I'm on day two of my self imposed facebook ban. This might sound like deja vu...it kind of is. I've been whingeing about FBook for awhile and I'm over feeling like a stalker/voyeur/I have no life and apart from the benefits of catching up with people you lost contact with, that seems to be what Crapbook does. It doesn't inspire, it merely makes you waste time looking at other peoples lives (through inane posts and show off photos) so I'm outski.
I'm starting with a month and then we'll go from there. Although clearly the idea would be to continue to cultivate a healthy disinterest to it thereafter.
I have some exceptions; 1)I am allowed to go directly to event requests and respond (and get any information needed...ie: directions)
2) I can respond to messages - again directly going to inbox.
I want to get back to the old skool, pre masses of technology days where if you want to know what's going on in someone's life, you actually ask them or see them as opposed to lurking around wall updates and the such like.
Somewhere along the way I became a crochety old lady... I'll keep you updated as to how this goes.
Thursday, 5 November 2009
Wednesday, 4 November 2009
Karoake Flashback
About 15 minutes ago I suddenly recalled a night I had some 7 odd years ago. It careered into my mind like an out of control sports car. Pause and reflect on that shocking analogy! Anyway I had this vivid memory of Corey, Dan and I in some trashy bar in Christchurch blasting our way through a classic set of karoake greats. My favourite moment was Dan and Corey serenading me (well, singing in my direction...We were the only ones in the place!) with the Top Gun gem 'Power to the danger zone.' Swoon. Then I remember walking home. Not immediately after that song but after numerous songs, numerous drinks, deciding to walk the trek from Christchurch city to the Bishopdale 'burbs.On the way we put some random cans in the BP can machine; those machines the service station's used to have whereby you'd recycle your can and could win a prize. A bit like combining a Vegas aesthetic with an Amish one. Practically, anyway.
I love random memories that pop into your head like that, on this busy Wednesday at the office. (Yes I'm at work now and no, I shouldn't be blogging on company time).
It's funny as you realise your life is filled with these crazy little nights or events that to anyone else sound either fun,boring, what have you. But to you, all those little moments cobbled together and woven into some big quilt of experience, it's your life.
If this sounds like the ranting of a crazy woman...It's possibly because it is. I've taken 71 telephone calls today and I still have 30 minutes left of work. The joy of working in a call centre "environment"
I love random memories that pop into your head like that, on this busy Wednesday at the office. (Yes I'm at work now and no, I shouldn't be blogging on company time).
It's funny as you realise your life is filled with these crazy little nights or events that to anyone else sound either fun,boring, what have you. But to you, all those little moments cobbled together and woven into some big quilt of experience, it's your life.
If this sounds like the ranting of a crazy woman...It's possibly because it is. I've taken 71 telephone calls today and I still have 30 minutes left of work. The joy of working in a call centre "environment"
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
Outrageous (Fortunate) Dream
I had a bit of a depresso day at times yesterday. Not sure why. It could have been the hormones, the grim weather, the fact it was Monday. Take your pick really.
My subconscious decided to really cheer me up though. Bless its cotton socks. I had a wildly saucy dream involving two lawyers. One super hot, one…well I fancied him in my dream.
Ok and they weren’t just two lawyers…they were two New Zealand lawyers. Two…um…fictional lawyers. From a NZ TV show.
I was a sexy blonde (despite still looking very much like I do in real life) and Anthony Starr was my step brother. Which apparently we didn't have a problem with.
I won't get into the nitty gritty as this is a blog and not a pseudo porn dream de-tangler. However I woke up with a big smile on my face and a little bit more mojo in my step. And an awareness that it's kind of embarrassing to dream about New Zealand celebs. (Or if you're of the school that believes NZ doesn't have celebs - NZ actors)
I mean my mate Jess knows Anthony. Isn't this like having a filthy dream about a friend or some random person you know? I feel like dreaming about Brad Pitt is kind of more legit but is that simply because he's so generic? There's something definitely more pervy about dreaming about NZ 'celebs'. I remember my sister had a dirty dream about Sean Fitzpatrick about 9 years ago and I still find it hilarious and often pay her out about it - as if she actually chose it.
Anyway...I'm off to bed...he he
My subconscious decided to really cheer me up though. Bless its cotton socks. I had a wildly saucy dream involving two lawyers. One super hot, one…well I fancied him in my dream.
Ok and they weren’t just two lawyers…they were two New Zealand lawyers. Two…um…fictional lawyers. From a NZ TV show.
I was a sexy blonde (despite still looking very much like I do in real life) and Anthony Starr was my step brother. Which apparently we didn't have a problem with.
