So it turns out my ankles are my best feature, who knew...

Source

I got the strangest compliment the other day.

I was at work early and I let an elderly gentleman into the building for a breakfast meeting he was there for. He was eighty if he was a day, and he shuffled in and signed himself into the guest book while I stood there and pretended to be polite and welcoming.

Then he turned around and looked at me and, I kid you not, this was what he said.

"Well, look at the nice white ankles on you!"

I have to say, it was a first. I've NEVER had my ankles complimented before. It kind of made me feel like a girl in a LM Montgomory novel.

It did get me thinking though.  Why, exactly, does someone complimenting my ankles or my eyes or my hair just make me go "Aww, shucks", while comments on my breasts will have me raising eyebrows and feeling uncomfortable?

How much of it is my discomfort with my own body image and how much is genuine outrage at the objectification of my goodies?  I'm sure this is the sort of topic that one could write a thesis on, but I think I'll just bow out of the argument.  I don't fall far enough on either end of the femininst spectrum to really be able to do it justice.

But from now on, whenever anyone compliments my boobs I think I'm just going to reply with "Thanks, I grew them myself".

It's true, after all.

Puts a whole new spin on the term ponyboy, doesn't it...

I like to think I'm pretty well versed in the bizarre elements of life.  It takes a lot to surprise me these days.  I've heard about, if not witnessed, most of the strange things out there.

But I have to admit I dropped the ball on the whole Brony thing.

How on earth did I miss this one?  How could there be such an enormous fan base for something so strange and I didn't even notice?  I'm genuinely ashamed of myself.

For those of you who don't know, a Brony is the name given to people (usually guys in their teens or early twenties) who are fans of the cartoon "My Little Pony".

Yep, I'm totally serious.

There are fangroups and websites and clubs dedicated to these pony-loving guys (and doesn't that just sound all kinds of wrong).   We're talking a lot of people here, so many that the internet is just saturated with them.  Seriously, do a google search ... hell, do a google image search if you're brave.  You'll see what I mean.

That must have come as a bit of a shock to the manufacturers.  There they were making toys and a related cartoon about pastel ponies with magical powers, they must have assumed their main demographic would be girls between the ages of 7 and 12.  Instead, they end up with hordes of boys ... men, really ... who all love those damned horses.

Of course, I don't really have any room to talk.  Some of the shows I've been part of the fandom of have been pretty embarrassing.  Sliders, Young Riders, and let's not even talk about the best forgotten Young Americans fiasco of 2000.

Hell, even now I'm a Gleek.  I really can't be casting any stones.

But I think the facet of it that disturbs me the most is the amount of money some people are willing to pay for costumes so they can dress up as their favourite My Little Pony character.  Some friends were telling me that they knew someone who charged up to five grand to make a custom cosume.

Come on, you can't convince me that this is just your run of the mill cosplaying.  No one pays that sort of cash unless it's the seedy, kinky, Jerry Springeresque kind of dressing up!

Pretending to be ponies ... I definitely don't want to know how the dynamics of that one works.

Well, I may not understand the whole Brony thing, but if there's one think in this world I know about it's being a fan.  Speaking as someone who has been part of one fandom or another for the past twenty years, I know very well that you don't choose the fandom life, the fandom life chooses you.

So welcome to the brotherhood, you crazy pastel pony loving dudes!

Here's hoping the Christmas Kangaroo is good to you this year...

Merry Christmas!!!  I hope all you gorgeous people have wonderful holiday, and for your viewing pleasure, here's Hugh Jackman letting you all in on the secrets of a traditional Australian Christmas.  As an Aussie, I can totally confirm that it's all completely true.

Edit:  It turns out some people can't watch the above video.  If it won't let you, try this one instead!

Is it kittens or is it drugs? I guess we'll never know...

Source

Okay, I have a question.  Is "Kittens For Sale" code for something?

Because considering just how regularly one house in my neighbourhood has a sign out front with that very message, I'm beginning to think that either someone needs to anonymously give them some vet desexing vouchers for Christmas, or it's actually code for something else.

I'm guessing either drugs or child slave labor.

At least, I kind of hope it's that, because otherwise they must have a ridiculous number of cats in that house, all of them pushing out litter after litter of kittens.  Sure, it SOUND cute and fun, I mean who wouldn't want to live in a house full of little balls of purring fur, but think of the food cost?  Think of the vet bills?  Think of the poop!!

