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Admiral

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The Very Best Thing in My Life [17 Apr 2006|07:40pm]
So there's this girl right...  
   

Once upon a time there was a boy.



This boy had a good life, with good friends and such, but there was a bit of a chunk missing in the romantical side of things. And while this boy didn't really think this mattered at the time, a couple of years later he'd realise just how wrong he was.

Cut to the present, and this boy is happier than he's ever been. He's living his life with someone by his side who loves him, supports him, and gives him more than he ever thought he could have.

But the best part is that this boy loves his girl with every part of being.* He wants to do everything for her that he can, and he wants to give her everything she deserves and then more. Without her he wouldn't be the man that he is today.

And so, I present, the lovely Cee:

Please note that Cee isn't some kind of freakish giant woman, dwarfing regular furniture and terrifying townsfolk as she strolls down local streets. Nay, she is but a regular sized woman of impressively sexy proportions who happened to be seated in the kiddie section at IKEA when this photo was taken.

Cee has a PhD in Advanced Shopping, which comes in handy when you're trying to navigate the maze-like hallways of IKEA. But with great shopping power comes great shopping responsibility, which is usually discarded however in favour of a lovely new pair of shoes.

Can't win them all I guess.
   
Cee has a really great group of friends who love her dearly. They're a damn nice bunch of people, she can be seen pictured here with two of them while on the piss at the Uni bar when they should all be studying. Well, actually they weren't on the piss, nor should they have been in a lecture, but with uni students you never can tell.

The other wonderful thing about Cee's friends is that they're pretty nice to me too! It's like i've inherited a brand new circle of friends or two, and it's been through Cees incredibly beautiful nature that i've had the chance to meet them.
As you can probably tell, Cee is also the cutest person in the world. I don't know if this is official yet, but i'm going to go ahead and make that call anyway. It's a unique kind of cute which can go from Cute to Scorchingly Hot in the quickest of moments.

Her patented Sexy-Dancing skills are known far and wide, and have been known to bring a temporary change of sexuality to even the straightest of women. Drunk or Sober, Cee's Sexy-Dancing is a force to be reckoned with, nobody can look away!
 
Cee also loves babies.

Babies also seem to really love her, which is good considering her future line of work.

I'm going to go ahead and apologise now if this entry has made anyone sick with lovey-doveyness. If that includes you, then stop reading now.

Cee, every day that I am with you is the best day of my life. Every time I hear your voice, or see your smile, it makes me so happy, and I realise just how lucky I am. You're everything i've ever wanted, and I will love you forever.

Thank you for being the only one I want to be with, and for putting up with all my annoying quirks.


I love you.

3 comments|post comment

[20 Jun 2005|08:15pm]

The other woman...

I never thought it would happen to me.

I mean, i've always been the faithful type. I've always thought that i'd never want someone else while I was in a loving, stable relationship. But for quite some time now i've been hiding feelings that have been eating away at me from the inside. These feelings have taken my mooshy heart and blended it into a horrible, twisted, pulpy energy drink of infidelity.

Initially I thought that this wasn't the best place to be revealing these personal thoughts, but then I realised that it's this kind of thing that Livejournal has built its very foundations of. The bitterness, jealousy, anger and sorrow of everyday internet folk are the steel beams holding this community aloft. So here I am, informing the world of my crime of love.

This other woman, she's a brunette too. She has that keen fashion sense about her where she can wedge in between "smart-casual" and "lesbian power-suit" with absolute ease. In fact, I rarely see her wearing anything other than her smart business jacket, and this kind of strange neck warmer thing that looks like it wants to strangle her.

Hrmm, I hope it's not hiding an adams apple.

The thing I love best about her is that she's always so helpful. She's always looking out for me, and she always lets me know what my options are without beating around the bush. If I ask her for something and she can't do it, she doesn't ever get angry, she just smiles and lets me know that i'm out of luck. I always feel like I understand her, she's a "tells it like it is" kind of woman. She's not much of a conversationalist though, I always seem to do most of the talking.

There's only one thing i'm not entirely happy about though, and that's the fact that she's been with a LOT of people before me. I'm talking men and women, probably in equal amounts. Shit, i've even heard stories that she can't refuse people of just about any age, and while it makes me a bit sick, who am I to judge right? As long as nobody is getting hurt then it's cool? Yeah, I thought so too.

So far i've been seeing her (ok ok, I may as well give out her name, it's Michelle, she works for Westpac!) at least once a week for the last few months. Our visits are always brief, and usually in fairly public places so i'm always left wanting more. I need more.

It feels pretty good to get all this out really, but i'm sorry for the people i'm hurting with this revelation.

I took some photos too, so here they are. Ladies and Gentlemen... meet Michelle:


 


 


 


 












Isn't she great?



*swooon*



5 comments|post comment

OH. MY. GOD. [03 Apr 2005|01:50pm]
1 comment|post comment

Australias Next Top Model [02 Feb 2005|01:31pm]
Is anyone watching this abomination of a reality show?

My girlfriend and I followed the last two Americas Next Top Model seasons with embarrasing enthusiasm, and we enjoyed seeing the hillarious adventures of the models going through the challenges of each episode.

Unfortunately, the first Australian equivalent (shown on Fox8) seems to be a classless, bogan filled, watered down pussy version of the American show.

First of all, the host, Erika Heynatz comes across as a vapid, angry woman who is pissed off that whatever modelling she used to do has now been reduced to taking part in Reality TV shows. She takes any opportunity she can get to mention with a faux-urban sass that she is indeed (or at least was) a model, but unlike Tyra Banks on the American series she doesn't seem to have a likeable bone in her body. She also shows up way too often, and seems to interfere constantly.

The wacky, and flamingly homosexual characters that were a staple of the American series such as Miss J, Jay Manuel, Danilo, Nole Marin, and the other regulars such as the photographer judge Nigel Barker are completely missing from our show, with few re-appearances from any of the stylists, photographers or artistic directors. There just doesn't seem to be any reason to keep watching from episode to episode, except for...

... the contestants.

