18 12 2010

Yes. Grammar is spelt incorrectly. And has entirely too many exclamation points. I know. I’m annoyed too. But I have to leave it like this to make a point. That this is what some people are actually like, and we have to accept them, and not only as people whom we must coexist with, but also sometimes as equals.

Yes folks, there are some people out there who are bright, talented and friendly and yet still, this grammatical faux pas is, for them, quite commonplace. Tragic but true.

The worst part though. They know they are doing it. Why would a perfectly clever person who is pleasant and hard working intentionally spell things incorrectly, or abuse available methods of punctuation, if they know it’s wrong, and takes almost 20 times longer? It is a mystery, never fully explained, or even approached by scholars of our time. One thing’s for sure, however… These people must be stopped. Please note the following grammatical errs and allow us to deconstruct and analyse it so that we may determine a rough translation, and if we’re lucky, the root of the problem.

Are you coming to rehearsal tomorrow???????

Firstly, let it be known that this in a normal and reasonable question. Not urgent; perhaps a little prudent. But it is simply a request for information, namely, whether or not someone (the questionee) is planning to attend rehearsal the day following the question. So why the need for … (pause for counting)… seven question marks? Note: seven being six more than the required amount, which is one. Now even the swiftest of typers/texters would take approximately 2 seconds to press shift AND hold the appropriate button until they produced 7 question marks, when they could have saved themselves a whole 1.5 seconds at least. That 1.5 seconds could have been spent deciding things like what to eat, clicking on that guy you likes’ profile, or getting up to go to the loo.

If the question is not urgent – and we can only assume it is not, as it is typed, ergo on facebook or text which can produce timely responses when you could have simply just called that person to get an instant answer- we can therefore deduce that this individual suffers from something I like to call Punctuation Abuse, or rather an addiction to the overuse of punctuation and incessant tapping of the keyboard.

The more tapping the better, and if it’s a punctuation mark, it’s a great perk. It is a sneaky and somewhat socially acceptable way of expressing one’s problem without it being overly noticeable or incoherent. For example, if they had written:

Are yooooooooooou coooooooooming tooooooooooo rehearsal tooooooomoooooorrooooooow?

And hereby overusing the “O” vowel as a substitute, it would seem much more noticeable, and ridiculous. These people are cunning, and must be institutionalised as soon as possible! (Note: this point was made well enough with one exclamation mark. One. Singular.)

Now, how is this really harmful, albeit mildly annoying? Think of the amount of times these people must act such abuse out. If it’s a problem they have, they are doing it more than once. In fact, we can only assume this is being done at an average of 20 times a day. That’s 30 seconds delay time in total that they are racking up, and that is merely for the average. Let’s not get started on the heavily addicted. But for the average person, that’s 30 seconds a day. 210 seconds a week. 10, 920 seconds a year.

That’s over 3 hours a year wasted on pointless grammar abuse which, in turn, is approximately 10 days or more wasted in the average lifetime.

Conclusion: People with punctuation abuse problems will surely be more unfulfilled and are likely to die earlier. And I’ve no doubt Charles Darwin would have a whole chapter explaining his agreement with this theory in “Survival of the Fittest” were there access to facebook and texting in his time.

Another example, for your reference, is:

OMG I have no idea!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!!?

Clearly a bad case of punctuation mark abuse. Should someone be lazy enough to write O M G instead of Oh My God (as the case may be) then why cancel out that perfectly reasonable laziness with perfectly unreasonable punctuation? As the Punctuation Fail equivalent of Hiroshima, I can only assume that this person exploded in a haze of confusion and excitement. They probably won’t be missed.

NOW. Second on the agenda is purely horrible spelling just for the hell of it. From a grown woman of 25 who generally speaks quite normally, and excelled at her spelling throughout school, I took this sample:

welcum to december fukers!… Get out there n punch sumone

Translation: Welcome to December, fuckers! Get out there and punch someone.

And the more recently acquired:

dam goldy shenanigans! broke my heel jumpen fences :p oouuch!!

Translation: Damn Gold Coast Shenanigans! I broke my heel jumping fences. Ouch!

