BTW...

... I finished Tess.

And it was all kinds of uncharted terrible in the end.

(And no, chasing Tess' climax with being incessantly pwned in Conan has NOT HELPED!) :( :( :(

You Can't Stop the Angry

I HATE PvP SERVERS!

HATE HATE HATE!!!

MY WRATH HAS NO BOUNDS AND NO-ONE CAN SHAKE THE ANGRY PILLS OUT OF ME!!!

What kind of pathetic, squishy, little bug do you have to be to want to play on a PvP server?

If you love pre-pubescent boys, and their infinite lust for bravado, bullying and ABSOLUTE PATHETICNESS OF A DEGREE YOU'RE NEVER LIKELY TO ENCOUNTER AGAIN, then you'll LOVE Conan's PvP servers.

I can't believe we're even attempting to build our guild membership by inviting nice people into it? Nice people?? On a PvP server?? ARE YOU INSANE???

Repulsive, small-minded, tools there are aplenty... but nice people? I fear they are all on PvE servers, which is exactly where I'm ressing back to...

Queen of the Green

I played my first round of golf ever, the other day. And I am a natural.

No, not really. But it was still pretty fun, and some of my shots actually went in the air, which is a good start. We played this teeny 9-hole course at Bulimba which was full of equivalent noobs, and thus just perfect for me.

In fact, such a good time was had, that I'm now thinking of taking some lessons. Obviously, there's little work to be done on my putting given the hours I've already racked up at mini-golf over the years. But my driving and pitching could probably do with some tweaking. :S

Speaking of golf, that is the reason why I'm having such a blog frenzy this morning. Jesse is out having a round with the lads, and it seems to be taking a little longer than expected. They started at 7.30 this morning and, incredibly, are STILL GOING! Further still, Jesse just rang to say that if he's lucky, he'll be home by 1pm. That is just nuts. Liquid nuts.

I think they need me to show them how it's done. :)

Upon My Honour

I am currently reading 'Tess of the D'Urbervilles', which, to my surprise, I am really quite into.

Admittedly, any book that actually uses the phrase 'upon my honour', is always going to get points from me, but I really am amazed at how accessible the story is.

I'm only part-way through, and I'm pretty sure that certain woe approacheth the heroine (which I'm not so into), but I think I might actually make it to the end of this classic. (Unlike '20,000 Leagues Under the Sea', which was hard, hard going and I just couldn't claw my way to the last page).

The other thing that I like about this novel is that it's quite short. Preceding Tess, I finished 'The Pillars of the Earth', which was great. I've always been a bit of a Ken Follett fan, but this 1000+ page epic in tiny print was a long haul. And before I tackle the 1000+ page sequel 'World Without End', it's nice to attack a shorter tale and take a bit of a breather.

The other reading I've been getting into is genuine Japanese manga - pretty cool once you're accustomed to the right-to-left comic style. I can't help but feel that like anime, manga is a new world I should have discovered long ago. Oh well...

Chasing 'World Without End', I'm hoping to mix things up with a bit of fantasy or sci-fi, but you just never know. The library is an amazing place...

A Month and A Year

I have been away from work for a month now and it feels like a year.

You never realise how much work fills your day, until it doesn't. And then, difficult as it may be to believe, you suddenly have too much time on your hands. Particularly in my case, when a scary proportion of my friends seem to have jumped on the parenting bandwagon and have recently popped or are at the point of popping in the very near future.

So given my slightly stir-crazed mind, I have to be forgiven for doing some strange things. Like yesterday, I had a big outing to the shops. (By 'big outing', I mean I went to Coles). I was rummaging round the aisles when I came to the make-up section and, now having long nails (again, thanks to leaving work and its associated stresses), I thought I deserved some new polish. The options were clear, pale pink or ruby red.

In a moment of slow-mo weakness, I reached for the ruby red and put it in my trolley. "What a vamp," I thought. "If I wore lipstick, I could look like a real girl with this new ruby red polish," I muttered.

