Baby Don't Get Lost in that Evil World

(lol at the first post I've made in ages being about a completely different social media site, but fuck it I can't do it there can I?)

Can it please be accepted that, if I have selected "not available to chat" then I am - and here I'd like to point out the ridiculousness of me needing to say this at all - NOT FUCKING AVAILABLE TO CHAT.

And indeed, if I NEVER, AT ANY TIME, AT ALL, EVER have "available to chat" selected, is it really so much to expect people to draw the conclusion that I, and here's the key point in all of this, NEVER WANT TO FUCKING CHAT.


( Wah wah wah i have a lot to say apparently )

 
And this, it occurs to me, is probably why I'm so bad at maintaining meaningful friendships. "GO AWAY WITH YOUR WANTING MY COMPANY WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU I REFUSE TO MAKE TALKING TO ME EASY" is prob not helpful.

I am considering changing my name. MacGuffin I'll be, Stella MacGuffin.

It'll be great. Everyone will think I'm so important. Like, "Fantastic, Stella MacGuffin's here! Now this thing's really rolling." There will be a big fuss and everyone will get all excited, and it'll only be when the whole thing's over in a big mess that some particularly astute and sensitive observer will begin to suspect that in fact throughout the whole thing I was not, at any point, any help at all. That in fact I may actually have vanished completely some time in the middle there when everyone else was distracted, on a train headed for Monaco. But no one will care about that, because I'm Stella MacGuffin, and before the nice casino people can question where the money went, I'll have already moved on to my next amazing, talk-of-the-season, no-one-can-lose project.

Yeah, that's the way to be. Become a MacGuffin.

You'll be loved and admired, the centre of attention always and the inspiration and motivation of all you encounter. An eternal mystery, always desirable, allusive by definition. No one ever remembering you long enough to catch on to the reality of how incompetent and insignificant you really are.

Yeah, man, the ultimate free ride.

I have just found out that iphones have a SPIRIT LEVEL application.

THIS THING IS OBVIOUSLY A WORK OF GENIUS AND THE WAVE OF THE FUTURE AND I WANTS.


And feck it's cold. I have all of my heaters turned on full ball, that's how cold it is. And by all of my heaters, I mean all two of them, since the fan heater blew up. DID I MENTION BEFORE THAT MY FAN HEATER BLEW UP? It even burnt the carpet. I am not bothered by this though, as the prospect of my inept real estate agency noticing is incredibly small. So nyer on them.

Arg, I'm drinking milo and it's just all floated up to the top, the bastard! Why I felt the need to have milo at ten to twelve at night is beyond me, by the way. Especially after having had three lamingtons and a slice of chocolate cake already today.

Anyway. Have been terribly neglectful of the flist lately, am very sorry to say. So: Hi, all! How's things? Hope you are all well.  :)


Valentines Day
Got my first ever Valentines gift on Saturday: they were selling roses at B-bong races, and Lucy bought me one. I love my sister. She's such a goose sometimes. My only Valentines card ever was also from her a few years ago. She made it herself with a bit of paper and a set of connect-a-pens.

B-bong Races
Speaking of the races - won $11 in the first race! A little gray mare that surged forward in the last few seconds to make a beautiful win. In the second race, my horse ran last, for god's sake, it's not like I have cash to burn here - and in the third, it came second. Second. Gambling is hard, man. I don't think it's for me - I don't like not knowing which horse will win, which is probably a bit of an issue.

The Joyes of Fashion
Mum ended up coming to the races in the end, so did Grandma, Uncle J, and Cousin J2. Lucy and co. were also there, with Cousin M and Cousin L. I was terribly proud of our collective race fashions. For example, Grandma was sporting a very fetching bright orange rain poncho that blew excitingly in the wind, and Lucy's friend S, a large bodied young lady, was wearing a tiny pink coconut bikini over her shirt. When asked about her attire, S replied, "they barely even cover me nipples!"

AKA, The Rat
Cousin L is thirteen and looked stunning, damn her. M and I told her it was ridiculous. We didn't look that good at thirteen and she jolly well shouldn't either. She should be fat and dumpy with acne and ill-fitted clothing, not fantastically dressed with great hair, walking so naturally in heels you'd think she was born in them.

L is wonderful. She's the youngest girl in that side of the family, so we've sort of molded her in our image. She's like a mixture of the best parts of me, Lucy, M, and Cousin A. So, essentially, she is insane, hilarious, confident, into footy, enjoys confusing people, tough, loves a good faux stalk, can fangirl with the best of them, has a large range of exaggerated and extremely silly facial expressions for every situation, is a complete camera whore and total poser, has seen some of the best movies and weird English comedies around, and has a love of clothes and other pretty things that would intimidate lesser men. And she worships the four of us blindly.

One day we will use her to take over the world, somehow. Muha.

Uh, Stream of Consciousness?
I fucking love Quick-Eze. TAKE THAT, inexplicable spontaneous anxiety pain/indigestion!

