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It’s that time of year again. Festivus season! In honour of this most sacred holiday, let us gather around the Festivus pole (remember, no tinsel … tinsel is too distracting) and air our grievances for the year.  So, without further ado, here are my grievances in no particular order:

1.) To the Douchebags:  A lot of douchebags have irritated me this year from Kanye West to Sen. John McCain to your average internet troll fuckwit on Twitter (and don’t forget Russell T. Davies). You know what? Being a douchebag is really bad. You shouldn’t do it. So, fuck off, douchebags!

2.) To my friends in the US who  haven’t come to visit me nor have they paid for my ticket to go visit them: I think this is very inconsiderate of them and it should be rectified immediately. What’s that? They don’t have any money? Pfft, they can always sell their house/worldly possesions/first born children to raise the funds! Do I have to think of everything for you people?

3.)  To my US student loan company who’ve made repayment from my country of residence impossible: You’ve got to be kidding me! This is so ridiculous, it’s comical! News flash: The rest of the world exists, they have their own currency and banks and *sometimes* Americans even choose to live there!  International transactions involving money happen all the time. Get with the program! (The full story is really quite ridiculous & could make an entire post but I haven’t decided whether it is wise to do that.)

4.) To my house that doesn’t clean itself: You’re a pig sty. Pick up your game. It’s 2010 and will soon be 2011 … haven’t we invented self cleaning houses yet???

5.) To Dora and Diego:  Dora The Explorer and Go! Diego Go! are two are the most obnoxious tv shows ever to grace the airwaves. That fucking map can burn in hell … if only that would shut it up. And, Diego, eggs are fucking eggs! They are not “baby eggs.” There is often a baby inside them that will more than likely hatch out of said egg but the egg itself is not a fucking “baby egg!”  The sooner Dora falls over a cliff or something eats Diego, the better.

6.) To the world: You’re not as small as the interwebz makes you seem. Damn you, world! Don’t you know that I should be able to just walk over to all my friend’s houses?

7.) To Perth Drivers: Seriously, people, learn how to merge. That’s all I’m sayin’. (Ok, that’s probably not all but I realise that you can’t handle too much at once so let’s just stick with learning to merge for now.)

8.) To anyone who addresses correspondance to me as “Mrs <Husband’s name or first initial> <Husband’s surname>” or to both of us as “Mr. & Mrs <Husband’s name or first initial> <Husband’s surname> : You’re a dinosour who clearly has not been advised of the progression of time. It is now 2010. It will be 2011 soon. A woman is not the property of her husband regardless of whether she chooses (as I did) to change her name after legal marriage (I say legal since marriage is not soley a religious institution). I’ll pause to let you process that new and shocking information. Ok so far? If not, I don’t care. Just to clarify: MY NAME IS NOT <Husband’s name>! My first name is Kareena. I say “first name” for a reason, by the way. It is not a “Christian name” because I am not Christian. Get it? Probably not. Until you do get it, please do not send me anything via post. In fact, don’t talk to me. You’re too stupid.

9.) To the company who I pay to deliver organic fruit and vegetables every Wednesday: You fail. You’re supposed to deliver on Wednesday afternoon, usually getting the box to me at around 2ish. Yet far too many times you have waited until 4PM to text me to tell me that the person who normally does the delivery is on holiday or whatever and cannot bring it. You then send it via courier the next day. The courier often doesn’t arrive until 3PM. Thursday is usually the only day I have to do the rest of the weekly grocery shopping and I cannot do it unless I know what fruit and vegetables I have. You can shove your courier up your collective arses. I’m finding a new company to provide me with organic produce in the new year.

10.) To the creators of Single Father: Not only did you create a script that was almost really good but kind of  not due to strangeness, odd format and a totally inappropriate soundtrack but you missed two if not three prime opportunities to show us David Tennant naked … or at least more naked than you did show him. I mean, really, if the BBC could produce something that included Christopher Eccleston completely nude* this year then I think they could have done us fangirls the same service with Tennant. **


*    Not that I’m complaining about getting the full monty from Eccleston. Not. At. All.

