entry, expensive drinks and of course a lap dance. The original plan was to have a 10pm rendezvous at the Club. The actual plan turned out to involve a meet at a different bar, drinks and making our way to the Club in pairs. Why? Because we had 4 (four) VIP passes for two (2) , and didn't want to make it seem we were all in one large, illegit group. Naturally there was an odd number of people present so someone had to suck it up and go alone. Of course that person was me.

Apparantly it was decided we needed to drink as much as possible beforehand. So I rebelled and took my time. I didn't need liquid courage. My drink list for the night was:

-:- Two (2) "Schooners" of Beer
-:- 1 (one) Bottle of Smirnoff Black
-:- One (1) Shot of Absinthe (Like liquid licorice except... brain cells disappear)

Which isn't much. I was the 2nd (second) group to head over. By group I mean person and by head over I mean get slightly sidetracked for 50mins. It was about 40mins before I realised the ticket stated it was valid until 11pm. By then I was pretty far from the destination. So I did what anyone would do and walked a little bit faster.

11:05pm. Calm, cool and collected I approached the desk and was ushered inside without a word about the expiry time.

Inside. I do a lap, keeping an eye out for my friends and hot females who dance. Upon finding the latter, I make my way to the bar and purchase the Smirnoff Black I mentioned earlier. Expensive, but who cares when you've got a shot of Absinthe swimming in your blood stream. My keen eyes then picked out the friends, sitting just in front of the stage, enjoying the displays of some not-so-hot stripper. Long story short, they left, declaring that they'd been there an hour already. They also decided to mention that I "missed out" on the best show. Ha! Turns out it was they who missed the best show. My show, bitches. No, I didn't strip... or did I?!

I refused to leave after just arriving, so I stayed and... took in the view. They came back for me just in time to see me walk off with an employee... stripper. And the rest is erotic history. She was nice. I was suave. She totally dug my shit. And curls. It was a great night.

So that's the good news. Now the bad news; I'm addicted to water. The H2O kind of water. From the filter in the kitchen. I go through glasses of that stuff and I always want more. I need help. One day I'm going to wake up in a sweat and feel hydrated, and like I really need to urinate. Nachos too. I'm addicted to them. In face, the more I keep typing about water and nachos, the more I want nachos and Milo. Water... nachos... Milo... lingerie. These are a few of my favourite things. I'm a-go make some right now. Be right back!

Ok back. Now for the ugly news! I have a new desktop wallpaper. It's so very hot. Oh wait, ugly news. Right. Hotornot.com! That's ugly news. I swear the ratio of hot to not is 1:50033626. I crushed so many egos on that site. In fact, if I had to choose a username, I'd call myself "Egokrushah." Because I'm original and stuff. People would think I'm from a foreign country. And I'd have to explain to them cleavage does not automatically mean you get an 8; Cleavage is bonus points, not... points. And I'd explain it with an accent. Probably Swedish.

And in my spare time I managed to break some super strong glass, cut myself on it and then mourn the loss of the glass. Also managed to get drunk the week before that, walk 100 miles, kick a tricycle, urinate inside a school and save the world from an invasion of stupidity. Not everything in the previous sentence was true. Which is it? Find out never!

Now to leave on a heavy topic; elephants.

Oh! Also, today so happens to be date of birth for someone I know. She knows who she is... Happy Birthday tubbeh! *Poke* Many Milos your way!

Goodmorning, goodday, goodafternoon and goodnight!

barnacles can't fly

Before I begin a tale of something able to be made into a tale, I'd like to inform you that when I started writing this, I had no title. That's right, there is... was no title. Fascinating I know, but think about how oblivious you were to that fact before I told you about two lines ago. Imagine all the articles, stories and movies you've seen that might have been naked (without a title) until the very end! Why am I telling you? Because I'm in denial - a state of mourning. See, just yesterday I parted with something that's been a part of me for a long time. I shaved me goatee. Please, no sympathy, I'm coping with the fresh new babyface look. Alright I'm not. I want my goatee back. I have to wait for the descendants of the previous hair to come through strong and proud of their ancestry, taking up the throne on my chin with honour.

Thing is, that's not all of my woes. The tin of Milo is almost half-empty, and while you philosophy junkies will argue that it could be half-full and I shouldn't be so pessimistic, I still say it's half-empty. It's Milo, and it's draining away, there is no hope. Well, except that it's a big tin.

