In this super introspective phase of my life, I realise how much of a creature of habit I am. As Relationship #4 begins to find its feet, like a clumsy, ridiculously long-limbed, newborn fawn, I find myself following a familiar pattern. With 27 rapidly approaching, maybe I'm beginning to figure myself out?

Stage One - Excited! (Status: COMPLETE): Oh gosh, someone new! Someone new who is lovely and into me and gives me the giddies! I thought we were just shagging, but now I think that, gasp!, you might be my, gasp!, boy, gasp!, friend! Gasp!

Stage Two - Alone Time (Status: COMPLETE): We are hanging out so much, but I don't want this to move too quickly - I think some alone time is in order. Excuse me while I get a bit moody and distant, leaving you confused and dejected, while I make no effort at all to explain my behaviour. Poor new boyfriend!

Stage Three - Jealousy! (Status: COMPLETE): Everyone you have previously shagged, and everything you have previously done, fills me completely irrational and petty jealousy! The thought of you doing those things makes me super annoyed! Did you like her more than you like me now? I bet you did. Grrr!

Stage Four - I obviously care for you more than you care for me (Status: POSSIBLY STARTED YESTERDAY?): the fact that you didn't send me quite as many e-mails yesterday, and chose to stay at home to catch up on things rather than play XBox with me, obviously means that you are not as crazy about me as I am about you. Of course you say that you were super busy with work yesterday, and that you had to stay home to at least wash some clothes so that you weren't walking around in dirty jocks, but I know the truth! You hate me! Gah, what a mistake I've made jumping into this so quickly, now my heart will be broken into a million pieces!

Stage Five - Settled (Status: NOT YET STARTED): I no longer get the tummy butterflies when I see you, and I'm over my pathetic fight for (perceived) independence, jealousy and self-esteem issues - now we're lovely and comfortable and I'm pretty much certain that this is Forever. Yep, this is Us, for the rest of our lives, and it's grand. I am going to sigh contentedly, a lot. Ok?

Stage Six - SELF-DESTRUCTION!!!! (Status: NOWHERE NEAR IT, YET): We've grown apart! I've been feeling this way for months but haven't told you! I'm going to let us continue on while I feel miserable and will fail to express it by bottling my emotions, as you're very aware by now that I'm a First Class Bottler. All up until it comes to a head, and we Call It Quits, which will be followed by several days of "I know this is for the best, but I feel so sad" non-stop crying.

And there we have it, my complete relationship life-cycle. History has shown that Stage Five will kick in at some point after six months, and Stage Six doesn't occur until the 2-3 year mark. Grim outlook, yes? I guess the aim this time round should be to break the pattern, so that Six never happens. And if I'm honest with myself I know that in the past I haven't put in the effort to stop Six from happening, for various reasons. And despite the idealistic outlook I portray in Five, I don't really presume that anything is Forever anymore.

Poor new boyfriend, ending up stuck with cynical old me. He doesn't know what he's getting himself into.

The Tale of my First* Drunken Pash since being a Single Person (and yet further proof that everything I do in life is an EPIC FAIL)

A friend and I had decided on a night on the town. We headed out on Saturday and I immediately felt underdressed (why do all girls wear pretty party dresses now? I like shirts and jeans, goshdarnit), but consoled myself with cheap and nasty beer. It was super, super fun and we were having a very delightful time.

Got talking and drunkenly wobbling around near the bar with a very good looking chap. In fact, this guy was incredibly good looking (i.e. too good looking for me, but obviously his judgment was majorly impaired by beer), and he spoke like this guy** to boot. And after the Ugly Lights were turned on and we were booted out of the pub, he then leaned in and kissed me.

And it was absolutely horrific.

There was a flurried whirlwind of tongue in the "washing machine" style so popular amongst high schoolers. After a moment, he pulled away and I became aware that the bottom half of my face was COMPLETELY COVERED in his saliva. In my very drunken state, I wasn't sure what to do. I was pretty sure that it would be bad manners to hunt down the nearest towel and mop my face. So I just kind of stood there, feeling completely drenched and gasping the sweet, sweet oxygen.

