Should old acquaintance be forgot...

So that's it, kiddies, 2012 is just about done and dusted!  It's not been a bad one, as far as years go.  It's had its ups and downs, but I'd give it a solid eight and a half.

I know it's traditional at this time of year to come up with a list of New Years Resolutions, things you want to accomplish in the coming twelve months.  Goddess knows I've written enough of them myself over the years, most of which have never made it out of week one, so this year I've decided to do things a little differently.  Rather than write resolutions for myself, I'm going to write them for other people.

This should suit me to a tee.  I get to combine my love of coming up with resolutions I have no plan to follow through on with my love of telling other people what to do.  It's win-win!

So here's what I think should be at the top of these resolution lists.

Kristen Stewart:  It might be a good idea to try to not 'have relations' with your director again this year.  In fact, lets just widen that net to anyone you're not actually in a relationship with, okay? 

Lance Armstrong:  Might be time to take up professional wrestling?  I hear they don't mind the drugs so much. 

Kevin Clash aka Elmo:  Just because you play a monster child on TV, that doesn't make it okay to date in that demographic.  How about sticking to the half your age plus seven rule, huh? 

Hulk Hogan:  Don't sleep with anyone else's wife.  Or if you absolutely must, try to refrain from taping it.  That shit always ends up on TMZ. 

Lindsay Lohan:  Umm ... lets see ... you know what?  How about we just go with remembering to turn up to work, huh?  Small steps, Lindsay, small steps.

Happy New Year, everyone!  Lets hope that 2013 is as awesome as we can possibly make it!

Does TIME Magazine really have the power to do that...

Apparently TIME Magazine now have the power to decide what words we can use and what ones we have to remove completely from our vocabularies.

Uhhh ... what the fuck?

And who, may I ask, gave you the power to do that, TIME Magazine?  I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with the idea of a bunch of list writing journalists deciding whether or not I'm allowed to use the sentence "His criticism of the latest mommy-porn novel was totes amazeballs".  I can't be restricted to your narrowly defined concept of the English language, TIME!  I'm a unique snowflake, and my language must reflect that!

Fascists!

Oh, who am I kidding, I completely agree that there are a few words out there that could stand to be removed from the font of human knowledge ... but not amazeballs.  Sometimes that's the only word I can find that truly describes the sheer awesomeness of something I'm watching/eating/reading/experiencing.  Don't take that away from me, TIME, I'm begging you!

Still, I think there are a few words you missed.

Moist:  Unless you're talking about a chocolate cake, the word moist only serves one purpose, and that seems to be to make me cringe.  It's just ... ugh, no.  Just no. 

Hipster:  Maybe if we just stop talking about them, they'll go away?  Sorry, I know it's mean of me, but I'm a fangirl.  We're the natural enemy of the hipster.  Kind of like the Roadrunner and Wile-E-Coyote (I'll leave it up to you to work out which is which). 

Blowback:  According to Wikipedia, the definition of this is "unintended consequences of a covert operation that are suffered by the civil population of the aggressor government".  But what I hear is "unintended consequences suffered by Bambi in the film Big Boobs IV when the 'money shot' went a little awry".   

Like:  Like, I hate it when, like, someone just, like, keeps putting the word like into, like, every sentence they say.  Don't you, like, hate that too? 

Gullible:  Come on, we all fell for that joke at least once in our childhoods.  Wouldn't you like to finally have sweet, sweet justice?  I know I would.

No, don't thank me TIME Magazine, I'm just doing your job for you.  You're welcome.

Oh the fun you can have with a mannequin hand...

I'm not one of those people who ever win anything.  Seriously, I could buy 99 tickets out of a 100 ticket lottery, and as sure as eggs, the bastard who bought the other ticket would win the pot.  Over the years I've bought lotto tickets, scratch-it tickets, raffle tickets, and keno tickets, but the most I've ever walked away with was the odd twenty bucks.  Simply put, I'm not lucky.

So you can imagine my delighted surprise when I found out a little while back that I'd won a giveaway that Valerie was running over at her blog Valerie Nunez and the Flying Platypi.  Like I said, I never win anything, so the fact that I was chosen for this one was amazing, cause I really really wanted what she was giving away.

Want to know what it is?  Well, take a look at this baby!

Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you all to Pinky Tuscadero, so named because she has a pinky (obviously), and because I firmly believe she'd make out with The Fonz if given half a chance.  She's a bit of a strumpet.

Valerie sent her with a along with a Congratulations On Your New Baby Hand card, and a Sad Keanu, who will from this point on be taking up residence on the corner of my computer monitor.

Gypsy the Feline Dictator was a little reticent at first, she doesn't like having her power base threatened, but after Pinky showed that she was well versed in the chin scratching arts Her Royal Catness thawed a little.

But of course, there's no room for layabouts at Casa del Kellie ... well no more room, Gypsy has that one sewn up ... so the day after she arrived I took her into the library with me and put her to work.

It turns out she's not such a hot typist.  When I complained, she kept saying that her fingers don't move, so it's unreasonable of me to expect her to do 100 words per minute.  Excuses, excuses.

So then I decided to try her with some paperwork, but I have to say, her handwriting was rubbish.

She did a bit better when I asked her to get me a cuppa.  Looks like we've found a niche for her!  Welcome to the company, Pinky the Tea Lady!

Thank you so much, Valerie!  I'm sure Pinky is going to make an excellent addition to my workplace. I've been telling people I needed a hand with my job for ages!

Have yourself a merry little Christmas...

Merry Christmas, my lovelies!

I hope you all have a fantabulous day with your nearest and dearest, eating way too much and encouraging materialism in the next generation by buying them oodles and oodles of presents!

And for your listening/viewing pleasure, here's "The Twelve Days of Christmas" by Straight, No Chaser, a college a cappella group.  Seriously, it's the funniest version of the song I've ever seen ... and who among us can honestly say they haven't branched off into other songs while singing this one.

Have a good one, guys!

Christmas Giveaway: And the winners are...

The Hat Of Fate has spoken, and the winners of the two e-copies of "Ricochet" by Xanthe Walter are Sarah at Misfits Vintage and Kianwi at Simply She Goes!

Congrats, guys!  You're going to love it!

I'll email you the link to go download your book, have fun over the Christmas break with your naughty, saucy, rumpty pumpty adult type novel!

Wow, I'm really talking up the erotica factor, aren't I ... and for some reason sounding more than a little like Benny Hill while doing it.

Don't worry, it's a real book with real storylines and everything, not just a bunch of highly unlikely sexual encounters strung together by even more unlikely plot contrivances.  If you're anything like me you'll be half in love with at least four of the characters by the time you're finished it.

And for anyone else who's curious, and over the age of 18, you can go read the first 14 chapters of "Ricochet" here!

Ah, just call me smutty Santa.  Santa Smut?  Smutty Claus?

Wow, this alter ego thing is hard.  I don't know how Clark Kent does it.

Twenty four hours and counting...

It's almost time, folks!  The Apocalypse is only hours away, so it's time for us to start getting our plan ready.

What plan, you ask?

Well, if you've been visiting me for a while you may recall a post I made back in September where I came up with a game plan for the Mayan Apocalypse.  Go on and read it, we'll all wait.

All done?  Good.

So, are we all agreed?  From this point on, we all act like the Apocalypse happened.  The next generation are never going to know it's all a pack of thinly veiled lies, provided we all stick to the game plan.  So in preparation for this, I think it would be a good idea if we all prepared a little.