I won't get into the nitty gritty as this is a blog and not a pseudo porn dream de-tangler. However I woke up with a big smile on my face and a little bit more mojo in my step. And an awareness that it's kind of embarrassing to dream about New Zealand celebs. (Or if you're of the school that believes NZ doesn't have celebs - NZ actors)
I mean my mate Jess knows Anthony. Isn't this like having a filthy dream about a friend or some random person you know? I feel like dreaming about Brad Pitt is kind of more legit but is that simply because he's so generic? There's something definitely more pervy about dreaming about NZ 'celebs'. I remember my sister had a dirty dream about Sean Fitzpatrick about 9 years ago and I still find it hilarious and often pay her out about it - as if she actually chose it.
Anyway...I'm off to bed...he he
Sunday, 1 November 2009
Twit Shit
Oh Lord, something horrid almost happened a second ago. I was minding my own business and surfing the net. Actually I was googling my friend Steph. Which is probably an entirely separate post on that I'm a mad stalker that sometimes googles names of people I know. Anyway I digress.
I wound up on Twitter. Now, not actually on Twitter as in tweeting (shudder) but I looked at my friend's Twitter page and then one of the people she was following's page. And so on and so forth until I wound up on GhostFaceKillah's Twitter page. It's like 6 degrees of separation. How to go from Steph Walker to GhostFaceKillah via John Campbell, Lily Allen and my sister's friend Moata.
And...(hanging head in shame)...I briefly saw the appeal of it all. And felt the mild sting of irony at work. I mean, I lambast Twitter for the fact that it seems self indulgent, narcissistic and inane yet here I am writing a blog that I want people to see and engage with me over my own inane, self-indulgent ramblings.
Yup. Modern technology. I will not succumb. I've managed to properly avoid Facebook for over a week now (apart from a brief interlude today but there was no Stalkerbook action going on. Blogging to me is a way of having a forum to write regularly little pieces. The writer's way of mini exercise.
Or am I justifying the unjustifiable? Is blogging as bad as tweeting? If you're out there...let me know your thoughts.
I wound up on Twitter. Now, not actually on Twitter as in tweeting (shudder) but I looked at my friend's Twitter page and then one of the people she was following's page. And so on and so forth until I wound up on GhostFaceKillah's Twitter page. It's like 6 degrees of separation. How to go from Steph Walker to GhostFaceKillah via John Campbell, Lily Allen and my sister's friend Moata.
And...(hanging head in shame)...I briefly saw the appeal of it all. And felt the mild sting of irony at work. I mean, I lambast Twitter for the fact that it seems self indulgent, narcissistic and inane yet here I am writing a blog that I want people to see and engage with me over my own inane, self-indulgent ramblings.
Yup. Modern technology. I will not succumb. I've managed to properly avoid Facebook for over a week now (apart from a brief interlude today but there was no Stalkerbook action going on. Blogging to me is a way of having a forum to write regularly little pieces. The writer's way of mini exercise.
Or am I justifying the unjustifiable? Is blogging as bad as tweeting? If you're out there...let me know your thoughts.
OMG
Words cannot express...Tim Curry in drag - classic cool. Alex Reid in drag....horror come to life
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Halloween Dream
October 31st in a country where Halloween is almost as big a deal as it is in America. I've lived here for over 2 years and somehow I've never noticed quite how massive it is here. The pubs have had decorations up for a couple of weeks; it's like Christmas. Sort of.
I'm going into the office this afternoon to do some overtime (Yes I'm sad but yes I'm getting paid lots to do it so why wouldn't you?)and I briefly considered getting into the spirit of it all and wearing like cat ears or a comical mask or something. Until I realised that was perhaps a little too keen and might make me seem like a freak.
So instead I'll probably do my time (sounds like prison), not spend anymore money (£15 today at Boots) and put on a horror. Am currently watching 'Stir of Echoes' which I think is really good, if occasionally over reliant on earlier greats such as 'The Shining'
Happy Halloween to you all. Zombie it up
I'm going into the office this afternoon to do some overtime (Yes I'm sad but yes I'm getting paid lots to do it so why wouldn't you?)and I briefly considered getting into the spirit of it all and wearing like cat ears or a comical mask or something. Until I realised that was perhaps a little too keen and might make me seem like a freak.