These chicks have got to be the biggest bunch of classless, trampy, boganesque group of common harlots ever gathered together on Australian TV. Their lack of morals is surpassed only by their lack of intelligence, which was made painfully clear in the first episode where one yellow haired contestant said that she only knew there were three blondes when one of the other blondes told her. I'm surprised Holden aren't giving an old Torana to the winner, as i'm sure it would be the vehicle of choice for most of these "ladies".

Showing uncensored footage of the girls on the phone to their parents, or more frequently, boyfriends, has almost garnered more instances of the word fuck (and it's derivatives like fucked, fuckin, fuck off, fucker etc) than every italian mob film ever made. Comments such as "I love ya, you bastard" and "I'm fuckin trapped in here and you're out there doin whatever the fuck you fuckin like" are screen gems sure to earn their owners an award of some sort down the track.

The group of ten split up into two sub groups just after the first elimination. While one group proudly referred to itself in private as the "posh bitches", I prefer to think of them as the "Castle Hill Tavern on a Thursday Night Tarts", and the others as the "Drinking on a Ute in The Carpark of the Castle Hill Tavern on a Thursday Night Tarts." Don't get me wrong, most of them aren't bad to look at, but their personalities and behaviour make me want to climb a bell tower with a rifle. Each group made their dislike of the other well known, and i'm sure if you had've provided them the means, they would've errected a razor wire fence down the middle of the house.

A six versus one bitch session took place in the living room in the most recent episode. Sam (this annoying wench could tear the Alien Queens head off with her teeth, and then eat the eggs and squirt facehuggers out her nipples if she had too, she's just THAT BITCHY) lead the crusade against blonde Alana accusing her of breaking the rules several times by sneaking meetings with her boyfriend when they were out on the town. This simple yet succinct accusation became a veritable tsunami of accusations and grievance airing, culminating with one of the most quiet girls suddenly breaking her silence with a burst of name calling that resembled an outbreak of tourettes. Alana ended up leaving the show that night, which just happened to be her birthday as well, and her dreadlocked boyfriend of three months who she just knows she'll be with forever came to pick her up. On the phone earlier, he'd tried to convince her to remain in the competition. I can only assume this is so he can sleep with as many other chicks as possible while she's away.

Some of the challenges and fun days that the contestants had during the american seasons were genuinely fun, interesting, and well planned. The model shoots had the grandeur and professionalism that you'd expect to see in the high fashion world, and the results spoke for themselves. Unfortunately the australian version really doesn't come anywhere near the standards set by the americans.

For example, in the american show, one of the photography shoots involved having a fucking great tarantula crawling all over the faces and upper bodies of the models, while they had to look absolutely gorgeous darling and somehow supress the pant soiling terror in they were no doubt experiencing. Even one contestant (the eventual series winner) who was trembling and crying and causing her mascara to run before the shoot instantly turned on her model face for the actual shoot. The australian show also involved a hairy spider last night. A much smaller version, and at no time did it actually touch the models. They just had to pose in front of a podium looking fab, while the spider sat on the podium wondering what the fuck it was doing there at all.

But nothing can surpass the sickening amount of tasteless situations the models are put in by the people in charge of "scripting" this sorry excuse for a show. In the second (I think) episode they all get brazillians, with "neeearly there" camera angles showing as much as they could get away with. Then they organise a dinner with some male models as a reward for one of the tasks, and the guys all end up staying over at the house, scoring themselves some very public canoodling and more (allegedly) with some apparently very pissed girls. Blair from Big Brother a.k.a Blair from Neighbours a.k.a Blair McDonough gave Sam the win for the acting challenge because she practically dry humped him, sluttiness is definately something she excels in. But most recently on the bad-taste-ratings-grab-o-meter was the girls taking a pole dancing class. Oh, add to that one of the shows photographers cracking onto three of the girls at an industry party and pashing with the third one once the other two assumingly knocked him back.

There were other things that made my eyes nearly roll out of their sockets, but I can't remember them right at the moment.

Currently there is only one thing keeping me watch this dismal show... and it's probably the same reason you watch clips of skateboarders twisting ankles and breaking arms. Even though you know you shouldn't watch, you just can't help yourself. Even though it makes you feel slightly queasy, you just can't turn away. It's tasteless, poorly produced, badly organised crap that just happens to appeal to something inside me.

In the end though, it won't really matter, because like most reality TV "stars" these days, they'll get their moment of fame, then fall back into the nothingness from where they came. In this case, that's probably flipping burgers at the local McDonalds, and doing doughies in the ute in paddock outside the B&S Ball each year.
9 comments|post comment

[23 May 2004|03:31pm]

The day that I learned I was too old for Swings...

There are several dissapointing moments in your life that you don't even realise have passed until you try to attempt them much much later. Getting a piggy back ride on your Dads shoulders, sitting on your Mums lap while she's driving, and pretending to steer, or peeing in creek of your local park. All these things go from cute and somewhat dangerous, to just plain impossible when you grow up. Well, impossible without causing horrible injuries or being arrested that is.

So it was with a sense of great dissapointment that I realised I was too old for Swings.


Of course, it didn't seem like much of a problem at all when I got on. Sure, the seat may have been a bit tight, but that's more to do with my ongoing love affair with food that contains more sugar and/or fat than your typical Butchery/Confectionary MegaStore. But after some romantic swingery with my lovely girlfriend next to me, I decided it was time to pull a very macho dismount. You know, one of those ones where the swing is still in the air, gracefully floating down to earth like a loose feather from a passing seagull.

But, instead of the grace and effortless ease that i'd predicted, I fucked up and ended up hitting the earth like a B52 Stratofortress piloted by a deaf and blind man with no arms.
I'd blame physics, but since I got a phenomenal 19% in my HSC physics exam, it would seem that it's not physics that has a problem understanding me, but rather the other way around. I think the biggest problem was that instead of dismounting on the upswing, I waited just a little too long and jumped off juuuust as the swing was beginning to move backwards again.

