Wednesday, March 31, 2010


After talking about it for nearly five years, I am finally going to get my motorcycle licence!

I love love LOVE motorbikes. If I meet someone who has one I immediately try and wrangle a ride. I check out motorbikes as I am driving. Nathan thinks I'm crazy.

And I will be the first to admit that I know absolutely nothing about them. Apart from that I love them.

I was talking to a guy on Friday and he offered to take me for a ride, and then questioned why I didn't just get my licence. MattE seconded the motion when I raised the topic with him on Saturday. And then Sunday at the pub with my housemate's crew of mos two of them said they had their licence and that cemented my decision. Even though one of them had a massive chunk missing from his calf where he'd had a bike accident.

So Monday I rang up Morgan & Wacker and booked in for Q-Ride. The only problem was that I had to pay a deposit and they didn't take AmEx, so I had to borrow the 'rentals Visa. I called mum but it rang out, so called dad and he rather promptly gave me the details. Later that afternoon mum called me back asking what I wanted, and the conversation went like this:

Mum: What did you want the Visa for?
Moi: To pay for some lessons.
Mum: What sort of lessons?
Moi: Motorbike lessons
Mum: What?! Well then I am sure your father did not give you the credit card!
Moi: Yeah, he did.
Mum: We will talk about this this evening. *hangs up*

At dinner that night I got an earful, with mum sternly telling me that motorbikes lead to accidents and injury and death and graveyards. Then she got my nephews to agree with her, so I was told off by her and a seven year old and a four year old.

So, my family is mad at me, but I am so excited that I get butterflies in my stomach everytime I think about it!

Place your bets people - what will be the first bike-related injury I sustain?

Friday, March 26, 2010

Bulletin of the week


Details: Wanted old pram that can be used for teenager to deliver junk mail.

Clearly this teenager has no desire to have s-x, because being seen pushing a pram full of junk mail around the neighbourhood is going to nix any chance of them ever getting any.


Last night I realised just how old I have gotten.

I won tickets to the Barcardi Express gig at the Tivoli. Yes, I won gig tickets again, I'm jammie, I know. The line up sounded pretty good: La Roux, Art vs Science, The Cassette Kids, and Miami Horror.

What we didn't consider, is the sort of crowd that these bands would pull - annoying little 18 to 20 year olds. Guys with ugly bloody haircuts, and girls in super tight and super short prom dresses and heels. IT'S A GIG AT THE TIVOLI KIDS!

Unfortunately just as Miami Horror finished so did our champagne buzz, and with no chance of getting anywhere near the bar, things didn't look good. So rather than let the evening end in violence as I knocked some sense into the two bimbos in front of us that were pretending to be drunk, Nathan and I exited stage left.

The funniest part was on the way out, where a girl was demanding to speak to the manager because she didn't have her ticket and wasn't allowed in, and where a little gay boy leaned over saying "oooh, babe, you're coming out" and did the zip up on my dress!

"Sometimes, when all that's lost remains, drink from the fountain of youth and never age again"
Sometimes, Miami Horror

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Brisbane city observations

Funny things I have noticed in the city lately...

This morning when I got to the RBWH Busway Station I saw that my regular bus was sitting at the end of the platform, where it normally is, but instead of saying "66 The City" it said "Help!!! Call police". And there was a crowd of people on the other end of the platform, just silently standing there watching it. A couple of minutes later the bus behind it pulled out and stopped to pick everyone up, and we all filed on silently and went on our way to work. Wierd.

The other week there was a bit of rain. The temperature didn't drop much, but numerous people felt a need to start wearing their painfully fashionable trenchcoats. Or there were the women wearing gumboots. Seriously, gumboots?! Come on people, pack it away.

My friends know that I love me some designer handbag action. However, I hate the tacky Versace and Dolce & Gabbana crap that so many Brisbane women seem to be toting around in the crook of their elbows. Ugh.

That is all for now.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Bulletin of the week

The bulletin board at work continues to provide me with entertainment.

Each day I find the most amusing new listing and email it through to Nathan and Jerry. Now, I am going to do a Bulletin of the Week listing on my blog.

I find it highly amusing, I hope you do too...



