O Frabjous Day! Callooh! Callay!

Apologies for not posting sooner folks. I'm afraid not a lot of funny/interesting/uber rage inducing things (I can publicly post about) have been happening in my life. Well.....perhaps they have, but they have been overshadowed by work frustrations (see publicly post reference) and my recent fixation on the fragility of life.

This was sparked Friday before last when some punk kids decided it would be a fabulous idea to throw bottles at the train I happened to be on, as it was pulling out of the station. One of the bottles smashed through a large window several rows down from me. Luckily no-one was sitting in those seats and the nearby people only got showered a little in glass. The second bottle hit the window next to me about 20 centimetres above my head but it hit the metal window hinge it bounced off.

20 centimetres between my face and a whole of lot of fast moving broken glass is about as close as I'd like to ever get.

Anywho, it got me thinking about how little inconsequential decisions (like where you sit on the train) can potentially have a big impact on your life. Me being a serious drama queen, this of course made me think about dying and my funeral.

By definition funerals suck. However I want mine to suck a little less than average so I'm going to plan it now while I am of reasonably hot of body and vaguely sound of mind.

No churches. Not only would it be horribly hypocritical and a lightning strike risk, the seats are always so uncomfortable. It should however be somewhere with free and ample parking.

No ties. Shoes are optional if you have pretty enough feet.

No organ music unless it is Baby Elephant Walk. Exit music shouldn't be Ava Maria or anything sad, it should be something like the Sabre Dance . Dancing like a goon is to be encouraged.

No synchronised reading of prayers. Have you ever been in church when a large congregation are reading out a prayer in unison? It sounds creeepy. If everyone insists on saying something together, it should be something like "We are we are, we are the many" or "Urrrghhhh braiiiiiiins"

No reading of poems unless it is 'The Jabberwocky' or written by Spike Milligan.

Instead of the standard proceedings, it should be run like a roasting with people getting up and telling embarrassing or funny stories about me. I don't want said roasting to be run by some random celebrant that I've never met and made blush, reading some "insert deceased's name here" script. I want someone who can run the show like an MC. Someone like Seraph.

No children under 10 are invited. Babies cry and stress their mothers, toddlers embarrass their parents with loud and obnoxiously accurate but inappropriate observations, and older kids will be bored stupid and shouldn't really be exposed to the dirty anecdotes that I really hope will be bouncing around.

And finally...I know y'all are busy people and I'm not nearly important enough to be dwelled over. My funeral and wake should be combined and snacks served.

The proceedings should start not with "We are gathered here today..." or "We are here to remember...." but with "Right, has everyone got a drink?"

Putting The Ran In Random

Out of the blue on Monday I was pulled out of my office to be introduced to Peter Snell. I haven't met many famous folk so while waiting to shake his hand I thought about what I should say to him. My first thought was how celebrities complain that when some people met them they are told something horribly insensitive like "You look taller on TV" or "You look skinner in the movies".

Within 3 seconds of listening to him talk to another staff member it became pretty clear that the guy was completely devoid of a sense of humour and saying "You look different in colour" would have probably gone down like a cup of cold sick.

When it was explained to him that I worked in elearning he made a confused face and some vaguely negative comments about the use of technology in education and I realised he really did suit being in black and white.

Southern Comfort

So.......Yeah........sobriety totally sucks.

I'm not feeling any healthier and I look like hell, but I have to admit the Wagon has given me flash of inventive inspiration.

Without that lovely spinning and/or tumbling feeling one gets after climbing into bed after 4(ish) bourbons, I am having trouble getting off to sleep. As I was lying awake again last night I came up an idea for a product which might just make me my millions.

You'll see my first rough drawing to the left. It is made of a soft fabric like polar fleece or flannel and is basically a human sized bag filled with lightweight plastic beans (not polystyrene since I have an intense and irrational phobia of that particular substance... Urgh....just typing about it makes my teeth itch...waaaarrgghhh)

Ahem. Anyways. It is designed for people who don't normallyor currently share a bed with someone else and slips in behind them as a surrogate Big Spoon. You'll see it has concave curves for your upper back, butt and feet and convex curves for the small of your back and the back of your knees. I haven't drawn it in here but it will have an optional arm-like attachment which you can have draped over or tucked underneath you.

The deluxe edition would have built in electronics which would simulate a heart beat that you'd feel around the upper back area and have warming coils through the middle and through the feet area.

I haven't decided yet whether I'll call it "Just Bean'ing There" or "The Serving Spoon"

Discombobulating Muffins

I am beginning to suspect the universe is conspiring against my recent decision to cut back on my drinking by exposing me to a mix of horrifying, yet morbidly fascinating, sex related stories, and as icing on the extremely-disturbing-cake I was the lucky recipient of some explicit text message stalking.

Perhaps someone is trying to tell me something....like my liver health is overrated? Carpe Bourbon??

So yes, in the last week I have heard not 1, not 2 but 3 different sex stories that left me wondering whether the attendants at my local liquor store are missing me as much as I am miss them...

Story number 1 involves the carry on at a 'Sexy Party' that involved a bunch of drunk young men and women, a video camera and a Dalmation. The story left me wondering whether the dog was ok and how one gets invited to these sort of things?

Story number 2 involves Blanket Man being witnessed having it off with some woman in the middle of the street. The story left me wondering on or under the blanket and if was a charity 'donation' how she plans on claiming back the tax?

Story number 3 was a lengthy tale which involved a friend of a friend who after a big night out on a business trip ended up coming back to his motel room with three woman of questionable moral fibre. The dude left the room briefly and came back to a room empty of the girls and his brothers digital camera. Guttered about the situation he rang his brother to give him the bad news. Shortly after speaking to the brother the FOAF sat down to have a drink to commiserate the loss of the camera (and I'm guessing the girls) and noticed it under the couch. He was so relieved the camera wasn't stolen he decided to celebrate with a quiet smoke of something other than tobacco. While outside on the balcony he was hailed by a bloke he'd briefly met earlier in the evening and it was agreed he would come up and share in the celebration. Once in the motel room the bloke asked now pretty stoned camera-not-actually-lost-guy whether he had ever masturbated in front of someone (!!!) Before he knew what was happening the random bloke was on the floor, pants around his ankles pounding away like a man possessed and he had to be asked to leave. This story left me wondering whether some not tobacco would erase this story from my mind and what the odds of the random bloke being my ex brother-in-law who (I found out the hard way) liked to masturbate in front my computer.

I join you all in saying/thinking/retching "Urgh"

Then to top the last few days off on Tuesday I received a highly dodgy text message from an unknown number. The message greeted me as Meredith, outlined some pretty personal but accurate information about me and then propositioned me for a threesome. Then they rang several times (I rejected the calls) and texted me again asking if I was there and was this Meredith. Thanks to some super sleuthing and skillful lying (not by me) it was found that the author of this delightful message was a University student I had hired for a day to help me out at the conference I organised back in July. Yes folks, back in July. It has been 4 months since I last spoke to or saw this boy and now....now he thinks it is an ok time to ask me for sex. I was really disappointed in him since he was a good little employee....the last sentence of his text message really summed that up... "I do as I'm told"