Momentum had forsaken me, made me it's bitch. No part of my body knew quite which way to go, and when it came time to brace for the landing, it turned out that I was still a good half a meter further off the ground than I expected. This caused my limbs to tense up, and when my feet made contact with the bark on the ground, I ended up performing an incredibly uncoordinated forward roll with a half twist. I was slightly bruised, and there were signs of minimal skin trauma, but it was my ego that had copped the biggest hiding.

Luckily the park was completely empty apart from my wonderful girlfriend, who by this stage wasn't sure whether to laugh really hard or be concerned for me. I think the laughing took over though, and soon enough I was laughing at my concentrated stupidity as well.

I took this as a sign, a sign that one more peice of childhood wonder has been stolen from me forever. Next thing you know i'll be too old for the farm animal part of the zoo, or making shampoo mohawks in the shower, or peeing in that local creek. Shame really, it's incredibly thereputic.
2 comments|post comment

[26 Feb 2004|06:27pm]
You're all a bunch of greedy bastards.

PO Box 806.

It's a number i've grown to hate in these last few days. Courtesy of a DVD offer by the Sydney Morning Herald, and Melbournes The Age newspapers, this PO Box has been innundated with people writing in to get themselves some free DVD stuff. I don't know whether it's an actual DVD, or a DVD player, or perhaps simply a misprinted DVDA manual complete with glossy photos and instructions from the porn industries leading experts on the subject. But to be quite honest, I don't care.

What you've got to understand is that we as PO Box sorters expect a certain volume of mail every morning. This volume rarely changes by +/- 20kg of mail per day. That's just the way we like it too. It's a predictably boring job which keeps the blood pressure down and the money coming in. But since Monday, there has been an extra ~50,000 letters just for Box 806. And the worst part is that it's all mixed up with the regular stuff.

This adds a ton of extra time to the day, and delays everything else. Other customers don't know this though, and wonder why they don't seem to have as much mail in their box as they usually do. "Why i'm sorry Ma'am, the Sydney Morning Herald is currently monopolising our time with a Free DVD offer. Don't worry, i'm sure your Passport will be in your box later this afternoon. What's that, it leaves at midday? Oh, I guess Argentina will have to wait, tee hee."

And to add to this veritable deluge of mail, the other morning the Post Office had a black out. When my boss called me to tell me this before I arrived at work, I told her to call the Police and he'd probably run away, but she didn't seem to get it. From 5am till half past midday, the entire sorting area of the PO was darker than a muppets gusset and we really couldn't do anything at all. We struggled through some Junk Mail, as accuracy is hardly important in that area, but eventually just gave in and sat around doing nothing. Not even the sun provided us with any relief, as the dense storm clouds kept it well at bay.

It was fun while it lasted too, but once the lights came back on we could more accurately see the pile of mail that had been building up over the last few hours, and it wasn't pretty. I swear it had been sneakily procreating behind our backs, getting all naughty and randy in the dark and creating more and more evil envelopey offspring to be sorted. But it had to be done, and we were the only ones who could do it. So 3 hours later it was finished. Finally.





I also bought some shoes.
2 comments|post comment

[17 Feb 2004|01:27pm]
Fuck you Japan. Fuck you and your scary arse movies.

Today I realised something that I never thought would ever have occured. It turns out that i've downlo... er, "procured" a movie that I may never ever be able to watch in one sitting. This my friends is the Silmarillion of movies, one of those films that a lot of people will just have to spread out over a ridiculously long period of time.

The movie i'm referring to is Ju-On: The Grudge.

After seeing a short teaser trailer for this film a year or so ago, I could barely sleep at all that night. I kept expecting to see a bastard ghost child peering innocently (innocent like OJ more like) over the edge of the bed, looking for a spare soul to play with. Of course my machismo got the better of me and I decided that I must on no uncertain terms get to see this movie.

Yesterday thanks to the wonderful world of internet online "stores", I managed to aquire a perfect copy of this movie, subtitles and all. I mentioned it to a couple of people, and got the following reply from Lt Dan.

FFS NO
DONT WATCH IT
When i went down to melbourne
friend made me watch it
i couldn't sleep for 3 nights
Keep thinking i'd open my eyes and there would be the Grudge lady standing over my bed
just like the movie
DONT WATCH IT


Well, that was warning enough for me. Especially considering it was just about getting dark, and the last thing I want to happen is to be found quivering naked in a corner of my room mumbling random japanese phrases. I maintained that I would watch it in the relative safety of daylight the next day.

Unfortunately it seems that my "pussy bitch gland" is oversized, and after sitting through 15 minutes or so today i've decided to put it aside for a while. I don't need a repeat of the Blair Witch Project incident where I had to call in sick the morning after i'd watched it because I couldn't bring myself to walk up our tree lined driveway to go to work. Hey, stop laughing... there's some scary shit happening at 5am in the dark.

Perhaps i'll just come back to it and watch it a few scenes at a time, just like reading the Silmarillion.Maybe this way the intense sense of dread and horror won't set in for more than a few hours at a time. Good game Japan, you win this round.




Oh, here's a random shot from the film.

Sleep tight.

4 comments|post comment

...so I says to Mabel, I says... [07 Feb 2004|07:27pm]
Good gracious, it has been a while hasn't it?

Well over a year in fact.

I'm still here though, (cue applause) although some things have changed. No longer am I living with my parents. That's right, i've entered the marvellous world of rent payments, ironing clothes, and cleaning up after myself. The journey of self discovery* has begun, and it is indeed full of peril and excitement as those before me have suggested.

Of course not everything has been exactly as I was expecting it. For one, there have been exactly five less sweaty lesbian orgies than I had planned for by this stage. Given that the number planned for was exactly five, it's quite a disturbing development. My actual cooking skills aren't quite as good as i'd remembered them to be since Home Economics class at age 13 either, but to my credit I haven't actually tried making Anzac Biscuits yet. At least the good old failsafe of Meat + Heat = Satiety still seems to be valid.

