LeishBlog

Well we knew that moving day would produce a memorable blog entry but no one thought as many blog worthy things could occur in such a short space of time.
First things first, Justin and I hired a truck. Yep a truck, a gay and the brunette, moving our own furniture and driving a big mother of a truck. Guess who said she would drive?

So we turned up at the hire truck place and I lied saying I had driven a truck before. Why lie about that stuff? Why not? The rental lady encouraged us to buy extra insurance and gave us a big speech about how expensive the trucks are to repair. Blah blah blah.

I got in the driver seat and realised all of the gears were around the wrong way, yep that was going to make it easier.
After my first drive to the storage facility, where Justin and I convulsed with laughter the whole time I sort of got the hang of it…….sort of.
Justin kept saying,

“Look at little Leish driving the big truck…I can’t believe it!….wide turn now hon, don’t hit the ….oh curb, too late doesn’t matter well done you!”

We loaded up all of my stuff and then headed to Justin’s house to do the same. We decided to park out the front of his joint so we wouldn’t have to carry the stuff to far. As I attempted to manoeuvre the vehicle closer to the curb, I managed to hit a telegraph pole, yeah big deal. It made a horrible noise, scraping and scratching along the truck. I thought of the rental lady and her ‘trucks are expensive’ to repair speech. Damn it. We surveyed the damage. A chunk of metal from the roof the size of my hand had come off and there was a big scratch along the side. A street sign unhinging was also involved.

“We can just stick it back on, it will be ok….”

A lame attempt of convincing from Aleisha.

Justin, the dodgy crooked pole and the sign.

After loading all of Justin’s gear we headed to our new place where I then proceeded to attempt to drive down a narrow driveway and sideswiped our letterbox. The damage this time was a lot worse than the chunk of metal and the scratch. A big gouge and the reflector came off.
Fuck it.

We unloaded the gear and then with the help of Justin’s lovely brother and some industrial glue went about trying to stick the truck back together. It sort of looked ok by the time we were ready to return the truck, the glue seemed to be holding but the big letterbox scratch was fairly obvious. We tried to buff it out but to no avail.

A bit of the letterbox was on the ground so I did the mature and responsible thing and kicked it behind some bins.

Before getting back to the depot I had to fuel it up with Diesel. I couldn’t get the cap off. I stood talking to it, yelling until a lovely guy came along and showed me that I had to unlock the cap with a key. What a doofus.

While driving I decided that I would take the dishonest path and not draw attention to any of the damage that I had caused to the vehicle.

As the dude inspected the truck I played the bimbette, distracting him with my amazingly stupid story of the fuel cap. I danced around like a fool, giggling and going on and on. I felt like an idiot but I think he just wanted to get rid of me. He handed me a piece of paper and told me to see the woman at the front desk.
After reading the piece of paper she said,

“Oh no! Oh dear…”

My heart stopped. I took a deep breath and prepared myself and my credit card for the damage bill.

“You’ve gone one kilometer over your limit….don’t worry though I will pull a sneaky and I won’t charge you!” she said in mock kindness.

Thank Christ. I laughed almost psychotically, too much at her generous gesture and I kept watching the door in case truck inspection man had discovered my handy glue work and was coming to send me to jail.

I left the place very quickly making a mental note to never hire from them….just in case. Poor sucker who gets the truck next time. It will probably just fall apart.

When I got home I pretended to Justin that we got a $450 bill. He looked shattered. It was funny. Sorry Jus.

One other silly thing I did yesterday. When we left the storage place where all my stuff was I said to Justin.

“I am so glad we are out of here, that place stinks like trash, pheeewwie,”

When we got to our new place, I noticed the smell again,

“Shit, maybe the smell has clung to all of my possessions, like the Seinfeld episode with the BO in the car,”

Turns out I had left butter and cheese in the fridge. We opened the door and gagged. The smell was horrendous. Damn you little cheese area with the door. …damn you. After bleach and airing it doesn’t smell too bad now, Justin looked disgusted.