My first reaction was “…..what?”

Upon a second scan I thought… I can read it. And I can even understand it. Those words seem to make sense. Why then does it only seem a tragic semblance of the English language as we know it? The subject in question knows how to spell, and knows how to form proper sentences, but the meaning of the phrases is lost and despite probable intelligence and likeability, their status is now diminished to a dull husk of an appreciation. If you insist on speaking like an uneducated 14 yr old emo child at the back of the Thursday night bus, and wish to still be considered clever and respectable, you’ve got another thing coming. It’s harsh, but sorry, that’s just the way it works.

Lastly, this is a little off topic, but as far as emoticons go, when we have nought but a simple and clever creativity with our punctuation marks,there is such thing as too much.

Smiley face 🙂

Very smiley face 😀

Very very smiley face (aka laughing face) XD

Sad face 😦

Very sad face 😥

Silly face 😛

Angry face 😡

And here’s one I just made up: Party face <:) Get it? ‘Cause he’s wearing a little party hat?


These are simple and okay and normal.

So then. Why this? :3

I am told it is a Walrus. Why are we Walruses now? Is there an Eggman emoticon?

And today I saw this X3.

This would directly indicate that, upon laughter, the subject transforms into a Walrus… Can someone please explain this to me?


Bonneth out <:)


Keeping Up A Beer…Ances. Appearances. Whatever.

17 12 2010

Okay my puns are really off today. But then again I don’t think there’s an ‘on’ button for such things, and if youre reading this now you must be aware on some level that all of my puns are in fact, off. So whatever.

So, today’s issue is directly linked to one’s ability to maintain social status by simply doing bugger all. Can it be done, you say? Well, I would like to say I was on a quest to find out, but to be honest, that sounds like more effort than it’s worth, so instead I will digress to simply blog about it.

Now if you’re someone like me who knows a million different people, who are in a million different groups and who do a million different things, you’ll be somewhat of a party animal right? Wrong. But, you think, surely anyone with so many people in their life must fall under the category of minglers, socialites, party hosts, charismatic, and my lord can they get the party started! Well. If this is the case, I am the exception to the rule.

Now, having recently found myself in rather a wonderful relationship with rather a wonderful boy, I suspect that my declining interest in party attendance may be seen as a result of this fact. “Oh, she didn’t want to come and get drunk with us, she’s off with her new squeeze”. That’s all well and fair, I do like being off with him, so it would make sense that eventually when my laziness completely takes hold (here’s hoping it doesn’t, however) we will probably be what is referred to as “one of those boring, stay-in couples”. But, in all honesty, I’ve ALWAYS been one of those boring, stay in couples. Sans second person. I’ve gone out to parties, met a lot of people, gotten very drunk, spent a lot of money and had a great time too. But at the end of the day, I was always the one hanging out for the acceptable time to throw in the towel, get some McNuggets and just fuck off to bed nom nom nomming.

Now, disclaimer: I love my friends. I have a great time with them and I admire them all in one way or another. But the parties, lord, the endless parties. Now a party, to most, induces a vision of fun music, thrilling conversation, many lols, and of course, getting crunk. But in my head, these days, when I feel old age fast approaching and my nonchalance becoming more evident, all I can foresee is the following:

Conversation will always, always be catching up. I know entirely too many people and have entirely too little energy or time to see them all every week, and so the best way to see them all at once? Parties. And yes I like to hear what everyone is up to, who had a kid without me knowing, who is a crack addict now, but I loathe telling them my things. “Have you graduated yet? Got a decent journo job? Seeing anyone special? What are your plans?” etc.

Considering the answers are generally “Yes. But no. No. I don’t know.” I tend to feel particularly boring and useless. And I do have plenty of things I could discuss and I am happy enough and so on, so forth, but if I get into any big spiel people’s eyes tend to glaze over, or you have to repeat it to everyone to fulfil a sense of pattern, and that’s exhausting. No fault of the people, however, they probably have heard 50 other stories that night, so can hardly expect them to maintain attention. Stuffs hard! I’d rather just prattle on about useless information and have a laugh and leave out the finer details of my life.