So far the best thing about living away from parental supervision is the ability to have people over whenever I feel like it. The old arrangements were awkward at best given the layout of the place, and it really restricted having people over for a quiet game of canasta over a few shandies. I've been able to really get to know some people better than before, which has been enlightening. However it's still just as difficult to convince people to go skinny dipping in the pool, bunch of prudes, all of you!

Anyway, what's been happening I hear you cry! Well, here's a brief breakdown:

1: Livin Free and Easy:

Okay, so it's not so free, and not nearly as easy as I may have thought, but it sure is sweet. You know how in That 70's Show how all the gang hang out in the basement and have good times? Well it's a bit like that. Only with marijuana. And no lumberjack redheads much to my dissapointment.

2: Actually selling some photos:

Turns out some people really DO like some of my photos enough to put hard earned (or stolen) money down for prints. Maybe one day when i'm rich and famous (stop laughing you little bastards) they'll be worth a lot more and the owners can sell them at a healthy profit. Either that or they'll be worthless and i'll have to burn the unsold ones to keep warm during winter.

3: Still at Australia Post:

While I seem to be getting closer and closer to climbing a bell tower with a high powered rifle in a mail fueled rage, things are actually going fairly well down at the old Post Office. Hell, just the other day my boss said that given enough training I could run my own Post Office one day. Wasn't exactly the carreer path I had in mind when I left High School but i've heard that Firemen, Policemen, Vets, Super Heroes and Proctologists all have it pretty tough these days anyway.

If i'd been updating this Journal at all, i'd probably be up to Disgruntled Postal Worker XXVII or so.

4: Still single:

This should come as no surprise really, and I forsee no immediate change. While there are a couple of people I know that i'm interested in, i'm rarely (read: never) the person to make the first move. Hell, I didn't ask my last girlfriend out until she was on top of me naked, and even then I wasn't entirely sure if she was going to say yes. Come on ladies, put some man pants on and make the first move.

And by first move I don't mean barely visible signs of flirtery, I mean come right up to us guys and say "Hey, wanna get naked?". No man could resist romance like that I assure you.

5: Purchased Holden HSV Monaro:

Oh wait, no I didn't. Wouldn't mind though. Mr Rivkin, if you're reading, how about throwing some cash my way so I can buy this amazing Australian beast. I'm sure you're not going to need it anytime soon.



In closing, let me leave you with a link to one of the latest memes to be floating around the internet. Kenya.



* No no, not THAT journey of self discovery. Me and my wang are quite well aquainted thank you very much.
7 comments|post comment

[03 Apr 2003|02:59pm]
Job Interviews, 1998 Style

The last time I went for a job interview was some time in July 1998. Coincidentally, it was also the first real job interview i'd ever had, and I had absolutely no idea what to expect.

The position was a CAD Operator at a medium sized design company. Basically it was my job to sit in front of a ridiculously under powered PC and create entire kitchen/restaurant/bar interiors around architectural plans. Usually this involved a man standing over me who was as overweight as the PC was under powered. He sweated a lot, and god help it when the elevator in our building broke down, as the three story ascent up the emergency stairs was almost enough to drown the entire office in a tepid pool of man sweat.

But I digress...

I was happy enough to be called and asked to attend an interview, because it was the first and only job i'd applied for since I moved over to Australia. I went out and purchased a modest suit, some shirts and ties etc, and kept telling myself that the interview would be ok, because I knew I had the skills for the job, in fact, even at the tender age of 18 I was probably over qualified. Man was my head big back then.

On the afternoon of the interview, I arrived five minutes early. The secretary in the surprisingly small office asked me to take a seat, and said that the boss would be with me shortly. So I sat down and waited. And waited. And fucking waited some more. 30 minutes later, a guy approaches me and explains that while he isn't THE boss, he would be my boss, and that he would be conducting the interview now because THE boss was busy.

He lead me down a spiral staircase, which was flanked with burning torches, and seemed to have a strange musty smell I couldn't quite place. At the bottom was a sturdy looking wooden door, with a large padlo... oh shit, sorry. Wrong story.

He took me into the boardroom and sat me down, and proceeded to ask me about my AutoCAD experience, and if i'd had any CAD work on a practical basis before. I bullshitted just enough to sound plausible, but not so much to seem like a pompous wanker. We got along fairly well, and the topic soon steered from work to other less formal subjects. We seemed to have a lot in common, and things were going great.

And that's when it happened.

A man who was approximately the size of a small german car came into the room. A giant, dominating force, (quite possibly a VIP member at Fatty McButtButts Buffet Spectacular) who was panting and leaking fluid like he had just run a 100 meter sprint. He introduced himself as THE boss, and proceeded to pull out some of the least funny comments i've ever heard, starting with the unfortunate nature of my last name. Since the other guy laughed cautiously, I did too.

Unfortunately the other guy was just about to wrap up the interview and let me go before THE boss had arrived. But now I was in the firing line for a new round of questioning, and since the strangely intense gravitational field around this man had made me a prisoner in my own seat, I had to sit there and take it. Horrible open questions like "Why do you want to work for our company?" and "What makes you the best man for the job?" just kept coming. And because speaking my mind and saying "Well i'm sure i'm NOT the best man for the job, but i'm the only goddamn person sitting at this table" would've been career suicide, I somehow made due with some stumbling statements of self serving crap.

So twenty minutes later when THE boss finally recieved an urgent phone call, it all ended. The other guy showed me out, and pretty much told me that i've got the job. Turned out that my annoyingly anatomic last name was actually in my favour, as it was the only one on all the applications that they could read without a degree in languages. I did get the job, and it turned out to be pretty good, aside from THE boss being a total fucking wanker.



And so I find myself in the unenviable situation once more of having to sit through a job interview.

While I am quite happily still employed with Australia Post, I will hopefully be taking on a second job to earn myself some more money. Should all go well, tomorrow at 11am will be one of my finest hours. A job interview to be proud of, resulting in an entry level job with plenty of room for expansion. At least now I am prepared, and I have a damn fine new suit to wear.