Come up with your stories before hand, or at least some bullet points you can refer to, so you're ready when sceptical youngsters start to question you about what really happened.  Remember, there's no such thing as too outlandish.  You survived the freaking Apocalypse!  If you want to say you single handedly mowed down fifteen zombies with a hot wired SUV, you go right ahead.

Purposely hurting yourself just for the sake of having battle scars is a bit extreme, but by all means come up with some explanations for the ones you already have.  I've got a scar on the back of my ankle, the result of an unfortunate leg-shaving incident, which I'll be telling people came from a run in with a dismembered zombie who clung to my leg with one hand while dragging his severed lower body with the other.  It's a beautiful image, isn't it.

It probably wouldn't hurt if you started perfecting your PTSD responses now.  Practice your haunted, tortured look in the mirror to get just the right amount of angst showing in your eyes.  Try out expressions like "I tried to get to her, tried to get her out, but I just wasn't fast enough" and "At night I can still hear the screaming".  If that doesn't work for you, just go with something like "Sarah?  I knew a Sarah once ... back before..." then sigh deeply.  You can't go wrong with the classics.

Okay then, I think we're ready!

By the way, don't forget to go enter my Silly Season Giveaway for an e-copy of Xanthe Walter's new novel "Ricochet"!

Oh Saint Clare, watch over my TiVo...

Considering I'm not even a Christian, let alone a Catholic, you guys might find my choice of material today strange, but the way I see it, everyone should have the protection of a patron saint.  They're more than just religious figures, they're doing their part to continue the great tradition of superstition and paranoia we've worked so hard a species to build!

The important thing, though, is picking the right saint to align yourself with.  And being the awesome person I am, I've decided to help you all out by suggesting a few of the lesser known saints you might find yourself drawn to!  Why settle for St Anthony or St Jude, when you could have one of the following!

St Clare:  Patron Saint of Television

For anyone who lives and dies by their TV guide, you might want to invest in a statue of St Clare, the patron saint of television.  Hell, get two of 'em and having duelling St Clares on either side of your wide screen!

Can't find the rerun of The Love Boat you're looking for?  Want to know when the next Doctor Who episode is going to air?  Living in fear of your favourite show being cancelled before the two main characters finally kiss?  Just appeal to your St Clare (or duelling St Clares) for a little divine intervention.  It can't hurt!

St Isidore:  Patron Saint of The Internet

Now here's a saint that should be near and dear to all of our hearts.  Good old Isidore, the patron saint of the internet!  How else are you supposed to get a 200 kpbs download rate from your torrents without his help?

So why not print off his picture and stick it to your computer monitor?  With him looking down on you, you'll never go wrong!  Guaranteed protection against viruses, malware and those annoying pop-up ads that you can never get rid of.

Disclaimer:  This is no guarantee that a picture of St Idisore taped to your computer will prevent viruses, malware or pop-up ads.  Get real, dudes, it's just a photo of a dead guy.

St Fiacre:  Patron Saint of STD Sufferers

So there's a patron saint  you should be offering a prayer up to every time you have a one night stand.  Who knew!  Apparently St Fiacre was quite the healer back in the day, and he did such a good job healing all the "unfortunate" diseases that they made him the patron saint of it.

Sorry, Fiacre, that really sucks.  No one wants to be known as the Patron Saint of chlamydia.

So here's an idea, why not pop his picture in your wallet, right next to your emergency condom?  Of course, it's entirely possible any disease prevention will have more to do with the condom than the picture, but why quibble over details.

St Drogo:  Patron Saint of The Ugly

Being the stunning example of humanity that I am, I of course have no need for this particular Saint's assistance, but I wouldn't want to prevent my less aestetically pleasing readers to be disadvantaged.

Yeah ... that's totally why ...

Poor St Drogo, he apparently wasn't the most attractive of individuals, thanks to a disease that disformed him.  So why not stick a picture of him to your mirror to comfort you on those days when bad hair, bad skin, or just general bad looks are plaguing you!  He might not be able to help, but at least you can look at him and be thankful that you're not THAT bad off.  And he's also the patron saint of coffee so bonus!


So these are just a few of lesser known, but no less important, Saints out there!  Consider your options, weigh the pros and cons, then pick your teams, kids!  It's only your eternal soul riding on your decision, so no pressure or anything.

By the way, don't forget to go enter my Silly Season Giveaway for an e-copy of Xanthe Walter's new novel "Ricochet"!

What NOT to get the amateur farmer in your life for Christmas...

I'm all for spoiling one's pets.  God knows, Gypsy the Feline Dictator gets raw chicken and the expensive brand of dry food every day to eat, and her litter box is lined with the pricey flushable kind of litter.

Okay, so the litter is really for my benefit, not hers.  I don't want to be running out to the rubbish bin with a vaguely odorous plastic baggie every time she goes in for a scratch around.

But still, I like to think that as far as owners go, I'm a good one!  Hell, she even had her own couch up until the recent redecoration of my living room (and don't even get me started on the filthy looks I got for tossing it away).  So I think I'm justified in saying that Nieman Marcus have officially lost the plot if they think anyone is actually going to drop a hundred grand on a luxury chicken coop!

I know, right?

Call me crazy, but that seems a little exorbitant for something which could previously be made with some chicken wire and a couple of sheets of corrugated iron!  I'm all for ensuring our feathered friends are well cared for and comfy in their homes, but it seems to me that if it's going to actually cost more than a reasonably priced kit home for a family of four, it's probably too much.

Assuming that the average chicken lays 350 eggs in its lifetime, and that a dozen eggs would set you back about $4 in a supermarket, the poultry palace would have to home 857 chickens before it would have paid for itself!  And that's just to cover the cost of the coop, it doesn't take feed, time, vet costs, etc, into consideration.

Truth be told, I'm not even sure whether a chicken would want to live in that place.  It was apparently modelled after Le Petite Trianon, Marie Antoinette's house in Versailles.  I can't help but think that the French of that era were a little too fond of chopping heads off for any self respecting chicken to feel completely comfortable in it.

By the way, don't forget to go enter my Silly Season Giveaway for an e-copy of Xanthe Walter's new novel "Ricochet"!

Christmas Giveaway: I'll jingle your bells ...

Disclaimer:  Today's post is going to be about adult books.  Yep, that's right, it's going to include a giveaway of naughty, saucy, completely inappropriate novels for those under the age of 18 or those of a modest nature ... okay, so maybe I'm exaggerating a tad, but I just thought I'd err on the side of caution.  Proceed at your own peril.  Here be dragons ... or at least erotic literature.  Just don't say I didn't warn you!

I'm just going to come out and say it.  We're all friends here, we can support each other in these trying times.  So, here goes ... I didn't like Fifty Shades Of Grey.

Yeah, I know. 

It's incredibly frustrating, because I really, really wanted to like it!  I remember back when I still used to work with the books at the library, we'd play a game during shelving.  If one of us were lucky enough to come across a Black Lace novel on our trolley, we had to open it randomly at three different pages and read something out.  It was almost guaranteed that at least two of the three would be something salacious.

Trust me, nothing makes shelving time go faster than talk of heaving breasts and throbbing manhoods.

But no matter how hard I tried to like Fifty Shades, I just couldn't overlook the first person present tense, the blatant irresponsibility shown by the characters, or the overuse of certain exclamations.