Now. Music. Can sometimes be wonderful. But the particularly loud music is generally terrible, which no one can agree on, so you never hear anything until the end before someone flicks to the next track. Irritating unless you completely tune it out and/or start a singalong. But then you’re stuck in a singalong, and some prat is always going to pull out Crowded House or Oasis that you might as well be at your local pub for. Or, if the crowd is younger, it may as well be that new Akon song, featuring snoop jackal hound face, bopping the latest beats with the most recent girl to put nude pictures of herself on myspace and hence launched herself a career in the pop industry. And this is music I don’t care to tolerate anywhere other than the girly retail outlets I buy my dresses from.

Now, then there’s the evening thing. Parties are predominantly at night. And go until quite late. And include much boozing, squalor, and kicking on. I am someone who works weekends. In the morning. You can imagine the impact this has on my once very close relationship with liquor. Nowadays, I work all day Saturday, then all I want to do is go home, watch a movie, cook dinner, relax. Instead, I often have to get home, make myself look pretty, navigate my way to this party, and then only have a couple because I am driving, so I get to feel myself run out of energy while everyone else seems to be recharging, and be hailed a bore when I pull out the car keys instead of hit the clubs, because I a) can’t afford to go out b) can’t afford cabs and c) have to get up for work tomorrow morning anyway.

But honestly, though evening parties are a terrible drain, if those I had befriended actually gave a crap whether I went out and bobbed about frantically under some disco lights with them, then I wouldn’t actually like them. Party people can go have fun with strangers, and I find though they always try the guilt trip, they quickly forget your absence when strongly under the influence of neon signs and inebriation. So despite it all, they don’t care. This shouldn’t be an issue. The problem is getting myself to the party at all.  This is why evenings can be tricksy hobbits.

Now. Day time parties, they are the shiz. If I can’t go, it’s generally because I have to be at work. So okay, no big deal, not your fault, you’re free of guilt, and the host isn’t angry. You can do nice things like go to the park, cook a meal, sit around, go swimming. And I can get drunk! I have all day to find my way home and pass out disgracefully early, so work the next morning would not be a problem.

So as I’ve trundled through life doing whatever obligation, hobby, study and just general socialising, I’ve gathered a collection of colleagues, study buddies, BFFs, acquaintances, dance partners, alcoholics anonymous supervisors and general every day friends to the untrained eye would seem rather impressive. But the truth is I don’t do anything. I just meet people and like people and then they are people in my life.

My conclusion is that you don’t have to always actually appear to keep up appearances. If you’re friends are good, they will love you anyway. So occasionally, it’s okay to do the unthinkable and click ‘attending’ on someone’s facebook event, and then find this to be a false prophecy. Because hey, you said yes because you wanted to see them, right?  You like them and have the intention of being there. But you know. We’re grownups now. Well …to some extent. If you want to see someone, don’t be shallow. Get off facebook, tune into your iPhone 4 and just give them a call.

Oh and if you don’t have facebook or an iPhone 4 we can’t be affiliated anymore. Soz.


9 10 2010

Attention: All of Bonneth’s romantic interests… please stop being a waste of time, if you could

So, I am taking that moral low road where I blame the people I fancy instead of myself for any lack of real progress in a romantic situation. Is that so bad? Well yes, probably. So occasionally I might find my personal life has reached a prominent cul-de-sac… I never could navigate. But I’m not all to blame!

I’m not sure what really constitutes bad luck when it comes to the opposite sex but I can’t say I have ever found myself entirely lucky. Now that’s not to say I haven’t known some great guys or that I’m overly sulky in regards to singledom. But I’m quite familiar with frustrations aimed at boys, myself or just the freakin situation. That last one is the shits btw, because there’s no one to blame really. You’re just in cranky bitch limbo, where nothing goes right, and you’re trying to justify why that McFlurry with everything in it really is a good idea.

It’s easy to say you’re single because you like being single or you’re too busy etc (sometimes this is a category I fall under) and it’s also simple to say you’re single because nobody fancies you (also probably me, though this is deeply depressing). I feel I am single mostly due to circumstance. I mean firstly, Johnny Depp lives in Paris or somewhere wanky and was forced to marry his praying mantis wife at gun point, so it couldn’t really work between us.

