ABC rocks my world

I'm not the kinda gal that has a TV routine. I forget when programmes are on and am quite unable to tell the difference between the different commercial channels.
I prefer my TV viewing to have an element of seredipity to it.

And, oh boy, it certainly did tonight.
Did you see the first half of Enough Rope?
Trannies and Librarians.
Sweet.

If I do the Living Book thing at my library - will you come and be a book?
For those of you that caught it - there's an online forum with the guests tomorrow 5-6pm here.

And I also caught the last Media Watch for the year, and I now have a rip roaring crush on Monica Attard.
Watching her lean forward on one arm, finger entwined, other elbow crooked in the air. She cocks her head to the side and speaks firmly and emphatically, eyebrows raising over her rimless glasses, strands of dark hair moving across her forehead.

I started daydreaming of her in a white bonds shirt and fitted leather jacket, looking at me from the other side of the pool table. Judging me as harshly as the articles she critiques on Media Watch. Pulling me into line with a dip of her chin.

I dream of her leaning over me, one arm outstretched, palm flat on the wall that I have my back to.
She starts to lean down and as I melt into the moment, my last thought is that I wonder if I could sustain any semblance of intelligent conversation over breakfast with such a sharp tough woman.

Big worries. Big laughing.

All I talk and think about lately is about finding a new home.
I have a week.
I am terribly terribly stressed.

But I shan't bother you with all that here, but instead will treat you to the wonderful closing comments of an interview with Velvet d'Amour - the larger model who recently walked down Gaultiers' catwalk - with the SMH fashion blogger Patty Huntington.

d'Amour: Did you see Dita [Von Teese, in the audience]? Dita does great porn, I have one of her videos.

Huntington: Do you do porn?

d'Amour: No I don't do porn. Why, do you want to do one with me?

Huntington: I think you might squash me.

d'Amour: I think you might like it.

Funnily enough, the interview ends abruptly there!
*laughs*
I love it.

Coda Code

Here's a short note that Mr L may appreciate.
Library patron borrowing a Coda CD (yes, you can get Coda at your local library. If they're cool enough. Like my library is).
Anyway. Library patron is cute.
I mention the good find.
She does mini Coda-rant.
Eye contact.
Uhuh. Yep.
We're the cool kids here.

A nice moment in an otherwise weird day.

Man. Today a colleague called me 'poppet'.
Can you believe it?
For gods sake. I may act immature at times. But I'm 30. Not a 'poppet'! Ugh.

Oh. And one of the happiest moments in the last week in a happy-dance-around-the-loungeroom kinda way:
Mr Z has this puzzle that someone from his work gave him, saying that it took them months to do. While talking on the phone to my brother this evening I solved it in 15 minutes.

Cool and clever.
Oh man. Where does it end?
(don't answer that)

Out of the mouths of babes.

You know that funny thing that people do when they talk loudly 'just over there' about something they want you to hear?

The kids in the library (ostensibly studying for the HSC) were talking this arvo about "a librarian who is a lesbian", and then glancing over to see my reaction.
My obvious reaction was a chuckle, but I had to go into my office to have a bit more of an "if only they knew" giggle afterwards.

But then later again, I thought "hey, how'd they work it out?"

1st curious thought: They'd coded me - but that requires a somewhat more sophisticated gaydar that I would expect of these students, especially as I'm corporate femme at work and the queerest thing I wear is the occasional studded wristie.

2nd thought: They'd googled me - it would take a little bit of effort to find out my surname, but not impossible and really, would they bother?

3rd idea: Who told them? - after all, I know at the very least 3 queer people who went to school in the area last year. But I do doubt they'd know these ugg-boot-wearing north shore princesses.

4th realisation: Oh. My. God.... I have been staring at their tits too much.
*damn*


In related news, I present the first piece of graffiti on our new furniture at work.
It's almost art.
Wonky liquid paper capitals on the black metal of a white table reading "STUDY IS FINE TOO".
Best thing about it is that it's been written on the tables where the TV/DVD players and stereos are.
I have a hunch it was written by the cute, possibly queer, lone student yesterday who was trying to work while the others frolicked about nearby.




















.

Puzzled.

You've probably already read this.

I just can't help wondering what level of self-loathing must be present for them to feel comfortable even listening to the anti-gay propaganda?
Let alone actually participate in it and support it - however superficially.
A closet-case/in denial person I could maybe wrap my head around.
But from people who are actually semi-out and active and seemingly okay with not hiding it? *huh*

queer minds

Everytime I read The Big Issue I can't help looking at the missing persons 'can you help?' section and wondering if any of the young ones ran away because they were queer.
Like, my gaydar's gonna work on a fuzzy cropped photo of them at a family christmas.
Hmmm.

I've not finished reading the latest edition - but the lead article is titled "Pairing Off: is monogamy natural", so that'll be something to look forward to on tomorrows commute to work.

Also from a Big Issue article and of interest is this.
Try it and see how much of a bigot your subconscious mind is.

Hmmm.