And so, as soon as I got home (but just after I did the clothes washing, dish washing, washed the dog and cleaned the bathroom), I released the polish spirit upon my hands...

... and discovered that I'm not very good at painting my nails. In fact, it was more like finger-painting, given the disproportionate amount that ended up on my nails' surrounds, as opposed to my actual nails. Which would be fine if it was clear, but which is not so hot in ruby red.

Aaanyway, needless to say, I'm not sure how long it will take for me to revert to the safety of clear polish, but I daresay it shan't be long.

It. Is. Done.

Officially. It is done. We have purchased the mighty Age of Conan and my social life has ended.

Despite being overawed by the amount of bugs in this new release, I still can't seem to drag myself away from its stunning landscapes and decapitating goodness. (Though I must admit, the wenches have been a little disappointing).

And so, if you notice my blogging is a little lack-lustre these days, you now know why...

My Avatar Brings All the Boys to the Yard

Drop that taco and hold everything. For rumour has it that there is a new, multi-online-player thingy that is going to BLOW YOUR MIND. That's right. Blow it right out of your TINY LITTLE SKULL.

And its name?

AGE OF COOOONAAAAAN! (expressed a la Captain Caveman stylings)...
Or 'AoC' to all you sweet l33t speakers...
Or "Wench Tycoon" for all those who can't talk about one PC game without referring to another.

I'm not sure what the goal of the game is. Who the characters are. Or what the many laborious quests may involve. But, fear not, for more importantly, I have been reliably informed that you can make CHICK CHARACTERS. Which is fully excellent. Particularly as I find character creation to be the most fun part of most of these games. And with CHICK CHARACTERS available, you know all the boys gonna be brung to the yard. (Even if those boys are oddly playing CHICK CHARACTERS themselves. Pervs.)

Aaaanyway, I cannot cannot cannot wait to check out the smooth moves of this new release when Jesse and I crash Jim's place on Monday.

Woot for the long weekend! Woot for Jim! And woot for the wenches!

MCU "Milky Cows United"

It dawned on me at brekky this morning, that soy milk is the devil's juice.

It's been a while since I had a good ol' purge about the many wrong things in this big wide world. And if ever there was a worthy candidate to get back on that wagon, it's soy milk.

First, I can't believe it can legally be classified as 'milk'. The Fresians of the world must be rolling their boogly brown eyes in disgust. Yes, arguably, it's as valid a member of the 'milk' family as, say, coconut milk. But you wouldn't put coconut milk on your granola, would you?

No, you wouldn't.

The last time I tried soy was when work had shamefully run out of milk and my caffeine status was dire. Even then, I took one mouthful and splurted it all over my monitor and surrounding suburbs.

And really, if you think about it, how good is juice from a bean ever going to be? Nobody's plucking the innards out of baked beans, squeezing them through a wet tea towel, and chipperly stirring the extract into their morning beverage. And I should know. 'Cause some of my friends are pretty weird.

"But, it just has a bit of a nutty flavour," they proclaim.

Nutty alright.

No. Just no already. I say, it's time to stop hugging the trees and start showing soy milk the big fat hand. Who's with me?

There's Always a Catch

There is one major problem with coming back to blogging after six months. And that is that nobody knows you've come to back to blogging.

And it makes me wonder...

Who am I addressing right now? Myself? A couple of friends with aggregators? Or just that weird dude from Brazil who can't stop accessing my page thanks to that Antonio pic I put up a while ago?

And it's a real shame that Microsoft didn't develop a huge neon light that bursts out of people's monitors when you've jumped back on the blogging horse. Because, truthfully, it's quite embarrassing to have to plug your own blog. Particularly one as lame and ramshackle as this one. It's like:

"Hey, guess what. I'm back on my blog again."
"You have a blog?"
"Yeah, sure, don't you remember all those posts that used to put a little sunshine in your lunchtime?"
"Errr, not really."
"Well, aaanyway, I'm back on it. Even posted about mascara this morning. You should totally check it out. It's the only blog that Afe reads. And you know how cool Afe is."