I know, it's terrible. But I will push through these hard times with a smile, because I found my socks. Both pairs in fact. Ever noticed how exciting it is when you find missing articles of clothing? Maybe not when you find a suspicious pair of underwear that isn't yours, but you know. Unless you're unfortunate enough to witness the terror that flaps in the night, that is XXXXL panties on a clothesline, you shouldn't have a problem with clothing-related nightmares. Or monkey-related nightmares for that matter. Lets face it, monkeys can't be trusted. And they go hand in hand with large underwear.

In other, unrelated news, it's father's day today. Or was, depending when you read this, I suppose. Even so, I got him some beer glasses. I was considering making appointments with various medical proffessionals, but decided against it because the glasses were easier and I can use them at some point. More than once. In one night. Enough said with short sentences.

So, while the world slips further into chaos, I am shaven and losing Milo. Booya!
Until next time, assuming I don't get crushed under a comet - something I'm very paranoid about, can't be too careful. Oh, the title has now been added and, like the titles of some songs, completely irrelevant to what it's... titling.

tyred?

I had a flat tyre yesterday.

Normally, a tyre change takes 20 minutes max. But no, not for my car.

It started out promising, I had the boot open and the standard tools at the ready, it wasn't raining, and I knew what to do. One problem, though. Low cars aren't exactly jack-friendly.

So here I am laying down on the damp driveway in a singlet and long pants, reaching under my car to twist the dial of the jack that in turn raises the car, inch by painful inch. My left arm's endurance isn't as good as my right's. So, I have to take constant breaks. Nevertheless, after what seems like 2 days, the car is propped up high enough to afford the removal of the offending tyre. New problem. The bolts are tighter than a virgin's arse, no matter how much I swear and grunt at them.

By now I have enlisted the help of a hammer, a table mat and a small spanner. The hammer turns out to be useless, just as the mat does since they were both part of the same genius plan of hammering the bolt-thingy around to loosen the nuts.

The small spanner was just an afterthough at first, but proved very handy later. It is around now that it starts to rain. The bolts still haven't budged. Time for some WD-40.

Another problem. The WD-40 bottle is practically empty and the nozzle is missing. But, being the stubborn bastard that I am, I found a way to administer generous amounts of the precious substance to each bolt.

Still no luck. It's raining, which is about the only thing keeping me from lashing out on the nearest fragile object.

I love the rain. So, I relent and make the perilous journey to the shed in darkness, only to find I need a torch to find what I'm looking for.

Shed Journery, Take 2; I have a torch and I find my objective. A cross-bar. This is man's genius at its best.

Back to the tyre. I scowl at the nuts and point menacingly, brandishing the cross-bar like a weapon of divine justice. Lightning cracks around me... ok maybe not. So, it's just me and the nuts. And some rain.

My Stubborn Resolve, pt II; The nuts didn't move. I'm pacing back and forth like a caged lion, willing the precious rust removing liquid to do its job. I kick the hubcap that was a bastard to get off anyway.

Taking a breath, I steel myself like the steel in my hand. I place the right fitting over the nut, keeping one bar at about 45 degrees. I pause for effect and then give it all I have. I swear the cross-bar was bending. I couldn't believe it.

But it wasn't.

No, it was the nut moving in all its stubborn glory in an anti-clockwise direction. Jubilation!

Jubilation! Pt II; The next bolt quickly folded after seeing its leader fall so helplessly. My superior muscle-power and relentless counter-clockwise pushing was too much for the evil hexagon.

Jubilation! Pt III; The nuts are falling like steel flies. Not one withstood my barrage of twists and grunting. About 5 minutes after the first nut fell, the remaining 3 were gone. The floodgates were open, and the tyre was free. But it doesn't end there. The tyre was flat. The new tyre was not. Hence, I had to raise the car more painful inches. Now though, I have to do it while lying in a gentle stream of slightly-dirty water. It's raining lightly still.

Time for the small spanner to shine in all its glory. Man's genius at its second best. Doggedly, I toil on, raising the car inch by precious inch, judging it to perfection. Give or take a millimeter.

Jubilation! Pt IV; The new tyre is on, my clothing is wet and muddy and my hands are dirty like a mechanics. I was ready for anything. Especially mad, passionate sex. So, naturally, I beat the hubcap back into place, tuck away all the tools and grin victoriously.