Having got rid of all single beds in the house I have no use for the following:
- x 1 single doona inner, it has a few marks on it so it's Free.
- x 1 cotton single mattress protector $2
- x 1 woollen single mattress protector $4
- x 1 fitted Winne the Pooh sheet $1 (maybe could be made into a set of cot sheets if you're handy on the sewing machine)

Single Sheet sets (one fitted & one flat):
- set of flannette single sheets red, blue & white (soccer design) $2
- set of flannette single sheets purple with pink, purple and blue hearts $2
- set of blue cotton single sheets $2- set of lilac cotton single sheets $2

Doona Single Covers:
- Winnie the Pooh (mainly blue) $4
- Black, red & white $4
- Pink cover with frill edge (with purple fairies) $4
- White embossed pattern with matching valance $7

All in excellent condition. Contact Lisa

Honestly Lisa, you need to put a value on your time.

Consider how long it has taken you to do a full inventory of all of your single bedding (all the single beds, all the single beds...), write this advertisement, place it on the bulletin board, answer enquiries (I'm being optimistic and assuming that you will get any), pack the linen up, bring it in to work, and complete the transaction.

Or you could just put your dirty effing single bed sheets in the charity bin and save us all the hassle.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Grown up

I have recently been making conscious and subconscious efforts to be more grown up.

It started one day in a meeting in my new job, where I looked around at the majority female attendees and realised they all rather grown up hairstyles. Compared to moi, who had my hair scrapped back in a bun. That was when I made the decision to finally get a grown up hair style. I now have a funky sort of bob thing, which required daily blow drying and straightening. Because that’s what grown ups do.

Then there was the purchase of a brand name television. While I was initially happy to go for an el cheapo Celestial brand television, dad and PJ both told me to buy a Panasonic “because everyone knows that they are the best”. So I forked out the cash for a reputable brand massive plasma screen television. Because that’s what grown ups do.

Then I decided that I wanted new sheets for my bed, something in a silver/grey colour. I bought some from Kmart and then returned them as I wanted to get a better quality. Instead, today I went to Myer in my lunch break and purchased some super-threadcount Sheridan sheets. Because that’s what grown ups do.

Other things that I need to cross off the list in my transformation into a grown up:
  • The purchase of and wearing of high heels for work every day
  • The stocking up of my wine rack (with something a bit fancier than five bottles of soda water)
  • Learn how to smile nicely in photos without pulling a silly face
I welcome any suggestions as to what else I need to implement in my life in order to achieve grown up status.

Monday, March 8, 2010

Housemate hunt hell

Ok, so let me tell you about the absolute ball ache that has been my search for a house mate.

After moving back into my two bedroom apartment I paid the exorbitant amount of $49.95 to list the second room for rent on The response has been less than impressive.

There was the English junior doctor who, despite me explaining to get in the lift and come up to level 5, took the stairs and then got locked in the stairwell and had to call me to rescue him. I can't live with a person that needs saving.

Then there was the Indian office worker who couldn't find my massive four-building apartment complex just off a major road and next to a major infrastructure landmark, so I had to give him explicit treasure map-like instructions (stand with your back to this building, now walk 200 meters straight ahead, now turn to your right...). I can't live with an idiot.

Then there was the Malaysian woman in hotpants and high heels, who assumed that it would be okay if her young son stayed over a couple of nights a week. I can't live with children.

Then there was the cute Italian man who only wanted to stay for three months. I can't go through this process again so soon.

Then there was the pocket-rocket Army Reserve girl, who I really liked and asked to move in but she had found somewhere cheaper.

Then there was the construction worker, who was so ocker I immediately knew without meeting him that he had a Southern Cross tattoo somewhere on his body. I can't live with stereotypical patriotic permanent body markings.

Then there was the crazed stalker. I want to give you his name, so that you can steer clear of this loony, but then there might be legal implications. So I will hint at it. His name was Jonathan Generic-name-for-a-feathered-flying-animal. And he always referred to himself by his full name. He came to have a look at the place on Wednesday and said he was interested, but I told him I still had another couple of people coming to look at the place so would let him know on the weekend. He then called me Friday at work, when I couldn't answer the phone. He then called me twice on Saturday when I was driving down the coast, when I couldn't answer the phone. He then called me as soon as I arrived down the coast, when I could answer the phone but was hesitant to because of his persistence. So I sent him a message saying that I was sorry I couldn't take his calls but I was at a wedding (little white lie, I know), and that a friend of mine was going to move in to the room, and wished him luck finding somewhere else. He wrote back "aha ok well your time might not be valuable but that doesn't mean you can waste others". Jonathan, thank you for revealing your true nature and confirming that I had indeed made the right decision in not letting you move in you effing stalker freak.

So the hunt for a housemate is suspended for the time being. I'm looking forward to having a couple of weeks off from the freak parade before I can muster the courage to do it all over again.