tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295801912024-03-08T07:16:23.460+11:00Dot and Mars: You can't stop us, cause we like doing itShe wants the perfect career, she wants the perfect family...
They are blessed with the choice, but cursed with the failureMarshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.comBlogger416125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-74979913362557779362013-06-16T21:58:00.003+10:002013-06-16T22:05:02.249+10:00A letter to my friend.<br />
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Dear Marge,<br />
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Let me just start by saying that i love you. I dont think i've ever told you before, but i do. I value your friendship above most and i am always, <i>always</i> on your side. You can always count on me, and i love the fact that i can always count on you. You know me better than anyone else and although i often try to keep you at arms length, i can count on the fact that you are exactly that far away, no further. You are a wonderful woman; clever, witty, charismatic and loyal. You are my sister. You are my best friend. <br />
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So it upsets me so, <i>so</i> much to see you in this ridiculously abusive relationship. You deserve much better than that and i honestly, just dont get it. I dont know why you stand for it. I dont know how you <i>can</i> stand it. I appreciate that you have a lot at stake, three children, a house and a lot of history.. but i really think you should just leave. <br />
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No one gets to raise their voice at you, no one get to call you names or humiliate you in public or in front of your friends. No one gets to manipulate you, or emotionally abuse you. And most of all, no one gets to teach your children, my god-children, that this is an acceptable way to treat a person. So i want you to leave him, leave it all.<br />
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You can be happy without him. Your children will grow into better people without his influence. He does not deserve your loyalty, your patience, your compassion. 10 years are enough, you are <b>my</b> friend and no one gets to treat you with such disrespect.<br />
<br />
Let's do this, you have my full support.<br />
Mars xMarshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-74477466697476498172013-05-01T19:25:00.000+10:002013-05-01T19:28:31.371+10:00I used to work with a girl (woman?) we all affectionately called Beast. This was her name. She knew it was her name and she lived up to it, in fact, i believe she had it tattooed on her arm in Thai writing on a holiday to Phuket once. She was a career alcoholic and has been responsible or part of, some of the more... <i>distasteful</i> events which have ever occurred to me. This woman drank like a man, fucked like a man, you could fry an egg on her hair on any day of the week, and generally was and is, a bit fucking foul. But she used to be pretty damn fun to go out with, and was the person who introduced me to the concept of a 'blend'. For this i am thankful, waste not want not.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBCvnhzyuQnohnFHz3KiF2nAeG-WtxdL7pkA7Y3k5QLb7RAFpj90gQEeYkow5DfQAOgKfxUBJJOZ2seBcVDsKEW3MlbH5gzhLrPYkc8Ec9xv1NSZjjeBKqihCMkPNCTQbdR-M-vQ/s1600/Old_Gregg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBCvnhzyuQnohnFHz3KiF2nAeG-WtxdL7pkA7Y3k5QLb7RAFpj90gQEeYkow5DfQAOgKfxUBJJOZ2seBcVDsKEW3MlbH5gzhLrPYkc8Ec9xv1NSZjjeBKqihCMkPNCTQbdR-M-vQ/s200/Old_Gregg.jpg" width="186" /></a>Anyway, last year I had this dude on the go, who we called Old Greg. Not cause he was old, just cause he was Greg. Old Greg was nothing much - thick as a post and a bit mental, but he was pretty fun to party with for a time until one day, he opened up his wardrobe and showed me his gun. Shortly after that, Mick Gatto's brother turned up at Old Greg's place and it was then i knew that i was in over my head. No amount of booze or drugs was going to make any of this really ok. I'm a nice girl from Cheltenham who appreciates irony; not Mick Gatto's brother at the door, or Old Greg's gun in the wardrobe.<br />
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Shortly after all this occurred, i got a message on facebook from Beast. 'How do you know Old Greg?! We used to go out!"<br />
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I nearly died in my jocks, sloppy seconds from the Beast?!?!? That's disgusting.<br />
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And it was with this; my whoring days were over.<br />
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Not even the romantic text message after i'd backed away slowly and quietly, hoping he wouldn't notice "Y can't we fuk?" would be able to win me back.<br />
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Anyway, I was having a conversation with Amazon not long ago about our official count... She's trying to get her number up, feeling ripped off - like she hasn't lived enough life yet and got enough, y'know... dick. While i (who also feels ripped off on any number of topics), i'm trying to get my number down after what in hindsight, have been one or two <i>regrettable</i> scenarios. And without really realising it, i've created a system of rules as to what 'counts' and what doesn't count. You know, for my mind.<br />
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Basically, an (ahem) encounter, doesn't 'count' if it meets any or all of the following criteria:<br />
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The statute of limitations<br />
This is totally a thing. If it happened over seven years ago, it's off your record. I can't be held responsible for this shit forever! If the ATO can forgive sins after seven years, well, i can forgive myself also.<br />
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If it only happened once<br />
And i mean once. Slipped in, slipped out, no followup - that shit doesn't count. It barely even happened.<br />
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If i dont remember it, it definitely didn't happen<br />
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If no one else knows about it, and I want to forget it ever happened... it's gone. Off the record. Stricken.<br />
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Sadly, I am going to have to wait out the seven years on Old Greg but other than that, i'm down to a pretty respectable number!<br />