Secondly, do you recall aforementioned bitch limbo land? I’m the mayor of that place.

Let us begin with the high school flames. They were all attractive, cute, funny, charming, and talented. And for some reason, they liked me. But things never quite worked out with that many of them. Note: “not working out” includes deciding they really wanted me a week before they became addicted to pot; having him shipped away to boarding school on the other side of the county; declaring his feelings to me, then dating one of the plastics instead of me, the humble bogan. And my personal favourite: going from bi to gay.

The best of those was the one shipped away to boarding school. He was pretty boy wonderment. And while I fancied him for quite a few years still after this, and we had a few visitations, he apparently was tainted in the new place and did some stupid things that broke all ties, and while he still exists, I like to pretend he died doing something noble.

Now, being a non teen, I no longer have raging hormones, and find myself liking no more than one or two guys a year, and they all come at once. So I’ll go from a long boring drought to monsoon season. Though these guys then turn out to be completely unsuitable in one way or another, either because they just don’t fancy me back, or we play the ‘alarm bonnie with discovery of pertinent relationship dealbreaker’ game.

Some examples of common phrases used include:

  1. Oh yes I like you too, yes I think we should definitely date! Oh look, you have a girlfriend already. YOU DIDN’T MENTION THAT.
  2. But of course I’ll change some plans for you; no really I like you lots too. So, apparently you’re moving to another country next year. YOU DIDN’T MENTION THAT.
  3. Wow, you’re so respectful of me. It’s nice to meet a guy who wants to take it slow. So I found an erotic bunny costume complete with whip under your bed. YOU DIDN’T MENTION THAT.
  4. Wow you’re so nice. I’m surprised at how sensitive you are for a big guy. Oh you want to talk about your life instead of have sex? You’re gay aren’t you? YOU DIDN’T MENTION THAT.
  5. Yeah I think that’d be a nice place to go! Where should we go next? Oh, there again? Okay I guess that’s fine. What? You want to go there again? But the movie you want to see isn’t even playing there. WHAT IS YOUR OBSESSION WITH THAT PLACE?
  6. Gee, you’re kinda nice. Yeah you’re really nice! Okay now you’re too nice. Okay stop talking to me please. No you’re not invited to my party. How did you get this number? Why are you always talking to me about potatoes?

And the most common among all women:

  1. You never text me back.

Lastly, here are some predictions of future phrases:

  1. I really appreciate how mature you’re being about this; I just don’t think it’s working. Sure, we can still be friends. No, that doesn’t mean you can booty call me. Oh look, you slashed my tyres this morning.
  2. Well I understand that you think you and your girlfriend have broken up, but it doesn’t quite translate so well when I can see her in just a towel sitting on your bed. So you understand my concern? No, I will not have a threesome with you.
  3. All I’m saying is, if you hadn’t have walked in on me barfing up the Macdonald’s I scoffed at 3am while I was plastered, would I still be a little bit sexy?

And of course

     4. You never text me back.

I suspect I only have myself to blame for much of my commitment problems, however for now I use the above rant to declare my total and utter ambivalence towards the dating world. Basically there comes a point in a someones life where they can meet a decent person, who they can see all the time without interrupting eithers schedule, they can treat eachother right and make eachother laugh, and all that general shiz.  Or (she) can go right back to her ordinary life (read: stalking other boys on facebook).

My coping mechanism is to be generally nonchalant about relationships, buy pretty dresses, and ship the memories of dud menfolk off to a desert island somewhere on the outskirts of my subconscious… But I think we’re going to need a bigger boat.

Bonneth Out.

The Common Enemy

19 09 2010

In this heavily overpopulated planet you come across people from all walks of life. We are all different in one way or another. We might be fat, thin, tall or short, crazy, sane, humble or arrogant. But we all consider ourselves to be doing the best we can. If there’s a fork in the road, we eventually make a decision; if there’s an obstacle on the path, we find a way to overcome it. And if there’s alcohol around, we’ll probably drink it. Our forks, obstacles and liquor often differs to that of the next being, but together we face a mutual terror.

