Grace Notes @ Snarkattack

I didn’t sleep yesterday and was pretty buggered at work as a result.

There was quite the former ice maiden incident at the coffee shop as a result. Good to see heartbreak hasn’t made me a complete loser.

I did have something to look forward to - dinner with OM who I’d not seen for ages, and has just recently finished his PhD, yea! It’s a real treat to see him when he’s so busy trying to get papers published and such. After @jurgen’s recent dining experience at the Robert Burns Hotel on Smith Street, I suggested him and I try dining there too. It was the most decisive I’d been in ages, haha.

The Robert Burns is noted for its Spanish cuisine. I don’t know just how authentic it is. We started with entrees (technically tapas?), and then as mains OM had squid, and I had this amazing seafood platter. I think I got my day’s exercise just trying to free everything from shells! My platter had mussels, a crab claw (which defeated me), squid, some sort of flat fish, and lots of prawns (my favourite). Messy finger hell for me!

OM and I consoled one another accordingly on our less-than-stellar love lives…like me, he doesn’t believe in marriage, or children I don’t think, but he is a hopeless romantic (me…not quite so…)!

Drinks-wise we were pretty boring - just pints of Stella. Yes, I know, a travesty when they had sangria there. In large amounts sangria is deadly! Wonder if there was any Spanish sherry? That stuff is lovely…

Afterwards we retired to my place for cups of tea and talked shop - that is, flute. Again, his musical tastes are a bit more…romantic than mine. Giggle. I sent him a copy of the latest major poem I wrote, and lent him my copy of Sheridan’s plays. He’ll be in for a treat. He told me ghost stories (which I love!) about the hospital he works in before we finally parted ways.

Even though I was exhausted, I still didn’t fall asleep easily. Am finding it very hard to concentrate on the Hitchens book I’m reading (thought reading it before bed would knock me out). I did eventually drift off to the sound of Radiohead’s Hail To The Thief (I know, still!) and the scent of BPAL Black Lace (heavenly!), which I can still smell albeit faintly on my arms this morning!

It was wonderful to see OM again, and especially kind of him to foot the bill for our magnificent mainly-seafood feast. Definitely deleted the crappiness of the weekend!

I had a shit weekend, and have shittier insomnia.

So please forgive me the somewhat juvenile content that follows.

It had been pointed out to me by @girlambrosia that a former lover of mine looks like Adrien Brody. Um, yeah. Oh. Wow. I do see the resemblance…*giggling with my hand over my mouth*. We may both have expressed some…mutual interest in the male form - particularly the pale, tall kind with the slight muscles that have no option but to pop out…*bites finger*

Should I ever be lucky enough to have another, I do pity my next significant other. Tough act to follow!

That is way more impressive than saying another former lover of mine looked like Georges Perec who in turn also looked a fair bit like Frodo in the LOTR trilogy. Yep, the curly ringlets and the deep blue eyes, and freckles. Sigh! I wish I’d bought that book I saw with the photo of Perec on the back cover.

So I’ve been perving at the EMS forum and there is a thing called a snog tree. It makes me giggle to see boys have snogged other boys (I think it’s hilarious). Girls, less so. Not sure why that is! There is also some weird thing that calculates your compatibility with other members of the society (crazy sci/maths nerds). I giggle mainly because the percentages with people I’ve liked or would probably snog is pretty high. I was amused that one person whose ear I nibbled, we have very low compatibility.

My poor friend Anya - while she’s trying to discuss important topics such as which family members actually like Sarah Palin *involuntary shudder*, I’m acting like a schoolgirl saying, “omg! I got X% with so-and-so! That’s soooo funneeeeee!” etc. Poor her, yes.

In case you’re wondering, I’m not on the snog tree. It’d be interesting if they ever set up one for the Melbourne Underground Twitter Brigade…

(and am so not tagging anyone on Facebook regarding this entry. Shame, it’d actually be pretty funny)

Rob was testing out a camera this morning (well, yesterday actually) while we waited for the presidential election to begin, and he took lots of photos of lots of things.

This is a nice one. You may recall me mentioning her here.

Meet Mittens.

Am pretty sure Mittens is female. The nickname is not original. My ex used to housesit for a family that had a wonderful assortment of pets. Some of the friendliest cats and dog I’ve ever met. One of them was Mittens because she had white paws.

My Mittens has a bit of a white bib, but you can’t really see that here.

Isn’t she gorgeous? She’s quite a shy, timid creature but will eventually approach you when she’s ready.

I rode into the city today (perfect day to do so) to do various things related to getting ready for my brother’s wedding, and to pick up a present for my mother’s birthday. Sadly, I did not have time to acquire seamless panties.