Reality. No sex involved.

time is still a-fying

Here I am again, a month into my new job selling the very thing I loathe most in technology - phones. Let me tell you, the novelty has worn off. I'm at the stage where I need to jump from job to job like a whore on heat until I find one that I can enjoy for longer than 4 weeks. Or at least until I'm rich and can smother myself in honey and lay amidst a crowd of lesbians. But as usual, I digress from an imaginary point. There have been ups, downs and horizontals. I have discovered new things and forgotten others. I have invaded Poland, saved the world and done something else that I'm sure was exciting. Ok, really I've just stared blankly at the sky, waiting for something to drop down before me - metaphorically at least.

Recently I purchased a new game and played it so much that when I closed my eyes, I could still see it. Oh glorious death. Actually there's a tale behind the ostensibly simple event of getting the above mentioned game. First, some background. I work two shops down from where I pre-ordered my copy. Naturally, I was working the day it arrived and so I was left a message. Now, I was scheduled to finish at a nice time that ensured I would be able to grab the game on my way home, but alas, it was not to be for the devious creature of time decided to... do something that delayed my finishing time. Torture 106. So, I waited patiently until the next day before finally walking into an open and very colorful store.

I remember the store attendants were both oddities; one of the guys had his pants up really high, and the other was a girl. She served me. But not before I kept a cautious eye on a guy with a creepy smile standing in front of me. I had to take evasive action and so I took a few steps back, then some more. And another one. Then, for two days, I was taken by the bliss of 48 hours without work and spent a good majority of that playing this sexy game, ordering an even sexier monitor and doing other stuff that I won't mention. Oh, I'm such a tease.

Other than that, I've restarted my second World of Words over at a shady gaming website full of Aussies. Oh, and Mr and Mrs Smith is a great movie. It's very sassy and fresh like the cup of tea I'm drinking. The first time I went to see it, I ended up missing out alltogether and decided to drive North as far as I could in 30 minutes. I made it 5 minutes out of Cairns. I rock the proverbial sock drawer. My petrol guage enjoyed moving inexorably downwards to settle below halfway, too. Lying bastard.

I think I had more to post about, but I lost it over the days of very latearly mornights. Write those words down. I'll leave on a final note...

The grass being greener on the side is only a relative thing. Think about it.

- Pary ζ.

Testing out this nifty software. 

passing time

I dare not even look at the date of my last post. I think it's a record or something, and I bet a sloth could post more frequently than I do. Of course, I don't trust sloths and their lack of speed. Shady creatures. Anyways, now that I have successfully sidetracked from the sad truth about my absence of text on this site, I shall promptly do a little dance. Done.

I'm guessing you need to know what's been happening over the many long months. Well, fret not, for I am about to tell you! And then I'll get down into a little-big rant of some sort...

First, my working status. Right now, I am an employee of Telstra, which deals primarily in communications, and that includes phones. I hate phones. This just means I can find out more reasons to hate them. Now, rewinding a bit, I was at a brand-spanking new wharehouse-type store, becoming a salesman for the first time. Long story short, it sucked. Long story long, it sucked because the work environment sucked (and had no Milo). Normally, I pride myself on having jobs that last years (as opposed to my relationships, which are very shortlived...), but in this case, it was just over a month. Might have been longer if it weren't from the completely unexpected phone call I recieved. I was hesitant to answer it, assuming it was a customer enquiry. I was busy. So glad I listened to my instincts or whatever and got that call. It was like a dream where you're at home, bored and frustrated and suddenly a throng of super hot babes burst in and... change things. So now I'm a much happier, sparkling (and sexy) salesman, working casually with plans to write, become multi-linguistic and get a 2-hour massage. Here's my card, lets do lunch.

In other news, I've taken a sudden liking for tea and all things tea-like, which is really just tea. Thankfully, I haven't started talking funny or anything too British. It's jus' a cu' o' tea, know wha' I'm sayin'? No danger there, ladies and gentlespoons. I'm as Australian as someone who has Italian blood in them. Or whatever.

Moving right along to the part where I inform you of more interesting things in my life. For instance, my plans to make the Big Move. To Melbourne. With lots of Big Buildings, Big People and Big Amounts of Said People. It's Big News, my friends. No, you can't come with me. I suppose I can explain my reasons for planning this shift. It's simple, really. You live in a tourist destination long enough and you suddenly realise that it's small, full of Japs and not much happens. Unless you're a Jap. To prove my theory, I will mention that I was about the only local person when I went to Green Island for a day. I haven't seen that many foreigners since my trip into town. Nuff said. It's not that I don't like them, it's that I don't like living in a tourist place. End of semi-rant.

