Today was a grey day. I was supposed to go for drinkies after work and didn't, and instead I am watching music videos from the late 90's on YouTube. This is fantastic.

No! I'm not kidding!

Warning: This is a post about nothing. If decent content is required, it is advised that you leave ASAP, before valuable moments of your life are wasted on my drivel. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Last night I spent the better part of the evening going through all of the old blogs that I used to read, way back when. And a grand total of about five are still going. Out of something like forty. I think that maybe I will need to get with the times and find out who all of the cool kids are reading these days. And then it will be just like those moments when you go to the pub and realise that half of the people at the bar were born in 1989, and you grow a little more haggard and wretched on the inside.

Or maybe not.

Tonight, I will quite possibly scour ebay for crap that I don't need and won't use. And I will most definitely eat lardy food and watch movies to make me blubber. Because it is Friday, and while everyone else is getting drunk and partying, I have decided that this Friday night will be Cry Night. I am gigantic sissy. You should totally try it sometime.

And for the moment, there is nothing left to do except strum my guitar and sing Top 40 songs in an 'alternative' way, and by alternative I mean the exact same way I play every song, because I suck.

You are invited to drinks in Brisbane next Friday evening. There will be no crying involved. Make sure you come, okthxbye.

As a child growing up in the 90's, I was accustomed to flannelette shirts, shiny nylon tracksuits, Party of Five, and spent my days wondering whether Ross and Rachel would ever get together. Mum jeans were young jeans, the Spice Girls still wore themed outfits, and Hanson were a trio of long-haired ponces that the laydeez loved. They were good days.

And of course, there was one TV show to rule them all. One that remained supreme, while the others passed by making only a small impact on my cultural upbringing. Brenda, Brandon, Dylan, Kelly, Annndrea, Steve, Donna and David! BH 90210! Oh, you know you loved it. So imagine the excitement of my 10-year old inner child after discovering that they're making another one.

Unfortunately, this Youtube preview suggests that it might be a bit OC-ish rather than a bunch of kids hanging out in the Peach Pit, facing problems like alcoholism (after having two whole drinks), or the best way to write a character out of the series after it becomes obvious that he's unpopular and not necessary to the storyline.

It does promise to feature a guest appearance from both Kelly (the pale one) and Donna (the one who was cast because her dad made the show), so maybe it will relive some of its former glory.

On a sidenote, I would like to congratulate BAG on going from this:



To becoming a bad boy with tats who scored Megan Fox:



Playing the synthesizer and wearing gigantic colourful shirts really does get you places. I will most definitely keep it up. Good show, old chap.

Yesterday, I was incredibly moody. Whether the moons of Saturn were waxing gibbous and freaking with my chi, or if it was The Almighty Hormones, I do not know, but I was just ridiculous. We had planned to go out for breakfast and were aiming for 9am. At 8:45, facing the prospect of Not Leaving On Time, I started accusing Beardie of killing hungry puppies, or something along those lines. On a Sunday! Later that day, when I tried on an unflattering dress which was very hessian sacky, Beardie gave me his honest opinion and told me that it looked like a potato sack. To which I accused him of being Hitler in his former life and of ripping out my heart, trampling it underfoot, and ruining my life in general. The poor boy.

These are all gross exaggerations. OR ARE THEY????!!11?

But you get the picture.

Today I am fine!

On the matter of my health:

• In a couple of weeks, my Doctor will get some cold instruments and start fiddling around with my lady parts. This will be so he can determine the health of my cervix. Hoorah! It will be my first ever Pappy-McPapSmear, and quite frankly, I would rather spend that hard-earned day off on the couch with some cake.
• Beardie and I have just arrived home from a Brisk Walk. This is fitness attempt, #337. I am depressed that of the many times I have tried to get my arse into gear and increase my fitness level to something better than geriatric, I have quit 100% of the time. But sometimes not for many months! Let's see how this goes, and hopefully I will shape up and start posting pictures of my arse in hotpants on the interweb.
• A cable arrived for my camera, which means I can plug it into my computer and the vlogging will (may) commence shortly. I have included this under the health topic, because it will be bad for YOUR health, when I subject you to crap jokes and perhaps some Very Shit Guitar.

Now lunge with me.

On the subject of beards, here is a great example of a beard vastly improving a person:



HERE IS A BAD ONE:



Jesus, Frodo.

