That's personal

Me: What is this bint wearing?

LovelyWife: A giant dunny roll coming away from itself.

Werd.

Speaking of toilet paper, anyone else get one of these numbers in the post today?

Useful stuff. We were wondering how we were going to talk to Tobias about drugs.

Thanks, Prime Minister.

Top 24 what, exactly? Mouth breathers?

Dear Daniel,

People are starting to notice that you are always wearing a scarf. The same scarf in fact. In every single scene you appear in.

My money's on a tracheotomy scar but I do welcome any attempt you make to cover up your abundant man-fur.

PS - Instead of relying on a scarf as a trademark representation of your 'individuality', why not try some personality instead?

I'm a real big fan of Noel Fielding, so it is great to see him reprise his Vince Noir character for this series of Idol. Check out the circumference on that hair. King of the mods!

Ben, your parents must be very glad they made the decision to raise you as a boy. Your girlish features and squeaky voice are certainly not a dead giveaway of your hermaphroditic roots - nuh-uh, not a bit, girlfriend.

Yaaa--aaa---wwww--nnn.

There's enough entertainment value in this photo alone to justify Brianna's inclusion in the Top 24, but she also provided a few belly-laughs last night with lines such as "I'm quirky and different and I want to share that with the world."

I can't decide whether she'll bomb out of the competition following a 'kooky' rendition of an INXS song, or following a butchering of a Bjork song. The future holds so many enticing possibilities.

It is clear though that Marcia is already cultivating a wicked hatred of Brianna - if I had one of those clever televisions that knew automatically which parts of Idol I would like to blog about, and then took a screen-shot, and then sent it to my computer, then I would be able to include a picture of Marcia's face after telling Brianna she had made it to the Top 24.

But I don't.

So you'll just have to imagine it - think of how Marcia might look if she was attempting to shit a brick. That should do it.

Looks who is effluent now.

"The first [ad] break doesn't come until about 10 minutes in and they don't feel too intrusive to us because the story really gets under way."

Oh bollox.

You know, you could have just said "Seven offered us $6 million" and that's all the justification I would need to hear for the move from the ABC. This kind of poxy justification for the incorporation of advertisements into the show is more than nauseating.

In any event, be sure to keep your shark-jumping detection kit handy...

Oh that's right, I have a blog

Meaningless things from my life you've missed hearing about lately:

• The woman, a full-time employee, in the LovelyWife's team at work who said she wasn't going to be at work the next day because she "wasn't available that day" (how do people get away with crepe like that?!);
• The woman who lives across the road from my parents has named her daughter "Emmasyn";
• The woman at the LovelyWife's work who spent a morning randomly touching fellow employees with her new, vibrating "OH&S hand splint", that she bought at Fyshwick;
• I will never tire of the the audition phase of Idol; and
  
• The other day my need for caffeine completely overtook my principles and I bought a coffee from these shmucks, who we all know are in bed with these rabid oxygen-thieves. I feel very dirty. If I can't maintain pointless protests through meaningless product boycotts, what do I have left to live for?
  

And the Nobel Prize for Chavism goes to...

I know, I know - but this picture is apt. It shows where the baby came from...

Proud parents Jordan and Peter Andre have landed their new child with a mouthful of a moniker . . . PRINCESS TIAAMII.

They chose the barmy name - pronounced tee-ah-me - as a tribute to their parents.

Andre's mother is called Thea, while Jordan's mother's name is Amy.

As the LovelyWife notes, looks a little bit like an insurance company acronym. No child should be burdened with that many superfluous vowels.

How many more of these name-crimes must we endure before a UN resolution is passed requiring worldwide adoption of the Hungarian and Danish approach of instituting an official list of baby names?!?!

Won't someone please think of the children!

Closer to home:

I honestly don't know which is worse.

Out of office

I don't give a crap about your email am currently out of the office.

I will ignore respond to your timewasting hassle email when I return with post-holiday depression so bad I'll likely just delete your email straight away.

If the matter is something you've kindly left to the last minute urgent, please contact anyone but me and they will hopefully repay your kindness in coming to us at the last minute with a half-baked response sent exactly 5 minutes after the point at which we were so late with our response, you could no longer use it.

A post about my cat? Surely I jest.

To celebrate our first anniversary with Tobias, a pictorial tribute.

Simpsons me, Simpsons you

If only my posture were this good in real life

A worthy distraction in your day - create yourself as a Simpsons character.

That's my Christmas shopping done

I don’t know how common this is, but in my office we are lucky enough to have a ‘book club’ – a display of books for sale on the counter near the tea room. Must be the stuff they can’t even sell at those “All Books 50c” sales they hold in disused industrial estates.