You would think that after that terrifying experience, during which I almost drowned, that I would have learnt my lesson. Alas, no, he kissed me again, and it was equally disgusting. Afterwards I kind of dabbed at my mouth, and then fortunately our lift home arrived and I was able to run away.

And if this isn't bad enough, as I was running away the subject of age came up, and I learnt that this chap was 20 years old. TWENTY YEARS OLD. Which means that he was born in 1989, or there is even a slight possibility that he could've been born in 1990. Hold on, let me just point out how distressed I am by this:

1990!!!!!1!!@!OMGWTFFFF!!!!1!!!!

When I got home, I vigorously scrubbed my face.

I fail. I seriously, seriously fail.

*Actually, the second, but the first must stay pushed to the back of my mind forever more.
**The accent, that is. That was a random video I picked, I have no idea what it's about, so apologies if you spend six minutes watching it and it's rubbish.

I am completely content with my spinsterhood, but can't help but notice:

Men who display interest in me:

• Men who are much, much older than I am
• Men who are married (worthy of its own blog post)
• Men with extreme emotional issues
• Men whose sexuality is questionable
• Men who I do not find attractive
• Men who look identical to one of my exes (no no no no no no)
• Men who I work with
• Men who I consider a buddy/brother-type, who then turn "weird"
  

Mainly a combination of several of the above.

Men who do not display interest in me:

• Colin Firth (in Pride & Prejudice (or any other) form)
• Ryan Reynolds (in bearded (or any other) form)
• Very tall geeks with beards (except for the ones who fall into the categories above)

Eh. As B*witched once said, c'est la vie. I'm going to go hang out with my cat now.

I'm not normally one for New Year's Resolutions, but I think that in 2010 I need to meet some new people. Seriously. I feel like I'm pretty much married to my group of work friends, and following on from the "propositions" from the previous post, and some other stuff (ooh, yes, very vague) it's all getting a wee bit awkward. The group is rife with gossip, deservedly so with all of the shagging going on, and the whole thing is feeling very incestuous.

At the moment, I'm given a slight respite by the fact that I'm on secondment to a different area, but if the rumours are true and I am going back to my old position in March, well, I don't really see myself successfully leading a team of people who have seen me drunkenly dancing like a hussy (many times) and on one particular occasion, vomiting in a very unattractive fashion.

My own fault, yes, I know.

So, ok, back to meeting new people. Or maybe reconnecting with old people. But preferably new people. Where are the new people located? Is there a vault full of new people somewhere? Or do I just need to "get out there" as they like to say. I don't know who "they" are. People who have successfully met new people, I imagine. And where is "there"? And is it possible to meet new people without them thinking that you are a desperate single person looking for a boyfriend? Because it's apparently almost impossible to maintain a platonic friendship with a guy without it getting "weird". Overuse of the "inverted commas" today, my "apologies".

Sigh.

Merry Chrimbo, Happy New Year, etc. Hope you are all well and jolly and have overdosed on gluttony and family mayhem.

Because there's some stuff I can't tweet:

Since being single for the past couple of months (oh, I'm single now, by the way), I have had not one, but THREE of my male co-workers "have a crack", so to speak. This is not flattering. This makes me suspect that somebody is spreading rumours that I'm a super easy slutbag. And what bugs me the most is that these are guys who I considered to be good buddies, and who were apparently biding their time to try and eventually get into my frilly pants.

Ok, maybe more sensible than frilly.

Also, I experienced the wonder of being out with an Incredibly Beautiful Person the other night. I had come from work and was dressed in typical fashion, i.e. like a bum, and observed the activities with much interest from my spot against the wall, where I became completely invisible in her presence. It reminded me of that episode of 30 Rock where Liz Lemon goes out with a supremely beautiful man, who has no idea when he is terrible at things because he is constantly shown favour and given praise because he is beautiful. Kind of. It seems to work like this:

• Continual comments about her (very beautiful) appearance
• Men continually joking that she is their girlfriend
• Never having to pay for her own drinks
• Men making constant excuses to be near her and touch her
  

And so on. I thought about doing my hair nice, and putting on make-up, and dressing all pretty to see if it made a difference. For all of 5 seconds before I remembered that I really can't be arsed.