Our place is cool. I am happy there. Justin has great furniture and I have lots of wardrobe space and mirrored robes…hope they come in handy.

*If anyone from the rental truck company reads this….it is all made up…. obviously….ha ha… nervous laugh.

**Also I have been boasting to former flat mate Mick that I am going to beat him in a wide range of PS3 games. I am nervous and may eat my words.

The walkie-talkies that Princes Nicole and I purchased on the weekend proved to be a fabulous afternoon of procrastination for both of us. We promised each other that we would have breakfast, buy the walkie-talkies and return home to do work that we both had to do before Monday. Yeah well, two problems with that one. The walkie-talkies were purchased at a shopping centre (a few hours of necessary browsing there) and then when we got home we had to put them together and ‘test’ them to make sure they are in working order.

I have a gig this week, so I promised myself a couple of hours of practice and Princes Nicole had heaps of work to do for part of her job, writing those recaps you see at the beginning of TV shows… “Previously on blah blah TV show”.
I know someone has to do it and it is Nicole. Well-done princess!

We were disappointed to find that you had to charge the walkie-talkie batteries before using them, we couldn’t do any work while waiting, that would be silly, you would just start then have to stop again when the walkie talkies were ready.

In the battery charging time, Princess Nicole made gift cards and I blogged and looked up how to buy diet pills on the Internet to allow me to fit into my skinny jeans. Turns out some diet pills make you crap your pants and that really isn’t up my alley (or down), so I am going to try the self-control method, not eat Nutella (boo) and do it that way.

The walkie-talkies were a fabulous success. We tuned them in and proceeded to walk around Princess Nicole’s building and out on the street saying

“Hello, can you still hear me….hello?”

In the lift I came across a man. I was clutching the walkie-talkie but hid it behind my back. Princess Nicole’s voice came blaring through.

“Blondie to Freckles (they are our code names) where are you? Tell me your position?”

I tried to turn it down or off.

“Babe, can you hear me? Is it fucked?” Nicole asked followed by static interference.

The lift guy smiled at me.
“You testing the walkie talkies out for your kids?”

“Umm, something like that, ha ha……(awkward silence)”

Princess Nicole’s voice breaks the silence.

“BABE! Where are you…..shooooooooocococococo (lots of static)?”

I ran out of the lift and headed over the road to my new place and stood in the driveway talking into the walkie-talkie. It worked well.

Later that night we were scanning some channel only to find some redneck ham radio guys talking about bogan things, saying ‘fuckin this and fuckin that’, every third word.

They were speaking about utter garbage. Nothing of value to the human race but still we will enthralled. Nicole said in-between listening to the rednecks talking about ‘fuckin fishing’.

“Babe, it wouldn’t surprise me if we hear them talking about a murder, or better still if we hear the gun go off,”

I replied,

“Quite frankly I don’t have to time to go to court and testify, they’d probably kill us anyway before hand, they’d track us down my radio signal….’

After a moment of contemplation,

“Oh Babe, I would love to witness a murder and then we could go on the run like Thelma and Louise but without the getting caught and dying bit. I can cut my hair at last in an edgy bob and you can go blonde! It would be fantastic!”

As intriguing and as exciting as I found the prospect of life on the run, I didn’t know how haircuts fitted into it.

“Babe we could do that anyway, why do we need to witness a murder to do that?”

After hearing another barrage of swearing.

“Maybe it’s Gordon Ramsey talking to a friend, he does say fuck a lot,”

She has a point. I am now convinced Gordon Ramsey is a ham radio freak, talking about fishing and murder. If I never blog again, I have changed my name to freckles, dyed my hair blond and I am on the run with Princess Nicole aka Blondie.

A long weekend was just what I needed to get my shit together. How eloquently put! 