There was one other development over the past 12 months which I really should have mentioned. After I left my ex, I took refuge at my best friend's place, where I stayed up until I moved out last month. The thing is, that 12 month period completely ruined our friendship. I am unsure if I will ever work out the underlying reason behind it, but it went from us hanging out, to me feeling that things were a little bit funny, to me feeling unwelcome and suddenly bottling up all of my feelings, instead of us sharing everything like we used to.

It sucked. Balls.

When I left, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. This was shortlived, of course, and soon I just became plain sad. Sad saddy sad sad. People grow apart, and this is sometimes for the best, but here is my best friend since we were 13 years old, and hey, now we don't talk anymore.

Today is her birthday. I sent a Happy Birthday sms.

Yes. Balls.

I have an inappropriate nose. It is inappropriate because I had a cold last week, and as a result of this I have a Suddenly Runny Nose every now and then, where I will be quite content and all of a sudden OH SHIT shitty shit I need a tissue RIGHT NOW. This happens when I am on the bus on the way to work, in the middle of the night (it wakes me up), and last night it happened whilst trying to engage in an intimate moment with Beardie. Nothing says SEXY BITCH like dripping snot on somebody, don't you think?

I am so mopey.

Here is the spiel.

• Last relationship: ended badly. Very badly. Very super badly. This is what happens when you go out with somebody for two years when all of your inner bits keep telling you not to, and you ignore them, like the stubborn bitch that you are. But hey, these are my lessons, look how much I have learnt, etc.
• Foolishly, foolishly started going out with a boy Very Very Soon after the break-up. You see, because my last few months with the ex had been pretty much void of any happyfuntime, I thought I would do what lots of young, single girls in their twenties do, and find myself some happyfuntime. But then I discovered that he was actually quite smashing, and my efforts to be an absolute slut have once again been unsuccessful. Damn!
• I decided that not having my licence was altogether shit. So I went out and got it. And then I bought an old bomb of a car which has a squealy fan belt and a crumply number plate from where it smashed into another car, once upon a time. And I started driving it around all over the place and endangering innocent motorists and pedestrians with my P-plated enthusiasm. Though I am yet to crash into anyone or anything, so HIGH FIVE.
  
  (And hoo-freaking-rah for never having to get public transport on Christmas Day AGAIN.)
• I applied for, and was successful in gaining, a higher-paid position at work. Twice! And the lovely cash made me very, very happy, but what made me happier was that I hardly ever had to talk to twats on the phone! Joy! I have said for a while that this will be the last customer service-based job that I ever do, and I am one step closer to living the dream. Unfortunately, I still have to talk to twats at work, and I probably have several thousand pages full of blog fodder just in the agency temps who are constantly flowing through my workplace. Sigh.
• After going out for just under a year, Beardie (yes, Beardie) and I decided to co-habitate. This happened last month. And now I'm sharing all my stuff with A BOY. Ewwww.
• I missed blogging, and then I sort of forgot about blogging, and then I realised that I had no hobbies and decided to start blogging again. I am trying to get back into the blog frame of mind, where you can't help but look at any situation without thinking "I wonder if I could blog this?" Maybe I need to buy a shirt to remind me.

And there we have the entire last year of my life summarised by six dot points. How freaking depressing. And now that's out the way, let's move onto something far more exciting.

Give me a minute. I'll think of something.

New blog, new rules. The first rule of RAT is: you do not talk about RAT. Ha! No, but seriously.

• I will post pictures. A lot of pictures. Photos, plus I will draw magnificent pictures and everyone will be impressed and offer me cash and prizes.
• I will be honest. Which means I'll blog the boring bits, and the crap bits, and I'm not going to exclude things because I think that nobody is interested, or that nobody will comment. It's my diary, goshdarnit.
• I am going to review stuff. Movies and music and stuff. Even if nobody else has heard of it. And my reviews will be poorly-worded, snarky, and they will suck.
• If this is your first night at RAT, you HAVE TO FIGHT. Ha.
• I am going to try and ditch the paranoia. The interweb is very, very large, and I need to stop thinking that I will lose my job over this, or destroy my relationships over this. Unless I let out the Secrets of the Government, in which case I could possibly lose my job.
• I will not reveal any Secrets of the Government.
• This will be a combo blog/vlog. I am going to edit videos and be all creative and shit. But I just need to learn how to do it first.

Let the boring diary full of crap pictures and uninteresting content commence! Hoorah!