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<br />Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-42873194617957796182013-03-23T20:57:00.002+11:002013-03-23T20:57:41.529+11:00A friend of mine has started doing this thing she calls her Happiness Project where about once a week she posts something on facebook that she's really grateful for. A year ago, i would have found this completely wank and probably blocked her, but now i think what she's been doing is pretty sweet. So here's some things i am sincerely grateful for.<br />
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My mum. I though i was going to lose her 11 years ago, and every day since then i have grown to love her more and more. The thought of life without her is probably the worst thing that could happen so i am so grateful to have her.<br />
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I still have two grandparents and i'm so lucky. They are amazing people who i adore.<br />
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I recently started a new job, and i'm pretty happy there. The experience that some of my colleagues who started at the same time as me have had has been significantly worse. <br />
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So that's it. Some stuff is still shit, but that stuff is all pretty good.<br />
<br />Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-33120556005667392052013-03-17T19:19:00.001+11:002013-03-18T12:46:12.930+11:00One of the reasons i'm really enjoying my job at the moment are because of the people i am meeting each day. It's not all roses and I do still meet an extraordinary number of absolute dicksucks, but i try not to waste too much time on them and give each person the benefit of the doubt that they're going to be awesome... and sometimes, they actually are!<br />
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Yesterday i had an old guy come and sit in front of me with barely discernable English... i tried <i>really</i> hard, listened <i>really</i> carefully... but i just had no idea what he was saying to me. So i took him over to the map on the wall and got him to point where he wanted to go and worked out it was Barbados. Sweet... So i set about trying to find a fare with reasonable connections straight through to freakin' Barbados, kinda skipping over the 'conversation' part of the sale process.</div>
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It was taking ages cause what d'ya know, it's neither cheap nor easy to get from Melbourne to Barbados but i found something i could offer the guy which posed the next problem; trying to get his name out of him. I asked him if he'd booked at the store before and after a while finally understood that his wife had booked here before when he added 'but she died'.</div>
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Then he just kinda kept repeating it... 'my wife, she died... now i got no one'. Meanwhile i've stopped looking at the computer, as every time he said this, he was getting more and more upset. 'My wife, she died... now i got no one'. And he's starting to get visibly distressed, and well up... so im starting to well up too, then he starts crying, so i start crying as well. He just kept saying it like he couldnt believe it - couldnt believe his wife had died and that he's been left here, with no one. Suddenly, i understood him perfectly and it was so fucking upsetting i cant even begin to express it.</div>
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He said he had no family here and had to go back to Barbados. I agreed, he should go to where his people are. The store is full and people waiting to be served, he's crying, i'm crying and i cant find a routing with reasonable fucking connections.</div>
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So that was pretty fucking... real. Not the funnest day at work ever, but definitely proof that i am actually a human.<br />
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Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-41643490140351741872013-03-05T13:13:00.001+11:002013-03-05T13:13:34.273+11:00Dear Dottie. <br />
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Interface is hard. I am reporting in from my phone - try that, it's pretty simple. <br />
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I ate some fruit. <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvFc6DN6OegiPxejjVY3VJlNMh7ciA2OIMVzDpENiTnPKGUn3gvUFe8yfhFRzzpp2eVz9vkGljm-Gdb1FUO9PD_4nHpy0VU9YV5Xo_8f3k98u2OG72PdeKoajNfmy8I4xP1uaqg/s640/blogger-image--1928036966.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvFc6DN6OegiPxejjVY3VJlNMh7ciA2OIMVzDpENiTnPKGUn3gvUFe8yfhFRzzpp2eVz9vkGljm-Gdb1FUO9PD_4nHpy0VU9YV5Xo_8f3k98u2OG72PdeKoajNfmy8I4xP1uaqg/s640/blogger-image--1928036966.jpg" /></a></div>Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-32004533802222159542013-02-05T15:53:00.002+11:002013-02-05T15:53:46.072+11:00Are you there Mars? It's me, Dot.<br />
<br />
It's been a very long time since I blogged. Things have changed. I've moved to San Francisco. I've gotten a full time job. My hair is short. I wear glasses. Blogger's interface is all different. I've started using the word 'interface'.<br />
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So, wanna start blogging again?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK4MZI2xhfakXLIY8IvRzvNI1fLdKlp-_vDVPIcVZ76u3ouvPSg16a7UC8ha0mnrpRWCOQLLOwXjWy0ak2cgiR64DV86sHBx43kTaD1bBUhfaW2h9rEIZSKlpRGFyPOzDK3FX9/s1600/DSCN7246.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK4MZI2xhfakXLIY8IvRzvNI1fLdKlp-_vDVPIcVZ76u3ouvPSg16a7UC8ha0mnrpRWCOQLLOwXjWy0ak2cgiR64DV86sHBx43kTaD1bBUhfaW2h9rEIZSKlpRGFyPOzDK3FX9/s320/DSCN7246.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is where I live now...</td></tr>
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<br />Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02948665806519701747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-21294726284565468382012-07-08T11:37:00.000+10:002012-07-08T11:41:26.936+10:00Earlier this year, I made the decision to regress in life somewhat. After over two years of living alone, I decided to move in with my friend, Amazon. We looked and looked for houses, it took ages then we finally found our house and we absolutely love it. I love the house, love the area, love her. Love love love it all.<br />
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We have three rooms in this Oasis that is our home, so got another person in... We didn't love him quite so much (think: Emo), so he has been eliminated, and we are back to having our love-in with the house. I would add her to the blog, but Amazon & Mars doesn't quite have the same ring to it, does it?</div>