From that point I usually obtain the obligatory, "Sure, yeah, I'll check it out when I have some free time. Like after I restump the house and shave my chickens."

And at that point, basking in the realisation that I have enlightened them of the might of my blog, I revert back to our conversation about backpacks with too many zips. Which is wonderful and interesting....


... but which still doesn't shake off the dirty feeling that I've sold my soul and dignity for just a few more page clicks.

That's Hot

What the pumpkins is going on in the make-up world?

I'm sure I recall a time when life was simple and each make-up brand just had one of everything. One mascara. One foundation. And a limited range of eye shadows and blushes.

I'm not a huge fan of mascara. Hence, it's quite irregularly that I traipse to the shops in search of a new one.

But OMG! There is no end to the range of gooey black goop you can currently dress your lashes in. Volumising. Separating. Defining. Smudgeproof. Waterproof. Idiotproof.

At the moment, I think I'm using the Lashomatic 4000 - "The fully lashiest of lashtastic mascaras with lashes of smudgeproof definition to make your volumised lashes 100% idiotproof."*

Or some such.



* Representations may be simulated. Actually guaranteed to produce panda eyes, to sting like hell when it runs, and make you look like a complete plonker (if not an idiot).

You Know You Want It

I hate Big Brother.

Wherever I may go. Whomever I may meet. Whenever the subject of Big Brother comes up. There is just one thing I hear - "I hate Big Brother".

This statement is usually followed by the typical comments, "It's stupid", "What's good about watching a bunch of nobodies doing nothing" and "I canNOT believe that one of those morons wins a million bucks or whatever".

Well, methinks the general public protesteth too mucheth.

SOMEONE is watching Big Brother. Some people even pay money to be in Big Brother's live audience. (Although they may just be Dreamworld staff on late shift).

It is fascinating to me that people are ashamed of things like this.

The same deal applies to music. I know SO MANY people who take unwarranted pride in their musical taste. They only like Aussie rock. They only like Swedish troubadour ballads.

I know we all want to be unique and special. (Hence my endless and unrequited desire for an eyebrow ring). But personally, I am a complete slurry when it comes to music. The only styles I am really opposed to are heavy metal and disco (which make me feel physically sick, so it's not really a personal choice). Other than that, it's all good.

I mean honestly. What's a party without some toe-tapping Brit-pop? Some pity-party US soft rock? The macarena???

The world is an amazing place. Don't be so cool that you miss it.

The Haps

Ah, how the cycle of life turns, and I found myself back in the blogosphere.

My poor, neglected blog was in the throes of its melodramatic death spasms, when here I am again, giving it a shake and ruffling its feathers.

If only, if only, I had something riveting to report - "I've created a perpetual motion machine (no really)". "I've adopted Madonna's baby". "I've dyed my hair blue". But alas, it's not to be. Truly though, there was, at least, a chance that the third statement may have come to pass. Currently enjoying the freedom of not holding down a seriously conservative job, the thought of azure hair was strongly leaning on me. This was my one chance to throw myself out there. (At least until retirement, of course, when I can fully lavender myself up to the hilt).

Sure, I had some misgivings. Like, what if my hair doesn't match anything? It's hard enough to match tops and bottoms, let alone adding a third degree of difficulty. And what if it faded and just looked like a terrible highlighter tragedy? Certainly, there were some practical concerns that I needed to consider.

But, ooh, the temptation. The appeal of having hair that just stuck it to society and said, "Sure, you may be cool. But I have blue hair. So, like, meh". The ability to walk into West End and not feel like a foreigner. The ability to listen to Britney and still retain edginess (sort of).

So I rang my hairdresser. I locked in the appointment. And I braced myself for the new, blue and improved Ali.

With barely-concealed excitement I revealed to my uber-grungy hairdresser my reckless intentions. He listened intently. He nodded with understanding...

And then he told me that if I wanted something different, maybe we could "do a nice blonde".



And so, I now have a nice blonde.

Look out world.