Amusing Anecdote Time
SPEAKING OF CLOTHES. I have a lot of them. I'm not a shopaholic or anything, I just like pretty things and never have the heart to throw anything away. My wardrobe (which is, to be fair, very small) is overflowing onto the floor, and I have two full suitcases of stuff in the sunroom waiting to go back to Sydney. Even M thinks I have a lot of stuff, and she is a shopping fiend. You can't see her floor for all the clothes she has strewn everywhere. I plan on having a big ruthless clean out before Uni, but I doubt it'll make a dent.

That, however, is not the point. The point is: STORY TIME.

So M is going through my cupboard to help me pick a dress for the races.

"I love all your clothes, Stell, they're so pretty. Oh, is this one of those dresses that looks like a shirt?"

"Probably just a shirt. I used to wear button ups to schoo-"

M has pulled the long-sleeved white shirt from the cupboard and is holding it up. "Okay, definitely not a dress." She is laughing.

"Oh my god, I have never seen that before in my life."

"And it's a man's shirt." A size 37, to be precise. "Was it Ben's, maybe?" My brother had had the room before me. M and I are both giggling in surprise.

"If it is I have no idea how it managed to hide in my cupboard for five years without me ever seeing it. Where did that come from?! I wore button ups to school in year 11 and 12, but they were all three quarter sleeved and for women. I have no memory of ever buying that!

"... The only thing I can think of is that, I have a bit of a thing for men in white buttoned up shirts. Maybe I bought it thinking that, if ever I do get a boyfriend, he'll need one of those in order to keep me."

M is cacking herself. "It's a very specific size, Stell!"

"I know, right?! Maybe I have like a weird subconscious thing for very tiny, skinny men? Which totally goes against everything my taste has ever told me. Where did that come from?!"

The Siblings
Yesterday I made two cakes and a cobloaf, and spent three hours making Lucy the bestest birthday card ever. Ben came over while I was making it, and made me sign it from him too, as a part of his plan for Lucy not to notice he hadn't gotten her a gift ("N's the one who remembers that sort of thing!" N, who has been in Dubbo hospital for the past two weeks with their newborn twins and a flu) until after he had left. He took great joy in playing with my gold texta, and nagged subtly until Mum made him a sandwich. Then he squashed my head and I scratched him.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is my twenty seven year old big brother and role model.

Lucy's barbeque was probably the most subdued 18th party ever. She and all her friends were knackered after the races, and everyone was gone by 9:30. This is not a bad thing; we had a great time and the barbie was a resounding success (ain't no sausage like a barbequed sausage), but it was funny watching Lucy have to be awake and entertaining people when her usual routine after being out all night is to sleep on the couch and growl at anyone who watches telly too loud.

Effing arseing bastard Back of doom update
The old lumbar vertabrae are feeling much better now. Much thanks and love for the kindness when it was bad, guys. It really does mean a lot. ♥

Kicked out update
Oh, by the way, I have a new flat!

... Weeeell, I say new, but...

Here's the thing: Turned out I didn't get the huge one in Glebe, and when we thought about it, the one I did get was sort of unsuitable - no carspace, no balcony, no internal laundry (I enjoy doing laundry. Laundrettes are not my thing), the kitchen was just one wall of the lounge room, the rent was a bit steep, etc. Separately, I could deal with a lot of those things, but together, it's a bit much. So, after finding little that was suitable in Glebe, we rang my old agent, and she offered me a place in my old building.

I did want a change, but it turns out all I will have to adapt to will be being two floors down and having a different coloured carpet.

It will be freshly carpeted and painted, but has no curtains or wardrobe, and there's a shower curtain instead of a screen (NNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!). It does come with a washer and dryer though, so I won't have to rent them, and, presumably, this time the dryer won't be in the bedroom.

HOWEVER. One thing that is giving me pause: apparently, the carpet is brown. Now, it may turn out to be perfectly lovely, but, for now, I am disturbed. What on earth am I going to do with a brown carpet?! Nothing looks good with brown. My furniture looked so good with my old blue carpet. I don't know how I shall cope with the challenge of trying to put together a nice loungeroom with a brown carpet, of all things.

Excuse me while I let out a world-weary sigh.

My mother and I have stumbled upon what we consider to be the greatest calendar ever. The 2009 Daily Astrology Calendar 2009.

I would like very much to share with you, my dear colleagues, some of the wise words and scarily precise predictions this marvel of a desk calendar carries within (This selection of horoscopes has been taken from days all throughout the year, some I wrote down when we first found the calendar, and so I am not sure now which sign they below to. All of these are completely for real and written verbatim. Read out loud for extra lols).


3 February, Scorpio - Make sure you keep your back warm


Aquarius - You are joining a craft group for company


10 March, Pisces - You meet someone on RSVP on line take it slowly     (As a Pisces myself, and a single one at that, I am very excited at this bit of news.)