Sadly, the book I wanted to get her was gone (it’s not like it’s popular or anything) so I had to order it. It’s Jose Rizal’s Noli me tangere. Rizal is (or rather, was) the national Philippine hero. Despite my ancestry in said country, I’m sadly ignorant of just what it was he did. Whoops. I do plan to rectify this…one day.

I’m naughty because the book I wanted wasn’t there, so I bought two others…Simon Armitage’s Tyrannosaurus Rex versus The Corduroy Kid and a book of five plays by Richard Brinsley Sheridan. A treat for having to buy expensive crappy medication…?

Sheridan is most famous for School for Scandal I think but it’s his play The Rivals that is most noteworthy for popularising the ‘malapropism’. There’s a character in this play called Mrs Malaprop who constantly misuses words - words that sound similar to the word she actually means. For instance, she at one stage says that someone is “the very pineapple of politeness” (obviously meaning ‘pinnacle’).

My father actually nagged me to read Sheridan in high school. Loved it. A few of my classmates thought I was weird for reading such an old book. Don’t know why, it’s easier on the brain than Shakespeare.

I remember a few years ago, I was out with an old mate who is now a doctor. Him and some of his doctor friends were having a cocktail party and one person stood up and apparently said “my god, this is superfluous!” about their drink. Giggle. Oh, to have been there!

Gorgeous day in Melbourne, despite lack of sleep and the house being beer-less. Rob cooked for all of us, him and Frosty watched the football, whereas earlier Rob and I watched the US presidential debate. Am currently stalling my visit to the parental fold.

Why didn’t the moderator ask Obama and McCain if they were wearing their souvenir veteran bracelets?

Also found out that my awesome Canadian relatives are arriving here for my brother’s wedding on the 14th. Already, I can hear my liver protesting. The wildest cousin, whom I’ve not met (perhaps when my family still lived in England? Can’t remember…) warned me that we may end up in jail.

That’s cool. I’ll just make sure I’m wearing my seamless panties. Everything will be sweet then.

Filched from @jurgen on Twitter. God these things are addictive.

My first memory of Melbourne is
Looking out the window of the plane and seeing so much green, and houses that weren’t stuck together. I assume this would have been the suburbs surrounding Melbourne International Airport in Tullamarine.

What would you put on a Melbourne postcard?
The cloister-looking-bit of the Law Quadrangle at Melbourne University? Or maybe the Bat Cave, hehe (Underground South Lawn car park). Don’t know, I sort of hate picking out postcards, they always seem contrived.

What do you always show to overseas visitors?
When my Canadian relatives last were here, I made sure I took them to the Town Hall Hotel on Errol Street in North Melbourne (it’s my hood) and we went down to St Kilda Beach.

Where do you get your coffee?
Not particularly fussed where I get it, because I don’t have it often (not by choice, sadly, I love coffee) but there’s a local place called Di Bella’s just behind the Errol St IGA Supermarket that me, housemates and neighbours frequent - they have barista courses there so it must be good (it is, and the weekend staff are ace). Pellegrini’s is also a fond haunt.

What’s the worst thing you can say to a Melburnian?
That Sydney is a better city. I’m not originally from here but even when people say that, it gets to me…haha.

Melbourne’s most underrated suburb is
Ooh, that’s a difficult one. A few years ago, I would easily say Brunswick, but people are becoming aware of how wonderful it is there, and so diverse multiculturally (just go up Sydney Rd!).

Best meal I’ve had in Melbourne
There’s three - do not make me choose - The Adelphi downstairs restaurant, Ezard (I think that’s also at Adelphi? hmm…) and Toofey’s in Carlton. I’m glad I was firm and insisted upon going to Ezard - I don’t care that my parents didn’t appreciate the degustation menu. It was my birthday, and I was sick of choosing somewhere everyone would like, every year.

Worst meal I’ve had in Melbourne
Oh dear lord, the steak I had at the Corkman Irish Pub near my work and old uni. My father’s steak kicks its arse back to Ireland. I understand it’s an EMS haunt, but we don’t go there for the food.

Melbourne’s streets are paved with
Sometimes, cobblestones!

What’s over-rated about Melbourne?
The ‘Melbourne model’ (new bachelor degree structure) at Melbourne University? Generally speaking, not quite sure.

If I didn’t live in Melbourne, I’d live in…
London still. Or we would have moved to somewhere in New Zealand.

Which Melbourne person would you most like to sit next to on the tram?
Probably my best friend. I don’t get enough time to talk to him as it is and he lives with me. There is another person, but it’s probably best we don’t sit next to one another, if it’s going to make him uncomfortable, but I don’t think I’d mind us not talking to one another.

Which Melbourne person would you least like to sit next to on the tram?
Either one of the two people I knew who had committed fairly serious crimes. I was going to say either one of the people I last slept with (as opposed to slept next to…@yonderboy and @coliwilso). Hmm, all these pairs.