On thursday I had an interesting experience with a pair of Brazilian furniture removalists. One was bossy the other one was walked all over. I felt bad for him because he looked gentle and cute. He also had a wedding ring so I thought that maybe he had a nice wife and that made his life better. It cost me a bomb, it was raining but I managed to get all of my stuff to the storage unit. The guys spoke really fast Portugese and for a moment I was convinced that they weren’t speaking Protugese at all and it was just jibberish. That sounded unintentionally racist. I am not a racist, just accent and language suspicious!

I have been bunking down with Princess Nicole for the weekend until move into the new pad with Justin. . It’s been great fun and a sign of things to come.  Yesterday we walked across the road to my new place. We snuck around like criminals because we had a feeling that the previous tenants were still in the house. I was desperate to have a another look at the apartment, having not seen it since we inspected it weeks ago, so we coyly peeked through the windows and then dashed away when we saw that there were still people in there. 

The neighborhood is lively, has lot of restaurants and shops and sexy guys at the supermarket…..like did someone set of a model bomb in the area….note to self, always dress appropriately for the supermarket, ala no tracksuit pants and make up is a must!

We went shopping for the famous walki talkies that Princess Nicole has been pinning over, ever since we found out that we got the place across the road,

“Babe, it will be just like Friends and we can talk to each other on Walkie Talkies, it will be so fun!”

We went to a toy shop were a big fat pregnant woman sniggered when she heard us ask the shop assistant for walkie talkies. Yeah well at least we aren’t wearing a floral tent as a dress lady…I know it’s bad dissing a prego but really she shouldn’t laugh at two 26 year old chicks asking for walkie talkies in a toy shop. We found then in an electronics shop and dashed home to try them out, only to find that we had to wait for a couple of hours until the batteries charged! Damn you batteries. 

On the same shopping trip I tried on some skinny jeans. I don’t know why. They are shits of things that never fit me and encourage me to be anorexic (this is impossible because even an hour without food, I struggle). I heaved and pulled them on. Princess Nicole said, 

“Babe, you have to suffer with the skinny jeans, I had to virtually lie down in the change room to get these done up,” She said motioning to her fabulous jeans. 

“Baaabbbbbee these suck. I can’t breath, or move…Christ. Do up….do up! Damn this! Damn you Skinny Jeans!!!! I think i’m hyperventilating. I have to get out of here.”

I left the shop cursing skinny jeans and everything they represent! I am having nothing but brown rice and tomatoes for the next 4 weeks. (she writes while eating some bread with butter on it!). Fashion smashon.

Well I am pretty disappointed. I just found out I missed World Nutella Day.
WTF?
Who went and organised that without consulting me? Surely I must be on their list of mass Nutella consumers. If you don’t know what Nutella is and you are confused as to why I am using the word Nutella so much, Nutella is a chocolate Hazelnut spread sold under the guise of being nutritional and is the food equivalent to an orgasm. Apparently you are supposed to spread it on bread but I prefer to eat it with a spoon or if I am drunk, my fingers.

Nutella is something I struggle to walk past at the supermarket. Funny I don’t eat as much Nutella when I am getting regular sex. Figures.
I googled Nutella this morning. There is a Nutella restaurant in Italy. Everything they sell is made of Nutella, including hamburgers, crepes and pizzas.

5KG Nutella!

Ok enough of that.
After catching up with a mate for a drink last night, I whizzed home to finish cleaning and packing. I had a lot to do and not much time. I got into a fight with my bed, the screws wouldn’t undo and I yelled while walloping it with a wrench saying;

“You mother fucker, I’ll just leave you here, I don’t need you in my life. I can buy a new bed you know? I am on a time schedule here. So COME ON UNDO….JUST UNDO!”

My pathetic insults resonated around the empty house and I then sat on the ground composing myself thinking that I really had to get it together because I had just chastised a piece of wood

Saddo.