Oh, and it's not just books. Our office is now a clearing house for $20 jewellery and children’s toys so flammable they catch fire if the heating is on too high.

Stuff that is clearly so obscure or poorly made, it would never find a home on the shelves of retail outlets.

You know the kind of thing – 151 delicious terrine recipes, Witchcraft for you at home, or a "3 in one measuring tape, pocket torch and infant thermometer".

Anyway, that’s not the point. I don’t even have to make the point.

The following pictures of one of the products, speak for themselves.

Looks harmless enough...

Kangaroos and Uluru...

Oh. I see. Classy.

It's like 10,000 spoons, when all you need is a knife

PM reads message generated from the Irony-tron 5000 irony-generating machine, wearing a "Choose Irony" t-shirt, on World Irony Day, and still fails to see any irony:

Prime Minister John Howard has ruled out Prince William as a future governor-general of Australia, saying only a long term and permanent citizen would be acceptable.

Just between you and me, given the expression on the old fella's face, I'm kinda glad this picture does not extend below the waistline.

And as for William, sod-off and get a proper job.

58 federal laws....

I think I'm going to have another one of those days today where I can't quite get motivated to work very hard for the gummint...

The 58 federal laws in Appendix 1 discriminate against same-sex couples in the area of financial and work-related entitlements. Those laws breach the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights.

Yeah, I reckon I'll take it real easy today. That'll really make 'em think twice about persistent breaches of basic human rights.

All persons are equal before the law and
are entitled without any discrimination
to the equal protection of the law. In
this respect, the law shall prohibit any
discrimination and guarantee to all persons
equal and effective protection against
discrimination on any ground...

Article 26, International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights

This will either cheer you up immensely

...or make you somewhat nauseous.

Those poor ladies.

Random crap from my camera-phone

Friday frosted log

I said, brrrrrrrr.

Really, really random stuff

Been spending a lot of time up at ‘da House’ lately.

I seem to have a distinct talent for almost colliding with MPs in the corridor. Seems I know precisely which blind corners to take at precisely what time, to ensure I have to do some awkward corridor dancing with ‘important people in a hurry’.

The list so far includes:
• Bill Heffernan
• Helen Coonan
• Barnaby Joyce (he was sweaty, *shudder*)
• Bronwyn Bishop
• Peter Garrett

All but the last have given me the squinty-eyed “what’s that lesbian doing in Parliament House” leer, on their way past. Or at least, that's what my paranoia likes to believe.

ANYWAY, laydeez, you know that unwritten rule of toilet etiquette, whereby if there are more than 3 or 4 cubicles (which are empty), it is rather bad form to walk straight in to one that has just been vacated by someone else?

Well, I reckon there is such a rule anyway. Some wierd extension of personal space.

The point is, this lady obviously doesn't think there is such a rule:

Check out my ghetto blaster, bitchez. Is tiny to makes my hairz look bigga, yeah!

One particularly exciting evening in da House of late, she high-tailed it at a rate of knots into a toilet cubicle I had just vacated, while it was still flushing.

As has already been suggested to me, she must like a warm seat or something.

Next random thing.

There is quite a high turn-over of security guards at the front desk of my office building (must be the 10-hours a day of sitting and staring at a door, who'da thunk?)

I’ve had my suspicions for some time that these guards have all been sourced from “Surly Lesbionic Security Guards R Us”, or some such similar company, given the steady supply of short-haired, pierced-faced lasses with a penchant for uniforms with shiny badges.

Thing is, I’ve obviously been identified as the token dyke in the building because each day I get greeted with a hearty “hey, howya doin?”, in complete contrast to the regular grunty-like greeting afforded ‘regular’ employees (if they are lucky).

At first I just put it down to the fact that one of the guards was into bikes, and obviously noticed me walking into the building in my bike gear. But it has gone a bit further than that of late.

On Mondays there’s quite often a “how was your weekend? Get up to any mischief? Eh?” *wink wink*. Also, all too often I’ll also receive an unsolicited run-down of the guard’s weekend, with very unsubtle references to local gay bars or events.

My favourite to date has been:

“So I didn’t see you at the bike and tattoo show at the weekend. I won a prize!”

The thing to know here is that I know this guard doesn’t own a motorbike, making this comment very ink-specific.

However, what really topped it off was one morning recently when a new guard was at the desk – I’d never spoken to her or seen her before but she nevertheless gave me a big hearty greeting and called me by my first name.