Who should be Lord Mayor of Melbourne?
I hate questions like this! I don’t know enough about politics to answer this confidently, I’m afraid. Though am tempted to say (comedian) Tim Ferguson…

What do you actually do all day at your job?
Answer lots and lots of very, very silly questions. Lately, daydreaming of object of affection (it keeps me sane).

What makes someone a Melburnian?
Someone who lives in Melbourne, of course. Or those who I guess feel that this is their home.

Describe Melbourne in three words.
City of loss.

Got this quite a while ago from CL but haven’t had the time to properly unwrap and investigate…I did, however, promise to take pictures and brag about how wonderful everything is, hee hee.

Plus my posts are so texty.
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I wrote a really long poem earlier this week and have started tidying it up. Am pretty excited! Am pleased to report that I seem to have a new - temporary, I’m pretty sure - muse. Am thinking I might send it to my old mentor, if he’s contactable at his old e-mail address (am in desperate need of someone to read it, as it’s another one of those “response to someone else’s poem” things. Sigh. Bukowski would tell me “don’t do it” - that being ripping someone else off, and writing full-stop).

Also edited these poems, so all in all, a very productive morning. Sadly, it means no lunch…and that haircut is postponed till tomorrow.

Wish I had more time to get all excited about writing. Oh well, actual employment beckons…

I want a skirt for the following poem.

I would also like a boy in my room, drinking beer out of a bottle, and for him to come slide his hand up my leg. This poem is hot.

legs by Charles Bukowski

she arrived in a taxi
completely intoxicated.
it was
after one of my long days as
a May Co. stock boy
and I sat there
exhausted and
sucking at
my beer and
looking at her
in her rumpled state
spread across the bed
skirt hiked high.

I sucked at my drink
then walked over
to the bed and lifted
her skirt higher:
such a sight
those glorious legs
uncovered and helpless.

she was a great woman with
great legs.

we had such tremendous fun
and much agony together
for some years

but she found
life too hard;
she died
34 years ago and

I haven’t seen
legs like that
since
and I have
never stopped

looking.

I wasn’t tagged by anyone, but I intend to tag others…

I read about this on blackiceburn’s LJ.

1. Link to the person who tagged you
2. Post the rules on your blog
3. Write 6 random/quirky things about yourself
4. Tag 6 people at the end of your post and link to them
5. Let each person you have tagged know by leaving a comment on their blog
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is posted.

Q3.

1. I love the taste of cod liver oil.
2. Artificial intelligence developing ‘human’ emotions is one of the few things that can bring tears to my eyes in film.
3. I used to think (when I still lived in England) that I made up the word ‘cathedral’.
4. We weren’t allowed in the woods near my house in Abbeywood, London because of foxes…and perverts.
5. I’ve read James Joyce’s Ulysses in its entirety.
6. I’ve survived several typhoons.

I’ve tagged the following pretties…
1. Dee 2. The Fragrant Elf 3. Anya 4. Rob 5. Jurgen 6. Ryan

I know it’s not eloquent, or detailed, but Anne Rice’s ‘Beauty’ trilogy sucked. The first book was okay, but the trilogy as a whole is just…passable, if that.

It was repetitive, cliched, and the (in my opinion, at least) genuinely erotic moments seemed very rare.

Oh, and yes, call me a prude, but as I’ve mentioned before, the whole ‘non-con’ thing really doesn’t do anything for me (quite the opposite, actually).

Well, it’s finished. And hey, Rice makes a living out of writing, which is a good deal more than I’m doing.

Some of her other stuff was erotic *shrug*. Oh well. Onto Christopher Hitchens we go…

The 20-lines-a-day project is different this time around. Some of the entries I really hated, so I’ve chosen not to put them up. Some of the entries are too personal, so I decided not to publish them. I also haven’t managed to write one 20-line entry for each day since I started (28/8/2008) because of sickness.
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Okay, so now I know what a kitchen tea is.

I arrive at future sister-in-law’s house early (no, I don’t quite believe it either!) and am greeted by the rest of the bridal party who are dressed exceptionally well, and also sporting quite a bit of makeup.

Already, I’m thinking me = FAIL. This pretty much continues for the rest of the day. I’m wearing my only clean pair of trousers and not at all looking typically girlie or remotely fashionable. Groan.

Upon arrival, you get a name tag and are told to write certain things on pieces of paper.

Hence the first game: having the bride pick names out of a hat. The names are ‘fantasy lovers’. The bride is supposed to guess who wrote the names. Next, pulling more pieces of paper from a box with supposed tips for a good marriage. I tried to make mine funny. The bride couldn’t guess I wrote it - it was “make sure the husband knows from day one that the wife is always right”. Everyone laughed. My favourite one was from one of the other bridesmaids - “sex 24/7″. Woo.