I SHALL OVERCOME.
5 comments|post comment

Hey Ladies! Five handy tips to survive the 2003 Big Day Out. [22 Jan 2003|10:53am]
This is a brief list of things for the womenfolk to remember before attending this years Big Day Out.

1: Dress Appropriately.

Before you sweet young things decide to get funky, make sure you dress appropriately!. If you're considering paying the mosh pit a visit, make sure to wear sensible flat shoes, with tight short laces, or strong velcro. Open shoes of any kind are going to get lost, and high shoes are going to get broked, I guarantee it, and your feet will pay the price. Don't wear heavy boots or shoes with hard soles if you plan on crowd surfing however... because you will split someones head open if you connect.

Do not take bags into the deepest depths of the mosh! Those nifty little backpacks may look great in your Year 10 art class, but in the mosh it's just going to get torn right off your back. Not deliberately, but it will just happen. Last year a girls bag burst open, and lucky for her the people around her quickly formed a circle and helped her pick up her stuff in safety.

If you have any exposed piercings, I would reccomend removing them! There are a lot of limbs, hair, and clothing flying around, and if any of those get caught in a trendy piercing, you're going to BLEED. Having to cope all day without the middle part of your nose would be a total bitch I would expect.

Also, remember, white items of clothing will go very see through when you get wet. And you WILL get wet.

2: Pashing.

Pashing random strangers is not cool.

Unless you're exceptionally hot, and i'm the target of your rampant pashery. And you let me touch your bum.

3: Toilet Queues.

Here's a tip for the less shy amongst you. The queues for the ladies toilets at the BDO are always massive. And i'm talking massive like a queue for free porn at Kings Cross. Do NOT wait until your bladder is on the brink of exploding. Because even if Dave Grohl just dedicated the next song to you, pissing yourself in the middle of a mosh pit ain't going to win you very many friends. Perhaps speaking some German will help you out in that situation however.

Anyway, if you are feeling desperate, and don't feel you have the time to wait two hours in the queues for the womens toilets, just walk into one of the mens toilets. Since we blokes have this amazing ability to piss standing up, the stalls very rarely get used, and you won't have much of a queue to fight. Don't worry, we won't rant and rave and kick you out, in fact it's pretty funny really. Just don't point and laugh. At anything. It could be misinterpreted, and you may find yourself beaten to death by a biker with a 1 inch peepee.

4: The Mosh Pit.

Unless you are a well built young lady, I reccomend staying the fuck away from the mosh pit. I'm sure you're all aware of what happened to that Jessica girl, and while it was a terrible tragedy, it also furthered my belief that females should not be allowed in the mosh pit at all. Let's be realistic about the whole thing, physically, you ARE more fragile than men. The mosh pit IS a rough environment, and you WILL get hurt if you don't know what you're doing.

Also, don't go in the mosh if you don't like people touching you. And by that, I don't even mean guys grabbing your boobies etc, because while that does happen, it doesn't happen so much that it's a problem. However, one thing that is a certainty is that there will often be full body to body contact. You will be squeezed up against the person in front of you, and the person behind you will be pressed up against you. There just isn't any way around it, and if you can't handle that sort of contact from complete strangers, stay the hell out.

While I would prefer to be squished up against a hot sweaty girl instead of a hot sweaty guy, I don't want said girl to spin around and accuse me of molesting her simply because i'm pressed right up against her.

5: Discretion.

Don't do anything that you wouldn't want everybody on the face of the planet to see.

The thing about the BDO is that there are plenty of cameras, both regular and TV cameras, and should you get the urge to flash your tits at Perry Farrel, realise that the entire nation may see it as well. So might your parents, your workmates, your boss, your dentist, and your Pastor. So, unless you're comfortable with the idea of your photo being posted on the internet, keep your clothes on, and be sure to eat those paddle pops in the least erotic way possible.

You don't want to give anyone any ideas now, do you?
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[13 Jan 2003|12:09pm]

It's all about the bling bling baby.

Anybody got a Masters Degree in Australia Post Payment Systems?

Because I reckon that's what it takes to succesfully decypher the payslip that you get every two weeks working for AP. All I ever look at is the bottom line, and as long as that remains constant, I know that i'm getting paid correctly. This morning when I tore open the envelope, I noticed a small problem. Well, actually a $100 problem. I put that down to the public holidays that have just passed, and that the 15% loading on the pay doesn't get added on for public holidays.

But then I realised that they hadn't paid me for my proper hours on the four days off that were covered by that payslip. Well, technically they had. You see, i've been working longer hours than i'm officially supposed to for a good five months now, ever since one of our staff members left. But when a public holiday comes up, they only pay me for the amount of hours i'm officially supposed to have, which is annoying as hell. Turns out that the boss just never got around to ammending my hours, and as a result, i'm out of pocket and there is absolutely nothing I can do.

On top of that, the woman that left five months ago is coming back next week.

Wanna know what that means?

Yeah, that's right... it means that i'm being pushed back down to the CRAPPY hours, with CRAPPY pay, and goddamit i'm crapped off about the whole situation. Apparently this woman coming back is a temporary thing, and while she's a lovely lady, I really want my longer hours and better pay. Oh, and also, because of her return, the totally hot bit of crumpet working here at the moment has lost her position. I guess this means that for a while, money is going to be tight as hell, and I might have to drop my goddamn fancy pants broadband internet.

Anyone need the services of a photographer? I'll work for cheap, and i'll promise never to fuck with your mail again.

Maybe.
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Just another typical weird dream. [10 Jan 2003|10:33am]
I have a habit of having dreams that defy logic.

They're always absolutely mental, vividly colourful, and totally interactive. This is pretty much always a good thing, and I tend to remember my dreams 90% of the time. So, here is how my dream last night panned out, it's about as accurate as it gets.

I find myself on the bottom level of what appears to be an office building. I'm in a small lobby, and the lighting is pretty poor... in fact I can't even really tell where the little light that is present is coming from. I'm dressed as a maintenance person, and i'm pushing a cart full of what appears to be cleaning supplies. I guess i'm the cleaner. The only way out of the lobby is one of a series of elevators. I step into elevator number six, and press a button.

