Don’t blame me it’s the stickers.


I nearly found myself in the middle of a road rage incident this afternoon.  I was driving back home from my Mum’s house and happened to be following this woman in a gold Camry.  We turned through three different intersections and she never indicated (ie ‘signalled’ for Yanks) her intentions at any of them.  So naturally, when the first opportunity arose, I went around her so as not to be following her non-signalling arse.  I admit I might have stuck the boot in pretty hard in order to do so and may or may not have exceeded the posted speed limit (looks skywards whistling innocently).

The fun bit though was when she caught up with me and we pulled up at the next set of lights (where it should be noted she was positioned to turn right and I was going straight ahead) and she rolled down her passenger window and said:

You idiot!  You went round me driving like maniac!  You could cause an accident doing shit like that!

To which I responded:

Really?  Well I only did it because I choose NOT to follow drivers who fail to indicate their intentions at no less than three separate intersections.

At which point she scowled and pushed the little button to wind her window up and turned her right indicator on.  Well, she started off strong and I thought I might have had my head bitten off by a middle aged lady with a butt ugly car, but she folded.  I am wondering if there is a moral to this little story?

"Follow the road rules and all will be well."  Nah … boring.

"Don’t overtake your fellow motorists at 30kpm over the speed limit"  Nope…. no fun.

Oh I know, how about….

"Don’t pick a fight on the road unless you’re sure you’re in the right."

Like fingernails down a chalkboard… these are the days of our lives.

Ordinarily I don’t think I’ what you call squeamish.

I can tell you all the gory details of how all nine of my TVEPU’s were done (Trans-Vaginal Egg Pick Up).  It’s an IVF procedure where they stick a massive needle up your cloaca and pierce it through the vaginal wall using ultrasound guidance to aspirate all the fluid from each of the oocytes on  your ovaries after a grueling three week schedule of injecting yourself with hormones.  I can discuss how I had to give myself a timed intramuscular injection into the deep tissue on my thigh.  I happily talk to anyone about various date palm spikes gone through legs, am happy to watch eye surgery on television and hear stories of misadventures with nail guns, chain saws, boat propellers, wood lathes, insinkerators and what have you….

…. so long as they don’t involve someone’s hands…. shudder

And then it’s a different story entirely.  Yaleman cut his hand at work yesterday…. and it makes my stomach lurch just thinking about it.  I can’t stand to hear someone talking about having an injury to their hands without physically cringing and feeling my nauseous.  I once had a nice run in between my left index finger and a medical scalpel which I was using in a manner other than directed by the manufacturer.  This irresponsible use of said scalpel resulted in my slicing my from the tip of my left index fingernail down through the nail and right down to the knuckle cutting right through the skin, ligaments, nerves and into the bone.  Naturally this necessitated a quick run to the nearest doctor and there were stitches required to put it all together again.  Happily the doctor was wrong when he said I’d have an awful scar and likely loose all movement and sensation of that finger.  But even still I’m not totally sure that is where my hand injury aversion/squeamishness stems from.

I love hands, I have a folder full of pictures I have snavelled off the internets of beautiful expressive hands.  I’m reluctant to call it a fetish, but it certainly does lean in a fetish sort of direction.  I like having my own hands beautifully manicured and feel unattractive and unfeminine if I let my nails go unattended.  In men I look for large masculine capable looking hands more than I look for a handsome face.  It’s just one of those weird ‘me’ things and it’s been getting steadily stronger over the years I think…. but I’m not entirely sure why.

Could be worse I guess …. I could have a thing for earlobes or something.  🙂

Another one bites the dust.

For the first time since the last car accident in November, I went out… you know really OUT out.  It took a pretty special occasion to get me motivated to go out, have dinner and a few drinks and make a show of being social and the occasion in question was H de M’s Bucks Night.

Ever since I was a teenager, most of my closest friends have been male.  I don’t know why really and for the most part choose not to over analyze why I don’t really have many close female friends.  Maybe it is because I was always a bit of a tomboy as a kid preferring train sets and footballs over Barbie dolls and playing house.  Or it could stem from the fact that I went to an all girl’s Catholic school and even back then had scant little patience for the frivolous and often asinine high drama that I seemed to be daily surrounded by.  And likely it was probably firmly cemented in my 20s when I was working for the Govt and saw that the hysterics and melodrama continued there amongst the typing pool.  What ever it comes from…. I have long known that I prefer the company of men.

I like that if you have a difference of opinion with most men that doesn’t mean that they wont talk to you ever again.  I like that most men don’t get the shits with you if you get busy and fail to call them for weeks at a time.  I like that I’ve never felt like my male friends have expected me to take umbrage on their behalf should someone slight them. And I like that most men don’t expect me to instantly formulate my opinions based on theirs.  I think men are inherently easier to get along with somehow.  Maybe they’re just simpler creatures 🙂   I’ve often been told that on many things ‘I think like a man’ and have often been told that I’m thought of as ‘one of the guys’.  I even remember once an old friend Mooch asking me a question that started with "If you were a woman would you think…  blah blah blah…’ to which I had to remind him that I was in fact… a female.