10 March, Sagittarius - You forget to make your bed


10 March, Gemini - You get a senior card very happy with this


21 April, Scorpio - Money mainly earn what you need can inherit money


?? - Daughter will be picked for basketball team


30/31 May, Libra - Go to a T.V. studious and see steady ready cook


30/31 May, Sagittarius - Have to take cat to vet for yearly check up


30/31 May, Pisces - Find your daughter is allergic to soap powder


?? - New tank you bought is getting full


13 November, Aquarius - Problem with sore feet maybe wrong shoe sizes 
(This one's actually pretty zen, I reckon)


13 November, Leo - Interested in herbal medicine for home you have decided to do a coarse


?? - Problem with little toe get it seen to as soon as possible


?? - Get a cramp in legs when bushwalking



Wow, right?

As it is Christmas, the time for giving, my gift to you, dear flist, is the gift of the future. Comment with any days you want to know about next year, and for which signs, and I shall reply with the appropriate predictions. 

A nice little heathen gift on a major Christian holiday.

 My god I love watching Robert Downey Jr.  He is JUST SO COOL. Everything about him rocks so hard. 





Also, have been watching Harvey Birdman Attorney at Law season two and kgzhbskbdvBEST SHOW EVER.

Nothing, NOTHING, else is so able to make me helplessly laugh a laugh that is more like sobbing, giggle so long that I have to rewind because I missed so much, and, several times an episode, beg, a little desparetly, "WHY?"

And I like screaming "IN HIS PANTS" at the TV every time I see Black Vulcan.  

IN

YOUR

PANTS.


i so have to make birdman icons muhahahayesssss.

Yesterday, as I was driving in to the pool, I had a revelation.

I had been thinking about a rather lovely dream I had had the night before (the kind where, even though some rather bad things happen - in this case the world ending/ being attacked by some monster thing, etc - the overall feel is lovely because something simply lovely happened at some point that cancels out the b-grade disaster movie quality of the rest and leaves one feeling generally lovely), replaying it in my head until I had to pause to yell at the annoying little voice of logic that kept piping in saying that people don't actually act like that and neither do the laws of physics ("Oh shutup, it can work when I'm asleep, let me enjoy it now! I know it's stupid, let me have my fun! You and you logic and your...stuff!" etc, etc), when suddenly John Farnham came on the radio.

Oh it was wonderful, I already had the giggles, so singing along was particularly joyous ("Make a noise and make it CLEAAAARRROOOHOOHOOOHOHOHOHOH WA-OOHOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOH." etc). When I reached the pool, I couldn't bring myself to interrupt, so sat in the car for well over two minutes just giggling along and singing weakly whenever the laughter would let me. That is a fantastic song. With so many long notes. I cannot stress enough my appreciation of the long notes.

It was when the bagpipes started that I was officially in heaven. I had forgotten about the bagpipes (ludicrously inept of me, I know, but hey, I'm a victim of my age. Farnsey was on the farewell tours by the time I could really appreciate him), so you can imagine my delight, I'm sure. My head was resting against the steering wheel and my body silently convulsing as I only managed enough air to get out the wa-ooohohohohohohohohoh over the bagpipe solo.

There was a spring in my step as I walked to the shed to get a noodle, and I was grinning rather madly as I swam my laps. When Father Bryan swam past and created a small wave that almost choked me, my mood only improved. It was bliss. 

It was upon my second trip to the deep end that I began seriously contemplating the true meaning of the song, the most pressing being of course, 'A song with bagpipes isn't really a song, is it'. 

A song with bagpipes is in a different league, in its own little world far removed from that occupied by other mere music. That is the secret to "You're the Voice" (putting aside the social factors of the time, Farnsey's performance, and his stance in Australian pop-history, and the themes of individual and generational empowerment and of all people being equal and unified, etc, etc). A song with bagpipes automatically enters the realm of "most brilliant thing ever".

Now, I think a lot of things qualify as the "most brilliant thing ever" - certain typres of hats, for example, or old people, or the film clips to such eighties wonders as Wham's "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go", or Limahl's "Neverending Story". Just because I say it alot does not mean I don't mean it. Nor does the mere fact that I might laugh hysterically whilst experiencing the object in question mean I am being condescending towards it. Laughter inducement does not negate awesomeness.

So, songs with bagpipes - fecking AWESOME. 

The revelation though, concerned bagpipes themselves. I mean, those things are... okay, lets put it this way: One day, someone stuck tubes in a goats stomach. And they blew on one. At some point it was decided that this was a good way to make a musical instrument. So it was decorated with tartan. That is a level of brilliance that I'm not sure I can comprehend properly, but what I do see is pretty spectacular. 

Bagpipes are weird. And they make a weird sound.

Bagpipes are genius, if only for the sheer weirdness of what they are made from. 

Many inventions in the world began in strange ways, or involved weird body parts, but the bagpipe has lasted. And it makes one of the most unique sounds of any instrument out there, and evokes strong emotions with its strange sound. And it was used in one of the most iconic songs in Australian history - but that's neither here nor there.

So, my revelation was this:

Bagpipes are the Most Spectactularist Thing Ever. 

I have no desire to listen to them in my free time, but I respect the mighty bagpipe, as it is the single greatest thing ever, besides air-conditioning and the word 'cardigan'. Go bagpipes.