I did my own research and over the past twelve months, a month hasn't gone by without that sign making an appearance.  I guess business is good ... I just wonder whether it's the drug or kitten trafficking business I'm talking about.

But seriously, do any of you guys know if a "Kittens For Sale" sign can have a more sinister meaning?  You know, like those ceramic butterflies people put on their houses back in the seventies that meant they were swingers.

Poor Grandma, she never realised the message she was giving ... at least I hope she didn't.

Maybe I'll never find out.  Maybe it'll just be one of those mysteries that I'll never learn the answer to.  Kind of like how can I gain half a kilo of weight when I only ate a quarter kilo box of chocolates, or how can sour cream have an expiration date?

But I guess the next time I need some marijuana or a ten year old to make me some sneakers, I'm set.

You don't know horror until you've served on the front lines of a pub trivia team...

From the beer garden of the local pub.

Bob:  Alright guys, the next question is "Who were the two leads in the film About Last Night?".  Focus!  We need this one to win!  We're THIS close to the fifty dollar bar tab!

Sue:  Don't worry, we're totally going to get it. I can feel it in my waters. 

Joe:  Sue, that's disgusting! And not at all logical. 

Sue:  Dude, my waters know what they're doing. Here, I'll show you. 

*Wrestles the answer sheet out of Bob's unwilling hands* 

Sue:  Okay, start naming some leading actors from the eighties? 

Bob:  Molly Ringwald? 

Sue:  No, there was a naked sex scene in that film. Molly Ringwald would never do a naked sex scene. 

Me:  Andrew McCartney? 

Sue:  Same thing. He's too clean cut. 

Joe:  How about Rob Lowe? He's as filthy as they come. 

Sue:  Good! My waters like him. 

Group:  EW!!!!! 

Sue:  Anyway, moving right along, we still need a female lead. 

Me:  Holly Hunter? 

Sue:  Too classy to do something like that. 

Bob:  I'm assuming Meg Ryan is off the table. 

Sue:  (stares disbelievingly) ...

Bob:  Yeah, that's what I thought. 

Me:  Oh! I've got it! Demi Moore! She'd totally do a naked sex scene! 

Sue:  Yes, my waters approve. I think we've got our answer, ladies and gentlemen.  

*One scoring round, several beers, and a great deal of celebrating later* 

Bob:  I can't believe we got that right just by rationalising and outright guessing! 

Me:  I'm just amazed that we're all taking Sue's renal functions a prophetic.

Sue:  See!!! Don't scoff at the waters, they know everything!

And that, boys and girls, is the tale of how my pub trivia team bullshitted our way to a glorious victory over our arch nemesises, The Quizzley Bears.

We'd like to thank our families, our friends, and of course Sue's bladder, without which we would never have been awarded this honour.

They say giving to charity is supposed to make you feel good, so why do I always feel like I've been screwed over...

I've decided that door-to-door knocking for charities should be made a whippable offence.

When, exactly, did it become okay to go to a stranger's home, somewhere you haven't even been invited to, and then ask them to hand over cash?  Why should I have to be worried about being bailed up for my last red cent in my own home?

At least when you see them in the shopping centre you have a chance of escaping.  If you don't make eye contact, stay as far to the side of the lane as you can and, if possible, throw small children and elderly people in their way, you can avoid them.  But when they come to your front door it's like you're being held to ransom by a very pushy, incredibly judgy blackmailer.

The other day some girl came to my door to collect for the save-the-spotted-owl-protect-the-rain-forest-knit-little-jumpers-for-the-baby-seals society and I had to say sorry, but I didn't have any money on me.  I mean really, who even carries actual cash these days!

Now I'd normally be more than happy to hand over a couple of dollars in the name of a worthy cause, but it just wasn't going to happen that day.

Not that this girl saw it that way.  Oh no, she cast me a look like "What do you mean you don't have any change?  Do you want the little animals to die?  Do you!  DO YOU!!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHY!!!"

My response was to tell her that I'd be happy to donate online if she'd give me the website.  That's my standard response to people who come door to door.  Generally I've found that people willing to give you a website actually want you donation, but people who say "Oh, we don't have one, we only accept door to door" are just trying to get you to sign up to one of those schemes where you end up paying them fifty bucks every month for the rest of your life or until you get wise and shut down your bank account.

Take a guess at which method she went with.

So she went away disappointed, and I felt mildly violated in my own home.

Seriously, whippable offense!

Oh Clive Palmer, you crazy bastard...