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Anyway, Amazon is an inspirational lady and there's no doubt about it, she Gets Shit Done in life.</div>
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Last night, she (and her mum) made the curtains and all these cushions. </div>
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And I love them.</div>Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-10800473861508580592012-06-08T06:36:00.001+10:002012-06-30T18:53:13.891+10:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Now operating on my second passport means I left Australia for the first time just over 10 years ago, and on this trip, a number of things have become glaringly obvious on How Times Have Changed. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">I'm trapped! Like a teenager in an adult's body.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">Arriving at Heathrow this weekend for the umpteenth time in my life, alighting from my first business class cross-hemisphere journey, I proceeded as one does, to the train. Realising with annoyance, but resigned expectation that i had forgotten my Oyster card, I paid my 22 pounds (outrageous!) for a ticket on the Heathrow Express, waited stagnant on said express for 30 minutes at the station (due to driver shortage, we were informed) before arriving into Paddington. I then shuffled out, along with all the others to stand in front of the tube map, laden with far too much luggage, and proceed to work out where I needed to get to. Two changes on the tube later, I emerge, beaten, at Liverpool Street station. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">I am taken aback to my first arrival at Heathrow, 10 years ago, and am not 100% sure, but I dont think the Heathrow Express actually existed back then. If it did, I didn't get on it, and instead, caught the Tube the entire way to Earl's Court, where i was staying - paying my 18 pound 50 for the ticket, horrified that this trip was about to cost me almost $60. I struggled on the tube, with my brand new $500 Kathmandu backpack I'd made my parents buy me - I needed an expensive one - the one made out of the special material, that (in the very likely circumstance) pickpockets couldnt cut through with a knife. I didn't want to get robbed! So with this backpack, loaded with 20kgs of life's most valued possessions, so large and heavy I couldn't actually lift the thing off the ground, and when I eventually (with assistance) did, it looked as though I was carrying a body bag complete with dead body inside it, on my back - got onto the over crowded, and infernally heated Tube. It was a different time - the dollar was worth around about the same as a peanut (a small one), and when it came to spending my own money, it was all about economy, with no option, I persisted with this journey and have done ever since. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">Though on my most recent surfacing at Liverpool Street station, over-tired, sweaty and peeved at having to lug this suitcase I had ridiculously over packed for a two week holiday, up a malfunctioning escalator, it occurred to me that I really didn't need to be subjecting myself this this unpleasant scenario every time I arrived in London, and probably, at age 31, could afford a taxi from Paddington to Liverpool Street station if I so chose. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">There was a time I never thought I'd travel without a backpack (mind you, there was also a time I never thought I'd listen to a radio station other than Triple J too), and every time I come away, I torment myself - not wanting to sell out too early, and also not wanting to admit that my backpacking days may well be over, I agonise over this decision; backpack or suitcase, backpack or suitcase. I sit there, on the edge of my bed with my ever-patient housemate, looking at both vessels laid out on my bedroom floor, discussing the pros and cons of each, agonising over the decision. The last two trips, the suitcase has won for one simple reason - no rolling. When one happens to wake up, hungover, and needs to move on out in a hurry, with one broad stroke of the arm across any surface, the suitcase is packed! And it's this that appeals to me. Although, the backpack was invented for a reason! And not an altogether silly one - they are highly mobile, and much easier to manoeuver </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">with, so i guess each has their benefits, and which ever I end up taking, there is a reason why the other would have been a better choice. So far on this trip, more than once I regret to say, I've cursed choosing the suitcase over the backpack. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">So you see, it's almost as though I have graduated. Travelling by taxi, packing a suitcase…</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">10 years ago, everything I had to do on that trip needed to be done in the cheapest way possible - it was the way all my friends had done it, I'd listened to their stories, taken their advice, and I was off - Lonely Planet Europe 2001 in hand - on a middle-class white girl adventure* of a life time! I had taken the ill-advised method of funding this trip by taking out a personal loan, which would go on to cripple me through-out the remainder of my 20's. Where my contemporaries were reckless with drugs, booze, sex and even their hearts during their early 20's - I was reckless with money. I don't know what I bought during those years - I assume much of it went of clothes, food and Smirnoff Ice, but I really couldn't tell you for sure - anyway, I needed my ill-gotten-gains to last as long as possible, and if that included staying in an 11 pound a night 12 bed lice-ridden dorm in Earl's Court YHA, well that's what I'd be doing. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">Hostels in those days were basic. There was no Trip Advisor, potentially destroying your business within 24 hours, there was the Lonely Planet. If a hostel was shite, there was no real consequence until 12 months later when the next edition of the LP was printed. Many hostels then didn't have computers, and you'd instead trudge off in the middle of the night to phone or email home from some starkly-lit Internet cafe. These days hostels have computers and wifi, as almost everyone is now travelling not with a Lonely Planet, but with a computer. What wikitravel and google can't tell you, I don't need to know.