Tuesday, September 28, 2004

NEW LINKAGE

NEW AND IMPROVED

Because I am a simpering moron when it comes to those codey things (alright, I'll use the real word - templates. Happy?) I have only just updated my blog with new linkage, and fixing up old linkage that had gone awry. So, please make welcome:

The Supermacado Project (Has been on the sidebar for a while, but I'd fucked up the address)
The Line of Contempt (From the makers of John Howard: PM)
Burnt Karma (If the theory holds, I'm going STRAIGHT TO HELL)
Inhibitory Links (Should have been up here three months ago)
Ms. Hairy Legs (Go.Look.NOW)
Twisting and Turning through the Never (The Boy's blog. I'm so lazy my boyfreind takes two months to get a gig!)

So. Go and check out some blogs created and maintained by people far more talented, interesting and amusing than myself. But, give me kudos as you shut the door for finally working out how to get the linky table thing wider. It's taken me five months, and I'm very proud of it.

Friday, September 24, 2004

"KERI! There's a giant penis at the door!"

My birthday was on Monday, and since its traditional to get pissed, I figured, what better way to celebrate than to get pissed with other, and the grilling of a dead animal or two? So Saturday last saw me and a few of my freinds have a bit of a drink, lament the return of a Meatloaf CD from what we had hoped was a permanent retirement, and, as suggested by the title, the arrival of a giant penis.

We got into it fairly early, when Danny, Phildo, Jacob, Katie and Leprechaun Girl arrived around 3pm, and, despite my most ardent protests, I ended up with a red in one hand and a Coldie in the other. Next to arrive were Justin and Kirsty, a few freinds of my Dad, who gave me a present of my first lottery ticket EVER. A rather protracted conversation about how Lotto tickets worked ensued, and to date I still have no idea whether or not I'm a millionaire. The commandeering of the CD player drove us young 'uns outside, until the arrival or Andy, Crackers and Nuffman, when it had gotten a little colder and the bottle of Jim Beam on the kitchen counter started calling my name. From this point on things are much more blurry, although I can state with some certainty that everyone who arrived after that point got a 25 minute tour of the house, and a demo of the didgeridoo in the loungue.

Just as I was taking the 20th person to arrive on a totally pointless tourn of my house (Culminating in an in-depth discussion of my notice board), I heard a yell from the front door in Evil Andrew dulcet tones "KERI! There's a giant penis at the door!" I wondered out just as a giant balloon sculpture wandered up the hall followed by my best mate, Leis and her boyfreind Pete, was quite the ice-breaker for all those who had never met each other before (Which was most people) After the festivities had concluded around midnight, two car-loads of us decided to go on a bit of a jaunt to the nightclub my brother works at, where I am assured I was "As fucked up as I have ever seen you" But, somehow, I still ended up looking after Liz, a girl we had just met, and forcing water down her throat in an effort to stop her throwing up on my lap.

Needless to say, when I returned home at around 7am, having completely forgotten about the giant penis in my bedroom, and just shoved it off my bed, I was quite surprised, therefore, to wake up some hours later to discover a giant baloon-penis nudging me in the ear. Not at all surprising was the fact that I was not at all well enough to attend AJ'S Brithday BBQ, as it was during daylight hours, and I had suddenly allergic to both sunlight and getting out of bed with out the assistance of a drip and a stomach pump. Given the options, I think I made the right choice.

(Many apologies to AJ, and I PROMISE you will received your present soon Happy Birthday, AJ!


Thursday, September 16, 2004

JUSTICE AT LAST!

Hird in line for call up

And so he should be. He should have been picked from the start, dammit!

Wednesday, September 15, 2004

PEDANTIC? MOI?

At my bus stop this morn I noticed a new ad for Nurofen. At least I think it was Nurofen, but considering I'd only been awake fifteen minutes and it was the wrong side of seven am, I could have been wrong.

But I digress. The ad, proclaiming in large letters that it offered STRONG PAIN RELIEF, also proclaimed it was so strong it was available ONLY IN PHARMACY.

No, that's not my error. Thats what the ad said. What I would like to know is;

A) If you're marketing strategy covers hundreds of Bus Stops, wouldn't you proof read it first?

B) If it is indeed, only available in pharmacy, would you mind telling me specifically WHICH pharmacy its available in?

Thursday, September 09, 2004

SHOCK! HORROR! A POST PUT UP THE SAME DAY I WROTE IT!

Fuck. The day started off so well. Had a fairly succesful 8.30 meeting, though The Boy missed the bus because the bus driver is a bastard. Again, the man is so rude it beggers belief.

Got the house to myself tonight, as my father is playing darts, so if my latest purchases of Pride and Prejudice on DVD (Yes, Jeremy, it IS an obsession) and Black Books Series three are waiting for me then I've got a good night of couch-time booked in. If not, then maybe I'll clean my room. More likely I'll give Love Actually another spin, or find something else I haven't watched yet.