Source

... I'm not sure whether I love you or I'm terrified of you.

For those non-Australians out there, I should probably explain who Clive Palmer is.  He's a very rich, very influential, very crazy Australian guy.  We're talking about a guy who is said to be worth $895 million (US), who is currently building a working replica of the Titanic (cause that ended so well last time), and who tried to become Prime Minister based almost solely on the fact that he was rich ... and actually managed to win a seat!!!

But none of those things are what I'm talking about today.  Today I'm terrified, and more than a little bit fascinated, because Clive Palmer officially launched his new Dinosaur Theme Park ... with lifesize animatronic dinosaurs that can be operated by remote control [link].

Oh, you just know this is going to go spectacularly wrong, don't you!

Can you imagine it?  Huge ten metre high dinosaurs, controlled by people, running loose around a theme park that will be right next door to a resort (also owned by Palmer).  It kind of make me hope that he goes with his original plan to let kids operate the dinos.  I can just see it now, some rich guy gets ready to take a swing on the fourth hole on the golf course when suddenly a shadow looms overhead, and he turns around to find himself face to face with a T Rex.

It would definitely add a certain thrill to the game.  I might even start watching it.

Just how long do you think it's going to take before we'll have a news headline "Metal Triceratops Kills Two, Injures Six, In Freak Theme Park Tragedy"?  Not long, would be my guess.

Seriously, Mr Palmer, did you learn nothing from Jurassic Park?  When you try to mix kids and dinosaurs, it never ends well.

I guess we should just be glad she doesn't store the needles up there too...

Source

Hey, do you guys all remember back when everyone was waxing poetical about their vaginas?

It was a simpler time, wasn't it?  We had seminars about them, looked at them in little hand held mirrors, discussed in depth their places in our lives and their significance to our gender identities.

Ah, the good old days.

Thankfully, that sort of thing seems to have died off for the most part ... at least I'd thought so until some friends of mine showed me a Youtube video the other night.  Apparently the vajajay obsession is alive and well ... and creating Etsy masterpieces as we speak.

In the video an Australian artist ... an Aussie this time guys, all you Americans can relax ... sits and knits during her performance art displays.  She sits there, happily clicking the needles, with a skein of wool shoved up her hoo-hah.

That does not sound comfortable at all!  Or hygienic!

I suppose you have to admire her dedication to her art though.  Neither wind nor hail nor sleet nor snow nor unfortunate menstrual schedules shall keep this craftivist (her expression, not mine) from making scarves that no one will ever dare to wear.

Yeah, I'm not even kidding.

But seriously, go check it out.  Just be careful with the video, guys.  It's not really safe for work ... as most vagina knitting videos tend to be.

Just when you thought PC madness couldn't go any further...

Source

As a fully fledged citizen of the new politically correct age, I like to think that I'm relatively well versed in all of the ins and outs of being PC.  I try not to use terms I know will offend or make people uncomfortable.  Hell, I even attended the Diversity Awareness Training that my workplace held a couple of months ago.

Sure, it was compulsory, but I think I still deserved credit for going.

But even with my vast wealth of  knowledge, I have to admit the latest PC faux pas everyone is talking about took me a bit by surprise.  Did you guys know that it's now considered politically incorrect to call technology experts "techies"?

Yeah, me either.

But apparently it is.  According to this article [link].  Tech experts everywhere are getting their panties in a twist over being called techies, a term which they believe is offensive, reductive and belittling.

Huh, and I just thought it was an abbreviation.

According to the article though, they'd prefer to be called hackers, coders or makers.  I can't really say that I blame them, I wouldn't mind being called a "hacker".  It sounds pretty cool to me, conjuring up images of edgy looking people on pilfered laptops, always one step ahead of the FBI while they try to crack an international drug smuggling ring.

At least, that's what Hollywood has lead me to believe.

Personally, I always just associated the term techie with people who were technology professionals, in the same way I think of journalists as journos and and garbage men as garbos.  Maybe they'd feel better if they were called techos? Or perhaps techers?

I mean, it worked for us Star Trek fans.  Trekkies, trekkers ... potato, potahto...

But then again what do I know, I'm just an accountantie.

Spring has sprung, take my word for it...

Source

Mark this down as a red letter day, ladies and gentlemen!  Spring has finally sprung!

I know what you're all thinking.  Doesn't she realise that we're already into the first month of Summer?  Isn't declaring the start of Spring a bit redundant when it actually finished six days ago?

