Ohh Heaven, have mercy.
I don't know which words'll describe how sick I'm feeling right now, but "as a dog" just isn't gonna cut it. What animal gets sicker than a dog? Cat? Ferret? Great White Shark with a rope around its tail being dragged backwards though the Pacific Ocean?
That'll do it.
I'm sick as a Great White Shark with a rope around its tail being dragged backwards through the Pacific Ocean. And for the second time in one week? Let me explain...
In a bid to gain some semblance of culinary skill that - no point in lying about it - I can use to impress The Navy Man next time he's over for dinner, I've become a little more creative with my cooking lately. I don't know what made me think I could get away with this. Really? Really I'm the kind of person who shouldn't even be allowed IN a kitchen, let alone left in charge of any meal which doesn't involve the words "ham" and "sandwich". And I learnt this the hard way, on Saturday night, when my attempt at Thai red curry and rice with brocolli and potatoes left me wrapped around the toilet at 2 in the morning.
Worst.
Food poisoning.
Ever.
Naturally, I decided to try again last night. And the results? Well on the plus side, I can now modify my potential career search to exclude the entire food industry. Or any industry involving chickens. On the negative side though...well, you can guess the negative side.

So I had to work late last night. Lucky for me, Scream 2 was playing on Movie Extra by the time I got home. And if there's anything that puts me in a better mood than shitty slasher movies from my early childhood, it's not something I know about. Scream 2 made me think:

1) Whose idea was it to colour Courteney Cox's hair like that? She looks like a human Cherry Ripe.

2) Why don't they make films like this anymore?

...

What's with the lack of horror at the movies these days? You know what I mean? And I'm not talking about Saw horror, with the chainsaws and the blood and the severed limbs and creepy old dudes and storylines so complicated you need a high-speed internet connection and a degree from Harvard University just to keep up. That stuff is awesome, but when there's no sorority house, corny theme music or cameo appearance by Sarah Michelle Gellar, I just don't feel like I'm getting what I paid for. Is this just me?

Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only person who still likes scary movies. Is there anyone else? Is it you? Because I don't even care if you're a mask-wearing serial killer yourself...I swear to God I will quit my job and invite you over for a 2-day marathon right now. As long as we can watch Prison Break afterwards.

I don't know if it's due to the fact that I've seen just about every slasher movie out there (including the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre - twice) or just because I happen to be dead inside, but it takes alot to actually scare me these days. The last film I remember giving me a really good fright was The Exorcism of Emily Rose back in 2005. Oh, I know, how cliche. And weird, because - apart from being on the verge of shitting my pants in the damn cinema - the only thing I actually remember about Emily Rose is that I completely ruined it for everyone else by talking the whole time about how "The killer is an omnipresence. An omniprescence!! You can't escape from that shit!!"

Huh.

Aaaand starting to realise why nobody wants to watch horror with me anymore...

In other news...Aah, I got nothing. Oh, wait. We had our work Christmas party this weekend. Yeah, Toni & Guy! I'm starting to really love working for this company. Especially since in the land of T and G, the term "Work Christmas Party" is synonymous with "30 People, No Lifejackets, And A Yacht Full Of Booze". Luckily by the time I fell overboard, the boat wasn't in motion. Unluckily however, the dude in charge of this boat's infastructure apparently wasn't aware that I'm the kind of physically-challenged individual who falls down staircases while sober...since the pathway to the bathroom looked something like this:

Yeah. Just in case I don't already resemble a human dalmation from the waist down, let's add a bruise on my left ass cheek the size of...well, my left ass cheek. Oh, yes, of course I'm an idiot. Hadn't you figured that out yet?

Check. And. Mate.

Hello Sydney-siders.

I've got alot to blog about and not alot of time to do it in, so this might have to be quick. You're just going to have to get over it. I know - I know - I've been totally slack in the blogging department lately, and I know - I know - I keep saying I'm going to do something about it and then don't, and I know - I KNOW - I'm going to get countless complaints about it (that's right, Navy Man, I'm talking to you), but the fact is that these days, I'm far too busy and important to sit on the internet narrating my own life.

Alright, that was a lie.

The real fact is that I'm lazy and a piece of shit. A lazy piece of shit is what I am. Also, my internet hasn't really been working for the past fortnight. And I'm working pretty much 24 hours these days. Mostly though, it's the piece of shit thing, which you'll have to forgive me for. Or not. Hey, I'm a lazy piece of shit - what do I care?

So this past week. I don't wanna oversell it or anything, but have you ever time-travelled to the 60's, been hit on by Wentworth Miller at Studio 54 and then given a cheque for 10 million dollars? My week was better than that. Are you kidding? My week would kick that weeks ass all over the playground and put bubblegum in it's hair. Here's how it begins: Tuesday night, drinking champagne at Dalton House. If there is a better start to the week than that, it's not one I know about. And I'm not just saying that because I dream of living on the rooftop of Dalton House and my blood type is champagne. Although that's probably most of the reason. Anyway, we were at Dalton House for the Toni & Guy new collection launch, which was - surprise surprise - awesome. Not as awesome as the next morning though, when I was dragged out of bed at 5am and had to drive through the pouring rain in my sorry excuse for a car all the way to Sydney airport on less than 10 dollars worth of petrol. Which (even though it might not sound like it) I was totally psyched to do, by the way. Because guess what was waiting for me at Gate 31?

Well...pretty much, anyway.
So then came around 24 hours of very official Navy business which I'm not allowed to talk about. "Very official Navy business which I'm not allowed to talk about" here meaning "My parents read this blog, do you really think I'm going to post all the details of a reunion that was 3 months in the making on the internet?". No, no I'm not.
Maybe later.
On Thursday morning I - by some miracle - actually got to work on time. And then it was only 8 and half hours of towel-folding hell until Thursday night, AKA Alex's birthday celebrations at the pub, which may or may not have lasted until 230 in the morning and culminated with all of us being forcibly removed from The Longueville Hotel. May or may not. I'm not saying anything. But, uh, yeah, they kicked us out. And it was hilarious.
On Friday I had work again, and this time was surprised at about 3 in the afternoon with a little visit from The Navy Man himself. The Navy Man himself and 2 huge bunches of flowers. The Navy Man himself and 2 huge bunches of flowers and one of them was for Alex because it was her birthday. Did I mention that this was a surprise? Or that The Navy Man and Alex have never actually met before? Yes, I hit the jackpot alright. If you didn't already hate me for penning such a ridiculous blog, you might want to start now for somehow snagging the Macquarie Dictionary's definition of a perfect man. Don't believe me? Well you will. Because on Saturday night I went to a dress-up 21st as (who else?) Lady GaGa:

And he went as my backup dancer.
Check. And. Mate.