I don't discriminate against Dickheads

Dear Blog,
I mean to update you but I can’t think of anything witty enough. But I’m still thinking of you and have some plans to use you more…
Love, Me

Have been having some WordPress problems- might be theme related so I’ve gone basic until I finish troubleshooting/ recreating my theme (sigh).

Edit: have had to reinstall my whole blog- excuse any formatting issues in the meantime.

Major Delays – Hurstbridge line: both directions, after an earlier equipment fault at Macleod. Delays over 25 minutes.. Connex, Keeping you updated.

Yeah, been waiting over an hour now. Random thought time.

Anklets might make you feel ‘alternative’, but when they’re under a pair of cheap stockings and you’re wearing a business suit, you just look like you’ve sold out to The Man.
The only women that call themselves ‘barren’ are spammers justifying why you are entitled to that inheritance.
If you’re going to chat up schoolgirls, don’t do it wearing a suit.
The first rule of Amber’s uterus is: don’t talk about Amber’s uterus. I won’t tell you the second rule.
I believe that songs are like parasites: if one gets stuck in your head it won’t disappear until you find it a new host.

Tags: Connex

One of the issues with living at the pointy end of the International Date Line is that you get reminded of anniversaries, etc too late, and celebrate birthdays too early. So, to wake up and be told to remember the 5th of November on the morning of the 6th is too late. And to be reminded of National Blog Posting Month starting on the 2nd- again, too late, which is a shame because I wanted to increase my posting and needed the structure of a forced shared experience to get into the routine.

Tags: Guy Fawkes, NaBloPoMo

(note before I start- in this post I am not talking about my newly- betrothed. I’m talking about someone who I barely know. So there.)

I feel sorry for men sometimes. Because they have to deal with women.

It is true- women are manipulative at times. The ‘is my butt big in this’ question- it’s a loaded question. There is no right answer to it. In fact, all of the answers are wrong. On top of this, women don’t try and hide their feelings, but they expect loved ones to be able to read how they feel. Again, there is no right answer. PMS. Damned if you do call it by name, damned if you don’t.

But, in the defense of females, it’s so bloody easy to become one of those people that makes their partner second guess the real meaning behind things, and as men in most cases just want to make things better, it can just lead to pussywhipification. Woman happy. Man tamed. Who wouldn’t want that?

However, there are some times that may seem like a trap, but it isn’t. It’s an actual test of the type of person that you are, the type of partner. You know when people go through something, and they say what they find out who their real friends are? In reality, some people are less of a friend than you thought they were, while other people are incapable of being that ‘friend’ in the first place. Hell, sometimes you don’t want to be a person’s friend but you’re still there and then suddenly you’re a true friend to them but they’re your pity friend. I think I’ve gone off the track a bit.

I know someone who is failing that test right now. Not with me, but with someone else. And you want to smack them over the head, but they’ll be hit in the face with the consequences.

A few months ago, I found out that I lucky when it comes to Asian style UFO catchers- like the western ones but with pincers instead of claws and better prizes, such as soft toys that don’t make sense. I wouldn’t call it my superpower, but I almost always end up ahead.
Anyway, truth is a) i want to post this picture but more importantly b) I want to get into google for the term ‘asian fur burger’ and confuse a lot of furries in the process. So I present to you…. The Asian Fur Burger.

Tags: Playing with sick minds

About a year ago, I started a page on this site, which covered the basics of my getting married. I did this because the wedding became something that would undoubtedly take over everything, so I had to recognise its existence, but at the same time I actually didn’t want to talk about it- frankly, it bored me.

After the wedding I closed the page off. It was done, finished with. But again I need to recognise its existence. So, here it is- the first and last time I will talk about my wedding.

Continue Reading »

001:20:10 Collins (onboard): …I’ve lost a Hasselblad. Has anybody seen a Hasselblad floating by? It couldn’t have gone very far, big son of a gun like that.

About 40 years ago, three guys took a giant leap. And in a month, I will be taking my own.

When I got engaged, I did not have a list of things to do before I got married but a list of things to buy before I had to stop being selfish with my money. At the top of that list was completing a quest called Operation Frankenblad, which boiled down to this: about 4 years ago, I bought a Hasselblad body on eBay, then when I got it I realized that one part alone does not a Hasselblad make (don’t worry, I wasn’t ripped off, and it led to a self imposed exile from Internet auctions for a while). So piece by piece, I have bought a photographic icon.

I think about taking ol’ Frankie out for a spin all the time, none more than the week commemorating the camera’s finest moment. But the chances keep floating away, under the pressure of making sure that everything’s done for the wedding (not the marriage, which I am ready for), but it’s time will come. And so will mine.

Tags: Frankenblad

The fish that represents my worst Christmas, that had no redeeming features and I cared so little about that I didn’t even bother to give it a name died.

About bloody time.

When I was 14 I discovered that my name wasn’t actually my name. In fact, it was a yuppified version, due to a typo. Luckily for me, I wasn’t some emotional teenager so I laughed it off, made sure my signature was gender neutral, and moved on.
Then the Internet got big, and I discovered something: what if this alter-ego became my online identity? It solved all those stranger danger issues whilst at the same time showed that I was comfortable being me. So most of my online identity revolves around the typo- same pronounciation, different spelling. Unless I was lucky enough to get in early enough for my ‘real’ name. For example, this blog.
Fast forward to today, and my decision to get a new birth certificate for the impending nuptuals. “Times have changed”, says the lady at the counter at the BDM as she rolls off the list of things that wouldn’t have my given name if I applied for them today, including my marriage certificate. Passport. License. Everything. “Just change your name on everything to the one on your birth certificate”.
And the alternative? Fill out a form that the birth certificate is wrong, which sounds good in theory if a) you didn’t have to show proof that your name is your name without a birth certificate or b) the six weeks it takes means that the marriage license won’t be ready in time.
But the truth is I like things the way that they are now. It’s bad enough for an independent woman to consider dropping your surname on marriage, but to change your first name? At the same time? That’s just too much. On the other hand, if I keep the name I know and wipe out the typo, then I’m just another person who has changed their name into l33tspeak. I’m equally as comfortable with both as I am uncomfortable with getting rid of one over the other. They’re both me, and to choose one I’d lose part of me.