In other news, a friend and I are planning on a round-the-world trip for next August/September. I am 26, and should probably be saving for a house deposit. But travel is way more fun. Whoo!

It's funny how my brain works. Yesterday I had a productive day, had my hair chopped and visited my mum, with the intent of keeping the rest of this week free to study my arse off. This morning, faced with the prospect of sitting down for some long, hard study, I am franctically considering what else I could possibly be doing. This includes:

• Making random videos for Youtube
• Locating & watching episodes of The Gilmore Girls
• Locating & watching episodes of Sex in the City (I think there is something hormonal going on here?)
• Blogging
• Driving to the shops to try and find those Jols lollies in the metal tins (I am in love with them)
• Rummaging through my wardrobe, finding things I haven't worn in forever and then doing my own private fashion show full of dodgy outfits
• Experimenting with colourful make-up, like I'm 12
• Baking (I may or may not have purchased a book yesterday entitled "500 Cupcakes")
  

Book purchase may have been inspired by sitting next to this display yesterday:

I am doing at least one of these things right now, so the trend may continue.

So I left the ridiculously long hair on the hairdressers floor and now it is just shoulder-length. Not as big a deal as I was expecting, though I haven't actually shown it to anyone yet. Except for my mum, whose comment was "oh. You've chopped all your hair off." I did try and take a picture yesterday, before sleeping on it and turning it into a birds nest, however the photos came out shitty, and I'm not going to blog a picture where it looks shittier than normal, gosh darn it. Maybe I could add 'Taking a Hair Photo' to my list of Procrastination Activities for today.

Nothing exciting to report on the Mountain Dwellers(!!!) front. Except every now and then I learn exactly where my various neuroses stem from, in particular my Punctuality Issues. I think I am a lot more laid back than my mum, in terms of accepting things that I can't change, and it is made more evident than ever on days like yesterday. I have this memory of being about 11, and my teacher asking me to stay back after school for a couple of minutes, and the ill feeling I had in my stomach knowing that I was keeping my mum waiting outside in the car. Yesterday I leave the hairdresser WAY later than expected, see the time and promptly crap myself. I call my mum (who has already left me a voicemail message saying she is there waiting for me) and let her know that I am on my way, but that it's about a half hour drive.

So I speed the entire way there, do a big screechy driving into the carpark (screechy, teehee!) and while my mum doesn't say anything (other than the "hair chopped off" comment) she looks weary, and disappointed. And I feel terrible, and am so apologetic it is spew-worthy. So for all the times I am ridiculously early, and all the times I hassle Beardie about getting ready and going, this is my excuse. My deep-seeded Punctuality Issues.

Anyway. So that's the blogging done. What's next on the list?

It's generic life update time!

Dexter! Dexter is the naughtiest kitty ever, and basically divides his time between slashing my flesh to pieces and sleeping on my hair at night. My right hand in particular looks as though I shoved it into the insinkerator. He has settled in very well and I love him muchly, despite the pain he causes me.

The Abbey Medieval Festival! Alas, good sirs and fair maidens, we did not go. And the friends who were supposed to go and then bring us hilarious stories also did not go, because they wanted to go to a chocolate fair instead. Chocolate over jousting? Oh, come on. I guess there is always next year.

The job! Have heard nothing yet but I would expect to receive some type of notification next week. I was the sneakiest of sneaky people and asked a friend with access to the government jobs database to have a look at how many other people had applied, and who they were. Only 11 applications! For two jobs! This is great, though I did recognise two of the names (and at least one of them is a shoo-in), so it's still very uncertain. I am hoping though, because to move into a shiny new job would be just delightful.

Boring fitness shit! I am on Week Eight of my running program, with just one more week left until I am officially Hardcore. And by Hardcore, I mean rubbish. But I should be able to hobble my way through Bridge to Brisbane, which was the whole idea. I can already foresee that being in the middle of thousands of other runners is going to make me run much faster than what I am capable of so that I tire in the first 30 seconds and have to sit down on the side of the road with a glass of water. Should be lovely!