Ack, it's 11pm, and I have a meeting in the morning. I should day-break it. I'm sure driving isn't dangerous when you've had no sleep... That reminds me, Jamster should liquidate itself in a pool of its own marketing slime. And "Crazy Frog" can rot in animated hell. Shit idea, shit product, shit company, shit mascot and shit advertisements. There isn't enough painful things to describe what I want to do them. It's a fad gone wrong, just like every other sudden marketing boom. An idea props up, becomes popular and suddenly 10,000,012, 311.246 other small, no-hope businesses try and use it to make money. And fail, because they suck at ideas. And life. It's now 11:01pm, and I feel a little better about letting that out. Only took a minute as well.

Next up, is the fact that I'm now an uncle to someone else. Yes, my sister gave birth to another boy, forcing my mother to inform me that she'll be over my house alot when I have a kid. Why she said that is beyond me, but hey, I guess she felt guilty about something. Crazy woman. Or women. On that note, a woman is the most fiendish instrument of torture ever devised to bedevil the days of man. Such a profound statement. My theory is that it's because "women" starts with "double-u." The "I want to be different and have three syllables" letter. Firstly, it uses another letter to describe itself, which funny enough isn't even a good description. Looks more like "double-v" to me. Secondly, every other letter has a sound of sorts, or just one word to describe it. Not "w" though. Or should I type "uu"? Maybe I should rewrite the entire alphabet to suit this devious letter. Lets see what happens:

A -> "Inverse v"
B -> "I eight"
C -> "half o"
D -> "I backwards half o"
E -> "I three lines"
F -> "I three lines minus one"
G -> "half o with extra"
H -> "double I joined"
I -> "I"
J -> "almost I"
K -> "I less than"
L -> "I footed"
M -> "inverse double v"
N -> "ninety-degree z"
O -> "double half o"
P -> "I small half o"
Q -> "balloon"
R -> "I small half o legged"
S -> "nice curves"
T -> "I like roofing"
U -> "u"
V -> "v"
W -> "double v"
X -> "falling two I"
Y -> "split I"
Z -> "inverse ninety-degree ninety degree z"

Phew. That was an effort, and pretty bad. But that's English for you. Let us hope they never use my idea, because I would truly go mad and do something crazy, like ask for peppercorn in my salad.

I promised myself that I would make this an extremely long post to keep everyone and their family entertained for at least 10 minutes. But alas, I have just about run out of wind and am about to beach myself on an island full of bikini-clad females. Oh woe is me. Yarr.

Before I go, I must say there's been very many a Milo day recently. Both literally and metaphorically. Goodnight!

- Pary ζ.

alive

Testing... testing... 6, 32, 134, 576... Hello?

me, myself and inanimate objects

So, you think you're safe from seemingly innocent boxes with no desires or apparant conscious thought? Well, you're wrong. At first I thought I just amusing bad luck with transporting boxes - whether full or empty - and other inanimate things. And then I discovered for certain that I was. I mean wasn't. For weeks now I have been keeping at least half a deranged eye on these objects, sitting there in their inanimacy (finally got to use that word in a sentence.), and that's how I came to realise that they were out to get me, or at least make people laugh at my misfortune.

First, there were the empty boxes here and there that just completely refused to not fall off the goddamned trolley, no matter how much I threatened to have at them with the carton cutter. The solution: Lots of well placed, angry kicks. Seeing a rebellious box crumple under your wrath is unbelievably satisfying, if a little psychotic-looking. Even more satisfying is delivering these boxes to the cardboard compactor (or, to be more accurate, the everything compactor, including your sanity). Dubbed "Crusher Jnr", this baby will flatten those cardboard cultists into line and show them the meaning of packaged.

Next came the full boxes, a recent occurance. It was all the grapes; oh they were a mighty tower of grapes, at least until they collapsed off the trolley to their wine-generating doom. Stupid, stupid fruit. I held my temper and swore furiously, but only in my mind. Outside I was smiling and being violent. I thought that was going to be the last of these mutinous attacks, after seeing the peaches attempt it many times over, this had to be. Wrong. Say hello to the double-boxed, out of date peanuts! I tell you, that d-box looked strong, yet it wasn't. Tore open the moment I lifted it off the trolley for the inevitable journey into the bin. And those bins laughed as the nuts threw themselves desperately on the floor ; a disturbing, smelly, metallic laughter that deserved nothing more than a well-placed kick or two. The peanuts themselves were screaming: "You may take our chance of being sold, but you will never take... our deliciously salty taste!" in true Bravenut fashion. The cashews would have wept.