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">The idea of a hotel still seems indulgent to me, I don't need all that. So here I am, arriving be taxi, travelling with a suitcase, in a private room in a hostel. But I don't know why I'm bothering - I have no intention of using the kitchen to cook my own food, or going out into the common room to listen to people natter in languages I don't understand and the incessant door slamming is sending me very quickly, into a fit of rage. In my mind when planning this trip, however, that was of course what I was going to do! Sit out there and meet new and interesting people, make new friends and go to the pub across the road - new life friends! People to visit some other time. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">But… nah.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">And so it's with this half in, half out attitude that I am existing. I'm not a full adult on a holiday, doing laps of whatever nondescript city I'm in on a topless red bus, but I'm also not that interested in making strained conversation with someone I really don't care about, either. And I know that's a bit shit. I feel like i've seen it all / heard it all before - I talk to these people all day every day at work - they're tedious at home, and they're tedious abroad. I've just listened to a 20 minute conversation through paper thin walls, by some Australian girls who are going to complain to the front desk as their showers were cold. In my day, that was a given - you were lucky to even have a door!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: small;">* Not too much adventure, it's important to be sensible</span></div>Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-47429735031933513392011-07-19T22:44:00.003+10:002011-07-19T23:07:15.369+10:00There are some things in life, i have no intention of ever being a part of... and it's become pretty clear this week how many of these things there actually are, after the MANIA surrounding the last Harry Potter. And thus, a list:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Things I hate and will never get </span><span style="font-style: italic;">involved </span><span style="font-style: italic;">in:</span><br /><br />Harry Potter - books and/or movies<br />I hate this shit, i dont even really know what it is other than a kid who does spells or something. I imagine it to be a bit like Sabrina the Teenage Witch (which i also hate). I hate the word 'Hogwarts' - what is that?! Sounds like quite a bad STD.<br /><br />Twilight - books and/or movies<br />This also extends to True Blood. I will never have anything to do with any vampire shows. I never watched Buffy, and I'll never watch these; they are shit.<br /><br />I also have no interest in Game of Thrones. I dont understand it, therefore I dont like it.<br /><br />Any cartoon move<br />Shrek, Nemo, that horse movie, Penguins, Ice Age. The more people go on about how great they are, the more sure you can be that i will never watch any of them.<br /><br />Masterchef, the Block, the Renovators, Design team<br />Any of these 'reality' shows currently being whored. I will never watch any of those either.<br /><br />Can of Worms<br />Stupid man's Q and A. I will never watch it. I include in this category that horrible show called My Generation or something. The show is vetoed on the grounds of Josh Thomas (insipid), Amanda Kellar (boring) and Charlie Pickering who is an actual idiot. This also extends to the 7pm project. Carrie Bickmore is also on the list of TEDIOUS individuals with nothing to say - this leads me to Rove and any Rove-related production. I hate them all.<br /><br />So in conculstion (for now):<br />No wizzards, dragons, witches, vampires... no vampire porm, no medievil knights, no 'reality tv' with bogan contestants which is just one giant advert. Nothing to do with Rove, Shaun Micalif or anyone related to them. No cartoons. No Family Guy, Southpark, American Dad. No Shrek, Nemo, Ice Age. But mostly, no wizzards or vampires.<br /><br />Harry Potter; i shit on your face.<br /><br />Yeah.Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-6376452158964408632011-06-08T19:42:00.006+10:002011-06-08T22:00:52.371+10:00Did you know, Internet, that i am a travel agent? I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">dont</span> know if you do know that, i <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">havent</span> spoken about work (or anything really) for a while.<br /><br />ANYWAY, some times my job is pretty fun... though most of the time, it's a total pain in the arse with not all that much of a reward. People working in Safeway earn more than most of us. You see, we get to do all the boring bits for people... and then they get to go off and do all the good stuff. The greatest irony of all is perhaps how unfortunate it is that people who love travel <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">soooo</span> much, actually can't afford to go anywhere ever again, once they start working in the travel industry.<br /><br />Everyone thinks... <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">ohhh</span>, you're a travel agent, you must get heaps of free holidays</span>... <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Hmm</span>, not quite. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Occasionally</span> you will win an incentive, and get a free holiday... but because we work on commission, the time you take off to go on said holiday, ends up costing you more than you physically spend. You end up missing the majority of the month you're away and therefore, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">dont</span> make budget and wont get a bonus that month.<br /><br />So, it's easy to get a but cynical about the old job... a bit jaded and perhaps even bitter. This may surprise you, but people are MEAN when they're going on holidays! They're mean about money, they speak to you like shit and threaten 'legal action' (my favourite) when you tell them they can't do something they want to. Nothing is ever their fault. They complain. They want compensation. And it really takes the fun out of everything...<br /><br />Oh, so you want to go do your working visa in the UK?<br />Oh, so you want to backpack around Europe?<br />Oh, so Cambodia changed your life?<br />Oh, so you're going to Vegas to party?<br />Oh, so you're going to price beat me? On what, a Virgin Blue flight to Cairns?<br />Oh, you're going to go work on the ski fields in Canada?<br />Oh, you want a package to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Phuket</span>?<br />Oh, BALI?