After I move all of the furniture I saw that there was mould on the walls. Wasn’t expecting that. Because I am lazy and I was in a foul mood I got a bucket and a broom, filled it with bleached and washed the walls with the broom like they do at crime scenes. Washed it all away. It worked. Laziness pays off.

The house smells like a hospital.

I stacked all of my boxes in neat piles, ready for the removal thugs. Inevitably they will smash something up. It’s a given. They should just write that in the contract,

“We guarantee to damage at least one of the items that we transport, most probably the thing that you like best,”

I have to leave work to supervise the move. I am putting it all in storage for the weekend ready for the big move in on Tuesday. It’s like my stuff will be holiday, going to a nice storage hotel.  I hope it all comes back looking refreshed and newer.

Justin and I have hired a truck for Tuesday. He asked me if I can drive a truck. I said sure.
Driving a truck through the city! That’s guaranteed to be a good blog entry. Guaranteed.

Yesterdays guest LeishBlogger Nick was a resounding success, so much so maybe I should give up the Blog game and hand over the reigns to Nick……….he just declined.
I feel a bit like George Costanza when he successfully pulls off a joke and decides, instead of risking not being able to come up with the goods again, he should just leave.

George Costanza: Alright, that’s it for me, you’ve been great! Good night, everybody.

Maybe I’ll stick around.
I have decided I will.

Nicole came around to my place the other night and she said it looked like a crack house. Apart from the crack pipe, the various drug paraphernalia scattered all over the floor, the vomit patch and the juiced up hobo sitting in the corner I don’t know what she’s talking about. It’s like something out of hobo Home Beautiful magazine.

She may have been referring to the lack of furniture, the single pillow placed sadly in front of the television and the garbage bags filled with clothes for charity scattered around. I am two days away from moving. Being a tight arse I have booked the cheapest possible removalist and I am going to help them move stuff as well to make it quicker, thus leaving more money for long weekend booze up and cupcakes.

I am staying with Princess Nicole over the weekend. Our new house is directly across the road. We were trying to think of ways to smoke out the current tenants so I could move my gear in over the long weekend and have time t get settles without having to take the day off work on Tuesday (tightarse again). We don’t want to damage the property though, just move the people out, so none of our plans have yet to be agreed upon.

Last night I went to see uber stand up comedian Ross Noble.

He is an improvisational genius. Quite a talent. It was at the Enmore theatre, there must have been 800 people there and I am going to say that I think 80% of his act was improvised. He talks to the audience a lot. I am sure he has pre-devised techniques like a psychic, knowing which way the direction of the show is going, but there was so much stuff that was off the cuff, I was pretty in awe.

I have a stand up gig next week and another in a fortnight. Feel a bit spewy about it but shit, I pledged at the beginning of the year, that this was my make or break year and so far it has been bordering on the break part when it comes to stand up so I am just going to have to get over myself, get ready for a challenge, remember all of my lines and kick arse.
My comedy friend Tim emailed me and said,

“You’ll be fine, how many other punters there have played the mother flippin melb.town hall?! you’re a ringer!”

Thanks Tim Logan. Sometimes I block that out. 2000 people and TV was a mortifying but thrilling experience that still gives me a nervous tummy.
I suppose it is good to be nervous. Better getting the fluttery feelings over comedy than a boy I suppose. Comedy always seems to work out a bit better….

Oh woe for me.

Just shut up Aleisha, no one likes self pity. Stop being a victim.

I just told myself off using my full name. I never call myself that. It must be serious.

Lastly I do enjoy celebrity gossip and this is interesting. Soph at works family knows some people that are very close to the Kidman clan. We have been laughing about this rumour for months, that Nicole is wearing a sophisticated fake pregnancy belly and that a surrogate is really carrying the child. Every time a new pregnancy photo appears we all cruelly say ‘fake belly’.

These images were published today. They were taken a week apart. I think Soph is right she must have upgraded to the bigger belly. Scandal!