When the elevator stops, I step out, only to enter another similar, but slightly larger lobby. There are others dressed like me, with similar carts walking around, and getting in and out of other elevators. I head for elevator number twentyfour, and get in. Another man gets in with his cart, but he doesn't say anything. When the elevator stops on my floor, and the doors open, the whole scene changes...

I no longer have my cart, and i'm no longer dressed like the cleaner. I'm wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and as I glance back into the elevator, the other guy is still there, waiting for his floor. Turning back to survey my surroundings, I am amazed. I't appears that i'm on a huge floor of the building, which has scattered office partitions here and there. There is a group of gamers directly to my left, playing a variety of console and PC games ferviously, and they don't seem to notice me. But the strangest thing about this place is that i'm kneedeep in crystal clear water, and there is sand and trees scattered around. It resembles a beach, within an office building.

There are hundreds of people, some regular office workers, who are sitting at their desks while floating in inflatable chairs with cocktails in the arms. There are countless bikini clad women running around, lying on the sand, or swimming in the deeper parts of the water. There also seems to be some kind of gaming convention on, and the very stereotypical nerds are either paying full attention to the games, or trying hard not to get their shoes wet.

While walking around in a sense of total euphoria, I come to an area where there is a nice grassy clearing surrounded by the water. There is an outdoor dance party going on, and I just lie in the shallows and chill for a while. Everyone is friendly as hell, and I have many conversations with many people. I feel sorry for the office workers who don't seem to be allowed to participate in the fun.

I then decide that I just want to lie under the water and listen to the muted sounds of the music, but I don't have a snorkel. I decide that I definately need a snorkel, so I walk around and find a huge Mitre 10 warehouse right in the same office building. I walk in, and ask a salesman where they keep their hoses. He shows me to the hose section, and begins to explain what all the different types of hose are for. I interrupt, telling him I just want a section about a meter long so I can lie on the bottom of the water and still breathe. He says that he can't sell at that length, but will make an exception for me. I thank the man, take my length of clear, hard plastic hose, and return to the dance area where I procede to sink myself to the bottom of the water, and lie there, in total peace, listening to the music and watching the legs and bodies of the people in the water around me.


And that's it... tres weird, but it was an awesome dream. I tried sketching a view of the place I was in, but it just didn't do the vision justice.

Also, why the hell did I conjour up a Mitre 10 store to get hose, instead of just making a Snorkel Store appear? Because that would've been way more convenient. =0)
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[09 Jan 2003|12:15pm]
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Small small update based on silly dictionary fuelled angst. [09 Jan 2003|10:55am]
Words That Shit Me.

I've been hearing and seeing waaaay too much of the following words, and they're all starting to annoy the hell out of me. By all means, don't stop using them if you like them, i'm just stating some opinions. So, in no particular order:

* Lub / Lubbles

Gee, this word sure got old fast. What used to be a cute way of saying Love, sooned turned into a word used by every second person on the planet. Now, no longer does it have the cutesy connotations it used to, but rather it has become a way of saying "I don't love you, but by saying this it sounds like I do, and I am successfully dodging expressing my true feelings, which are significantly less loveable." This also applies to ANY WORD that is modified by adding the "les" sound to the end of it. For example, huggles.

* GOLD!

Grrr, if something is funny, or excellent, or jolly smashing old toff, please don't refer to it as "Gold" anymore. I'm guessing that the market value of Gold has decreased by a whopping amount, going by the frequency that I see it being used. Sure, there's always Platinum to fall back on, but there are only so many expensive minerals we can strip the value out of before we run out.

That's all for now. But you can bet your arse i'll be adding to this list as I remember other annoying words.
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[02 Jan 2003|06:35pm]
Stereotypes are everywhere.

And nowhere are stereotypes more prolific than online. There are masses and masses of Stereotypical groups of people, such as Anime freaks who can tell you everything about every Japanese anime series and movie ever created, and who would happily dine off the used toilet paper discarded by the lead animators; right through to the Linux snobs who probably won't even chat to you online unless your keyboard drivers are open source.

But when you reduce all the different stereotypes back, you will come to a couple of main ones. Geeks, and Nerds. However the differences (if any) between Geeks and Nerds are still an issue of contention on forums and chat rooms across the online world.

Today, I will give my opinion on the Geek vs Nerd debate.



The Nerd goes back a long long way.

From the early days of having to work out how many Christians should be thrown to the Lions, the Romans employed men that they would call "Nerdificus". A Nerdificus was a man who couldst not wage a hearty battle in the gladatorial arena of the Colluseum, yet he was knowledgeable of numbers and statistics. The emperors spared the Nerdifici (plural, duh) the pain of a bloody death at the paws of a Lion, in return for deducing if the monthly takings were up or down from the month before.

These men, being slight of build, and foolsome of appearance, earned little respect from their fellow men. They were mocked in the street, and often the stronger, more manly men of Rome wouldst shoveth them asunder to the dusty road, where they would scramble to avoid becoming chariot fodder. They were called names, were bad at sports, and they most definately didst not get to make sweet fuck with the voluptuous Roman wenches.

And while the Nerdifici of Rome were but a small group of men, several uprisings were attempted. The little known rebellion referred to by scholars as the "Little Known Rebellion (of Nerdifici)" that took place in Rome in 104AD was both a proud and terrible day for the virginous ones. Whilst the Emperor at the time slept in his courtyard after finishing the daily afternoon orgy, a group of 20 Nerdifici crept to the storeroom, and there they did cast sticks of firey flame onto the entire Roman stock of counting and measuring devices. The fragile wooden machines instantly caught afire, but the resulting smoke alerted the Emperors guards. All the Nerdifici were brutally slaughtered, except one whom the Emperor seemed to favour in private.

And so it was, and has been throughout history.

The modern nerd, trading a flowing white robe for a pressed white shirt and pocket protector, still faces the esteem shattering trials that are presented to him on a regular basis by society. And while he may excel at academic pursuits, he is still without the womanly companionship, and still sucks at javelin and discus throwing. But on the bright side, at least there isn't the threat of being fed to lions anymore.