Every day we get up, we go to work or receive an education, we might be careful and considerate, prone to logic and reason, and be a most respected citizen in your general province. But no matter who you are, what choices you make and what life you lead, you cannot avoid it… you are going to be hassled by old people.

Now I am lucky to have a most awesome lot of grandparents who are both hilarious and ridiculous and even if they shouted at me I’d find them endearing. Even the rude, crazy one. But as far as I’m concerned, old people who arent related to me are a pack of dicks. Like, really. Take at the movies for example. My friend Zoe and I went to see Australia, which should have been called “Three long sappy movies put together to form epic epic desert tale with cute Abo Kid and a bit of sex”. Now I can’t speak for myself but Zoe is one of the nicest and most polite people on the planet. As we were approaching our allocated seats, these two old biddies saw us coming and began grunting to one another and making angry faces in our general direction. When we approached them, they did not say anything nice or acknowledge we were there, they did not move their legs out of the way, and they was faaaaaaaat. We had to squeeze through the valley of the shadow of death aka their thighs and knees, just to get to our seats beside them. And instead of being all “soz babes we will totes try to sit back a little” they just grunted summore at our inherent rudeness at trying to get past them without climbing on top of them. Of course, they were right to hate on us. We’re young and therefore distruptive and ludicrous.

Zoe and I sat silently and enjoyed the desert and the cute abo kid and the little bit of sex, while the two old women TALKED AND TALKED AND TALKED and it was really annoying stuff like ‘OH NO DONT GO THERE” and “WHAT DID HE SAY?” and “OH THAT MAN ISNT VERY NICE AT ALL” and “WHY ARE THEY DOING THAT? OH BECAUSE OF THAT MASSIVE BIT OF PLOT WE MISSED BECAUSE I WAS ASKING ALL THOSE OTHER THINGS?”. You get my point. The only positive thing I take from this is – get to the cinemas early. Snag a seat and pretend to play on your phone. No one over 50 will sit next to you! The downside is you end up with some shitty 15 year olds instead who wear fishnets and talk like its Thursday night on the back of the bus to the mall “like yeah totally fuck that shit omg make out fingered omg shit fuck I can swear with arrogance because I’m only 15 so it’s still rebellious and cool to swear”.  But thats another story.

I recently put myself into a most haphazard position with traffic. I was driving home, needed to turn, so put my blinker on. I had to cross 2 lanes of traffic to get to my turning lane, which had no one in it. So essentially I was like “sweet, just cross over this one lot, and I’ll be all set”. Then I glanced over to the green car beside me and gasped, for the driver hath grey hair and an old man hat upon his follied head. I knew then my blinker and my road rules meant nothing. He saw my youth, and he was out to get me.

I knew he wouldnt let me pass because ‘elderly’ is a synonym for ‘tosser’. Fortunately the car in front was doing the speed limit and I was able to speed up ahead of old man, as it is against the old man in the hat code to go faster than 40. I cut in front of him and then quickly into turning lane just before it ran out. No one was hurt, no threat or danger ensued.

But then the light was not green. Nor was it orange. It was red… oh so red. Red for danger.

So I copped ye olde abuse from the crazy old man for doing a perfectly legal  manouvre. Of course though I have youth and therefore also have no respect for my fellow man. And gonorrhea.
Please note, this will happen to you. My advice? Don’t talk back. Like most bights on society, we can only let them sit and wallow in the silence so that they may feel the shame of their wrongdoings. Exhibit A)

Oh yeah. There’s so much shame right here.

Thats my word of wisdom for the day. And if you dont take it, well… I dont blame you. I dont know dick about anything. Go forth and face mankinds oldest and greatest enemy: the elderly… except of course Manbearpig.

Bonneth out.


28 08 2010

There comes a time in everyones day to day life where they may take out their suffering on someone else. It’s not the right thing to do, and we know this… but sometimes – when one may be exhausted, unwell, constipated, or just plain schizophrenic – we are all susceptible to revealing our inner mister grumpy gills.