What malicious gossip. Oh well filled up another couple of lines.

This morning I noticed that yesterdays LeishBlog post had been linked back from one of my favourite news provider Reuters. How reputable.

I have been on at my boss Nick Murray for a while now, to write a guest post on LeishBlog. After seeing that I am now a Reuters superstar,  Nick got to work, creating this Blog worthy gem. Take it away Nick.

Guest Blog – Nick Murray

Fans

I stupidly offered to Aleisha that I’d do a guest blog for her.  Not a big blog consumer, I have been sceptical about the blogoshere.  Indeed, the thought of tens of anonymous modern people logging in to my banal observations, fills me with suspicion.

But now the modern world is really pissing me off.  After a visit to the country on the weekend, I have now realised that the country is too quiet – or is it that the city is too loud.  No, it’s not the sound of cars and neighbour’s music I am missing.  Nor is the lawn mower and leaf blower particularly attractive to my ears.

It’s the ubiquitous sound of screens and computers that is really annoying.  Or more particularly, the fans in those pieces of equipment.  Wandering around the house last night, I found the source.  The Playstation, the DVD recorder, the little home theatre unit and even the TV screen has a little fan buzzing in it.  Not to mention the computers themselves, which wiz away if you open too many programs – blowing out streams of hot air.

In fact, there are 5 fans in and around the TV.  That means that there is no such thing as silence in the house when the TV is on.  Why would the excellent people who make TV and films bother to introduce silences to make their shows breath, when the silences will be drowned out by mini vacuum cleaners.  No point for the actors to whisper in our house.  They need to shout to be heard over the fans.  It is offensive!

Furthermore, these same fans are loudly sucking dust and dead human skin deep into the guts of these machines.  Did Mr Sony san or Intel design their chips to run when coated with partially digested skin dust?  My guess is probably not.

So these machines are now collecting my DNA, and doing it loudly.

I don’t care about the electricity they use – I just don’t like the continuous noise, and the hairdryer like heat they dispense.  So I’m going to poke a stick into each fan.  That will stop the noise and cook the dead skin.

Then, when everything stops working, it will be quiet and I’ll have to move to the country where the sound of flies emerging from horse dung will replace the drone of 5 fans in my living room.  Oh the joy……

Thanks Nick, you are funny and clever and you know I kinda look up to you in  a big way.

Now please cast me in one of your shows, or give me my own TV show, come on you know you want too.

As I shoved letters and cards that were previously thought of as symbols of love and with great significance into garbage bags, I thought not about lost love and memories, I imagined all of the extra drawer space I am going to have at my new place.

I got into this rhythm of trashing stuff. I went through my wardrobe, determined to rid my life of clothes that I no longer would be caught dead wearing or anything that I purchased while intoxicated (its not like I drink in the day, Kath and I used to go shopping after boozy lunches at our old work and some of the things I returned home with…shopping God help me). In the end I had two bin bags of semi fashionable clothes and another bag filled with shoes. I love my shoes. A moment’s silence please. I see all of this as an opportunity to start again. To have many more shopping expeditions, to rack up more debt….but to really enjoy it.

Speaking of racking up debt, shopping royalty Princess Nicole and I were perusing on Saturday when we some how ended up standing directly in front of Nicole’s ‘thing she wants right now’. A Ted Baker leather Jacket.

There are lots of things Nicole wants right now that she has gotten, but none so extravagant and exquisite as what we were currently looking at.
It was a bit like the scene in Wayne’s World when he stands admiring the Fender Stratocaster,
‘It will be mine. Oh yes. It will be mine’

As usual, Nicole put it on and paraded around the store, looking fabulous, with me saying it ‘looks great’ but sheesh it’s a lot of coin.

“Babe, you only live once, I’m bloody buying it! What are credit cards for other than giving you the things you really want right now,”

As I picked my jaw up, Nicole marched to the counter where, when they realised wheat she was about to purchase, they laid on the retail suck treatment.