Anyway. Apparently there's been a bomb blast at the Australian Embassy in Jakarta. Jeremy at Melbourne Lefty has the details, so go have a look if you haven't already. Hope they catch the sons of bitches who did it, and they burn in hell while their however many virgins taunt them with something long and pointy and sharp. Martyrs my arse. Anyone who strikes at innocent is no fucking martyr in my book.

It's also occured to me that I've made a rather large oversight and not linked to Scott over at Inhibitory Links, so here's your link, Scott, and it'll be in the sidebar by tomorrow morning. Sorry, mate. Should have been done months ago.

Anyway, by now I'm sure The Boy is waiting at the bus stop, as I'm running stupidly late again, so thats all from me for today.

Fuck I talk some shite. And boring shite at that.
ANOTHER POST FROM YESTERDAY (Yes, I am a lazy git)

As I bitched yesterday about things I don't like, I figure I'll go the opposite and tell you what I DO like. Sorry if its a little too coated in sachrine, but at least its freindly to diabetics.

Things I love

Arguing. I love being quick with an answer. I like catching someone else tripping up on their words. I like trying to get out of my own verbal gaffs. I love it when someone beats me, but I love beating them just as much.

I love discussing a viewpoint with someone who doesn't agree with me. You learn more that way. I love changing my mind because new information has just come to light, because it means its still open. I love having Political discussions when you least expect it - In the middle of a pool tournament, with a taxi driver at 5am, with someone in the line for beer at the footy at half time at the MCG.

I love the smell of rain, even though rain makes my knee ache. I love watching someone catch on to a song I love. I love the sound of laughter - racous, belly laughter, squacking, snorting laughter. I love the crinkle in the skin around someones eyes when you make the smile. I love being afraid. I love the crowds at rugby games ("Ten thousand instant Christians") on that note, I love Max Boyce, Billy Connolly, All of the Monty Python crew, Black Books, BlackAdder, Ben Elton and Lenny Henry.

I love a close sports game of any kind. I love the roar of the crowd, the shiver up your spine, the nail marks in the palm, the loss of your voice from screaming your team over the line, the jubilation with total strangers on the way home, bursts of song, bursts of joy, bursting into tears when it goes the wrong way ("There's always next week, love")

I love the stupid In-Jokes you have with freinds from years ago, some so old you have trouble remembering where they came from ("Today is Tuesday. NEVER forget that"/ "My shoe is falling off, My shoe is falling off, ladidadidadida, my shoe is falling OFF!"/"You spelt illiterate wrong!")

I love pressing the snooze button. I love the smile on The Boys face when I meet him somewhere. And the goofy smile on mine. I love the looks people give us when we do stupid things like tickle each other mercilessly in public. I love that he is the EXACT perfect height for me to lean my head on his shoulder when we're walking down the street. I love that it feels wierd if I sit on the train or bus without an arm around me or his hand in mine, and I fear falling asleep and automatically leaning my head on a strangers shoulder (I'm SURE I did that this morning) Fuck it. I love The Boy.

I love my Dads jokes and the way he laughs at himself. I love the smell of his cooking. I love the way he'll break into an old song for no reason, and you find yourself singing along. I love the way he chews on his gold chain, and the fact that because I used to play with it so much he bought me an identical one for my eighteenth. I love the way he walks, and occasionally dances, into a room. I love his wicked sense of humour.

I love my brothers total enthusiasm for some things and his dislike for EVERYTHING else. I love watching him read a newspaper as though its interactive, and watch him take things he doesn't like personally, as though the bad review of a movie he loves is there just to annoy HIM. I love the stress he causes himself over the loss of a sock, when none of his socks are his, he just pinches my Dads.

I love my Grandmothers laugh and her optimism and toughness, and the at the same time, I love how gentle she is. I love the fact that shes nearly totally blind but still manages to notice if I've had a hair cut. I love my Uncle Rays protectivness and the simple joy things give him. I love watching my cousins learn new things and hang on your every word about the rain cycle even though they're only five. I love watching them emerge into brand new people and forming the same bonds I have with my family. We won't see each other for years at a time because we live so far apart, but we fall back in to old patterns so easily.

I love listening to my Grandfather talk about history, and his love for boxing, his obsession with being in the paper, his penchant for ties and cardigans, even if he's only going shopping. That you can laugh at him, and he'll laugh along with you, the way he calls me "Chick" or "Chicken"

I love the fact that most of my family has at least four ways of spelling my name, and sometimes use more than one at once. I love that the back door is always open, and the kettle always on. When I was a child, I loved the Gooseberry bush out the back of my aunts house. I love the hills of my homeland, and the trees of the new. I love my family from the old, and the freinds who've become my family here. I love that I'm the child of two countries, and the itchy feet I get in both to be in the other. I love that when I'm here, Merthyr is "Home" and when I'm there, "Home" is Melbourne. I love the indignation I feel for this city when someone says that Sydney, souless, Sin-City, is superior. Mexicans rock, my freinds, Mexicans rock.