Social events organised by a Nerds peer group are definately out of bounds, but if a Nerd should attempt to attend such an event, it is absolutely mandatory that he be accompanied by at least one other of his kind. This way, when a Nerds natural enemy appears (A Jock, or collectively, a Muscle of Jocks), there is a chance that only one will be mocked and wedgied, and the other will be able to escape unharmed. Also, if two or more Nerds (collectively, an Embarrasment of Nerds) travel together, they can guarantee there is always someone to laugh at their joke about attracting particles or whatever.


A Geek, is simply a sub-species of Nerd, however, the factors which create the difference between a Nerd and a Geek are still relatively unknown.

To compare, I will use a strikingly accurate and clever analogy, on which you may all congratulate me on later.

In the movie Blade, the lead character (called Blade, amazingly enough) is a half human/half vampire. He has all of a Vampires strengths and advantages, yet none of their weaknesses aside from a constant thirst for blood. He has great strength, and honed senses, yet he can walk in the daylight and enjoy the english countryside if he so wishes. So, in the Geek & Nerd world, Nerds are your regular vampire grunts, and Geeks are like Blade. They tend to be well educated, and have an excessive love for things that go beep and emit pretty lights and colours, but they have social lives, and can integrate themselves into the lives of the Normals without fear.

Geeks can also mingle comfortably with Nerds, but may become tired when the conversation drifts onto why Linux is better than Windows for the fifth time in the evening. A Geek has a relatively good dress sense, and can often be seen in the presence of the ladyfolk. Sometimes they can even be seen canoodling with said ladyfolk, and not have to worry about either paying them afterwards, or trying to convince them not to press charges.

The humble Geek is indeed the superior species. While the Normals may often be unable to tell the difference between a Nerd and a Geek at a cursory glance, simply spending a week with one would soon yield spectacular results. So Geeks be proud, you have the best of the Nerd and Normal world, and you're all the better for it.

Now, where did I leave my D&D 2nd Edition rulebook...?
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[29 Dec 2002|02:21pm]


This is a pre-emptive Live Journal entry, and is how I envisage tomorrow morning to unfold. You see, i've had five days off work, and tomorrow (Monday) is going to be insanely busy. The amount of mail that needs sorting will be larger than Jennifer Lopez' ego, and will take longer to sort than it the time it takes Christina Aguilera to get through a gangbang of 200 black guys in a condemned warehouse in South Central. But only just... that girl is fast.

5:15am: Arrive at the Post Office.

Currently, the mail van has not arrived. This is normal, it normally doesn't arrive until about 5:30, so we have some time to deal with any lovely notes the boss has left us. Generally these notes are wonderfully charming, self esteem boosting scriptures of joy, that chronicle in detail just how many things we fucked up the week before. Oh wait, the Boss is on holiday until February! Rejoice!

5:35am: Still no Mail Van.

Hrmmm, this is interesting. Perhaps the truck has been hijacked by Islamic extremists, who want a nice shiny new red van with unmatched capacity and interior comfort for a New Years Eve mission of some sort? Oh wait, there it is...

5:36am: Van Arrives.

Unless the driver took the van to the local riceboys to get it lowered on the weekend, there is a whole lot of mail in the back. And since i'm not seeing any fully sick alloys or ground effects, i'm guessing it's mail. I'm seriously considering shooting the messenger, but since he's a postal worker too, he could well be armed.

6:30am: Still Sorting Mail.

It's just as well this job pays well, because it isn't exactly the most intellectually stimulating job in the world. After all, matching a number on an envelope to a number on the PO Box is something a 5 year old could do. Letter after letter, envelope after envelope, parcel aft.... oh, hey look, it's one of those cool topless chick postcards from the Gold Coast. Hrm... nice.

6:55am: Stop looking at postcard.

7:30am: First Angry Customer of the Morning.

Oh, you want to know where your parcel from America is? How the hell should I know? All I can tell you is that it isn't here. No.... no, i'm not going to look for it again. If you don't have a card, and I can't find it after looking once, i'm not going to waste even more time looking for it once more. Best thing to do would be to call Customer Service on 13 1... no maam, i'm not just giving you the run around, they can actually help you bette... yes, ok maam, you can speak to my manager if you like. Here's her number, she's in Fiji, have a nice day.

8:00am: Second Angry Customer of the Morning.

Second Angry Customer appears to be the same as First Angry Customer, except is twice as loud, and appears to have +5 Body Odour against Postal Workers. Alas, without a Staff of Rexona to banish this foul creature to whence it came, I am forced to deal with it until it leaves of its own accord.

8:30am: First Batch of Mail Finished.

Although this moment is somewhat relieving, realising that this first batch of mail is normally completed by 6am is not such a good feeling. And while we've been doing this lot, the next two lots have arrived, and are staring at us with malicious glee from the corner of the mail room. "Sort us," they say... "Sorrrrrt ussssss...."

9:00am: Shop Opens.

This means there are no more stupid customers that I have to deal with out the back. Hurrah for small miracles. Mail sorting still proceeding slowly. I might look at that postcard again.

9:20am: Last Batch of Mail Arrives.

By now the amount of mail coming in has reduced to a trickle. We've almost sorted all of the mail to come in so far, and this final lot should push the amount to just over 1,000kg worth of mail. No shit. With any luck, mistakes would have been minimal, and there won't be any grumpy bums complaining tomorrow, which should hopefully be fairly slow.

10:00am: Finally Finished.

Only 30 minutes later that normal, which actually wasn't so bad. My arms feel like jelly, i'm hungry, and I would be quite happy not seeing any more mail for as long as I live. Oh, and I have to walk home, because I forgot to get my bikes puncture fixed. Hooray for me, hooray for mail, hooray for it not being Monday anymore.
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Christmas sucks. [25 Dec 2002|04:46pm]
What the hell is it with Christmas?