So disappointing!  It's no Story of O, that's for sure.

I much preferred Xanthe Walter's "Ricochet" which I just finished the other day.  

I actually feel kind of bad comparing it to Fifty Shades at all, they really are like chalk and cheese.  Xanthe's book gives the reader a healthy, much more realistic picture of a power exchange relationship, something which is definitely lacking in even some of the well written novels of the genre.

I love the way she writes her characters.  They have more than two dimensions, and they aren't defined by their sexual "dynamic".  And perhaps even more importantly, the story is a damned good one!  She doesn't rely on the titillation factor to keep her audience interested.

Here Xanthe sums up her book in her own words, to give you guys an idea of what it's about.

Ricochet is my first original character novel set in the BDSM universe I created in my fanfiction writing. This is a universe where everyone is bisexual, everyone identifies as dom, sub or switch, and BDSM relationships are the norm. 

Matt is an actor on a hit TV show, who struggles when he hears about an upcoming plot line for his character involving the kind of sexual experimentation that he is scared of trying for himself.  Matt has never experienced his own subspace, and longs to be able to let go of his anxiety and OCD behaviour for long enough to enjoy his sexuality. 

Rick is his co-star, a larger-than-life character who is scared of his dom side – for good reason – and skates the surface of his sexual identity, mistaking quantity of sexual experience for quality, and never allowing a sub to get too close, in case he hurts them.  This is a dom who doesn't trust himself – so how can he ask a sub to trust him? 

They are a traditional 'odd couple', who bicker, tease and play-fight without realizing they are crazy in love with each other – something that is obvious to all around them! 

During the course of the novel they go on a journey, and they both have to confront parts of themselves that make them uncomfortable, and overcome various personal challenges.   

There is a colourful cast of supporting characters too – plus a couple of bad guys who make sure that the course of true love doesn't run too smoothly! 

You can find out more about Ricochet (and read the first fourteen chapters!) on my website at www.xanthewalter.com.

So, in honour of the Silly Season, I've decided to give away two electronic copies of Ricochet.  The lucky winners will get a code that they can enter over at Smashwords to claim their copy.  It's available in just about every format you can imagine, including ePub, PDF and word documents, so no matter how you want to read it you'll be able to.

If you'd like to go into the Hat of Fate for the chance to win one of these copies, just leave a comment on this post!  I'll be drawing the winners on Saturday 22nd December at 10AM AEST, which I believe is Friday 21st December 7pm in New York.  This one is only for those over 18 though, I'm afraid, so no no entering if you're under that age.

Good lucky, guys!  Happy Kinkmas ... I mean Christmas!

I'm jealous of extreme couponers...

I'm feeling a little jealous of you Americans today.

The reason for my sudden attack of the green-eyed monster, you ask?  There's a new reality TV show that I've been watching lately.  I know, I know, I told you all that I'm not a fan of reality TV, and that's definitely the truth!  I hate shows like Big Brother, Survivor, and other monstrosities that only seem to exist to see how far you have to push a person before they become the worst version of themselves.

But I'm a bit more open to those shows like How Clean Is Your House or Escape To The Country.  For some reason, that particular style appeals to my inner voyeur without setting off all those second hand embarrassment alarms.  Give me a glass of wine, a Thai chicken curry, and half an hour of two middle aged British women teaching people how to get lime scale off sink fittings, and I'm as happy as a clam!

I thought I knew about most of those shows, but the other day I found one I'd never seen before.  I was strolling around in YouTube, as I'm known to do, and I stumbled across an American show called Extreme Couponing.  How on earth did I let this gem slip me by?

For those of you who've never seen it before, each episode follows two different "extreme couponers" as they try to buy ridiculously large quantities of groceries without having to spend any money.  It's full of people planning their grocery shop with a military precision that would make an Admiral faint.  Coupons collected, collated and filed into categories an cross referenced by location in the store and expiration date.  Stockpiles of tinned, dried and cleaning goods that would put a 1950's nuclear fallout shelter to shame.

It's absolutely breathtaking!

Take the episode I watched the other night.  In that one, a woman took over $1,800 worth of groceries, and at the end of it the supermarket actually gave her $150!!!  What sort of supermarkets do you guys have over there?  There isn't a shop in this country that would give you money to take stuff out of it!  I want shops that do that!

Unfortunately Australia doesn't do the whole coupons thing, so I'm left watching those shows, growing more and more envious.  Where are my 50 bottles of tomato sauce for five cents each?  Where are my 120 bags of rice that the shop gave me twenty cents a piece to take home because they were discounted to fifty cents and I had a coupon for seventy cents off?  I want to be able to stand at the cash register and watch my grocery bill total go down until it's in the single digits!

Alas, unless I choose to move to another country I'm not likely to be able to do that.

But a girl can still dream.

I question your archaeology, but I like your style...

I don't know much about North Korea ... or Korea in general.  Despite watching M.A.S.H reruns for years (and who hasn't, it's hilarious), the only facts I can recall off the top of my head are that there's a North and South, and that the capital of South Korea is Seoul.

At least I'm pretty sure it is.  That's where Hawkeye and Trapper John kept traipsing off to with their golf clubs over one shoulder, right?

So when I read the other day that said North Korea had announced that their archaeologists had discovered an ancient unicorn lair, I was a little thrown.  I mean, how do you respond to something like that?  After some deliberation, I decided like this.

North Korea, that is AWESOME!!!

I know that there are some nay-sayers out there who will decry their announcement as blatant pandering to Kim Jong-un, that it's just propaganda, but I decided to suspend disbelief and just go with it.  Cause come on, who out there can seriously say they wouldn't be stoked to find out that unicorns really did exist!  And as far as fabrications go, this one is pretty harmless.  They want to say they found a unicorn lair, let 'em!

Then, about a week after that announcement was made, the Korean government made a second statement.  Apparently there had been a translation snafu and it wasn't a unicorn lair they found.

Oh ... well that's disappointing.

There I was getting all excited about the idea of a world with unicorns in it, only to have my dreams crushed with a linguistic fuck up.

But then the North Korean archaeologists saved the day, amazing little buggers that they are.  They claim that what they actually found was the "nest of a beast with a dragon's head, a deer's body, the tail of a cow, hooves and a mane".

A dragon!  A fucking dragon!!!  That might even be cooler than the unicorn!

But a little part of me is still lamenting the loss of the elusive North Korean unicorn.  Perhaps I should make some unicorn poop cookies to console myself in my grief.

Chemically coloured sugar cookies always make thing seem better.

I don't know art, but I know what I like...

Have you ever wondered just where artists get their ideas for their pictures from?

I'm not an artist, I can't even draw a straight line without the help of a ruler, so I've never really thought about it before.

Do they just come up with stuff off the top of their head?  Do they copy from pictures?  How much artistic licence to they use?

But when I stumbled across these pictures, it made me realise the difference between someone making a copy of something, and someone taking something and making it their own.

I just love the details, looking at the pictures and seeing what the artist decided to keep, what they chose to alter, and what they made completely different.

I guess that's what they mean by art.

Needless to say, these pictures have made me realise a few things.  

• I'll never be an artist.  I have no idea how they can take a bunch of lines and make it look like a person.
• I absolutely love the art of this era!  
• Women in the 50's must have been awfully chilly.  They never seem to be wearing enough clothes!