But calendars aside, you can take it on my good authority that we have finally entered the season of chirping birds, budding trees and "pitty pitty flowers".

And what do I base this assumption on, I hear you ask?  Oh, nothing so mundane as the first of September or the Spring Equinox.  Nor do I base it on temperature changes and climate.  I have a much more foolproof method at my disposal.

Today, for the first time since last Summer ... I shaved my legs all the way up to the top rather than just to the knee.

It's not something I decided to do, just a natural instinct that seems to kick in when Spring has finally begun.  Birds fly to warmer climates, fish swim upstream, and I go the whole hog with defuzzing my legs.

And if that doesn't just scream Spring, then I don't know what does!

From the way they go on, you'd think overdue DVD rentals were akin to first degree murder...

Source

It all started out so innocently.

Go down to the local video store.  Borrow a video here, borrow a video there. First it's just an hour overdue, then two, then a day, until you're consistantly averaging a week late with your returns. It's a vicious cycle, believe me.

I know what you're thinking, how on earth can she be in trouble with a video rental store?  Didn't they all close down years ago thanks to iTunes and Netflix?  Well, maybe over in the US they did, but in Australia they've managed to hold on a tad longer, surviving on traditionalists and people with limited internet download plans.

But those days are over.  They're all closing down in droves ... and taking the opportunity to sell their debts to debt collection agencies.

Seriously, it's been years since I last rented a DVD from a video store, but that didn't stop them from selling the overdue fines I apparently owe them to a collector, or stop the collector from sending me a very official looking and wordy letter all about what they're going to do if I don't pony up the dough.

But the joke's on you, Mr Debt Collector!  I deal with guys like you all the time in my job, so I know all about the tricks of the trade.  I know exactly how much you would have to go through to try and get the dosh out of me, with a very real chance of you not getting anything in the end.  I know exactly how far a collector will go, and when they'll decide it's not worth it ... and I definitely fall under the category of not worth it.

You're just lucky I'm willing to be the bigger person.

The cheque is in the mail, dude.

Give me a martini, and the cat will have a scotch on the rocks...

Source

I love living alone.

There are a lot of benefits to it.  I can watch whatever I want on the TV without having to fight for the remote, if I choose to leave the washing up for a day (or three) no one is going to say boo about it, and I have the freedom to wander around naked if I so choose without having to worry about someone seeing me.

Well ... I suppose there was that one time when I walked into the kitchen in the knicky-noo-nah and my neighbour happened to be standing outside my window on our shared verandah ... but we don't talk about that.

But with all those benefits, there are bound to be some disadvantages too.

Take alcohol, for example.  Society tells us you can't drink alone, or if you do then you must be a beer swilling lush with no self control.  Or worse, a "secretly drinking" alcoholic with an addictive personality.

Pretty harsh when all I wanted was a glass of Brut Cuvee.

But thanks to some wine makers in Japan, my problem has finally been solved!  That's right, now our feline friends can get just as sloshed as we do thanks to a new wine called Nyan Nyan Nouveau made especially for cats [link].

After all, it's not really drinking alone if your feline flatmate is having a glass of Chardonnay too, is it?

Well ... if we're going for full disclosure here, the cats can't really get drunk.  The wine is of the non-alcoholic variety, which I suppose means it's just grape juice.  Four dollars a bottle sounds a bit rich when you put it that way, doesn't it.  But it does have some catnip mixed in there too so at least you know your kitty will be getting something out of the experience.

I'll have to order some for Gypsy the Feline Dictator.  Hmm, I think the evenings at Casa de Kellie are about to get a lot more interesting.

They might fly through the air with the greatest of ease, but they're taking years off my life while they do it...

Source

I think I was about three years old the first time I went to the circus.  

I have this vague recollection of going into a tent, sitting on some rather uncomfortable benches, and watching the usual circus type entertainments.  They had performing animals (it was back in the 70's when they could still bring a wild animal into an enclosed space with young children), tumblers, a ringmaster, clowns ... the whole kit and kaboodle.  

I don't really remember much of it, I was far too young, but there is one part of the whole show I remember with almost startling clarity.  

The acrobats.

I remember watching them, utterly convinced they were going to plummet to their deaths.  They didn't, of course, but from that point on I have to say it was my least favourite part of the circus ... something that I was vividly reminded of recently when I went to see a circus themed stage show with my friend Bob.

So many bloody acrobats swinging around like they were trying to break their necks!  With each one I was equal parts impressed and horrified.  But it wasn't until the last one that I almost lost it.