All year, right up until December, i'm always eagery awaiting the onset of Christmas. For Christmas is truly the best day of the year right? Christmas is the day that a jolly fat man in a red suit comes around and gives you all the shit you want for frees! But in reality, all Christmas is is another totally boring day, only with a bunch of stuff given to you by people. If you're over ~18, Christmas pretty much sucks. There's no magic left. You know what you want, and there isn't any way you're getting it, because it's too damn expensive.

This sour perspective on such a happy day probably comes from a few different factors.

1: I'm still painfully single.

99% of the time this doesn't bother me at all, and in fact I totally enjoy it, but when it comes to times of the year where having a significant other would be nice (NYE, Valentines Day, Birthday, National Oral Sex Day etc), all it does is make you depressed. It's especially depressing when a good amount of your friends have a girl/boyfriend and they always seem to look super extra happy on Christmas.

2: Family is overseas.

One of the things that used to make Christmas special was going around to the houses of your extended family, and spending a few hours there eating, drinking and being merry. But with all but one or two of my family members back in New Zealand, unfortunately this itinerary is out of the question.

3: Doing nothing.

When your Christmas day consists of absolutely nothing different to a normal day (presents and lunch aside), then there really isn't anything to be super entralled with. Sitting at home reading forum posts on how everybody elses Christmases have been great so far really doesn't help either.

4: I'm totally fucking broke.

Spending a ton of cash on a stack of people makes the wallet HURT. So now i've got five days off work, but can't do anything because i've got no bloody money. Hoorah!

So that's why I think Christmas sucks. I'm sitting here by myself, in front of my stupid bloody PC, doing absolutely nothing. Everyone else I know is out doing the family stuff, either that or I have no idea what they're doing. To be quite honest, i'll be more than happy when this stupid day of festiveness is over and there is another whole year before I have to put up with it again.

Merry fucking Christmas everyone.
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[20 Dec 2002|05:22pm]

Hey, guess what?

Today was actually not bad at work! In fact, one regular even gave me and my co-worker a Christmas Card and $20 Music Voucher for the assistance we've given him this year. Not only that, but it was the Bosses last day until mid-February! So I guess i'm not disgruntled at all. Hrm, I should change that header...
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[18 Dec 2002|11:31am]
Buffy Bond?

According to a quote in yesterdays Daily Telegraph, Sarah Michelle Gellar doesn't see why James Bond always has to be a man. In fact, she expressed interest in being the next Bond. On the surface, this idea sounds like a really stupid one. James Bond has always been a guy. Sure, he's changed ages, nationalities, and his physical appearance has radically differed throughout his danger filled years at MI6, one thing has always remained constant. A penis.

I'm sure Ian Fleming never considered the protagonist in one of the longest running movie franchises in the world to somehow become a woman at any stage. Part of Bonds appeal to regular guys is that he gets to shag all the hot totty, has an arsenal of gadgets at his disposal, and gets to blow stuff up whenever he likes. But, perhaps the female Bond idea needs some exploring...

Pros:

1: A hot female lead.

Having a sexy young actress playing Bond would definately be a plus for all us straight blokes. Sure, Brosnan has his charm, but he doesn't get my motor running. Seeing Jane Bond running around, bouncing all the way, would definately make action scenes just that little bit more appealing, and of course there would have to be a few peices of clothing lost in sword fights. Jane could use her "assets" to distract baddies, and would be able to gain access to top secret areas just by flirting with the weak male guards. Right before breaking their necks and stealing their security cards.

2: Hot hot lesbian action.

One of Bonds trademarks is that he is simply irresistable with the womenfolk. I see no reason for this to change. Jane Bond would be a lusty bisexual, who with simply a flutter of her eyelashes, and a flashing of her thigh, could have even the straightest lady in the sack for some tastefully filmed muff diving. I guess she could fool around with her male co-stars as well, but that would be boring as hell.

3: New fun gadgets from Q.

A watch with a C4 detonator? A glass shattering ring? Sunglasses with laser beams? Bah, how very male. Jane Bond cares not for these toys! All her jewellery is strictly the real thing. But there is always another avenue for Q to explore with his inventive gadgetry. For example... a pair of lovely high heel shoes could contain a miniature revolver, which is fired by performing a high kick. Poison tipped hair pins would be useful, and a dressy brooch could house a spy camera. And have you got any idea just how much C4 you can pack into a 12 inch dildo?

Cons:

1: Vehicular transport.

Given Jane Bonds demanding nature, she would probably end up driving an oversized four wheel drive. This would not be so good, as she would be a menace not only to herself, but everyone around her. She doesn't care for the silky smooth handling of an Aston Martin Vanquish, it's all about size baby. With a four wheel drive large enough to cross the grand canyon without a ramp, she could see over the top of her enemies, and could easily push them off the road, and cut them off around corners. And although you could pack quite an arsenal of weapons into a 4WD, she would probably be far too busy fixing her makeup in the rearview mirror to use them effectively.

2: PMS + Assault Weapons = BAD FUCKING NEWS.

Unless M orders Jane to be locked in a secure cell for a few days out of every month, the population of the entire world could be at risk. Nobody wants a secret agent with a licence to kill getting angry because she had to wait in line for too long at the local Bank. This issue could prove disasterous on away missions, and what would happen if she had to get in the water at some stage? She'd probably inflate and rise to the surface like a big white buoy, making an easy target for the confused terrorists.

3: Clothing.

Have you ever seen a bullet proof vest that doesn't make a woman look fat? And those utility belts add at least 10 pounds around the waist. And she can't wear those two shades of jungle green together! It clashes with her eyes! And where is she supposed to find a lipstick to match her M4 rifle? And what happens if she tears her pantyhose? And where can she find a....

Conclusion:

Just the possibility of seeing Sarah Michelle Gellar get her pash on with some other random bit of sexy spy woman is enough for me to be pushing the female Bond theory. I reckon if we get Ron Jeremy directing, and whoever did the script for Bathtub Lesbians working on the screenplay, then the world is in for a ratings winner.
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[13 Dec 2002|12:17pm]
Hey, I got published in PC Authority.

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