It doesn't end with boxes, oh no; boxes are just the expendable decoys. The real menaces are the flappy doors that find it necessary to curl up and pummel your skull with their hardened, crusty edges of plastic. They call themselves the "Gates to inanimate freedom". I tell them to shut the fuck up before I unleash with some rough, hinge-damaging opening and closing. Yes, I have told a door to shut the fuck up. I kicked it too, for good measure.

Who will win this endless struggle between man and man-made convenient things? Noone will ever know, for it is endless, and thus has no end, ergo nothing can be decided about it... I for one, though, will don my boxing gloves and open up a bin of animate pain on these lifeless objects. The door has just begun.

In other news, some celebrities probably got divorced, some royal scandal may have occured and a cyclone almost hit. I am thoroughly disappointed with that effort. I should have directed it towards me; I wanted rain, wind and the like but all I got was a sprinkle or two. I wanted to stand on a roof top and cry prophetic nonsense while sporting a shabby beard and wearing tattered clothing. But, as I type this, I hear the familiar, wonderful sound of rain dancing outside. Could there be a downpour that lasts more than 10 minutes? Yes, yes there could. But there won't, because the El Nino sucks. So does global warming. Vacuums cleaners too.

Speaking of vacuum cleaners and their sucking nature, I have a job selling eletronics now. Yes yes, I am now a salesperson. Ok, in a month I will be. No more deranged mornings full of fruity vegetables and kamikazing objects. Jubilation! Buy low, sell high! Wait, that's investing...

Sales is all about cajoling and speaking highly of things you probably wouldn't buy, even just to light on fire. Now, while I'm in a state of jubilating, I wish to send a very fond thank you and so much more to one of the best people I know in this mad, declining world:

Jenna "Angel" McTavish/Barry

To be your friend is something I truly, utterly, more than cherish. Many Milo Icecreams shall come your way (I prayed to the Milo Gods; even sacrificed a spoon to the cause). Because you deserve nothing less, you magnificant woman, you.

On that heartfelt note, I take my leave. Until next time, take care and don't bite people unless they ask, or unless you're ferociously hungry.

Today was a Milo bar day.

- Pary .ζ.

cookie-crumbling sweetness

Hark! No angels are calling, but they might as well be because that's what they apparantly do. Ok, so that made no sense and was probably my worst introductory sentence ever. On to the more important stuff, which involves a summary of a certain time period chosen by moi (usually between 2 days and 5 months...). Saturday night was an event planned all the way from Tuesday; there were saucy rumours, saucy activities and saucy foods all round (courtesy of the strapping young chaps who, most certainly weren't, definately could not have been, under the influence of alcohol).

So, after you've digested that twisted, multi-directional paragraph, I shall continue with some more words to sate your appetite for, uh, cookies.

Firstly, I lied about sating your appetite, fatty.

Now that's settled, I'll get into a little more detail about what actually happened; and I will of course leave some things out and be vague, for privacy's sake, or because I generally couldn't be bothered describing it. I was the first to arrive by several hours, which is beyond a miracle. FACT: I am never, not ever, infinitely not, early; normally I'm the last person to arrive by many minutes, leaving everyone twitching with anticipation of my arrival. But not Saturday, oh no, I was Mr. Showupbeforethestore'sopen Jnr. Wasn't such a bad thing, but it felt weird, and ironically, I didn't even have a watch on.

So, after some idle mingling with the occupants of the house ("host/hostesses"), guests number Two and Three arrived, and with non-alcoholic beverages.* This caused more idle mingling and, inevitably, the Table Tennis games to begin. It was a revisit to my uni days; showing up early to lectures, always prepared and studying hard to get those good grades.**

I am indeed the undisputed Professor of Ping Pong***, the Truest of Table Tennis***, the-- ok, you get it. During my tiresome campaign of bat-swinging, more guests arrived, too numerous to number (6?). Thus, the drinking began.

Seats were taken, bottles and cans were relentlessly sent to their empty graves and the banter was lively and, for the most part, coherent. So, you want highlights. Here goes:

1. The "Sobering third breast" - An empty 2L water bottle wedged in a female's shirt, leaving the top protruding out the top.