Say, you look an awful lot like...

I've never really understood the allure of the celebrity lookalike.

I mean seriously, paying someone because they just coincidentally bear a striking resemblance ... some more so than others ... to someone who's famous?  Nup, don't get it at all.

Take the British woman who has earned over three hundred thousand pounds pretending to be Britney Spears!  Seriously, that's like four hundred and fifty thousand dollars!  All for pretending to be, lets be honest, a semi washed up crazy woman.

And to be completely honest, there's really not that much of a resemblance if the photos in the article are to be believed.  Sweetie, just because you're blonde and you cut your hair like her, that doesn't mean you're her celebrity lookalike.  How on earth did you con anyone into paying you to attend their events!  Hell, I wouldn't pay the REAL Britney Spears twenty bucks to attend something I was hosting, let alone shell out thousands to someone who only looks a little bit like her ... at the right angle ... in the right light.

Of course, I seem to be in the minority.  If the sheer number of them is anything to go by, being a celebrity lookalike is a good job.  People pay you to pretend to be someone famous, and even then they're probably not expecting you to be any good at it.  After all, it's all about the novelty factor of your genetics.

Truthfully, there's only one celebrity lookalike I will admit to liking.  Did any of you hear about the Gordon Ramsay dwarf porn star?  No, seriously, there was a guy who suffered from dwarfism who was the spitting image of Gordon Ramsay, that really bad tempered TV chef.  And in what I can only call a breathtaking act of stereotyping, he decided to use that fact as his hook to get into the porn industry.

Unfortunately before his no doubt uber-successful porn career could really take off, he died under mysterious circumstances and his body was found in a badger den somewhere in Wales.

Yeah, I know it's bad form to laugh.  After all, a guy died.  But come on ... dwarf porn star ... badger den ... Gordon Ramsay ... I'm only human!

Oh Canada, I kind of love you right now...

Is there anything that Canada doesn't do better than everyone else in the freaking world?

I'm going to go out on a limb and say no, no there isn't.

Case in point.  Dalhousie University in Halifax, Nova Scotia has implemented a new "de-stressing" program for their students.  What is it, you ask?  Meditation hours in the quad?  Rainforest music played through the loud speakers?  Free massages to all undergrads?

While all of these ideas would be great ones (especially the free massages), that's not the path they've chosen to go down.  No, they weren't satisfied to be merely remembered as great when they could be immortalised forever as the most awesome university in the history of awesome universities!  But what is this oh so wonderful idea, you ask?

A room full of puppies!

No, seriously, a room full of puppies!  How great is that!  Dalhousie Uni, you rock!

Apparently the uni decided that the best way to make sure their students don't get so stressed out of their gourds that they go postal on the general population is to provide a room for them to go and interact with therapy dogs.  Sounds like a good plan to me!  I know I find it impossible to maintain the appropriate levels of homicidal mania needed for a good massacre when I'm cuddling a puppy.

But seriously, those of us with pets already know just how relaxing it can be to interact with something cute and fluffy, and I can only imagine that relaxation increases when you're not responsible for feeding them, grooming them, or handling their poop.  When you think about it, it makes you wonder how no one else has cottoned onto this idea before!

I want my work to offer this!  On a bad day when the numbers won't add up right, and the clients are being crabby, and I've had to listen to that one guy tell me all about his rash again, I want to know I can go out the back and there is an oasis of canine love waiting for me.

Ah, one can dream, I suppose.

So, Dalhousie Uni, in honour of you're rocking so hard that Stone Henge is saying "What the fuck..." I'd like to award you Kellie's Official Seal Of Awesomeness!

You earned it!

Oh Barbie, what have you done...

*Barbie's friend Midge enters the bathroom*

Midge:  Oh my god ... Barbie ... what have you done!

Barbie:  What ... oh shit ... I can't believe I did that...

Midge:  That's just ... I think I'm going to throw up...

Barbie:  Oh god, oh god ... you have to promise, Midge!  Promise you won't tell anyone!

Midge:  I don't know...

Barbie:  Please, Midge!  You're my best friend!  You have to keep this secret for me!  If you don't, I'll tell everyone about that time last Summer when you and that Carnie disappeared behind the Tilt-A-Whirl and ...

Midge:  ... OKAY!  Okay, I won't tell anyone.  But you owe me!

Barbie:  Thanks Midge, you're a star!  

Midge:  But seriously, why did you do it?  

Barbie:  I don't know ... I wasn't paying attention I suppose and it just happened.

Midge:  But it's so ... disgusting!  I mean really, wine on the toilet seat rim?  Haven't you ever heard of E Coli before?


Sorry guys, I saw this picture and I just couldn't resist.  The first thing I thought wasn't "Holy crap, Barbie decapitated Ken and bathed in his blood!", it was "Holy crap, putting that wine glass there can't be hygenic!".

The picture is one of a series by the artist Mariel Clayton, and if you like the weird, freaky and morbid that you should definitely head over and check out her stuff.  Some of them are a bit risque though, considering they're of Barbie dolls, so use your own discretion.

Putting the "fun" back into funeral...

200 dead bodies ... the creepiest
Where's Wally ever!

Those of you who are even a little bit familiar with my strangeness will know that I can sometimes lean a little bit towards the macabre.  As much as I hate to admit it, I've spent my fair share of time imagining up the perfect funeral and final resting place for myself.

I've always imagined a nice, quiet plot somewhere on a hilltop with lots of trees and a nice view.  Something classic.  Perhaps a nice limestone grave marker with a few nice words about what a wonderful human being I was and how everyone was just beside themselves when I unfortunately passed away rescuing that basket of puppies from a runaway combine harvester.

But one scenario that I didn't consider ... that didn't even cross my morbid little mind ... was that I could end up at a popsicle on a mountainside being used as a glorified "THIS WAY" sign.  But apparently if you decide to climb Mt Everest, that's a real risk you face.

According to this article on the Smithsonian website, climbers who perish on the mountain in their attempt to get to the top are just left there.  Currently there are over 200 bodies just lying up there.  I suppose I can understand that.  It's hard enough for people to get up there at all, it'd be impossible to go up and fetch down all the unlucky ones.  But I have to admit I was more than a little bit perturbed to find out that some of those bodies are actually being used by other hikers as landmarks to show that they're still on the right path.

Personally though, I'm not sure how I'd feel if not only was someone I knew and loved lying dead on a mountain, but he also had random people just wandering past his frozen corpse on a daily basis.  Then again, I'm not a mountain climber.  For all I know, it might be the highest honour one can achieve in the field.  To stand for all eternity, guiding the way for like minded brethren.

It made me wonder if perhaps there was a better use for my body after my regrettable lorry-truck-kindergarten-class-rescue demise.  After much deliberation ... and by much deliberation, I mean three glasses of wine and a ten minute googlefest ... I've decided any of the following will be acceptable.

Eternal Reef:  Imagine being able to spend eternity as a part of a coral reef.  This company takes your cremated remains, mixes them with concrete then deposits it in the ocean so coral will grow over it.  Imagine all the pretty fishies that'll come to swim around your dead body!  People pay a fortune to go diving to look at shit like that, so what better way of spending your afterlife? 

Burial in Space:  Like all good Trekkies, I had to include this one in my options!  Space, the final frontier!  To boldly go where only a few other stupidly rich dead people have gone before ... into the vacuum of space! 