Piano! It's official - I am going to be "performing" in a small concert for adult piano students at the end of September. I predict that I will completely cock it up. This is very certain. But I will ask Beardie to film it on my shiny new video camera and then perhaps I'll post it. Especially if I screw it royally, because it will probably be very hilarious (i.e. shockingly embarrassing for me).

What else! Nothing much. Doing some training over the next couple of weeks, followed by an exam, to turn me into a super 1337 techo nerd geek h4x0r type person. Going to a barbeque tomorrow at Beardie's boss's place, which is apparently a Big Deal and I'm not allowed to wear fat pants and thongs. Other than that, business as usual. Work is work, and highly worky.

I hope you are having a tip top weekend.

We named the kitty Dexter. Yes, after the donut-loving serial killer. And I am so in love with Dexter. Dexter the cat, that is. I have gone kitty crazy. I go to work and talk to the other Cat People about things, like "oh, look at the hole in my stocking, Dex did that this morning. Ha ha! Yes, I look like a homeless person! Ha ha. Oh, cats. Cats? Yes, cats cats. Cats." He keeps me awake half the night by pouncing on my head, chewing on my hair and licking my eyelids but I am still giddy and swoony over him. He has shat horrible cat diarrhoea all over our bed, but he just looks up at me and meows and all is forgiven. I arrive home from work and he starts purring like a car engine and it is just lovely.

This weekend I am finally buying the new video camera I've been planning on getting for yonks, so expect gratuitous cat photos and video shortly. Yes, it's my blog and I can act deranged if I want to.

</obsessive cat lady talk>

In other news, the rumours turned out to be true and two jobs have been advertised. I applied on the weekend and am trying not to get my hopes up this time. Even if the Manager of the area sent me an e-mail making sure that I knew that the jobs were there. Must not think about it. Must. Not.

Have a fairly busy weekend planned, with work drinks tomorrow night (the work socialising is getting slightly mental of late), a high tea date with the laydeez (and one boy) on Saturday, and a possible visit to the Abbey Medieval Festival on Sunday. I thought it would be a great chance for me to test out the new camera, by filming the mock sword fights and jousts and whatnot, but apparently cameras are Strictly Forbidden. Maybe because they weren't invented in medieval times. Or maybe people dressed as noblemen and women who play with weapons and call each other "good sir" and "wench" don't want to be filmed. I think it would be hilariously awesome.*


Look at the program, they have Morris Dancing!!

Frubears. You can find Frubears in the health food/dried fruit bit of your supermarket. They are little bears that are made of dried apricot, dried peach and mysterious "fruit fibre". They are healthy and pretty tasty and having a couple is just lovely.

Eating an entire packet is NOT LOVELY.

Beardie and I had a movie date tonight to see Transformers 2 (Review: Fox is extremely hot, robots are pretty cool, movie was ok overall but not superawesomecool like the first one) and in an attempt to be healthy, I purchased some things to eat in place of the usual salty popcorn and choc top loveliness.

Frubears seemed like a great option due to the health factor, however I made the deadly mistake of forgetting all about the fibre content.

I JUST ATE 20 GRAMS OF DIETARY FIBRE IN 15 MINUTES.

Imagine if somebody cut open your stomach, dropped a large stone inside and sewed you back up. My digestive system is really pissed off with me.

I really shouldn't be making these kind of mistakes at this age.

I joined Twitter last week. I joined it so I could follow Peter Serafinowicz, with no intent of ever using it, and then while I was out drinking with workfolk the discussion moved to Twitter, and I started using it.

(Also, have arrived home to discover that Miss Audrey Apple has already posted a similar (though much better worded) confession. Quite freaky.)

I am not game enough to link it, because it is all Real Name-ish, and Real Photo-ish, and for the first time ever I am doing something on the internet without my anonymity to back me up. Can you believe it!

But, this post is supposed to be small, because all I'm saying is that I joined it, and am therefore officially NOT the last person on the bandwagon, for once in my life.