<br />Oh, you want a ski package in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Queenstown</span>?<br />Oh, you're doing the Inca trail?<br />Oh, you want to go to NYC on NYE?<br />Oh, you're going to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Carnivale</span>?<br />Oh, a full moon party!<br />Oh, you want to go from Hanoi to Ho Chi <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Minh</span>?<br />Oh, you're a student going back to Delhi? You want it what...? Cheap?!<br />Oh, BANGKOK!<br />Oh, LA!<br />Oh, LONDON!<br />Oh, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">BUENOS</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">AIRIES</span>!<br /><br />OH!!!!!!!!! HAVE ANY OF YOU EVER HAD AN ORIGINAL IDEA EVER?!<br /><br />I'm yet to meet anyone who's not passionate about travel. Everyone wants to go somewhere, it'd have to be pretty rare for someone to go somewhere, hate it and never leave home again... But, like anything good... when you're around it all the time, it gets a bit shit.<br /><br />HOWEVER! Every now and again, I get a glimmer of the passion I once had for the whole deal. I get a little bit excited about a destination... I realise I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">dont</span> know it all, haven't heard it all before and something really tickles my fancy. And today, it was Africa.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8rG1ItsK4HOdcPwwVVZmag0EKkeYqdnEuxQmJbug6KJmQs8Z4-6CNlYaT2UXvgSg1XjAXO0zgqoHtqFsPUzrSz2xlIaw2R7PBk0afSl4KWMlJDr0ZHOcNzCyYf3o6UUQinjPkIw/s1600/giraffe-tongue.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 288px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8rG1ItsK4HOdcPwwVVZmag0EKkeYqdnEuxQmJbug6KJmQs8Z4-6CNlYaT2UXvgSg1XjAXO0zgqoHtqFsPUzrSz2xlIaw2R7PBk0afSl4KWMlJDr0ZHOcNzCyYf3o6UUQinjPkIw/s320/giraffe-tongue.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615810773380860930" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I don't even like animals, but the thought of going on one of those 4 wheel drive trucks and camping in that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Ngorongoro</span> crater thing, and seeing the rhinos and elephants and zebras and giraffes n shit got me all keen. I looked up flights, worked out how I was gonna get there and where i was gonna go.<br /><br />3 weeks teaching English in Tanzania, a week or two at an orphanage in Mozambique, a trip to Cape Town, a safari, see the colourful Masai Mara, hear the animals at night, as i live amongst them, see the pink flamingos things and just be in awe of nature. Witness a cheetah chase down an antelope, see a baby elephant following its family along, hear an elephant trumpet, watch a giraffe gallop with its buckled legs... and at the end, 5 days in Zanzibar. It was going to be great!<br /><br />Then I got a call, and it was some <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">fuckwit</span> who'd missed his flight yesterday... and i was back to being bitter again.<b><br /></b>Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-82513547009760099582011-06-02T20:24:00.004+10:002011-06-03T20:42:20.784+10:00I'm moving! A-fucking-gain.<br /><br />When Dot and I lived together, we did so for 2.5 years. That's quite a while. Since moving from that house, I have moved nine times... in 3.5 years. And tomorrow, makes number 10!<br /><br />Fucking ridiculous.<br /><br />I'm gonna miss this little flat, it's only really just started to feel like home. For the first six months, I didnt even really bother to unpack... I finally did unpack and about a month later, got a call from my estate agent saying that the landlord was selling the property. Yaaaaay for Marsy.<br /><br />So here's the stats, for Normanby St Prahran.<br /><br />Dangerous drunken wobbles on the third floor balcony x2<br />Blokes (official count) x3<br />Saturday nights in since moving here x6<br />Episodes of the original 90210 watched since living here x82<br />Heard the neighbours fucking x14<br />Saw the dude across the way sitting naked on his (white) couch, lights on x6<br />Times I've see aforementioned dude having a pull x2<br />Caught the tram home drunk and missed the stop x4<br />Parties x1<br />Houseguests x4<br />Burned dinners x17<br />Cold showers x3<br />Spiders x1<br />Mice x0<br />Murdered house-plants x1<br />Number of times i've left the oven on overnight x22<br />Months with only channel 10 available x4<br /><br />I think that's about it. Better luck next time, eh...Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-91158455765743048982011-05-29T21:43:00.005+10:002011-05-29T22:28:52.425+10:00Went out last night with a chick i know who can only really be described as an ABSOLUTE <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLWR83vGdohvyK07uNjOlh_fUrT6dQa1Q7oD8wGkxrsjAV50-ORTm_jyKKZaXfpNnPK8-eiI_wfyKRIukGFbYRRruzsejhkX_MgX1S7EENSJgUYLmGSybsyiTz-vUC2u1UCVc13A/s1600/nike.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 231px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLWR83vGdohvyK07uNjOlh_fUrT6dQa1Q7oD8wGkxrsjAV50-ORTm_jyKKZaXfpNnPK8-eiI_wfyKRIukGFbYRRruzsejhkX_MgX1S7EENSJgUYLmGSybsyiTz-vUC2u1UCVc13A/s320/nike.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612112249092181618" border="0" /></a>IMBECILE.<br /><br />I don't know how she's come to be a constant character in my life; but she has... What are you meant to do if someone rings you up on a Tuesday to ask you to go out on Saturday night? There's only so many excuses you can come up with!<br /><br />Anyway, so i had to go. This chick has no conversation at all... she's no real interests and certainly no intelligence... so spending time with her is always thoroughly tedious and inevitably, the conversation always seems to end up being about sex. Which is fine i guess, i like to make rude jokes as much as the next person. But she goes on. and on. and on. about such <span style="font-style: italic;">shit </span>and like, i get it! I had sex once, i know how it's done and at this late stage, it really is... quite boring.<br /><br />It's like people who go out and while they're supposed be be having fun, they're just sitting around talking about how fucked up they got and how much fun they <span>had </span><span style="font-style: italic;">last time</span>. It's retarded. Get fucked up now! Have fun now!<br /><br />Last night there was a new dude in the mix, he was a mincing little queen and i didn't like him. Not cause he was a mincing queen, just because he was a sly little fucker. So between him and Miss Piggy, all they spoke about was sex; or more specifically, bum sex. The ups, downs, ins and outs, of bum sex. In great detail.