LifeGem:  I've always like to think I was a gem ... and now in my afterlife I can literally be one!  These guys take your cremated remains and turn them into simulated precious stone.  Think about it, you could spend eternity as a ring, a pendant ... personally, I'm plumping for a tiara.  I am rather partial to a grouse tiara!

Yep, I'm putting the "fun" back into funeral!

Put the butter knife down and step away from the sandwich...

So apparently there's a town in the US called Sandwich, and their police cars look like this.

Am I the only one whose first thought was "Damn, those people are really serious about their lunches!"

Sandwich Police Officer:  Ma'am I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the table. 

Woman:  What seems to be the problem officer? 

Sandwich Police Officer:  I see you have a roast beef sub there.  Can I ask what condiments are present? 

Woman:  ... uh ... dijonnaise? 

Sandwich Police Officer:  Ma'am, are you aware that it's a felony to use mustard related condiments on a sour dough base? 

Woman:  It's not sour dough, I swear!  It's ciabatta!  They told me it was ciabatta! 

Sandwich Police Officer:  I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I'm afraid you're going to have to come down to the station. 

Woman's friend:  I told her she should have got the chicken wrap instead.

Looks like I picked the wrong career...

Ladies, have you been feeling a little down on yourselves lately?  Suffering from low self esteem, negative body image or a poor quality of life?  Well, I have just the thing to perk you up.

Do porn!

That's right, according to this article, porn actresses are happier, healthier, and all round better than us normal woman.  Who knew that a little slap and tickle in front of a camera could make such a difference to your life!

Apparently 177 adult entertainment professionals were surveyed, and the results showed that these women were happier, more positive, more spiritual, and just generally well rounded than their non-porn sisters.  Who'd have thunk that an ability to fake an orgasm on screen was such a life improving thing.

Mind you, the results of the study that came up with these statistics were published in something called The Journal of Sex Research.  Yeah, that's right, in something that sounds like it should have a picture of a "sexy scientist" on the front who just accidentally lost her lab coat.  Add to that the fact that there's no mention of just who they're comparing these actresses to to get these result, and I'd have to say I'm not entirely trusting of the data.

Still, it's not like I have any solid evidence to say otherwise.  For all I know it's all completely true, and the best way to self fulfilment is to become a porn star.  And wouldn't you hate to miss out just because you were a little sceptical of the validity of the facts?

So go forth, my sisters and make those naughty rumpty pumpty films!  Do it for your families, do it for your friends, but most of all do it for yourselves!

No, seriously, do it for yourselves.  I hear those films pay a shitload!

Conversations with a feline dictator...

*Walks into the living room*

Me:  Gypsy, where are you?

Gypsy the Feline Dictator:  Behold, puny human!  I am the mistress of all I purvey!

Me:  What the ... how the hell did you get up there?

Gypsy the Feline Dictator:  It is a thrilling tale, not for the faint of heart.

Me:  No seriously, how the hell?  You fall when you're trying to jump on the couch!

Gypsy the Feline Dictator:  When I spotted the great Mount Roomdivider during my bi-hourly patrol through the living room, I knew that it was something I had to conquer.

Me:  ... it's not even near the bench...

Gypsy the Feline Dictator:  So I prayed to the Cat God, His Holiness Tiddles, and asked him to give me the strength to reach the summit.

Me:  ... didn't even break the lamp...

Gypsy the Feline Dictator:  I felt myself become imbued with the power of the Cat God.  Energised with his holy light, I leapt at Mount Roomdivider, clawing my way up inch by torturous inch.

Me:  ... bloody six feet tall ...

Gypsy the Feline Dictator:  Finally, after much struggling, and several perilous near misses, I finally reached the summit.  It was a great day for felinekind!  Now, assist me back to terra firma, peon!

Me:  ... you know what?  I don't want to know. You want to be on top of the room divider, you knock yourself out.  I'm sure you'll come down when you're ready.

Gypsy the Feline Dictator:  No, wait ... where are you going ... come back here, human!  GET ME DOWN AND GIVE ME CHICKEN!!!


I'm still not sure how she got up there.  Seriously, she can't even jump onto the kitchen bench without assistance, and she falls off the couch about fifty percent of the time.  I'm just going to go with the assumption that I now have a poltergeist that likes to place my cat in random unusual locations.

A passion for fashion...

I've never been what you would call fashion forward.  Honestly, as long as my clothes aren't full of holes or too wrinkled when I leave in the morning, I call that a win.  I have no idea what colours go with what, whether stripes and checks really clash, or which tops look best with which skirts.  As long as I'm decent, everyone else will just have to put up with my lack of style.

I understand the female obsession with shoes even less.  Given a choice I would probably opt to go barefoot all the time.

So this new craze for having foot surgery just so you can wear those exquisitely uncomfortable, albeit cute looking, shoes?  Yeah, I don't get it at all.

I mean seriously, who decides that they'll get their little toe removed because it's messing with their ability to wear a pair of stilettos?  I've seen some cute shoes before, but I don't think I've ever seen a pair I'd be willing to permanently disfigure my feet over.

Still, I suppose it's not the first time we've done something batshit crazy in the name of beauty.  Here are some of some of the weird, terrifying or just plain insane beauty practices the human race has used at one time or another in their attempt to pretty themselves up.

• In order to get their teeth whiter and their breath fresher, the ancient Romans would gargle with urine.  Gross, I know, but apparently the ammonia in it was a good way to kill any dental bacteria.  They imported the urine from Portugal, which has got to be the world's most disgusting trade agreement.  I'm not sure why they didn't save themselves the expense and use their own ... I'm guessing that they thought it'd be weird to gargle with their own urine.
• The ancient Greeks got in on the action too.  Their chosen insanity was to bathe in crocodile dung, which they believed had beautifying powers.  Putting the gross factor aside, you have to feel sorry for the poor guy who got stuck with the job of collecting it.
• In Japan, geisha used to use a paint made of rice flour and bird faeces to whiten their faces.  Personally, I have a hard enough time working up the nerve to clean out my cockatiel's cage, let alone smearing the contents of the tray liner over my face and wearing it around for hours on end.  Jeez, didn't it smell?
• The medieval European's were also into the whole skin-whitening shenanigans but rather than just using something gross they opted to go with stupidly dangerous.  They'd coat their faces with white lead and arsenic powder.  Sure it made them pale, but maybe that had more to do with the fact they were poisoning themselves slowly to death.

It kind of makes you wonder how we managed to survive as a species, doesn't it.

Does this mean my ham sandwich is a gateway drug...

Like most people in this day and age I've heard a lot of talk about this new fangled notion everyone's getting so worked up about called Vegetarianism.  It's true, dear readers.  There are people out there who live without the joys of meat, preferring to stick to the philosophy that if it has a face, you probably shouldn't eat it.

And fair enough, I say.  I'm sensible enough to admit that, while I personally am not willing to give up a nice rare steak or a Thai chicken curry, there is plenty of merit in the idea.  Moral issues aside, it's been proven many times over that fewer people are fed by an animal raised to be eaten than if they'd eaten what fed the animal instead.  I get it, I acknowledge it.

But I'm still going to eat meat.

Why?  Because it's damned delicious!  Biologically I'm an omnivore, and I have absolutely no problems with that.  I guess I see Vegetarianism the same way I see abortion.  I fully support anyone else who wants to do it, but I choose not to myself.