Or maybe I am.

Either way, you are permitted to punch me in the face now.

I have come to a realisation. Nobody can read my face. My face is unreadable. I often find myself in scenarios like the following:

[Scene: a management meeting, Director present, discussing boring crap about boring work and the like]

Manager: Well what I would like to propose is [insert proposal here]
Me: [listening, however thinking dreamily about having leftover Mum's Stew for lunch]
Manager: Oh, well just look at RAT's face, she doesn't like it!

[All turn to look at me]

Me: Oh, um, not at all?

[Conversation continues]

Manager: So I guess the main idea is [insert main idea here]
Me: [listening, however contemplating how many pieces of Hubba Bubba are required to blow a bubble the size of my torso]
Manager: Look at RAT's face, she obviously has something to say about that!

And so on. The most common one is receiving comments that I look as though I don't like something, when in fact I do actually like it, or don't really care about it much, but am definitely not opposed to it. Maybe I just have a disagreeable face and look like a miserable git all of the time? Very possible.

Maybe this is to do with turning 26 next week? And my rapidly ageing face is handing out mixed messages to everyone?

Also very possible.

Well I guess it is better than everyone and their mother being able to work out exactly what I'm thinking just by looking at me. Yes? Hmm.

For people who enjoy the full use of their arms, shoulders and upper back, might I suggest that you do not go canoeing for seven hours? Just a tip.

Alas, I am only able to give myself this tip in retrospect.

OW.

Cue mental imagery of Beardie and I lazily paddling along a calm, clear lake, with the sun shining and birds twittering. Then replace it with me screeching "go RIGHT, go RIGHT!!!" and us drifting head-first into an overhanging tree. And the lake was brown, but most likely from tannin and not actually from poo (as I kept claiming), and there were definitely birds about but they were vastly outnumbered by the mosquitoes. By about twenty billion to one.

Our party also ended up lost at one point, and frantically trying to escape from a rapidly dwindling inlet before we ended up completely bogged.

However! I did not fall out, or capsize the boat, or even get wet a little bit. In fact I did more damage to myself at lunch by dropping tuna all over my pants, and therefore smelling delightful for the rest of the day.

It was actually pretty good fun, with good company and lovely scenery and all of that. And the pain isn't too bad this morning, though Beardie tells me that it might be that kind of deeply burrowed muscular pain that will come out the day after the day after.

Other ridiculous things I have signed myself up for:

• My piano teacher, who is as quiet as a mouse (I am a very quiet person, and she makes me seem like a big, loudmouthed git), asked me if I wanted to participate in an upcoming concert that they were holding. Given that the rest of the participants were aged 10 and under, I declined, not wanting to be the only Giant Person on stage. She said that they were considering having a concert just for their adult students and would I like to participate in that one instead? I said that if she gives me plenty of notice, I would do it. That's right. Performing on a stage. In front of strangers. This is only just an idea at this stage and I already need a change of underwear.
  
  
• Beardie suggested that we partake in the Bridge to Brisbane Fun Run this year, and because I want one of those t-shirts that says "I completed Bridge to Brisbane", I said yes. Then I realised what I had just done, and said "ah, shit." It coincides pretty well with the running program that we're doing and I figure we can always just walk/hobble/crawl along if we need to. And can I just point out that the idea of me EVER partaking in something like this is just freaking crazy; I never thought I would. It's got to be a good thing, I guess.
  
  
• We've accepted an invite to go a popular American-style restaurant which is famous for house-sized portions of ribs, wings, pork belly and other meals primarily based around gigantic slabs of meat. As somebody who has always been a small eater, and a lover of all things vegetable, I am already quite frightened by this concept. They don't have a menu online so I can't even make a plan beforehand and can foresee an evening of clutching my stomach, my pants exploding, groaning with a trail of hickory-smoked, porky BBQ sauce running down my chin.
  

Today I have a whole range of crappy girly movies to watch (as Beardie is working, I am sparing him the pain best time of his life) and I will probably try and finish reading The English Patient. For those indulging in public holiday awesomeness today, I hope you have a shiny, tip top day.