2. [Removed]

3. The saucy rumours! Some of which involved me. Actually, it was pretty unsaucy; it was laughable, not edible, even as a metaphor.

4. [Removed]

5. [Removed]

Then everyone disappeared, leaving just a couple of drinker-happy compatriots behind for the crashing over. It took awhile, but eventually we settled into a bedroom; all four of us, after some extensive can-crushing. In the morning, we were protesting about a trip to Tin-ah-roo at 8:30am, and ended up staying in bed, except one of us. Dicer.

Yep, there was surprise vomiting (elsewhere), heated debates, saucy steak burgers and alcohol. And, very surprisingly, I saw more people, that I knew, at McDonalds the following morning than anywhere else. Now, this was in the morning and at a McDonalds' store that is NOT in a central location. Weird, I know. If anyone had told be me I'd bump into them there, I would have simply asked "What the fuck would they be doing there, at that time (besides the obvious)??"

Before I leave you fine reader(s), I must add that, according to sources on the night, the town was "fucking going off, it was mad."

* Blatant lie, it was obviously alcohol.
** Another blatant lie; I skipped more lectures than a skipper skips, uh, boats... and I don't "do" study. And the hell with good grades.
*** Yes, blatant lie #3; I am not those titles. Maybe I was once, but that was only one lunchbreak and a the odd streak here and there. It's behind me now, let it go, man.

and then some

It's been, 5 days since I've posted here... and that's all I know of that song and therefore that's all I can change. Anyway, my point was clear, until I lost it in rewording lyrics; and that was that I've been working for the last 5 days, at unholy hours and with very little sleep. And I did it without a drop of coffee. Ok, fine, I did have some ICE BREAK.

Let me tell you what work is like at 6 o'clock in the moring: It downright sucks the Almighty Big One. I mean, you're half-awake (because you're optimistic, as opposed to half-asleep...) and you have to walk straight into a coolroom, which isn't too bad, ignoring the fact that you have the natural urge to lay down and hibernate for a few more glorious hours. Or days. Now, just as you're settling in, with your eyes and brain protesting angrily, it comes time to walk to the other end of the store to drag some sorry-arse pallets - they way at least a tonne each - back to your section. Now your whole body is protesting; a mutiny is on the horizon, surely. But, alas, you don't collapse in a fatigued heap, because you're young and full of far too much energy. There goes that excuse.

Of course, as time goes by, the day gets slightly better. There's an actual formula for this, but I dare not reveal it. Lest someone forget to carry a 1... but, I digress. Alright, alright; part of this formula does involve how many, uh, nice-looking woman you see (and I don't care if you're female, it works). Fine, it's exponential. Another key part is how many hours you have left, right up to the last hour, which seems to take forever, even though it's always 60 minutes - no matter which way you look at it (sideways included).

So that's the beginning and end, now I guess you want the juicy middle parts, where the hours appear to jump all over the place like a car in heavy bushland getting chased by big things. Big, hairy, growling things. If it's a good day, it goes quickly and before you know it, you're almost finished. If not, you better get some coffee and a good person to complain with. Or both.

Sounds like hell, doesn't it? Well it's work, and nobody enjoys it. Even pornstars can't say they enjoy their job after some time... But you know who can say that they do? Professional Dole bludgers. Those guys live the life, albeit in a run-down household and a miserable one. I'm glad to have successfully achieved my Doctorate in Leisure and look forward to --

Um, what was I talking about again? That's right; Dolphins! No wait, it was my week at work, or WaW (pronounced "Wore") as I like to call it. I think I'll summarise now. It was full of late nights, early starts and twitching eyes. By Sunday, I was hyper-active and by Monday I was in my bed, asleep; only to wake up and stay up until the most Godless hour of 5am. I wasn't seen again until 2:2opm AEST.

The weekend wasn't too bad. It had some interesting news and some interesting poker-playing and even poodles. Enough said. This weekend should be even more weekendary (is someone writing these new words down for me?) with my devious plans. Yes, I intend to drink a littlot.

long time; take note and squint occasionally

After so long a holiday (I use that term loosely) I was inspired today to post something on my somewhat dusty blogspot. Good thing I hired a maid to clean up. Of course she was French and was scantily dressed, without a English word in her. But I digress...