But today I learned that it's possible eating meat is more detrimental to my moral well being than I'd realised!  In this article, I discovered the following facts about people who eat meat.

• they cheat

• they tell lies

• they forget promises

• they are dishonest

• they use bad words

• they steal

• they fight

• they commit sex crimes

Huh ... I had no idea that having a hamburger could be that bad for me. 

These facts, and I use the term loosely, were published in an Indian text book for eleven year olds.  That's right, they told a bunch of pre-teens that if you eat meat, you'll become a sex offender.  This would be the part where I write something scathing and insightful about the ridiculousness of such a sentiment ... but I'm not even sure where to begin with this one.

So instead of getting preachy and judgemental, I'm just going to be glad that the next time I see a good looking guy and have the sudden urge to rip his clothes off and do unspeakable things with him, I can blame it on the pork chops I had for dinner.

Sorry Edward and Jacob, I prefer Bella's Dad...

Today I went to see the new Twilight movie ... please don't judge me.  What can I say, I got hooked just like everyone else.  Those books are like literary crack cocaine, only ten times more addictive!  So I went along and watched like the good little lemming that I am.

But it made me realise something about myself I didn't know before.  A response I hadn't realised was becoming common for me.

What was that response, you ask?  Disgust at Taylor Lautner's disproportionate body to head ratio?  Amusement at the questionable acting skills of Ms Stewart?  Mindboggling bewilderment at the less than stellar special effects that involved chopping off a nine year old's face and whacking it on a toddler's body?

While all of these might be true, they're not what concerned me.  No, I'm referring to the fact that, while my movie companions were all either Team Jacob or Team Edward (and believe me, there was an awful lot of trash talking going on for a bunch of thirty something supposedly mature women), it would seem that I'm Team Bella's Dad.

That's right, in a film full of young, relatively good looking guys, I decided to make cow eyes at the heroine's father.

In my defence, he's not that much older than me (only about nine years), and he's cute!  I even like that silly moustache he wears in it.  And he's so normal and bewildered in it while everyone else around him are weird creatures like werewolves and vampires and Robert Pattinson.

Still, there I am sitting in the cinema leering at Bella's Dad, and I can't help wondering if it's the father thing.  Is it just that I'm attracted to men who seem like good parental material?  And if it's a trend, I wonder if I should be concerned?  You know what they say, once is an accident, twice a coincidence, but three times is a trend.  Lets see if I'm trending?

Dennis Quaid in The Day After Tomorrow:  Yep, definitely a hot Dad.  I know we were supposed to go for Jake Gyllenhaal and his big I'm-so-out-of-my-depths-but-I'm-going-to-be-heroic-anyway eyes, but I preferred the heroic father who crossed the country on foot in the middle of the mother of all snow storms to get to his son.  Heroic and paternal, a double threat! 

Liam Neeson in Love Actually:  Now who wouldn't love the recently widowed single dad, trying desperately to be positive and uplifting for his son even though he's still mourning.  Heartstrings ... yep, they're definitely pulled. 

Colin Firth in What A Girl Wants:  While I, of course, loved Colin in Pride and Prejudice (can anyone say wet shirt!!!), he was very cute playing a newly realised father of a teenage girl.  He bumbled around and was adorably British.  Not to mention he was very sexy riding that motorcycle!  

Okay ... definitely a trend.

Wherein the soapbox gets a workout...

I do love me a good protest.  There's nothing more amusing than watching someone who seriously, seriously into their chosen issue try to convince a bunch of apathetic passers by that what they're protesting is of the utmost importance.  Usually they're ignored by the passers by, sometimes humoured and a petition gets signed in an attempt to get them to stop harping on, and occasionally there's laughing and pointing involved. Honestly, I could watch them for hours!

Unless it's an issue I feel very strongly about, I generally deal with them by crossing the road, not making eye contact, or on one occasion when the fellow was particularly persistent, pretending I don't speak English.  I generally try to avoid open mocking (except where it's clearly necessary), after all we all have our little quirks and beliefs that other people find baffling.  Personally, I feel very strongly about scrap booking, although I try to keep my vitriol to myself.

But when I saw the new campaign by PETA, those kooky animal loving kids, I was more than a little disturbed by the direction they chose to go.  In it they have a poster of a woman who has apparently shoved a yeti wig down her lacy underwear, with a slogan cutely declaring "Fur Trim:  Unattractive".

Here's the link to the poster, but open it with caution.  I wouldn't say it's NSFW, but it probably skirts the boarder if your boss is an asshole.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the point where I get out my soapbox and start preaching.

It's ridiculous, and more than a little disturbing, that there is this current trend for men to prefer women without any "grass on the wicket".  For whatever reason, the lads in our lives have been convinced that they should want women who look like they're about twelve years old, rather than those who look like they might actually be old enough to be sexually active!

But for any group to use this ridiculous social phobia in a way that actually compares it with something they consider base and wrong is inexcusable!  It's not helping, it's just reaffirming the notion that women shouldn't look like they've entered puberty.

Bad form, PETA, bad form.

And now I'll put away the soapbox before someone trips over it.

The family that smokes meth together...

I just love The Brady Bunch.  Do you guys remember that episode where Greg hit Marcia in the nose with a football?  Or the one where Peter beat up a bully for teasing Cindy about her lisp?  Or the one where Carol and Jan smoked methamphetamine together?

Wait, you mean that didn't happen in The Brady Bunch?

Oh, then it must have been from that news story I was reading about a woman who thought it was a smashing idea to regularly sit down with her 13 year old daughter and smoke some crystal meth.  Still, I'm sure you can understand my mistake.  After all, we all know that Carol Brady was the perfect mother, and this woman is obviously in the running for parent of the year.

You hear plenty of stories about people who are just awful parents.  Abuse and neglect are far too common, considering how advanced our society is.  But when I read about something like this, something that shows just how far some people will go to inflict their frankly reprehensible lifestyle onto their kids, it makes me  so furious!

I'd like to think that, in some twisted way, she was doing it in an attempt to bond with her daughter like she claimed, but I'm really not that naive.  Her life was toxic, and rather than stepping up as a parent and doing what she needed to do to make sure her daughter wasn't hurt by her choices, she just handed over the drugs and tried to draw her kid in too.  Misery loves company, I guess.

So I'd like to congratulate this sterling example of parenthood, you are the lucky recipient of my Douchebag Of The Week award!  Congratulations, your complete lack of care for your child's health, well being, state of mind, and future has earned you this very prestigious accolade.

Seriously, lady, haven't you ever heard of milk and cookies?  That's what you're supposed to share with your kids, not incredibly hard drugs!

An open letter: a helmet and a pair of bike pants do NOT make you indestructible...

Dear bicyclist who was on the road this morning,

I'm trying very hard to remain calm here.  I don't want to lash out at you in anger, that's not going to get us anywhere, but you're really not making it easy for me.  I'm just having a hard time understanding why you insist on going out there on the road every day and wilfully putting your life (and my sanity) on the line!

I get it, I really do.  Being a cyclist is difficult.  You ride around on a small tin machine with only a fibre glass helmet and a terrifyingly tight pair of bike pants to protect you.  It must be awfully stressful, navigating roads filled with roaring metal contraptions that seem to want to run you down.