You know, there's probably better things I could be doing than watching *NSYNC videos on Youtube.*

For example:

I could be out scaring children with my experimental fingernails. I have seen not one but TWO people with nails like this, so I am thinking that looking as though I have dipped my fingertips into a tin of paint is The In Thing.

I could be eating yet another serve of my Mum's Stew. My Mum's Stew, made by me. So, um, my stew. You know what I mean. Every winter since moving out of home at the age of 18 has been spent whining that I missed my mum's stew. On Saturday, I started to feel those familiar pangs and dug out the hand-written recipe book that I carefully transcribed when I was 12 (in my neatest handwriting, actually) and flicked through the battered pages until I found it. And my GOD, I cannot believe I waited seven years to make it. I had one bowl yesterday, and then today I had the only thing better than Mum's Stew - SECOND DAY MUM'S STEW. For real. You need to come over to my house and try it, STAT. I made enough for eight people.

I could be out spending even more money that I don't have. For somebody who is completely skint, I sure do buy a lot of shit. I put this down to forcing myself to not spend any money at all for ten weeks and then lifting this ban when I had Zero Dollars in my bank account after buying a car. Clever much. But Wednesday is payday, hoorah!

Or, you know, if I got bored of those things I could try:

• becoming an accomplished pianist
• fulfilling my lifelong dreams
• um, figuring out what my lifelong dreams are
• and, you know, stuff
  

Sigh. I wish I was in a boy band.

*But that song is just so catchy! And look at wee JT bobbing about on the bed, trying to get his sex on. Awwwww.

Lately, I am on a baking frenzy. I have made muffins two weekends in a row (and I'm wondering if it's just the way they make the house smell that I am addicted to) and am fully getting into the whole "make loads of food and then freeze it for lunches" concept. I even bought a gigantic cookbook from one of those discount book places, and it's not as dodgy as you would expect.

Reading: I've read a few books lately, In Cold Blood (which was quite good), Musicophilia (a non-fiction book about the different ways music impacts the brain, which was quite interesting) and I'm currently reading American Psycho, which has so far made me feel physically queasy only the once, though I still have half the book left to go. It is so very graphic (with both violence and sex) that I can't even act all cavalier on the bus, flaunting my banned book in front of everyone's face, because I find that I need to burrow into a corner so that nobody reads about what Patrick Bateman is doing with two girls over my shoulder.

Watching: He's Just Not That Into You. I saw this last night, and Beardie pretended to watch it with me while he actually surfed the net on his iPhone and read through a JB Hi Fi catalogue. It did have me pondering how anyone can possibly live that kind of lifestyle, going out with a different guy every week and obsessing over whether he is The One (do people really do that? Really??), while my "dating" experience has been to go out with the one guy until we are Boyfriend And Girlfriend without going out with anyone else during that time, which is apparently not the norm. I spent the rest of the movie marvelling at Scarlett Johannson's body - are her boobs actually bigger now than they were before? These are the important questions.

Working: On developing a pre-crazy Britney back:

(Actually, that looks like some pretty frightening spine cleavage.)

And a Jessica Biel arse:

It can be done, surely? Maybe I shouldn't be baking muffins.

Yesterday, Beardie and I celebrated our anniversary. Because we are big, childish nerds, we did the following:

• Went to Underwater World
• Went to a Ginger Factory

Yeah!

Underwater World is pretty similar to how it was the last time I was there (15 years ago). I was still too scared to touch any of the slimy things in the hands-on tank and still very confused by the private parts of rays and sharks. It was pretty darn cool.

I have an unhealthy obsession with ginger. Sometimes people become obsessed with ginger, when they're elderly and wear cardigans all the time. I am 25 and I want to marry ginger. While I'm at it, I also love cardigans. I ran around the ginger shop like it was Willy Wonka's ginger factory, waving my arms and leaving a trail of drool. Damn this healthy eating bullshit; I could only leave with some ginger bears and a solitary gingerbread man. But they have an online shop, and I will be back. Oh yes.


