I wanted to call this blog "With a chainsaw", as in, "fuck me gently with a", but someone had already taken that name. Ditto for "Gently with a chainsaw". Neither have been written in since 2006.
I thought about "Mistress of the Obvious". No, last written in in 2002.
And so we ended up here. At Letters to My Navel.
If I have spelt that wrong, and I've named this blog as though I'm writing letters to my own private Navy, I may be upset with myself.
I never know how to start out. From that sentence, you can safely assume that I'm not a first time blogger. I may be rusty, I may not have done it for a while, but I think it's like riding a bicycle. Or what I think riding a bicycle is like. I haven't ridden a bicycle for years. Mostly because I am not keen on the skinned knee/elbow/face look. You never know though, it might be the new look for spring. If the world is taken over by zombies in the next week or so.
Ok. Me in a nutshell. I'd draw a picture of that, but it's just too hard on a laptop.
And I can't draw. So I needed an excuse.
While I'm thinking of it, things I don't understand about the USA.
1. Garbage disposal units. In your sink.
See, in Australia, we put garbage in the rubbish bin. Not in the sink. I do not understand the concept. So far as I can tell, it's like some sort of mincer thingie in your sink. You seem to push garbage into it, and it minces it up.
That's as far as I've gotten with it. Except you shouldn't put your hand in there.
I guess you have some sort of receptacle under the sink which collects all the minced garbage, which you empty into a rubbish bin?
Which is good, I guess, if you like double handling your garbage. Where does the water go? I would not want my sink water to go into the garbage disposal unit if it was storing garbage under my sink and I had to empty it out. I can just see that ending badly.
I don't understand why you want minced garbage in the first place.
In other news, I've just finished work. And really, all that's done for me is strengthen my resolve to get a new job. My laptop just made a sound kind of like a car horn. I don't know why.
But, new job. Night shift and my life are not friends.
Also, I remembered this morning why I hate driving on Sunday mornings in Adelaide.
One word: Cyclists.
The Tour de France was held recently, you may have noticed? Well, apparently, every wannabe cyclist in Adelaide was inspired to donn some lycra and cycle somewhere for coffee.
That's pretty much all I've seen them do, cycle arrogantly and stop for coffee.
And lycra. I think that we should build a time machine and send it back to the eighties for good.
I cannot think of any single person on the planet, including Ms Jolie or Mr Depp that looks good in lycra. It makes everyone look bad.
Wouldn't that be odd, reading the blog of Ms Jolie, writing about life as mother to... uh, 6 children? Life with Mr Pitt and travelling the globe...
Guess someone would be copping more flack than Dooce. Not that I can understand why exactly she's copping so much flack. Maybe it's the Australian/American divide thing again.
Personally, if i could stay home, with my family (at this point consisting of two very furry pets but that's beside the point), and make my living, I'd think life was pretty damn sweet.
What would I like to get paid to stay home and do? Hmm. Read books. But only books I like. And garden (badly). And do some beading. And maybe some cooking. And I could do some sort of study on sleeping. I'd love that.
I spent $60 on pillows this week. Which feels crazily decadent. For me. Well, it did, until I looked around the store properly and realised you could buy pillows for $92 ON SALE.
I want some of those pillows. It must be like sleeping on clouds from heaven. They must be like... fairy floss? Ephemeral and wispy, yet .... Not sticky for a start.
Or like the feeling you get when you're curled in behind your partner in bed with your face in their neck and it's all warm and soft and kind of fuzzy feeling.
It would want to make you sleep like a small child and wake up feeling as though you spent the night before having earth shattering orgasmns is what it would want to do. And also get you a coffee in the morning and put the dog out for a wee.
Speaking of the dog, it's been suggested that I spoil her. To which I say... Actually, I'm not sure what I say. Objectively, I know I lavish way too much cash and presents on her. It has been suggested that I favour her over the cat. No, no I don't. You can't bribe the cat.
Labels: rambling