<br /><br />DO I CARE.<br /><br />Anyway, the jewel in the crown of Saturday night had to be when Miss Piggy told us about the one time she'd had bum sex, and how her boyfriend at the time was hung like a donkey and that's why it was the first and last time she'd ever done it. She didn't want to do it, but they'd been going out and year and he was pestering her to do it. So she agreed when he said he'd buy her a new pair of trainers. TRAINERS!<br /><br />She had pimped her arse out for a pair of shoes, and she was actually <span style="font-style: italic;">telling </span>us about this.<br /><br />I despair.<br /><br />Worst Saturday night ever.Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-241602773930520012011-04-05T22:27:00.003+10:002011-04-05T22:34:20.138+10:00Had a coversation with Lisa tonight, my now 7 year old god daughter.<br /><br />Her - I'm going to be a nurse when i grow up<br /><br />Me - That's great sweetheart, you need to be good a maths...<br /><br />Her - I'm good at maths!<br /><br />Me - Well good for you<br /><br />Her - What are you going to be?<br /><br />Me - Well i'm already a grown up... so I'm doing it. This is it.<br /><br />Her - *pauses*...<br /><br />Her - So... *processing*... <span style="font-style: italic;">nothing</span>?<br /><br /><br />Thanks kid, you can fuck off now.Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-43226447127993538022011-03-15T19:16:00.005+11:002011-03-15T20:38:06.416+11:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibMzLm36YHWuEY3xAcD5fS5L3USL1L3c5Kq0ROCVjq5iGN3e4YHa9_DD9ivbrXHsW5eahdnMFiUAYKrnnYsyTAsRmHCdpW1hRiGC77JPG7O2RaM5IlW2L-JtW27jSW4bJzDbj1jA/s1600/birdman.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 190px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibMzLm36YHWuEY3xAcD5fS5L3USL1L3c5Kq0ROCVjq5iGN3e4YHa9_DD9ivbrXHsW5eahdnMFiUAYKrnnYsyTAsRmHCdpW1hRiGC77JPG7O2RaM5IlW2L-JtW27jSW4bJzDbj1jA/s320/birdman.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584238075378030434" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Last week i decided i had the hotts for someone... but it was weird, cause he wasn't hott. He looked like a bird.<br /><br />So i was a bit surprised by these sudden feelings; i thought i was more shallow than that...<br /><br />Anyway, that didn't last long and this week i'm over it. There was a small window of opportunity for birdman, and he missed it.<br /><br />Back to status quo.Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-34138569992190998512011-03-06T20:39:00.006+11:002011-03-10T21:54:15.041+11:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5BGhTo6ykOnMulCre4ROYz3XtlIDjYWr9HJmYnjizzCI_G9c4hUCZlfhnkZWm_CeOS31_aeeKes9kAPkS6NoYR9sg6lLnQ9Saw2tJqVW0sH9BdPNbsaaUNDxS0sMLqaDp-kAgg/s1600/scream.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5BGhTo6ykOnMulCre4ROYz3XtlIDjYWr9HJmYnjizzCI_G9c4hUCZlfhnkZWm_CeOS31_aeeKes9kAPkS6NoYR9sg6lLnQ9Saw2tJqVW0sH9BdPNbsaaUNDxS0sMLqaDp-kAgg/s320/scream.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580903239189343186" border="0" /></a><br />Hi internet. I've been thinking again...<br /><br />Ever since i was about... 20, i reckon... i wanted a baby. The husband was only ever the means to the ultimate end of baby. However, as more and more of my friends sink futher into what they call life, with their mortgages, husbands, babies (now multiple!) and all that, i am thinking this path in life just aint for me. No shit.<br /><br />Thing is right, i go out. Like, all the time... and that's what i like doing... coming and going, doing whatever i like. I go out, have fun, get wasted, talk shit... that's it. To the extent where whenever i have some sort of obligation or something, i get really shitty. Dont wanna go.<br /><br />Imagine have an obligation every day of the week to some... <span style="font-style: italic;">parasite</span>. No thanks.<br /><br />So this new revelation is a bit of a concern, cause for the last 10 years it's been like i was working towards something. Not sure how exactly i was working towards it, just marking time really till it was ok for me to start to breed. Either i got so old i had to just go for it, got knocked up accidentally or the most unlikely of all scenarios; i actually found a husband for real. But since ive decided breeding is a bit of a crap idea... now what?<br /><br />Just continue to shop, booze, piss money away, fuck arse around... and before you know it, i'm one of those old hag bitches hanging around bars trying to pick up married men. Hmmm. Is this it now i've removed the idea of what i thought i was put on this earth to do?<br /><br />So i'm concerned.Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-20742823001401215392011-01-04T22:00:00.007+11:002011-01-04T22:50:02.097+11:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">It's the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">constitution</span>. It's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">MABO</span>. It's just... the </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">vibe</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">.</span><br /><br />Went to the dentist a couple of weeks ago, for what I thought was going to be a simple cut and polish, ya know. Dude is a new dentist (for me). Had an unfortunate incident with my last dentist over, well... not paying the bill in a timely fashion. So seeing as this guy had been our family dentist for 20 years or something, he just thought he'd ring my dad up and ask him to pay for me. Even though i was 26. And not living at home. And not having seen or spoken to my dad for 2 years. Good one, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">dentist</span> - could have just sent me a threat of legal action letter and I'd have paid.<br /><br />ANYWAY, new dentist. Turns out you don't just go and get your teeth cleaned; you need to do things in order.<br /><br />1. Go for assessment - real dentist looks and records what's going on in the gob. 'Fillings in 5M, 3I... small chip on 8U... Discolouration on 7D, 4Q and 8P' he dictates to the nurse... 'Are you a smoker?' he asks me - redundant question I would have thought. None the less, I try to respond to his enquiry as best I can, considering his blue-gloved hand is stretching my mouth wider than it's ever been stretched before. Response is something vague like 'I used to be', but he knows. He knows the truth.<br /><br />So all this takes about 20 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">mins</span> of poking around and talking in code, until he finally takes his blue-gloved hand out of my mouth and addresses me; 'You need a filling'. Not surprising, but still terrifying. 