In brief:

• I emptied my entire savings account today, to pay for the car. My tiny bank balance makes me sad.
• Only a week and a half of my fitness thing left! I will do a full wrap-up next week, but it's been a pretty interesting run (and for reasons I cannot fathom, pretty darn successful).
• I bought some new glasses and prescription sunglasses today. Because apparently I am not content leaving any money in my account, at all. But these things must be done as I progressively become more decrepit and blind.

Adios!

1.

Today is my mummy's birthday. Happy birthday, Mum (who doesn't know this blog exists)! As I have this week off work (hallelujah!), Mumsy, my brother and I have been lunching and gift giving and the like. In today's episode of The Sordid Lives of the Mountain Dwellers!!!1!:

Mum: So the neighbours disappeared in the middle of the night!
Me: Really?
Mum: Yes! His car was repossessed one day and then PHFLFLT*! Off they went the next!
Me: Wow!
Mum: You'll never guess what. Their house was full of..[pauses for effect]..chicken shit.
Me: What?
Mum: Chicken shit.
Me: IN the house?
Mum: Yep. In the house. They kept chickens... IN THE HOUSE.
Me: What on earth.
Mum: They had a mountain of washing up which they never did. And the chickens shat all over that, too!
Me: Jeez.
Mum: They had two kids. Those poor kids. They were always running around, screaming.
Me: I'll bet.

2.

I BOUGHT A CAR. Well, kind of. I made an offer, and the dude accepted it, but there has been no exchange of cash and car as yet. There probably won't be until next week, at least. It is a whole ten years younger than my last car (2005, ooh la la!) and is completely impractical, not overly fuel efficient or cost effective. So the perfect choice for me, really.

If anyone wants a 1995 Mazda Astina who goes by the name of "Little Green Shitbox" and/or "Swank" then you are more than welcome to make me an offer. Or you could just buy me a beer and it'll be an even trade.

3.

Dear Telstra,

This is the fifth time you have sent me this bill. You are stupid.

From,

RAT.

*You know the noise I am trying to make here, right?

So, I passed my manual driving test this morning. This is fantastic news, because of the following:

• I no longer have to have lessons with one of the most infuriating men on earth. Mr. Forgets-a-lot who reprimanded me on pretty much everything I did and told me that he had given up hope of me ever slowing down for corners. Maybe I did suck quite badly, but I can only handle a solid hour of "don't do that" and "CLUTCH CONTROL!" and "be careful about this" for so long before paying $55 for the privilege seems to be an unfair price. And I can't have been as bad as he made out if my creepy tester let me pass. Surely.
  

• I can go car shopping! The little green shitbox is making high-pitched whirring noises quite a lot these days (not to mention billowing black smoke from under the bonnet), and I think that during this economic crisis it is high time for me to get myself into a lot of debt. Because I'm clever like that.

• I have a much nicer licence photo! Admittedly, I did tart myself up a little bit in the hope that should my driving efforts be abysmal, perhaps I could flutter my eyelashes to reach a pass mark, and as a result I don't look like my usual hobo self in my photo. Hoorah!

• I never have to take another driving test, ever again! Retrospectively, I really shouldn't have been such a lazy cow and taken the easy way out in the first place, but what's done is done, and I am stoked to be finished with it.

Lovely!

On Thursday, the Director sat us down to discuss Our Jobs. He used the phrase "the economic crisis has come to Queensland government." He likes to say things like that for impact. Apparently the area that I work in is considered a target by the other head honcho types, and while everyone is looking for ways to save money (they just took away the free teabags), our jobs may be at risk. May be at risk. Nobody knows anything, or if they do, they're not saying a word.

A couple of people felt a little panicked. The Director said that we shouldn't panic, and that we should boost our performance so that the Cost-Cutters have nothing to fault us on. I took in this information quite calmly. With the rate that things progress in government, if I am going to lose my job it will probably take a few months, at least. I already scour Seek every morning for shiny new jobs. There is no change. Business as usual.

It's probably pretty unlikely that they would fire me, though.


I mean, who would fire the owner of incredibly sexy sock boots such as these?

They'd have to be crazy.

