Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh.
Something wonderful has happened.
No, not wonderful. More wonderful than wonderful. What's more wonderful than wonderful? Terrific? Amazing? Magnificent? Fabulous? Disco Fabulous? Oh, yes, Disco Fabulous. I like that.
Where was I?
Oh. Oh! Yes.
Something Disco Fabulous has happened - my parents bought us an espresso machine.
Oh, my gosh, an espresso machine.
'Espresso Machine'. As in 'Machine That Makes Coffee'. I get that if you're a healthy non-coffee drinker, you probably won't care about this. But for an addict of caffeine in pretty much any form (and I mean real addict, I'll suck the dregs right out of a can of Red Bull any day of the week), this is - and I don't want to undersell this, so give me a moment to sort out my words...
...
THIS IS QUITE POSSIBLY THE BEST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME.
With the exception of this dream I once had about Wentworth and me getting married and having a mint chocolate chip flavoured icecream wedding cake, and then dancing our first dance to Midnight Train by Journey, and him being taller than me even though I was wearing my highest heels.
But apart from that.
THIS IS QUITE POSSIBLY THE BEST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME.
Do you know what this means? I can have coffee whenever I want, and however I want, and WHEREVER I want, thanks to this handy travel thermos mug I bought at the $2 shop underneath Coles today.
Dude. DUDE. I don't think I've ever been so excited - and not just because I came home to find the coffee machine at 2pm, and it's now 10 past midnight and I've had about 11 cups of coffee in that time.
11 cups of coffee baby! 11! Booyah! The hair is just about vibrating off my legs.
You know what though, it might actually be more than 11 - it's hard to count when you're having heart palpitations. Who knew you could get those from coffee? I sure didn't!
I named it of course. The espresso machine, I mean. I named it. Or her, I should say. She's Martha - after Martha Stewart, not Jodi Gordon's tortured character on Home and Away. My parents were confused as to why I didn't choose the name Wentworth. Sigh. Do they not understand anything? It went down like this:
Mum: You named it Martha?
Jacki: I named her Martha.
Dad: Why didn't you name it Wentworth?
Jacki: First of all, because she is a girl. And secondly, I can't name anything Wentworth, because then when Wentworth and I get married, it will be weird.
Right? And it WOULD be weird.
Anyway, speaking of my Dad...the way he reacted to Martha was probably one of the funniest things I have ever seen. He loves her. So much. I think too much. I think he loves her more than Catherine and I. She's like another daughter to him - a shiny, metal, noiseless daughter that cleans herself and dispenses coffee.
Huh.
No wonder he loves her more than Catherine and I.
Anyway, now I'm totally jacked up on caffeine, sitting here watching the Sex And The City Movie, and trying to decide what is more annoying: the fact that I've had the same Eminem song stuck in my head for the last 4 days, or Carrie Bradshaw wearing a pearl necklace to bed.
I think it's probably the pearl necklace thing. I mean, knowing a whole Eminem song off by heart might actually come in handy one day, like the next time I'm in a rap battle and can't think of any words. You never know, really. So thanks Eminem.
But wearing a pearl necklace to bed? That's just uncool.
On a completely different note, after watching Rove tonight, I've realised I might have a tiny crush on Bruno. Which seems kind of weird, since I'm not usually attracted to gay 3o-something-year-old Austrian fashion reporters with bleach blonde hair and waxed legs who wear jock straps on the outside of their jeans. Huh. Well, maybe it's just the coffee talking.
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