** Really, I only put this grievance in because I had 9 already and I thought that an even 10 would look better. Oh, ten and Tennant … hahahhaha … geddit? No, unless you’re as hopeless a Doctor Who nerd as me, you probably won’t. Sigh… Also? I just proved once again that everything can be brought back to a Doctor Who reference. Everything. Even a post based on an episode of Seinfeld. It’s a Festivus miracle!

And now, as Festivus rolls on, we come to the Feats of Strength!

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I just got my tongue pierced. Why? I don’t know. Because I wanted to? Because getting pierced makes me feel alive? Because I like the endorphins? Because I like the way it looks? All of the above, probably. I’ve been thinking on and off about doing it for years now. I have a few piercings but I wouldn’t say that I’m overly pierced. I have three earlobe piercings, one rook (crease of the ear) piercing, a nostril stud and I used to have a belly button ring and and upper ear cartilage piercing that have been retired for different reasons. Now I have a tongue piercing.

So what if I’m 31 years old, married, mother of two, living in the ‘burbs? It doesn’t mean I don’t like piercings and weird coloured hair. It doesn’t mean I have to wear Dockers and shop at The Gap (or Australian equivalent). It doesn’t mean I can’t wear awesome hats with kitty ears on them. It doesn’t mean I’m dead.

The following song (a line from which is the title of this post) has been running through my head for a few days:

For the record, it does hurt … just not as bad as you might think. Also, it doesn’t feel fine. It feels really fucking weird.

PS I feel the need to publicly apologize to a friend who got his tongue pierced back in high school. He ate applesauce for lunch for over a week & couldn’t talk properly for that whole time. Myself and another friend teased him about how he said “applesauce” daily. Sorry, Justin … if I could, I’d call you and say “applesauce” so you could laugh at me now. 🙂

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Oh, hai thar! So, it’s been something like three months since I blogged last. Um, sorry? Things have been Happening, Writers Block has been had, Time has been Occupied, Dreads have been Shaved, etc. I’d promise to be better about blogging more regularly but … well, I probably wouldn’t keep that promise. We’ll see, hey?

Anyway, I don’t want to ramble on about how I haven’t been blogging for a while. I want to blog about what I wanted to blog about! Which is my awesome costume for the Bug’s school’s quiz night a bit over a month ago. We only just got around to uploading the pictures so I figured now’s the time to show off. 🙂 Warning: The post contains Extreme Dorkiness (in case you hadn’t picked up on the reference in the title).

The school held a fund raising Rock Quiz night. I had planned to go and then thought we couldn’t go due to lack of a babysitter. As it turned out, friends had already bought tickets for us to make up a whole table. I felt bad so The Geek and I decided that I should go while he stayed home with the kids. This worked out because he’s not social and I am. I’d get an evening out and he wouldn’t have to put up with a quiz night. Win win. Then a friend reminded me TWO DAYS before the damn quiz that it was fancy dress! The theme was Rock Star or Super Hero. I panicked and the first thing that came to my extremely dorky mind was the following:

I was the twelfth regeneration of the Doctor! He regenerated as a woman. This is how I see it: The Doctor  is a super hero. I had two days to come up with a costume. I had nada and not a big budget with which to go renting costumes. The twelfth regeneration of the Doctor hasn’t happened yet. Therefore, I could have free reign to create my own costume! Easy! Also FUN!

I immediately started brainstorming via Twitter because that’s where all the other Doctor Who dorks that I know and love hang out. It didn’t take long for The Awesomest Couple In the Universe* offered to loan me the coolest purple trench coat ever** plus a sonic screwdriver and psychic paper.***

An important aspect of the costume, of course, is the stripey socks. This is because stripey socks are cool.**** Another important aspect of the costume is the contents of the pockets because I may be a dork but at least I attend to the details when crafting a Doctor costume. In the pockets of the awesome purple trench coat were: one sonic screwdriver (in case I needed to, you know, resonate concrete or something), one psychic paper, and one TARDIS key. I stopped short of bringing a banana***** with me because that probably would be going a little too far.

In the end, no one asked what I was and probably no one even knew I was in costume. BUT THAT DOESN’T MATTER! What matters is that *I* knew I was the Doctor and I made sure I was well prepared to save the world that night if need be … perhaps even pick up a clingy blond or short skirted ginger companion along the way … Or perhaps even a 51st century flirt with a thing for guns. Yeah, that would have been brilliant!