So instead I'll probably do my time (sounds like prison), not spend anymore money (£15 today at Boots) and put on a horror. Am currently watching 'Stir of Echoes' which I think is really good, if occasionally over reliant on earlier greats such as 'The Shining'
Happy Halloween to you all. Zombie it up
Monday, 26 October 2009
Wax on....Wax off
I have a confession to make. (Mum, if you're reading....sorry! ) I'm not a great fan of body hair. I prefer a guy to have a nice waxed chest and back. I'm not a fan of hairy armpits on either gender or hairy legs for that matter. Now don't get me wrong -I can be okay with hair. I'm never going to be down with a hairy back but a chest with a little follicle action can be kind of hot; manly even. (Clearly NOT ok with a girl having a hairy chest. Harsh but true) But given the choice, I choose hair free every time.
You can possibly see where I'm going with this. I'm a fan of the 'all off' when it comes to waxing your area for girls. I'm not a flag waving 'all girls must do this' but it's my preference for my bits. It was a gradual development for me. I started off with ye olde bikini line and then it moved further and further in until the day came when my beautician remarked 'Oh no I've made a mistake' and I replied nonchalantly (possibly shrugging if it was possible to shrug in such a position) to 'take it all off.'
I moved over to the dark side. I had a secret in my pants and nobody knew. Well, practically no one. From that point on, roughly every 6 weeks I would travel to Hollywood. Or Brazil...I'm still confused as to which one was everything....as in everything off. I'm sure it used to be a Brazilian but now it's a Hollywood. Does anyone know when this happened?
Sometimes I worried about the pedophilic implications; did this mean I wanted to be seen like a little girl and not a woman? And did this mean I was a bad little feminist by following the grooming standards overwhelmingly preferred by men? Was I shunning my red headedness? Or did it simply mean I didn't want hair poking out of my knickers?
At any rate, it has always been something I do for myself. When a boyfriend of mine was out of the country a friend of mine was bemused that I still trotted off to my waxer.
'He's not here' she said ' Why are you bothering?'
'Because it's not for him.' And it's not.
However...I've been trying to save money in recent months and even though it's only about £12 at Lavender Hill Health and Beauty Studios or £15 at my other local www.sajna.co.uk it does seem a slightly indulgent expense.
So...a couple of times...I've shaved. Yup. I went there. And it was awkward to do and for about 3 hours it was fine and now it's prickly and it's like a man's chin...down there. The only benefits are a lack of ingrown hairs and it was free. But I'm completely at the mercy of time now. I'm going to have to wait at least 6 weeks (maybe more) until it grows back and I can go to get a wax...or I have to keep shaving. Neither options appeals. At this point I think I'll take the high road and wait it out.
But perhaps ask me again in two weeks?
On second thought...maybe don't. Maybe pretend I haven't said a thing. The wax is all about mystery after all...
You can possibly see where I'm going with this. I'm a fan of the 'all off' when it comes to waxing your area for girls. I'm not a flag waving 'all girls must do this' but it's my preference for my bits. It was a gradual development for me. I started off with ye olde bikini line and then it moved further and further in until the day came when my beautician remarked 'Oh no I've made a mistake' and I replied nonchalantly (possibly shrugging if it was possible to shrug in such a position) to 'take it all off.'
I moved over to the dark side. I had a secret in my pants and nobody knew. Well, practically no one. From that point on, roughly every 6 weeks I would travel to Hollywood. Or Brazil...I'm still confused as to which one was everything....as in everything off. I'm sure it used to be a Brazilian but now it's a Hollywood. Does anyone know when this happened?
Sometimes I worried about the pedophilic implications; did this mean I wanted to be seen like a little girl and not a woman? And did this mean I was a bad little feminist by following the grooming standards overwhelmingly preferred by men? Was I shunning my red headedness? Or did it simply mean I didn't want hair poking out of my knickers?
At any rate, it has always been something I do for myself. When a boyfriend of mine was out of the country a friend of mine was bemused that I still trotted off to my waxer.
'He's not here' she said ' Why are you bothering?'
'Because it's not for him.' And it's not.
However...I've been trying to save money in recent months and even though it's only about £12 at Lavender Hill Health and Beauty Studios or £15 at my other local www.sajna.co.uk it does seem a slightly indulgent expense.
So...a couple of times...I've shaved. Yup. I went there. And it was awkward to do and for about 3 hours it was fine and now it's prickly and it's like a man's chin...down there. The only benefits are a lack of ingrown hairs and it was free. But I'm completely at the mercy of time now. I'm going to have to wait at least 6 weeks (maybe more) until it grows back and I can go to get a wax...or I have to keep shaving. Neither options appeals. At this point I think I'll take the high road and wait it out.
But perhaps ask me again in two weeks?
On second thought...maybe don't. Maybe pretend I haven't said a thing. The wax is all about mystery after all...
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