The downside of this being ‘one of the boys’?  Their girlfriends/fiances/wives tend to not like me very much.  Though I don’t pretend to understand the logic behind this… I’ve often  been stuck dealing with the fall out of their various insecurities.  When one of my dearest and oldest friends, Edouardo who I’ve known since I was 14 and who was the Maid of Honour at my wedding (before such things were fashionable!) found himself a lady, she took an immediate dislike to me and I’m still unsure to this day how it came about.  Edouardo invited me to join him and the boys to his Stag Night and then at her insistence he was forced to uninvite? disinvite? me.  Which sucked because Mr K and Surly and even my DAD went out on the town with my best friend… and I could not go 🙁  And things pretty much went downhill from there. Currently, Edouardo lives about 1200kms away and even though I am married with Small Child, he isn’t even allowed to talk to me anymore by email or phone.  At first I was furious with HER for creating this ridiculous situation but more and more I’ve become pissed off at him over it…. for not growing a set.  Fancy allowing someone to dictate who he may and may not be friends with.  Like this is the second grade or something?  What a bitch… and I don’t care if she is fucking bi-polar or what have you.

But I’m getting off the track again.  Last night we went out for HdMs Buck’s Night and had a really great night out.  Luckily his intended has not yet decided that I am some evil Jezebel and therefore shouldn’t be allowed in his general vicinity… so I was able to attend.  It was good fun to help get poor HdM drunk as a skunk and then drag him off to the strip clubs (can you believe we were refused entry to two strip clubs because there were so many of us???  where’s the logic in that?  too many patrons? who ever heard of such a thing?) for the obligatory embarrassment, lapdances etc.  We also had Nemain along for the trip (who is currently working as a receptionist at a local – legal – brothel) and I must say she did a masterful job of negotiating a very specific stage show for HdM. 

He still had his eyebrows intact when I headed home and so far as I am aware… none of the guys had any duct tape with them so I’m sure he’s probably come though the ordeal okay.  🙂

Sea words.

“C” is for Cookie that’s good enough for me.  Poor old Cookie Monster.  He used to be able to Nom, Nom, Nom his way through his skits and now he has to lecture about cookies being a ‘sometimes food’.  Tis a sad state of affairs when even Cookie Monster has had to curtail his joie de vivre to satisfy political correctness.

Last week’s “B’s” (yeah it was also BS) were fun so here are my “C” words  🙂

10 Things I Like That Start With “C”….

1.   Colour co-ordination – it’s the mile wide anal retentive streak  K
2.   Cinema – love going to the movies but hate noisy cinema patrons.
3.   Cherry Crush – fav Revlon nail polish for nails that shine like justice.
4.   Canon EOS cameras – we love you for being backwards compatible.
5.   Custom jewellery – unique and individual pieces not manufactured crap.
6.   Crème brulee  – cracking the sugar to get the vanilla bean goodness.
7.   Clean house – it’s nice to be able to find everything where you left it.
8.   Chips, Chips – by Stan Getz… for the perfect humorous chase.
9.   Caesar salad – extra anchovies please.
10. Collecting stuff – I used to collect shiny things and rocks from family holidays (the past tense here is probably a lie… I bought home a rock from Gallipolli last year) but now if I start collecting something I NEED to have the set… be it books, DVDs, Super Mario figurines or Bob the Builder trucks for the Small Child.  Once I have one I have to get them all.


10 Things I Hate or Dislike That Start With “C” List

1.  C word – if I ever use the “C” word you know I’m as pissed off as I get.
2.  Coke – can’t stomach the stuff anymore tastes like battery acid.
3.  Car accidents – the awareness of impending impact is awful.
4.  Chocolate – don’t really like. Not in bars, blocks, biscuits or cakes… bleurk.
5.  Civic Art – an awful lot of it just seems to be trying too hard.
6.  Computer death – can make you feel so impotent and disconnected.
7.  Children – it’s uncharitable but I’ve little patience for ‘other people’s kids’
8.  Coffee – smells awful and tastes even worse.
9.  Cash – I rarely carry much cash and hate it when I suddenly need it.
10.  Christmas – I detest the Christmas season.  I hate the rushing around buying random stuff for people that they either don’t want or don’t need.  I hate Christmas Carols in the shopping centres.  I hate Christmas cards arriving in the mail.  I hate the Christmas grocery shopping and the aisles all stuffed full of crap you don’t need.  I love the family get together but wish we could just ditch the gifts it’s a fucking rort designed to make us  Buy!  Buy!  Buy!

You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone.

I realized tonight how much I miss my friends.  My old Dinner Monkey came to visit and I realized I haven’t laughed so much in ages.

Feels like everyone has up and moved to Canberra Babylon and I am feeling this a lot… especially since Equinom buggered off to Canberra too.  I have been chalking up my misanthropic attitude of the last 12 months to the fact that I don’t feel particularly social when I’m in pain all the time, but to be fair – a large part of it is due to the fact that most of my friends who still talk to me (in spite of the fact that I’m an pained and irritable short tempered bitch) have all up and left town.

Sniff sniff…