'Oh' I say, feigning bewilderment in a <span style="font-style: italic;">how could this </span><span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">beeeeee</span> kind of way, 'but nothing hurts', I continue.<br /><br />He picks up his little mirror on the end of a stick, pulls down the mirror from the roof and asks me to open wide again. 'Look!' he says 'You could drive a bus through there!'.<br /><br />I am mortified.<br /><br />Okay, thinks I... this doesn't hurt, I've kinda known there must be a filling coming for a while, I'm just gonna risk it, see how long I can go before it really hurts and I really have to pay it attention. It's going to cost money, it's going to hurt. I'm just leave it and see what happens, who knows, it might even fix itself!<br /><br />Then dentist dude pipes up again... 'I'm getting the vibe off you'...<br />'Vibe?' Questions I.<br /><br />This is not the first time someone has got an indescribable 'vibe' off me. Once I lived in a share house and we had a new housemate move in one evening, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Italian</span> chap, quite all right... anyway, I got up in the morning and he'd cleared out after only one night. The landlord later rang to let me know it was because he didn't like my vibe. I've never quite understood this.<br /><br />Anyway, '<span style="font-style: italic;">Vibe</span>?' Questions I...<br />'I am getting the <span style="font-style: italic;">vibe </span>off you that you're not going to come back' he says in quite an accusing manner, i thought...<br /><br />New Dentist is on to me.<br /><br />'Uh, no, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">i'm</span> totally coming back!' I begin to over compensate...<br />'Tell you what, we don't usually do this... but I can do the filling now if you like' he says to me.<br /><br />My heart begins to thump. I break into a cold sweat.<br /><br />'Uh uh uh, no, I can't... I have to get back to work! I have to be home for dinner! I have to drive, you're going to need to sedate me....*nervous laugh*! The over compensation continues.<br /><br /><br />So I didn't get the filling done, and now I've ruined this dentist too and he thinks I'm a raving lunatic. Instead, I decided to make ANOTHER appointment (only another $133) to get the teeth cleaned, but I've promised myself that this filling will be done before <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">i'm</span> 30! BEFORE!*<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">* I have 39 days to get my shit together<br /></span>Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-78875697747267817332011-01-02T19:41:00.002+11:002011-01-02T20:11:06.820+11:00Okay, I'm starting the year as I mean to go on. (Yesterday, the official first day of the year, doesn't count; I was hung like a dog and when I eventually tried to go to sleep I was sort of half dreaming (hallucinating?) that my head was really small and shrinking - SCARY). Anyway, today has been far more productive.<br /><br />I cleaned my tip of a flat, what can i say; I am possibly the least tidy person you know. I am one of the world's great dumpers. So, first goal for the new year...<br /><br />Keep nice house.<br /><br />On that topic, I was given a Filofax for Christmas (it's pink), so I just filled in everyone's birthdays in there as well as all the January stuff I have just been trying not to forget about until now. (V busy, FYI).<br /><br />A bit of organisation, please.<br /><br />So those are the two main things. They might sound simple, but they are two of the things that get left behind sometimes.<br /><br />Late last year after a couple of regretable incidents, I decided to go off the booze, fags and give up the party for a month, replacing it all with healthy living and gym time. It wasn't massively successful (in that i didn't lose 20kgs in a month), though it was a lot easier than i thought it was going to be. That said, ever since that month ended, I have been on turbo. Boozing and gutsing with no restraint, partying like it's 1999... which has been fun, but it's leading to a couple of issues. So number three...<br /><br />Take it easy on the booze.<br /><br />Other things I'm half interested in and would like to get done this year:<br /><br />Become certified diver<br />Sort photos and get interesting ones printed<br />Finish acquiring furniture for flat and stop using boxes as coffee table<br />Plan wicked 3oth b'day<br />Take better care of finances<br />Reach peak physical fitness (just a little one for last)<br /><br />Wish me luck!Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-62863290037597166822010-12-01T22:18:00.004+11:002010-12-02T23:39:21.737+11:00Dear Dottie,<br /><br />Long time no hear, hope you have not been met with any bother while in Korea.<br /><br />Anyway, you missed a great party - Kiki got married to Aphrodite on the weekend and I was reminded of two things:<br /><br />1. the existence of this blog...<br /><br />i've been reading through a whole heap of old stuff and FUCK! what a tedious, whinging bitch i am!<br /><br />and also...<br /><br />2. this haiku you wrote only three short years ago<br /><br /><h2 class="date-header"><span>30 October 2007</span></h2> <a name="1435727027675953508"></a> <span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >yo aphrodite,</span><span style=";font-family:courier new;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >rooting kiki? too bad he's...</span><span style=";font-family:courier new;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >got the </span><span style=";font-family:courier new;font-size:100%;" ><a href="http://rumblingkeithy.blogspot.com/2007/10/natural-medicine.html">yogurt</a></span><span style="font-family:courier new;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> dick.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:78%;">(dedicated to Mars as her worlds collide)</span></span><br /><br /><br />It's really sweet, and still so relevant.<br /><br />Come home soon for a visit will you, its been a year since the warm handshake.<br /><br />Love you on Wednesdays<br /><br />Marsy xxxMarshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-81419623275857090912010-08-16T23:10:00.002+10:002010-08-16T23:26:03.737+10:00*tap tap tap*<br /><br />Is this thing still on?<br /><br />Hi there! I'm Mars, of the formally semi-famous, semi-fabulous and almost completely inept bloggers, Dot and Mars duo.<br /><br />Dot thinks we should delete the blog... but i still have stuff to say. SO MUCH STUFF TO SAY.