I feel like I need to do something. Start my own business, trek somewhere exciting, begin a quest for Youtube stardom, something.

Unfortunately, I'm fresh out of ideas. I will just have to sit here until my feet stop itching.

News!

No news.

No news is good news? Actually, no news = boring life. Part of my Itchy Feet Syndrome seems to be feeling desperate to blog, but I have tried several times this week only to find that my only content is Bitching About Work, and Boring Fitness Stories. So, in an effort to not fall back onto those two old faithful topics, here's some random bullet points about other things in my life:

• My pet bird has a broken feather. He keeps yanking on it, and getting it caught in the bars of the cage, and squawking in pain.
  
  
• We went out for dinner last night at a Trendy restaurant. Definition of Trendy: it was packed with young folk in fashionable outfits, the lights were dimmed down low, curtains were slung around the place, and the seats were actually cushions on the floor. Needless to say, with my jeans/singlet combo and lack of shiny accessories, I did not fit in. While we were waiting in the bar area, I was almost swallowed by a bean bag.
  
  
• Beardie and I visited DFO today for the first time, after hearing so much about its 'shopping mecca' status. It was large, but not quite the size of a small country, and contained some cheap prices, but also some expensive ones too, and we bought some square, black plates. Because food tastes better when it is served on stylish crockery, you see.
  

WINTER COAT:


Speaking of winter, the weather is coming along very nicely. Despite my Driver's Arm sunburn suggesting the contrary, the mornings and evenings are cool, and I get to wear hoodies sometimes. Hoodies are only second in the Comfort Clothing category to my fat pants.

• We gave some friends a lift into the Valley for dinner last night, and I was faced with a Reverse Parking dilemma. Dilemma = I was forced to reverse park. I have not really tried reverse parking since I actually passed my test, and therefore had one of those comical moments where I drive a little bit forward, and then drive a little bit backwards, repeat forty times, etc. I was paid out for it, which was well-deserved, but it has left my driving ego slightly bruised. I am thinking that if I want to upgrade my licence in two weeks, I need to brush up on some skills quite quickly indeed.

Sigh.

(P.S. Work blows.)

Reading: I've just finished Vile Bodies by Evelyn Waugh. It did not float my boat. It was such a bore. It was boredom-making. I have heard that it is some type of highly-acclaimed, insightful social commentary, but methinks it was perhaps much more valid in the 1930's than it is so many years later. I suspect it is most likely one of those books that I just Don't Get. And I am very glad to be rid of it. Now I get to choose a new book to read, which makes my heart all a-flutter.

Watching: a few different things, but I am devastated that United States of Tara is now off the air until 2010. Multiple personality Toni Collette is my favourite Toni Collette.

Going: to the movies. Beardie and I went and saw a movie which cements our reputations as the nerdiest nerds that the realm of nerds has ever known, i.e. Dragonball Evolution. Yeah! It wasn't bad. Goku's hair wasn't big enough and Piccolo was missing his little antennae things. We probably could've waited for the DVD release.

Spotting: a blogger at the gym! A real-life blogger, in person! However, it wasn't actually anyone I read regularly - just a random Brisbane blog I stumbled on one day and spent a few minutes looking at. This girl walked into my class and I just couldn't work out where I'd seen her before, until all of a sudden it dawned on me and I inwardly exclaimed "OMG, I have seen her off the interwebz!" I don't know why I was so terribly excited by this.

Doing: not an awful lot.

• Piano is on hold until May, with a brand-new teacher who is just down the road from me.
• Herbie is doing well, and is growing impressively despite having bits snipped off him all the time.
• I am continuing to lose little bits of pudge here and there, very slowly indeed.
• Work is killing me, as per usual. I did actually get a heap of feedback following that e-mail I sent to the Director and I am slightly daunted by everything they want me to do before I can get a job down there. Where I am going to find the time to complete a billion training courses, I don't know.
• The plan for Easter is to buy a coat (this is outside of the buying-new-clothes ban, because yesterday was fricking cold and I don't want to spend this winter shivering) and go for a drive to a cave to look at some glow worms.
  

Lovely.