The next game involved Play-Doh. How long has it been…?!?! Anyway. People were chosen…to construct the male private parts out of the clay. The bride then picked out the ‘best’. Ahem.

It was funny, but it was at this point I felt like I totally had no business being here. In a room of sixty or so women, where for some strange reason the main mode of communication was shouting over one another and not listening to anyone at all. Now thanks to side effects, I’ve had a headache for three days and this seemed unbearable. It is no exaggeration that I was standing a yard away from my mother, screaming nearly as loudly as I could for her to pass me the camera and she didn’t even hear me.

It was probably at this stage that I was hit with a wave of loneliness I haven’t felt for a really long time. I tried really hard not to cry and did consider at one stage just running outside and getting some fresh air.

There were a few other games, which involved me drawing a man with my eyes closed (a stick figure with a cock and balls, basically) but the best bit of the event was probably the 20 questions game. My brother, the groom, was videotaped and had to answer questions about him and the bride, as asked by the bride’s best friend. The bride’s answers had been recorded and then the video was going to be played so answers could be compared.

Wow, they really do love one another, I was pretty surprised by how well both their answers matched up. I think now the excitement has kicked in: up till this point the wedding was just an obligation consisting of events people have to attend but now that I know how happy it’s going to make him, how happy she’s going to make him…it all makes a bit more sense.

It was bittersweet at the same time, I don’t think anyone knows me well enough to be able to answer twenty questions about me…perhaps Rob and DH? I’m equally as bad, I probably wouldn’t fare so well answering twenty questions (maybe about Rob, but I live with him - and possibly DH). I think my ‘fiancee’ might do alright too, hehe.

There was a lot of eating, and presents being opened and then all of a sudden the house emptied. I stayed back to wait for my father, with whom I wanted to talk (but didn’t get to. My brother’s father-in-law hogged him).

I only left after I made the bride promise she would not make me have my face painted orange and that the makeup wouldn’t be caked on…please? I mean, I begged. We had a bit of a guilty giggle over one such person. One of the hottest girls there didn’t have makeup, so really, it is p

Oh, and christ, I’ve lost more weight. Even my mother noticed…freaky. I think she was so happy to see me she actually managed not to insult me. The mother of the bride had told her that the outfit she was planning to wear was not suitable because of its colour. This seemed to depress my mother greatly, and I actually felt really sorry. Why? Now she knows what it’s like, she always used to criticise my choice of clothing (I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been told my clothing was either inappropriate or my outfits were just plain ugly). Why did I feel sorry for her when she doesn’t care about my feelings about such things?

When I got home, I wanted a hug. I never feel like getting a hug. I need to harden the fuck up. Instead, I finished typing up my latest poem and then passed out from nervous exhaustion.

Now I just need to get my act together for the massive hens-day-and-night-thing. Please let me appear sort-of normal and at least passable-looking. If I can pull it off that night, I can do it for the wedding. I don’t want to do this for me. I want to do this for my brother, so that all he’ll have is wonderful memories of what will probably be the best day in his life.

(so yeah Dee, I am working on changing my attitude, hardcore)

Questionnaire-thingies! Whee! Ganked from blackiceburn @ LiveJournal.
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Read an awesome poem. Probably no need to mention who it makes me think of. Sigh. When I have the time, I’m going to write my own version. It’s nearly 5.30am and I’ve been up all night. It’s cool: spent whole day in bed with side-effect funk (for those in the know, we have the glitches back. Hurrah). Hmm, perhaps I’ll write it after posting this.
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I’ve only finished the introduction of Christopher Hitchens’ God Is Not Great: how religion poisons everything and the last paragraph is just…wow. I’ll quote it here:

As I write these words, and as you read them, people of faith are in their different ways planning your and my destruction, and the destruction of all…hard-won human attainments…Religion poisons everything.

I wonder if DH would agree with this?

I totally forgot to mention that after wedding dress fitting on Wednesday night, I hung out with @colbsi. It was weird to go to the pub (in this case the Metropolitan, just across the road from where I live, woo!) and only have a pot…weird.

She gave me a bunch of ace props for PirateTUB (which I was sadly unable to attend for spastic reasons…) - two eye patches and a stick-on moustache. From work I managed to pinch a hook and a sword (no, don’t ask me what pirate props were doing at my workplace. I’ve no idea either). Sadly, the clothing part of my costume fell through because the pal who was going to lend it to me had it taken by his sibling I believe.

Happy Talk Like A Pirate Day! I spent most of it in bed, unwell, but jumped up at 4pm upon hearing the thunder. It made the windows shake.