Today, it seemed, was out to get me. Such a futile effort, for I laugh in the face of, uh, days attempting to drive me insane. Firstly, some background: My car was scheduled for a service today (at 7:30am to be exact); I started work at 6am. Problem? Not when you have two caring parents who know how to deal with these logistical and trivial matters. So, I'm at work, doing my job, falling asleep et cetera. During this time, my car is taken into service; from where I parked it, to the "We'll take all your money because warranty isn't actually real" service center. Good job, oh father.

Work itself was the usual "please make it the end of my shift now", with a few minor differences. 1. I actually asked someone to join me for lunch. Ironically I was instead swamped with every other colleague except the one I asked, who showed up when everyone had left. Go figure.
2. By a few, I meant just one.

3pm : I finish work and wait silently to be picked up so I can get my car back. During this time I'm simaltaneously falling asleep and imagining the cost of this service; which, by the way, is mandatory... lest I lose the warranty that covers the second tread of the left tires and only if it's not raining...

3:10pm : I attempt to pick out the hot school girls as my brother ambles over to the car. I then complain bitterly in my head about the lack of said girls.

3:17pm : At the service center now, in my uniform. Badge still on and promptly removed. I prefer to keep them guessing, even though I suspect I'm on record there anyway. To this end I observe that the car wasn't put in under my name. Oh glorious anonymity! I also discover that despite them claiming my car was ready to be picked up, it wasn't. The invoice hadn't been printed, so I was directed to the "Customer Lounge" which involves opening a door and then walking across a driveway.

3:23pm : Inside the Lounge. It has a TV (can't hear it, looked like Mile High was on. Weird show), magazines and, of course, propaganda. I suspect that there are cameras, watching to see the effects of confining customers to this room for waiting.

3-somethingpm : Still inside the Lounge. I adopt the silent, stationary posture. Then I give up and shuffle around restlessly. I see many staff members walk towards the door, but each time my hopes are shattered.

3-gettingnear4pm : Finally, "Shane" shows up with the invoice. It's dull and full of the usual dot-matrixed arbitrary numbers. Labour, for example. I'm convinced that they look at the parts cost and calculate the labour by how close the total is to $300.
Example: Parts: $100. That's $200 away from $300, so the labour should be $200. Of course they minus a random value between $1 and $20 (including cents) to make itappear as if there is an actual logical process to achieving this arbitrary amount. Nobody's fooled.

3:50pm? : I'm ushered to the cashier, who of course is no longer at her post. I'm duly ignored by the "busy" staff. Idly, I study this cashier booth and read the propagandaful (new word) walls. Getting slightly disgruntled, I lean on the counter in a way I hoped said "I'm getting impatient."

3:55pm : My desire to choke someone dissapears when a different cashier arrives. She was blonde, short and cute. Obviously a clever tactic used to appease customers who have been waiting for so many minutes and seconds.

3:56pm : I bust some low-level moves on her. Meekly, she apologises after my clever and funny statement about standing around. I was considering using this moment to say the charming "How about making it up to me with dinner tonight?", but chose not to after remembering I was still in uniform and my hat is labeled with "The Man." Also, I didn't have my curls displaying prominently. Those guys need to be seen before I work my magic. And finally, the guy behind was a nuisance, and I didn't want to give away any of my tactics to him. The cashier's name was Jackie. She was amused by my humour. Plus one for Pary.

The lesson for today is simple: There is no Warranty, only rediculous prices. Or, to quote "Shane" : "Basically, warranty only covers mechanical parts..."
Kick arse. I'll remember that when the engine gives in. Oh wait, that wouldn't be covered either, because the warranty will be expired. Jubilation!

Despite all this, I'm in a good mood. It's all quite amusing. Today, then, is a slightly Milo day. =]

Take care my faithful readers
- Pary .ζ.

Excuses

I had a close friend ask of me "October 24th - ring a bell?" and I am ashamed to admit that I didn't know that it was when I last posted here. Three months later and here I am at last. Consider yourselves lucky that I can't play... that... game until my credit card allows itself to be processed. It will, otherwise it will find its new hometo be a bin. Now, I successfully failed Uni having not touched a book (or any other academic tool) for a month. Needless to say, I don't really care. Why? Because I lost interest at one point there - I still blame the allure of staring out the windows wistfully. But I digress!

The real exciting news is that it's a new year. Even better is my birthday just 6 days away. Oh it's a day of glory indeed, one where I was brought into this world. Destined for greatness and all that. Not to mention dead sexy. *flex*

You'll have to excuse the short post. I mean that. No complaining, you will get your posts when I get my laptop. Maybe.

- Pary .ζ.