Seems that the security guard handover for my office building includes an exhaustive briefing on the names and faces of all known lesbians…

Last random thing

Tobias poses for a lolcat picture. Suggestions for captions are welcome.

My ideas to date: “Oh hi. I cleaned ur pans”.

Or, “Iz in ur drawz, lickin ur panz”

On having the maturity of a 12-year old

I struggled hard with the question of whether I should post this.

But tell me.

Be honest.

Don't you think this woman's name is just a little bit snigger-worthy?

Come on.

You know it is.

You see, this morning, on the way to work, I was overtaken by a tarago plastered with "Joanna Gash MP" branding.

The gash-mobile, if you will.

Yes, it has come to this.

Bourgeois malcontent

I wish they'd told me that there are responsibilities and commitments tied to this office-endowing new job of mine.

Who'd of thunk it? Not me, apparently.

I was perfectly content to just while away the hours in my realm of massively increased personal space decorating the place with astro-boy paraphernalia and reeling off the odd sneaky (but unheard) burp.

But people keep coming to me for decisions on things. Actual decisions. With implications attached and everything.

I missed State of Origin 1 because I was stuck up at Parliament House until after 11pm.

There should have been something in my sign-on agreement about proper recompense for missing live coverage of sporting events of cultural importance and national significance.

And there's a danger that tonight I'll miss a first-run Simpsons. I mean, come on people! This is getting out of hand.

They've even given me a weekend-ruining device work mobile phone that I 'must carry' at all times. Ruiners.

You'd think I'd go home, rather than sit here and take the time to compose and format a lengthy complaint about being at work late.

But oftentimes, it is the worst kind of 'working late' - where one is waiting on information from someone else before one can meet one's own deadlines.

Mega-uber sigh.

2 minutes on high

Here an issue one for those new-fangled etiquette guides (you know, the ones that exist to tell your parents that leaving caps lock on in an email = shouting).

What is the etiquette surrounding the office kitchen’s microwave?

More specifically, if I am waiting to use it, and the timer has long since sounded on the unattended lunch currently inhabiting the microwave, how long do I have to wait before I can pull it out and use the microwave myself?

I’ve waited quite some time in the past, paranoid that touching someone else’s lunch is invasion of personal space by proxy.

This is clearly too long to wait, and whilst it keeps me away from my phone and email for a blissful extra 5 minutes, I can only read the 4-year old notices on the notice board so many times.

By contrast, on another occasion, I’ve walked back in to the kitchen just as the timer was sounding on my lunch, only to find someone else pulling it out so they could get their left over tuna mornay in as quickly as possible.

To me, this is too hasty – what if I needed to stir my lunch and heat it for a further 2 minutes?

Modern living is so perplexing.


EDIT: I just wanted to note that I, like a couple of commenters, am of the view one should stick around and wait with one's meal.

However, I have perfected the timing of my reheating such that I can make a quick 'comfort stop' in the time it takes to reheat my lunch. So I feel ok in leaving it to cook unattended. I am a responsible microwave user.

Furthermore, more often than not, waiting with my food while it heats up will involve banal small talk with whoever else is waiting to use the microwave and I have a very limited tolerance for meaningless niceties or talk about the weather. Setting my lunch to heat and walking off to do something else is often more of a survival mechanism than anything else.

But what I am definitely not a fan of is the 'queuing by proxy' some people undertake by leaving their tupperware in a little queue next to the microwave and then lobbing off back to their desk.

Tell you what, if the microwave becomes free and no one is around to 'claim' their place in the queue, I'm not hanging around waiting for you to return.

TGIF

Everybody's workin' for the weekend!

Well, everybody except this guy:

Man! Weekend detention. Particularly cruel, I reckon.

And I whinge about having to stop at the shops on my way home from work on Fridays...

Ink

Must. Stop. Watching. Miami. Ink.

All I can think about is getting big, eff off tattoos all over my arms.

Just to complete the whole ‘stereotype’ look I’m after.

Furthermore, I keep throwing away perfectly good money on tattoo magazines.

LovelyWife: Can you pick up some milk on the way home?

Me: Uh, not until payday. I spent my last $30 on the latest airmail copy
of Skin Deep.

LovelyWife: Divorce!

Maybe I’m just trying to convince myself that even though I sit in an office for 10 hours a day busily serving the government, I’m still some kind of underground uber-dyke.

Who am I kidding.

I am a total and utter square.

Plus, whenever I think of tattoos I just think of how terrible they can look.



Today’s koi fish is tomorrow’s faded celtic armband after all.