Nicole handing over the credit card with glee

After processing the payment, and the credit card worked, the shop woman was even more super friendly, bizarrely giving Nicole the personal details of the Ted Baker Australian representative. What for we couldn’t quite work out.

Posing

Even though it was fairly warm in the shopping centre, Nicole wore that jacket with pride right up until I ran my hand down one of the sleeves admiring the leathery goodness and found a lovely need cut in the leather.
Panic stations.
Arriving back at the counter, the shop lady looked confused and slightly scared that Nicole had changed her mind and wanted a refund but when she saw what had happened she created a big fuss, flapping around saying she was going to call the head office, blah blah blah.

Princess got a replacement jacked yesterday, disappointingly with none of the fanfare from the original purchase. A 16 year old, shop assistant, clueless to the commitment Nicole had made to fashion and debt, shoved it in a bag and nodded at her.
What a downer. Nicole and I decided that we would remember the original purchase as the when she bought the jacket.

Lastly I noticed this article in today newspaper headline ‘Harry Potter’s search for Aussie girl’
So I thought I should set things straight with a personal message to Harry Potter star Daniel Radcliffe.

Our meeting….

Ok, Like, Daniel we met once, I thought you were nice, but even though you were polite and such , you are way too young for me. You need to let it go.

Really you do.
If you have an older brother, please pass on my details.

Leish

Over the past couple of days I have spent way too much time loitering on someecards.com
They are naughty and funny and make me giggle in a way that you shouldn’t in an office environment.

Former Flat Mate Mick and I appear to be only communicating via the cards. It is a fun game. You should try it. Hell, send me one if you like.

Last night I didn’t really want to go home because;
A: I have run out of Dexter to watch
B: I couldn’t be arsed reconnecting the TV and sitting on the floor to watch it.
C: I am in my own stupid way avoiding practicing my stand up even though I know it is good for me and I kind of enjoy it.

It was late night shopping and after trying to support Princess Nicole through a crisis over the phone after her car died, I thought I might wonder around the shops. This is trouble because as we can see from this post, I have no self-control and I am currently void of coin. After trying on some perfume, I headed to JB Hi Fi to peruse the DVD section and not buy anything. I bought the first series of a show Skins. Good one. Princess Nicole has been raving about it for ever and it was on sale…..I could go on with excuses as to why I spent money I didn’t really have but basically who cares, Skins is great. Really to be crude it is a bit of a fuck fest, British show, lots of drugs, kids doing things they shouldn’t, I love it.

If you have ever seen This life, it’s like a junior version of that, or maybe the film Kids.

I purchased a Bento box, some Edamame and a cup cake. Yep single people’s food. Edamame is yummy but the first time I ate it I was under the impression that you had to eat the whole pod. They were tough and I struggled to swallow it only to be quietly taken aside by a friend who said I was embarrassing the group by my lack of Edamame eating skills and that you only eat the little pea/bean thing inside the pod and not the whole thing. Whatever.

I sat at home on my bed with my picnic, watching the show and occasionally yelled ‘hello’ into the dining room so my voice would echo through the house.

I did end up practicing my act. It was OK, my fake, imagined audience laughed a lot and they stood up and clapped, hollering for an encore.

I spotted this article in this months Vanity Fair, it is a lot of up and coming chick performers photographed as 50s style pinups. They must have lost my phone number. I would love to dress up like that…. maybe that is the direction I was going with yesterdays red lips? Someone find me a corset and roll my hair. 50’s semi nudity isn’t deemed slutty todays semi nudity and I like that.

Lastly I would like to announce I am never texting another boy again.
Really, I’m not.
Ever. It just leads to disappointment.

I like to sing along to what might be considered ‘bad’ pop music. It is one of those things that I do when alone, whilst straightening my hair in the morning in front of the mirror. I also like to listen to mainstream breakfast radio. Former Flat Mates Mick and Sarah would often hear me laughing along in the morning to crass jokes and I would try and come up with excuses as to why I was enjoying listening to the that particular show.