Like most I go through my day to day life trying to politely put on a smile. Some days it’s not hard, I’m a happy person with a good enough life. But recently I have fallen into danger zone. The danger zone is essentially a week where I’m feeling a bit off, sometimes even depressed, and I think it’s mostly due to stress. Gnerally the danger zone is approached after many weeks of scrupulous work ethic and hardcore adult responsibility and for a while there I feel great and organised and so on. But then out of nowhere, something happens. And it always happens.

Someone bails on a work obligation leaving me to pick up the slack. That running you were hoping to get into is postponed yet again because you’ve torn a muscle dong God knows what. A seemingly adorable child you go to greet lovingly decides to reciprocate by coughing in your face, gving you an upper respiratory infection to look forward to. Or just simply that guy you fancy spends an evening talking to you about their enthusiasm for a girl that is the opposite of you. Shit happens. Usually all at once.So when it rains, it pours. And when it pours, it pours shit, and so now you’re left, full of rage-a-hol, and covered in shit.

You get your cranky pants out of the cupboard and you decide “to hell with it! today I’m sick so I’m going to take a damn sick day!” when ordinarily you would simply go to work anyway and end up feeling not so bad afterall. You think, “hey! I spent $80 on healthy food! Thats an effort that deserves a family block of chocolate!” And of course while you’re already feeling sorry for yourself and you’re discomfort levels are increased by some other day to day ailment, the person nearest and dearest to you might occasionally get a bit of lip from you. Obviously this is not an allowable frequent occurrance, nor can you  be disastrously insulting, lest you want a smack. And in order to be forgiven for your moment of weakness you must apologise, and openly admit that you’re in a funk and didnt mean it.  This is the general rule I follow. Be a good person. Everyone makes mistakes. Forgiveness is devine. We all remain friends with acceptance, understanding and an inordinate amount of underlying disdain. Etcetera etcetera.

But then suddenly there was this girl. Let’s call her Cate. I don’t know what it is about her. But she brings out the absolute c-bomb in me. I mean, you don’t have to like everyone, and you dont have to go out of your way to pretend that you like them but… you should at least be respectable. But this girl, I just don’t understand. I don’t think her a bad person. I dont like to argue with someone unless theyve said something insulting or out of line. And as far as I know she isn’t much like this. All I can say about her is that she is truly the one who I find really really…. annoying. Just fucking annoying! You know the kind: constant blabbering about nothing; wears stupid faux indie accessories and wanks on about music when she only owns 2 CDs (something like Mariah Carey and Blink 182); she’s always  interrupting you mid sentence to correct you when you’re talking about your own life. She somehow relates everything you’re discussing to gaming, science or just plain motherfucking nothing. I mean usually I like nerds. Theyre pleasant, and occasionally cute. I date nerds from nerdland. But this is one of those awful nerds from a place out in buttfuck nowhere who I never chose to navigate to and I wonder how she even got out of there in the first place.

I mean, its easy with vapid girls who are basically walking STI’s who talk of nothing but how much guys hit on them and spend months planning how theyre next going to take 100 photos of themselves instead of getting a job. I can ignore them and smile at them because, well… theyre iditios. They don’t know when you’re humouring them, and you don’t expect any better. Guys who are repulsively ignorant and yet ridiculously arrogant and would jump at the opportunity to take their shirts off (in fact they oil their muscles every morning, just in case) it doesnt matter because they often secretly know theyre dumb which is why they overcompensate. But this girl, who happens to be a friend of a friend, is someone who studies hard. Who is comfortable with themselves for the most part. Someone who has a decent looking future ahead of them. I expect better of her. You’d think this to be a good thing, but god! She’s just so annoying! Its like I have bitchy tourettes when she’s around. And now her very presence annoys me so much so that she could say nothing provocative and I’m probably come off as aggressive.                               

Where has my willpower gone?  What happened to my years of experience deflecting/ignoring all sorts of provocations from my sisters? What happened to my decency? That last one was a joke. All I can say is, Cate is the catalyst for this doctor jykell to become miss hyde and I really must learn to put a lid on it when she’s around or in the very least, pretend I’ve had an accident and become a deaf mute who needs to be at least 20 feet away from her because its horrible contagious… it could happen.