So I would have expected that you'd take more care with your personal safety, not less.  I know the traffic this morning was going slower than usual, but that doesn't give you leave to overtake me in a narrow lane, swerve in front of me, then look over your shoulder and start yelling at me!  I hate to break it to you sweetheart, but what you did was against the road rules, and if you insist on riding on the roads with the rest of us, then we're going to have to insist that you follow them!

Your action were irresponsible and dangerous, you could have gotten yourself hurt, and trying to blame me for them just because you were scared and feeling guilty isn't going to help anyone!  If you want to ride your bike on the road I won't object, but I refuse to support you if you're just going to use it as an excuse to pirouette around me, trying to get yourself turned into a little greasy spot on the bitumen!

I'm sorry, I don't mean to shout.  I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed.  I don't want to see you hurt, and god knows I don't want to be the one that hurts you.

So here's the deal ... I'll accept half of the responsibility for  your safety, if you'll accept the other half.  Come on, it's a fair deal.  Up until now I've been doing all the heavy lifting in this relationship, making sure I know where you are at all times while you duck and weave through traffic like a five year old on pixie sticks.  All I'm asking for is a little care for your own well being on your part ... and perhaps brushing up on the road rules wouldn't be a bad idea either.

Love Kellie.

P.S. Don't take my jibe about the tight bike pants to heart, you've got a rather nice rear so they're really quite fetching.

They just don't understand our love, Simba...

Really?  This is what you choose
to get arrested over? 

It's a tale of forbidden love.  Two souls, forever entwined, but cruelly kept apart by the harsh judgement of society.  Forced to meet clandestinely in the dark of night, only able to steal brief moments of comfort in each other's company and arms.

Well, when I say arms, I mean one set of arms and one set of immovable bronze paws.  The love of a man for his bronze lion statue is epic, epic I tell you!

Surely she's a much more
attractive option!

 So it seems that there is a young Austrian man somewhere in Russe, Bulgaria who was arrested the other day for having sex with a bronze statue of a lion in public.  Hmm, does that mean that if he'd done it in private they wouldn't have had a problem with it?  I suppose that's true, people have sex with inanimate objects all the time.

But it does make you wonder just why he thought THAT particular statue would be a good self pleasuring device.  There doesn't seem anything particularly sexy about it.  I mean, if he was going to get jiggy with a metal effigy, surely he could have found a nice bronze man or woman (whichever his preference) and then had his romantic liason.

Well, at least you know
what you're getting.

A quick Google search shows that there are plenty of other options in the town of Russe if you're determined to feel cool metal or stone under your wandering fingertips.  What about the girl above?  She's young, pretty and her hand is very strategically placed if you get what I mean!  *nudge nudge wink wink*

Or, if your tastes lean towards the male of the species, how about our friend to the left?  He's quite the strapping lad, although he seems to have forgotten his trousers.  Actually, now that I think about it, that hair cut kind of makes him look like He-Man.  I guess if you're into 80's cartoon heroes it could work...

But perhaps I'm pushing our Austrian friend too hard to find a human shaped inanimate partner.  Maybe he just wanted to do it like they do on the Discovery Channel.

Sorry, I couldn't resist.

Blogiversary Giveaway: and the winner is...

...  Stephen Hayes over at The Chubby Chatterbox!  Congratulations!  If you haven't read his blog before, I highly recommend going over there and having a browse.  He's charming and hilarious and well worth a visit!

If you send your postal address to delightfullyludicrous@gmail.com, I'll pop them in the mail for you ASAP.  I'm sure you're going to have oodles of fun reading about those kooky Edwardians and their hilarious gender stereotypes.

Thank you everyone who took the time to comment and congratulate me on reaching the six month mark.  I am, quite frankly, blown away by what a wonderful community we have going on here.  Yay us!!!

I had a couple of enquiries about where you can get copies of these books.  Personally, I got them from here, but that's only useful if you live where I do.  However you can also get them online at amazon.com.

So thank you once again for coming and playing with me every other day!  I love each and every one of you the most!

The sort of funeral I could DEFINITELY get behind...

I remember when I was studying archaeology at university, they told us that one of the signs of a civilised culture was care taken with the dead.  Apparently the more knick knacks you give someone who's popped their clogs, the more refined you are.

But I'm pretty sure that my Professor wasn't referring to the Taiwanese practice of having strippers at the grave side when he was extolling the virtues of those who pay extra attention to their funerary rites.

Yep, you heard me right, strippers.  Seriously, I couldn't make this stuff up ... and why would I want to when it's all right there for the pickings!

Apparently it isn't unheard of for family members of the deceased to hire an "exotic dancer" to dance for him.  That's right, not for the mourners ... for the dead guy.  I suppose it's fair enough, he's had a bad time of it.  First he died, then some bloke took all his blood out and replaced it with chemicals, then they stuck him in a really uncomfortable suit that he probably tried really hard to avoid wearing when he was alive, and finally they shoved him into a little wooden box ... and you can't tell me they didn't bend his feet up if it turned out he was a touch too tall for it!

He probably needs a bit of a pick-me-up after a day like that.  That dude earned his post-mortem sexy dancing ladies.

But it did get me to thinking about what I'd like at my funeral, should time, finances and availability allow.  Really, its something we all should think about, no point leaving it to our relatives who would probably get it all wrong anyway.  So after much deliberation I've decided to leave a list of instructions to be followed in the event that I shuffle off this mortal coil.

• I'd like my funeral to be fancy dress.  Just general costumes if necessary, but if time allows, then it should be themed.  My preference is for one of the following:  
• Harry Potter
• Tarts and Vicars
• Roman Toga
• Come as your favourite dead person (I'll be very offended if you don't all come dressed as me)
• There will be no bible readings or other religious speeches at my funeral.  Instead, I'd like my entire life narrated via the medium of interpretive dance.
• There definitely needs to be a lucky door prize.  I'm thinking a toaster, or maybe a set of luxury towels.  At least that way someone walks out of there happier than when they walked in because hey ... free towels!
• In honour of the Taiwanese custom that gave me this idea, of course I also want strippers.  In fact, if you could convince Matt Bomer to attend and do some of those things he did in Magic Mike ... well, then I think we'll ALL leave happier than when we arrived.
• And, as shown in the picture above, I'd like my casket carried to my resting place by clowns.  No particular reason, it just looks really cool.  Come on, look at that picture and tell me that you wouldn't want that too!

So that's the bare bones of it, I'll leave it up to the rest of you to sort out the little details if and when they're needed.  But I'll just add one last instruction.  If it ends up being an open casket, could someone please monitor the viewers?  Not all of my associates are entirely scrupulous and I'd hate to go to my eternal rest with a drawn on moustache or no eyebrows. 

Ta muchly!

I've heard of the power of the mind, but this is ridiculous...

I like to think I'm a tad more well informed about different religions and beliefs than the average bear, but I have to admit that I don't really know that much about Voodoo.  Beyond what I saw in the Kate Hudson movie Skeleton Key, my knowledge pretty much begins and ends with the word "witchdoctor".  Somehow, I think none of that really gives me a suitable knowledge base to be making judgements.

But when has that ever stopped me.  

I definitely believe in the power of the mind.  Hell, my religion makes it practically compulsory to do so!  But even so, I like to think I temper that with a little thing I like to call common sense.  Do I believe that universal forces can be affected by intense thought and meditation?  Yes.  Do I think that one person, thinking really, really hard, can create a strong immediate and physical reaction in someone?  Ah, no.  No I don't.  If it was that easy, everyone would be doing it and we'd have all killed each other off years ago.