Mick would say,
“I know you enjoy it, just admit it, why else would you listen to it?”

He did have a point but something always made me say ‘I just turned the radio on and it was on that station and I couldn’t be bothered retuning it’, or ‘I was just laughing at how stupid the announcers are’.

Sometimes I am too cool for school. Part of me believes that I have to pretend that I listen to the local AM station that plays indi/garage bands and broadcast from a secret super independent location, using a portable generator and the announcers are vegans and don’t wear leather shoes.

I do enjoy the poppy refrain and repetitive verse chorus verse chorus, key change patterns of Britney Spears; I know the words to her songs and it’s time for me to admit it.
That isn’t to say I don’t like a lot of other music that would be considered trailer trash commoner pop.

In an effort to be a bit more glamorous and attract the eye of the opposite sex I am wearing red lipstick today. Tim from the office who has no tact said,

“Geeze that’s intense,“

I said

“Fuck you Tim, you  rarely make me feel good about myself, keep your opinions inside your head,”

A bit of a dodgy Red Lips photo taken on my BlackBerry

I announced to the office after reading this article that I believe celebrities should really make a special point in not screwing their nanny’s. It’s always trouble and never ends well. (ahhem, David Beckham, Jude Law, etc)

Tim who I looked at with suspicion and a bitchy glare ever since the ‘that’s intense comment’ said that my advice sounded like one of the Top Tips printed in Viz Magazine.

If I were really too cool for school I would know what that was. I googled it and then spent a half hour laughing.
Check it out.

Right now I must work….a bit.
(I have a big surprise for Princess Nicole today. I hope she likes it)

Also thanks so much for your comments, keep them coming!!!

Last night I was having a bath with the door open because now I can, living alone for 2 weeks. I was practicing some stand up, sitting down in the bath and I heard a weird crackling noise. I thought, ‘oh it’s just the cat’ but then I realised that Sarah has taken the cat to her new house, it must be an intruder.
The first thing I thought about was not that I might be about to be sliced and diced Dexter style, I wondered if the intruder had heard the funniest bit of my routine, because I would hate them to think I was just a silly naked girl, sitting in a bath telling bad jokes to herself. It turned out it wasn’t a home invasion. The crackling noise was my headband rubbing against the shower curtain when I moved my head. What a douche.

Having disconnected the talky picture box when Sarah moved (because it was living in her TV cabinet) and I am to slack to put it all back together again, I have been watching a lot of DVDs on my computer. I am nearly finished the second season of Dexter, which is fabulous. So fabulous that I have spent most nights zoned to it. The show has momentarily taken over my life and I will have show withdrawals when it ends. That sucks. I need a new show.

I went bowling on Saturday night with Rowan The Hawk, Princess Nicole and the yet to be named Italian. It was fun and the Italian won. Damn you. I tried hard to concentrate of getting the ball to go in the right direction but it just wasn’t my night. I did my usual chuck the ball down the lane with great force but it didn’t work very often. Yet to be named Italian told me to lighten off on the power. I asked what his technique was and he said something clever like,

“I treat it like a lady, slow and gentle,”

I then ruined this flirtatious moment by crudely saying;

“Yeah well I like it rough, so that’s no good,”

I got up and bowled another gutter ball.
Big mouth.

Yet to be named Italian dropped me home. I yabbered on too much, said a lot of things I probably should have kept to myself and then did as I said to him I would do, lay in bed thinking about that he probably thought I was a whack job.

I do need to learn to keep a lot of the things that swirl around in my head, in my head. They don’t really need to be set free via the method of speech. But then as I always say that’s me, that’s the package, so I suppose someone will come along eventually that will think these boisterous traits are attractive and endearing.
Where are you oh wise thinking one?