You Are 45% Angry

Generally, you are not an angry person. But you're easily frustrated and enraged. You have one heck of a temper. And because of your anger, you tend to feel resentful and even spiteful. You already know how to quell your anger. You just need to do it more often.

How Angry Are You?

Ooh I'm so cranky.
Today I've simmered down to door slamming. Yesterday was so bad I could barely talk.

You'd think that if you were in contact with a real estate agent by phone, sms, email, paper/forms, and in person, that you'd be able to get a clear picture of how their rental system works.
Sadly no.
Even with asking a number of staff explicitly, I managed to not get the correct information.

I thought I'd asked the right questions.
Dammit, I've done post graduate courses in 'asking the right questions'. And all day at work I have to ask people the right questions to find out what information they need to find.
But it seems folks, that I suck at asking the right questions to get the information that I need to know.
Well, either that or the people at the real estate agency have too much attitude and not enough brains.

On the bright side; tomorrow will involve a blood test, a haircut, and a room full of children and snakes.
Should be fun!
No, really.

little fuckers

Next to my office I have a large activities room that we also leave open, when not in use for storytime activities, as a group study room.

The HSC kids usually pile in at 9am and proceed to eat, drink, gossip, sometimes study, and sometimes bounce off the walls. ("yes, sunshine, I agree it's a wise decision to put the frisbee back into your bag.")

However, cleaning up after an activity today, I found that there has been a large increase in the amount of graffiti on the tables.
Wonderful.
So now the younger kids can come in for craft and read about xyz being fisted, and how the girls from abc school think the xyz boys are gay, and worse.

So I switched off the light and locked the room.
The note I pinned to the door reads "Due to the offensive nature of graffiti on the tables, this room will be closed until they can be cleaned".

Sure the HSC starts in a week and a half.
But my library is a designated Safe Place. And I'll be damned if there's going to be any homophobic comments left hanging around.
"Sure, come in and seek shelter from the bastards taunting/chasing you. Have a seat. Relax. And don't worry about the homphobic graffiti written on the furniture."

Not on my goddamn watch!

Who? Me? What?

Oh, and speaking of naughty.

If you're stuck for a Halloween outfit, looky here.

*sniggers*

Thanks in advance (if you do)

Okay folks,
So there's this house that Mr M and I want to live in.
We haven't seen inside it yet, mind you. But we've got our fingers crossed. And the outside ain't too shabby.
And it's specs are pretty much on the money for what we want (parking for Mr M's shiny shiny car, room to store 'stuff' and to move about and not kill each other, freshly painted, pets allowed*, view of trees so I don't feel trapped in a box, near a bus route so I can get to work and earn the money I need to live there and not so far away that I can't run home at night if a nutter gets off the bus at the same stop as me and acts all pervy).
Oh and it's also apparently got a dishwasher. So we won't kill each other about who does the washing up.
Except half my bowls and cups are too delicate/rustic and need to be handwashed.
Hang on now.
Focus, girl.

Okay. I do have a point here.
So if you think we're sorta alright people, and you want to do something nice for us; think some good thoughts for us to get this happy house. Send us some good vibes.
Hell, if you really think we're tops, feel free to magic up something even better. Like a house with a lockup garage, more rooms to store our collections/junk, and a maid.
Though I've not found that house on any real estate website lately.
Oh, almost forgot, and a chauffeur to drive me around so I don't have to deal with strange bus people.
When Mr M's not driving me around of course.
Bloody gem, that man is.

Hmm, I could tell you about a strange bus person story now.
But it'd take a lot of explaining.
It involved a cute dyke, a chicken pie, a middle-aged man and a hand-coloured Hello Kitty mask.
Trust me. It was weird.
In that kind of 'everyone's noticing but pretending not to notice' way.

What a rambling post.
Perhaps I should go now.
'night.


*I'll start a book on how long we'll last before Mr M brings home a pup :-)

What do you say?

When you are all goggle-eyed, weak knee-d, perving on two people kissing, and they catch you and throw an accusatory "haven't you seen two butch women kissing before?" remark at you.

Sure, I may've been a bit bloody obvious in my drunken watching.
But I'm not very good at playing it cool.
And it was in the middle of a crowded pub.

They may've thought it was shock registering on my face.
But in my head it was more a case of "I'm about to faint from the hotness of this!".

Fortunately they walked away before I could say anything.

Though honestly, I would have liked a chance to explain/apologise.
*sighs*
So I guess that's what this post is about, now I think of it.
Sorry dudes. I didn't mean to stare.

*winks*
But I'd pay to watch that kinda action.

Oooh. Drunkard posting shouldn't happen.

But it is.

So we pass on the Sleaze tix, 'cos we're too ill.
Then we crazily go out the next night.
*shrugs*
Me to Gurlesque, and Mr M manages to get Bad Dog tix.
Am v. jealous.

So now am at home in my jammies, with a keyboard swimming before me, waiting for the boy to come home.

Could be hours. And I s'pose I should get used to this if we're gonna live together.

There's other news about the Gurlesque shows, and friends cage dancing, and friends who want to cage dance, and beautiful people who I talked to. But that will all have to wait for another night.