Crazy Man

1 08 2010

There’s a crazy man who comes into my work sometimes around 7:30am. Whoever gets to do opens, which is often myself, gets to experience the woes of this bizarre creature. 

His craziness is not apparent at first. He shows up at the door, sometimes even walks in, and greets you. Had you not met him prior to this, you would assume he is just a regular customer. But once he gets talking, it begins to sink in just how truly nutters he is. Apart from his generally nonsensical manner, the other especially crazy element to his banter is that every visit he tells us the same thing. No matter who is at the counter, and no matter how many times he has met them before, he continues to go on about his son, the swim instructor; the fact that he was in the navy but couldn’t swim; how everyone calls him John Coffee on Mondays and JC on the weekend. Often after this last comment, he will make a frghtful noise that sounds like he’s trying to imitate a laugh, but his mouth doesnt open. The end result is a sort of buzzing sound that, along with his crazy eyes, is deeply disturbing.

On our first meeting I thought he might stab me if I didnt smile or respond. But now being familiar with his babbling about 5 times over, I tend to just smile but not look at him and pretend I’m busy when I’m really just playing Solitaire. Occasionally there’s a new addition to his story, and today it was a tale about why he laughs in his sleep, followed by the use of his arm sliding from his jacket in a bizarre attempt at a snake impersonation. Fortunately for me at that point the phone rang. On this phone is Larni, my manager who lives in the apartment just above the pool.

“Sorry – I have to answer the phone…(picks up hand set)… Thank you for calling Rackley’s Family Swim School, this is Bonnie”

He walks away.
“Hi. It’s just me. Saving you from the crazy man.”


I think my favourite part about the crazy mans visits is watching him walk away. Not so much because its good that he’s finally left, and I’m stab wound free, but more so because I love watching the suckers passing by on their way to work that he approaches. They are not familiar with him so they politely stop to hear what he has to say.

I lol every time.

Lame Car Business

1 06 2010

So my car got towed last night. I fell victim to my own selective blindness and only saw a green sign by the car park saying COME IN TWO HOUR PARKING 7AM TIL 4PM and then I thought well thats just jolly nice. Then I got back hours later to discover the red sgn behind it saying 4PM – 7PM TOW AWAY ZONE. And coincidently, my car was nowhere to be seen. Was rather horribly embarrassed as I had offered to give a friend a lift home, but a nice dude saw we were a bit flustered and confused and gave us advice on how to go about getting the car back and who to call etc. I call dad, he actually thinks its kind of funny and says he’ll help with the fine. Phew.

To the bus! We say, wandering forth to find the 411. We arrive at 9:16pm and of course it has departed at 9:15pm and the following bus doesnt come until 10:15. Knew I shouldnt have stopped for that Mcflurry. I then proceed to call up a good friend and am praying that he isn’t already curled up in bed and therefore far more difficult to sway. He isn’t, and we have a confirmed lift. Hallelujah for gay fiances and their lovely wonderment and motor vehicles. Have offered to bake him a most tremendous cake. Fortunately I am all for giving lifts to others because I know this sort of shit will happen to me and want to know I can call in favours.

10 mins later I’m home safe, albeit a little crabby at the difficult week and my own stupidity. Part with two good friends. I go inside, find my bed, and tell the world drearily I’ll be up at 5am to catch public transport to work, but know deep down I’ll be all “fuck that” and sleep til 5:30 where I shall call a cab and avoid the bus and the train and 2km uphill walk at 6am in the rain. Work shift number 1 finishes at 11am so shall proceed to catch public transport to Albion to collect my beautiful Hyundai Getz (named Kanye) from a car yard where he is no doubt frightened and confused in a strange place. 200 dollars later I shall drive him homeward where I’ll nap, eat a sandwich, then go back to work out at logan, which I’ll be thanking Jebus I had the car for.

What happened, Brisbane city council? You used to be cool, man.

Just kidding. You were never cool.