Home is where I keep the majority of my shoes, it would seem.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thursday, September 02, 2004

BEING A ROCK STARS HO' IS TIRING WORK

So.
Very.
Tired.

I'm just a little weary today. Last night was The Boy's first gig, at the Barley Corn Hotel, and considering they went onstage at 9.30pm it was never going to be an early night.

But I certainly didn't expect to wake up so shagged and have so much trouble getting out of bed. Although very strange dreams involving people I know living in Mangrove Swamps, The Boy turning commentator/Pro Wrestler after a stouch with a security guard at Crown Casino and people swinging on lamp posts in the middle of an argument about a Post-it note doesn't leave you very refreshed of a morn.

Anyway off the Swamp Monkeys and back to the gig.

It went really well. Although I could tell The Boy was nervous, I don't know that anyone else would have, and having performed in Theatre for 13 years does give you a more critical view than most. He has a fantastic voice, the songs are well written, and no one booed. There was jigging, four "groupies" with "Malk's our man" t-shirts, cheering from people with rather loud voices, a VERY bright camera flash, and visits from people up until yesterday I had vowed never to speak to again. I'm not going into that, sketchy details are here, and we'll leave it at that. Suffice to say The Boy wasn't the only one with nerves. For several reasons. Firstly, the fact that Lion was turning up, with his girlfreind, and I hadn't seen him since the night he said something he later changed his mind on but decided that the best way for me to find out would be through other people and through alternate periods of complete ignorance of my existence, apart from the occasional message blaming me for miscommunications from someone I will never again trust in my life, and sending me messages full of curiosity to how I was going and promising me we'd meet up soon, etc. Not that i'm bitter, or anything.....

The second being The Boys ex-girlfreind, who we shall, from now on, be referring to as Psychotic Stalking Manipulative Bitch. Maybe just The Psycho for short. God, I hope she reads that, because even though a lot of people (including myself and The Boy) have told her that, it doesn't seem to have sunk in and to the best of my knowledge she isn't currently sporting a straight-jacket and bouncing her crazy conspiracy theories about how much of a bastard The Boy is (while in the same breath apologising for her behaviour) to four padded walls. Or bringing up things THAT NEVER HAPPENED from four and a half years ago that she had no involvment in as a way of justifying stalking The Boy, sending flaming messages to all his freinds, making up two completely false identities as a way of staying in contact with him and generally being, well, a Psychotic Stalking Manipulative Bitch. There was the possiblity she would turn up, as she still frequents the forum The Boy and his freinds have for organising group outings and the like, and she would have known all about the gig, where it was, what time, etc, and knowing her, could justify her presence there even though quite a few people have made it plain that her presence around us will not be tolerated. I wasn't so much nervous as wary of the fact that I know I would have no compunction in kicking her psychotic arse, and I didn't want to make a scene unless it was absolutely necessary. Okay, so a large portion of me wants to snap her neck like a twig and hear that satifying crack (Something akin to snapping apart yoghurt packs) that means a broken bone, but the non-mental part of me realises that its probably not the best idea in front of a stupid amount of witness' and The Boy was nervous enough without having to perform with the spectre of his girlfreinds impending court date for murdering his ex-girlfreind Jerry Springer style hanging over his head.

Speaking of his head, does anyone know a way to cure a bad hat fetish? And we're not even going to discuss the horrible red tie. You know those ties that are a faded kind of red with those patters usually seen on circa-70's wallpaper? mmm. I have a burial spot all picked out for it, but The Boy, even if he has the occasional bad tie, is far too clever for any kidnapping plot to succeed unless it was exceptionally covert, and undercut with the theme to Mission: Impossible. Not that I want The Boy to change, you understand, I just want him to change that paticular tie, and the hat. I have no objection to A hat, but this hat is slightly, shall we say, ZZ Top-esque.

Anyway, I think now that I've bagged his hat and his tie, its only fair I give him huge Kudos now. Firstly, for having the balls to get on stage and belt out tunes the public had never seen (or heard) before, especially considering how nervous he had been. Secondly, for having a beautiful voice, well controlled (apart from a few nervous twitches) and well suited to his chosen genre, and, if I might say so myself, he was easily the best looking person on stage last night, even in the hat and sunglasses, for persevering even though his pick got inexplicably caught in his E string (Not a G-String. Ick) in the middle of a paticularly nice piece, for generally being a kind, generous, giving, fun and lovable Boy, and for all of that, I couldn't be prouder to be the Frontmans Ho' (I had previously suggested Band Whore, but he took exception to the fact that I'd be sleeping with the entire band, one of whom is 16. Some people are so pedantic.)

So, a good performance all round, and here's hoping its the first of many.