But I'm sure you're wondering where I'm going with this seemingly nonsensical rant.  I guess the question of the day is if you rape someone in your imagination, is it really rape?

According to this news article, a man was arrested in Zimbabwe for having non-consensual Voodoo mind sex with a woman at a bus stop.  Apparently someone got a wee bit suspicious when he started sweating, looking a little "excited", and staring at the woman like a big creepy creeper.  The conclusion drawn?  He was practising Mubobobo, a type of Voodoo that let him have sex with the woman using only the power of his mind.

Uh ... yeah, we have something like that too.  It's called fantasising.

Of course, I'm not trying to downplay the ick factor of this guy getting all hot and bothered in public thanks to some poor unsuspecting woman.  There's no doubt it's disturbing, and depending upon what he was actually doing and the laws in the area possibly illegal, but I really can't see the justification for calling it rape.

Jeez, if everyone who had imaginary mind sex with someone without their consent was arrested, there'd be no one left to run the place!  I know I would be, thanks to several very good looking TV and movie stars and, in recent memory, a rather dishy guy who was painting the side of a house wearing only a pair of overalls ... sorry, my blue collar kink is showing, isn't it.  But the point is everyone does it, and anyone who tells you that they don't is a god damned liar whose pants are definitely smouldering!

For those who haven't yet, just another reminder to go enter if you want to win the set of "Don'ts for..." books I'm giving away!  

So, it turns out I'm a hardened criminal...

Did you know that I was a criminal for six year?

It's true.

For six whole years I blatantly, if not knowingly, broke a law.  I mean, it's not like I bought myself a mask and a crowbar and decided that a life of crime was the way to go, I had no idea what I was doing was even illegal, but then they do say that ignorance is no excuse.

I don't know if I've ever mentioned it here before but I'm a Pagan.  I have been since I was about ninteen or twenty years old when I first realised that pretty much everything I already believed fit into the beliefs of Paganism.  I remember reading about it in a book my brother had given to me and thinking "Oh, I'm a Pagan ... well now it all makes sense".

The only problem was that Paganism wasn't made legal in the state I live in until 2001.

So there's a good six or seven years that I was practicing an illegal religion, and I had no idea.  Hell, it never even occurred to me that there might even BE illegal religions!  No one ever said anyting to me about it, and it's not like the Pagan community was keeping themselves hidden away or anything, so I had absolutely no idea I was doing anything illegal ... until I read about those laws being repealed in a magazine.

It was a bit of a shock, I must say.

I have to imagine that Keith London, a city official in Florida, had a similar reaction when someone tried to have him charged with living in sin, another old law that no one had gotten around to removing.  I mean seriously, who even uses the expression "living in sin" in this day and age? Were they tutting about the scandal of it all while they were churning their butter and hand sewing a dress for the Sunday church social?

His response was, as you would expect from a city official, a very politely worded screw you and the horse you rode in on.

I can't imagine the complaint got very far, but I still think it's great that he was willing to stand up and say "no" in the face of an unjust law, no matter how outdated and unused.  I like to think that if someone  had turned up at my door and insisted I renounce my beliefs or face charges ... I would have told them to go jump too.   No one is going to tell me what I can and can't believe in!

Yep, I'm just a rebel I guess.

But don't tell anyone, okay?  I'm far too delicate to survive in jail.

By the way, don't forget to go and enter if you'd like to win the set of "Don'ts for..." books I'm giving away in celebration of Delightfully Ludicrous surviving to make it to it's six month anniversary.  Come on!  That's like 50 years old in blog years!!!

Blogiversary: where the presents go to you...

Happy six month blogiversary to me!

Happy six month blogiversary to me!

Happy six month blogiversary dear Delightfully Ludicrous!!!!

Happy six month blogiversary to meeeeee!!!!!!

Yep, that's right, Delightfully Ludicrous is now six months old!  

*pops party streamers*

And in celebration of this very important event, I've decided to have another giveaway!  Those of you who've been visiting me for a while will remember a couple of reviews I did a few months back on two vintage books very descriptively entitled "Don'ts for Wives" and "Don'ts for Husbands".  They gave some ... shall we say interesting ... advice to the matrimonially blessed, such as making sure not to hire good looking servants in case your husband decides to get a little handsy, and to not let the little lady spend too much on her own lest she waste a month's housekeeping on some silly frippery.

Well if you ever wondered what other absolute gems of advice were contained therein, today's your lucky day!

One lucky reader is going to get a copy of each of "Don'ts for Wives" and "Don'ts for Husbands", as well as "Don'ts for Mothers" and "Don'ts for Weddings"!  That's right, four whole books of outdated, misogynistic advice.

How could you resist!  

So if you'd like to be the lucky winner, just leave a note below and I'll randomly draw a winner from the hat of fate!  You have until 10am AEST on Thursday 8th November to enter, which I believe is 8pm Wednesday 7th November New York time.  

Thanks again for all your support over the past six months, guys.  It's made writing here a joy and a delight.  Here's to the next six months!

I think my country is trying to kill me...

Okay, now I'm really starting to get a complex.

I've always known that Australia was a dangerous place to live.  This place just seems to be jam packed with beasties that want nothing more than to cut a bitch.  We've got crocodiles, sharks, dingoes ... and don't even get me started on koalas ... any of which would cheerfully end you as soon as look at you.  And possums!  Those little buggers are vicious, don't let their furry little faces fool you.

We've got eight of the ten most poisonous snakes in the world.  Eight out of ten!  And the spiders!  Seriously, just the idea of being bitten by a funnel web is enough to scare the bejezus out of me.

And don't even get me started on our oceans.  We've got box jellyfish which can kill you from the pain of their sting alone, blue ringed octopus which is only the size of a golf ball but is the most poisonous sea creature in the world, the stone fish which looks like a freaking stone so you don't even notice it until you've already stood on it and then bam, too late, and of course the old classic, the shark.

It's kind of a miracle that any of us make it into adulthood!

Sorry, I know I'm ranting.  It's just that my next door neighbour told me today that he saw a brown snake in our shared front yard.

The second most poisonous land snake in the world ... in my front yard ... where I walk every day to get to my car.

Welp, I guess I'm never leaving the house again.

I'm probably overreacting.  It's entirely possible it was a less poisonous snake and my neighbour was just mistaken, and even if he wasn't the snake apparently went into the next door's yard as he watched so maybe it was just "passing through".  Still, I guess I'll have to make sure I'm a little more careful from now on.

Good thing I spend practically no time outside.

I suppose I should be used to it by now, this is Australia after all.  Living here, you kind of learn to just accept the sheer dangerousness of everything around you as a given.  You kind of just accept that from time to time you'll be sharing your yard (if you're lucky) or your house (if you're unlucky) with something that can kill you.

I remember reading a great article written by Douglas Adams where he describes Australia and it's many dangers (and talks about how nice we are ... aw shucks, Doug, t'wern't nothin').  He goes on and on about the deadliness of our animals, the importance of checking inside one's shoes for trespassers, and the usefulness of a big stick.  The whole thing pretty much sums us up as a nation.

Go have a read of it, it's well worth the giggle.

As for the snake ... if he does come back I expect the possums will take care of him.  Like I said, those buggers are terrifying!