<br /><br />Will try to be better and say it soon.Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-15988829755908077902010-04-06T23:45:00.002+10:002010-04-06T23:47:45.209+10:00I've taken a new tactic in the Hunt for a Husband (1999-)2010. <br /><br />Found this ring in amongst my belongings over the weekend that looks a bit like an engagment ring. So I'm wearing it on my ring finger to see if that brings about any change to the current trend of tumbleweeds.<br /><br />Will report back with findings.Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-34522472710901948572010-04-05T04:14:00.002+10:002010-04-05T04:19:05.786+10:00<a href="http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/the_way_we_live/article7081420.ece">Thank God!</a>Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02948665806519701747noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-9093595855448705712010-03-16T13:44:00.003+11:002010-03-16T13:48:38.736+11:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">FYI MARS</span><br /><br />Before you ask: I didn't get the job.<br /><br />Have not been officially told this yet however I did overhear boss today (I volunteer at organization one day a week) calling someone else's references.<br /><br />How can I not get a job I have already been doing for <span style="font-style: italic;">free </span>for two months?!?!?!<br /><br />Oh well. If I was happy in my career (and you were happy in love), we wouldn't be Dot and Mars, would we?Dothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02948665806519701747noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-15032930563355093092010-03-09T22:26:00.000+11:002010-03-09T22:25:34.451+11:00<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1cNH-VDNrMwmfSnad20Z30EYFDmd-iQ9FgfxIxmzRT5bQZooEut7dSvcIxT_vIi1IPI3I_6kRMyN-Br6SQAljK1-sCkJAMCqhuDXQvlrS019kr2KjtyRINYX8KrfvkyCfWTUjoQ/s1600-h/photo-734454.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1cNH-VDNrMwmfSnad20Z30EYFDmd-iQ9FgfxIxmzRT5bQZooEut7dSvcIxT_vIi1IPI3I_6kRMyN-Br6SQAljK1-sCkJAMCqhuDXQvlrS019kr2KjtyRINYX8KrfvkyCfWTUjoQ/s320/photo-734454.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446593774959250754" /></a></p>My new venture...Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-24089855502513582672010-03-08T01:19:00.003+11:002010-03-08T01:32:06.120+11:00Right. It's 0119 hours, Monday 08 March and i'm on the internet dating site again, poking around. What i'm now wondering is what i'm up against... Y'know, who are these chicks?<br /><br />My friend said to me (bless her) after the FOUR!!! rejections, that maybe these blokes all think i am out of their league so they didn't bother with me. I did laugh at the time, but now i'm wondering who exactly is in my league.<br /><br />I had a look at the other girls my age and let's face it, they're as thoroughly standard as I am. One thing i have noticed though is that i am getting a lot of interest from older dudes - so now I wonder if my pool (27-33 year olds) are all after the 19-24 year olds. Of course they are! Who am i kidding? Who wants a frumpy almost 30 year old with a bit of life experience under her belt and those annoying <span style="font-style: italic;">standards </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">expectations </span>of you, when you could have a giggling, <span style="font-style: italic;">firm</span>, 22 year old?<br /><br />No one, that's who.<br /><br />Anyway, i have proof of none of this but i am looking to further investigate my theory and to find out what my league is. Where do i belong, internet?<br /><br />Would it be completely wrong to set up as a profile as a man just to see where it's all at? Just for research - promise.Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29580191.post-22266684475518612172010-03-04T23:38:00.005+11:002010-03-05T00:10:12.160+11:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8EleVWVGwayDlxT1mipCrebwVePmbbiOo6jotcSEcdE0tvxtRLiC-Y_Lg-eSTx5_HBpVfKoxjfFMOgM3llidOE_ZsD_Abb3Buwglcbe7Ar_5TWbKHUTntzsCcfmW4F3ds-gronA/s1600-h/formula.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 171px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8EleVWVGwayDlxT1mipCrebwVePmbbiOo6jotcSEcdE0tvxtRLiC-Y_Lg-eSTx5_HBpVfKoxjfFMOgM3llidOE_ZsD_Abb3Buwglcbe7Ar_5TWbKHUTntzsCcfmW4F3ds-gronA/s320/formula.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444759901357468466" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">What's shitting you today, Mars?</span><br /><br />We all know my somewhat checkered past where housemates are concerned, correct? Basically, I have lived with over 30 people in my time and have ended up passionately hating every single one of them except for two. This is not a good ratio.<br /><br />So, when looking for my latest victim, I thought I was being scrupulous, wary even, having learned from lessons passed.<br /><br />No Emos<br />No lesbians<br />No one who never leaves the house<br />No one who has a pet<br />No one with a debilitating 'illness'<br />No unemployed<br />No dirty, lazy, noisy<br />No bossy<br />No vegetarians<br />No Christians<br />And lastly, NO ONE WITH A BOY/GIRL FRIEND<br /><br />But I was rushed into moving out of the pars house and appear to have made an error in judgement. It would <span style="font-style: italic;">appear </span>that I have moved in with someone who has a perpetually present, imp of a boyfriend.<br /><br />UH-OH!<br /><br />My (official) housemate is actually really nice, I like her a lot and i'm trying to just GET A FUCKING LIFE! and not let Impy bother me. But last night, it did bother me... She wasn't even home and and he turned up about half past 10. I heard knocking on the front door while I was in the shower, and figured it could only be one person... so I carried on with my shower, hoping he'd think no one was home and just LEAVE.<br /><br />But alas, he was not to be deterred! I left him knocking on that front door for 15 minutes, long after I'd finished my shower... I hid out in the bathroom (which you can see the door of from the front door) for ages... Eventually I got sick of being held captive in my own bathroom and went to exit the bathroom and had no choice but to let him in. So in he came, went and turned the tv and a/c on, made himself something to eat then went and had a shower.<br /><br />This wouldn't bother me so much if it didn't happen every day... I really am TRYING to be reasonable about this - I dont want to hate someone. Internet, you have to believe me for once.Marshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04864826825456177904noreply@blogger.com6