You are probably saying that you think I am a hopeless geeky dork right now. To that I really can only say “Quite right, too!”

*       Possibly more than one universe.

**    Because the Doctor always has a distinctive coat. And, by “distinctive,” I mean anywhere from who cares about the coat, that scarf is made of WIN! *cough* Four *cough* to utterly omgwhatwereyouthinking hideous *cough* Six *cough* to cool with awesome sauce *cough* Nine *cough* to a little bit Janis Joplin *cough* Ten *cough.* Did I *cough* too many times there? *cough* Perhaps *cough.*

***  Because the Doctor is someone who looks at a screwdriver and thinks “That could be a little more sonic.”

**** Cooler, even, than bow ties or fezzes.

***** Thus breaking the Doctor’s own rule to always bring a banana to a party.

Edited to fix my failure to give credit where credit is due. The original idea of the twelfth regeneration of the Doctor being female was shamelessly stolen from the female half of the Awesomest Couple in the Universe. Read the first installment of her amusing and as yet unfinished (FINISH IT, SHINY!) fanfic here. I, of course, took my own liberties with the original idea to make it my own.

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The Australian, who has just been transferred to the London office of the multinational company for which he worked in Perth, saunters up to the reception desk on his first day of work in the UK.

“So, do I need to wear shoes here?” He asks…

The above is a true story of a friend of a friend of mine. He really did that … and he was only half joking. Australians, you see, have a long standing tradition of not wearing shoes. Perhaps it’s the weather, perhaps it’s the laid back nature of Australian culture, perhaps it’s just that Australia doesn’t tend quite so far towards the stuck up, snotty, classist bullshit that America falls prey to all too often. Whatever it is, shoes are optional in so many situations here, the mind boggles. And, honestly, I love it.

I’m the woman who graduated from high school barefoot despite strict edicts from the Powers That Be that we should all wear formal attire under our robes, blah, blah, blah. I would have graduated from university barefoot, as well, if it were held outside during shoe free sort of weather. I did, however, get married barefoot much to my grandmother-in-law’s horror (she was fixated on how barefoot would “ruin the dress” for some reason). So, yeah, I’m not one to complain about barefooted-ness. In fact, I was over the moon when I first moved here and realized that no one would bat an eyelash if I wandered across the street to the shops wearing nothing on my feet. After years of complaining about having to remember to put shoes on just to drop into the shops (lest I get kicked out), it was refreshing to not have to bother. I’m sure, technically, the same rules apply to places like grocery stores, etc here but no one seems to care or enforce them. I’ve even heard a story in which a man attempted to get into an event barefoot. When he was told he needed to have something on his feet to be allowed in, he licked the back of his ticket stub, stuck it to the sole of his foot and continued walking in without so much as skipping a beat. An isolated incident, yes, perpetrated by a complete smart arse, yes, but so very Australian nonetheless. 🙂

To me the no shoes thing just highlights further the Australian tendency towards being relaxed, comfortable, easy going. It seems Australian culture is not wound as tightly as in the US. People are much better at just letting things go, not being quite so judgemental and knowing how to kick back, crack open a beer and enjoy the sunshine. Of course, this sometimes is infuriating as it seems, also, to go hand in hand with a reluctance to fight even when it really matters. But that is a mini rant for another time and, besides, it does not apply to all things all the time and is a gross generalisation anyway. Of course, this entire post is a gross generalisation but let’s not split hairs.

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Musical Monday: Henry Lee

I know I said I was going to highlight Aussie bands but I changed my mind. I’m just going to post videos of good songs every Monday because it’s fun, I feel like it and it’s easy content. Ok, maybe not really *because* of that last option but it’s a bonus! I’ll try to stick to mainly Aussies, though, if I can help it.

Nick Cave is sort of on topic since, technically, he’s an Aussie expat. And, you know what? He’s fucking awesome. Like, really, really awesome. It took me far too long to discover this fact and I must get to collecting more of his music. This song (and this video) in particular is one of my favourites. It manages to be sexy and creepy at the same time … something that Nick Cave does as naturally as breathing, to be honest. I can’t really say more than I love it, I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately and I wanted to post it. So, here, enjoy:

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