He was young, just a kid really, and he settled himself on the bar of the trapeze and just started twisting around and around, contorting until he was all tied up in the ropes and barely a foot from the ceiling, at least twenty metres up.  Then he looked down at us, smiled, and let go. 

And I just about had a heart attack.

He was fine of course, he just tumbled around and around and then turned his feet out at the last minute to stop from falling to the ground.  Got quite the round of applause in fact.  I, however, was only barely able to restrain myself from giving him a good shaking!  I was sure he was going to end up a smushed little spot on the ground!

So here's my message to you, Mr Acrobat.  I was incredibly impressed by your skill and dedication to your craft.  But if you ever scare me like that again, you little shit, not even Bob's hand on my arm will stop me from rushing onto that stage and giving you a good slap!

Bloody trapeze artists...

It'll be just like Pay It Forward ... you know, if Haley Joel Osment was an eighty year old woman...

Source

Hello you gorgeous people you!

Today, instead of entertaining you wall with the rambling minutiae that runs through my brain, I was hoping to ask you all a favour.  I think we're at that point in our relationship that I can do that.  Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to help me move, or to pick me up from the airport, or anything like that.

No, I just want to a wee little favour on behalf of a fellow blogger, Janie Junebug.

You see, her mother in law, Margaret, is turning 80 next month, and she was hoping to get 80 birthday cards sent to her from all around the world.  Isn't that a lovely idea?  I know I'd be pretty chuffed if I was turning 80 and so many people took the time to send me a card.

And it's such an easy thing to do, just buy a card and pop it in the mail.  Margaret gets a bunch of birthday wishes, Janie gets the best-damned-daughter-in-law-in-the-world award, and you get the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes from doing something nice!

It's a win all round!

So if you'd like to help out, just head on over to Janie's blog here [link] for the address and other details, or send the card to the address below

Janie Goltz
PO Box 61371
Jacksonville FL 32236

And congrats Margaret!!! Way to make it into the Octagenarian's Club!

If you're happy and you know it wag your tail...

For a geek, I like to think that I tick most of the boxes.

I love Doctor Who to a degree that is, quite frankly, both unhealthy and kind of awesome.  I play World of Warcraft and have multiple toons at the highest level.  I've been to more than one midnight screening of Star Trek movies.  Hell, I even used to play Dungeons & Dragons, and I keep my dice in my bedside cabinet to this day!

But if there's one element of the geek lifestyle that I've yet to indulge in, I'd have to say it's cosplay.

For those of you who don't know, cosplay is the practice where someone dresses up as a character in a show, movie, book, or game that they love.  Gender doesn't matter.  Physical appearance doesn't matter.  Hell, species doesn't even matter!  All that matters is that you love that character so much that you want to pretend to be them, even if just for a little while.  

Truthfully, I've never felt any desire to cosplay.  I get why people do, but it never really appealed to me.

At least until now.

I saw this video the other day from a company who've invented an electronic tail that works depending on your mood and I had an instant and violent reaction.  I WANT ONE!  I'm not sure why, just that I desperately do.  I mean, come on, who WOULDN'T want a tail that wags faster the happier you are!

Okay, I know it's not really cosplay in the traditional sense ... in fact, it skirts closer to furries than I'm entirely comfortable with ... but I'm going to blithely disregard that fact.

Take a look and I bet you'll want one too ...even if you won't admit it.

I'm not even sure if they're being produced for sale yet, but if they are and anyone is looking for a Christmas present for me...

I won't lie, I'm a bit of a princess...

Source

This will come as absolutely no surprise to anyone who has met me, but I'm not really one for roughing it.

I don't camp.  I don't sleep on the ground.  I don't stay in hotels less than three and a half stars.  I don't share rooms with strangers because it's cheaper.  I don't do bush showers, or amenities blocks, or "we don't need bathing facilities, we'll just wash in the creek".

I'm a bit precious when it comes to things like that.

To be completely honest, I'm a bit of a princess.  Given a choice I'll pick three days in a five star hotel over four weeks in a caravan, no question.  When I travel (and in my home town for that matter), I prefer to stay at The Stamford.  I like room service.  And movies on demand.  And masseuses you can have come to your room.

I've actually used a pillow menu, for god's sake!

But as much of a diva as I like to think I can be about things like that, I've got nothing on these guys [link].  For you linktually challenged people out there, the website gives a list of strange, over the top things you can request at some of the world's most fancy hotels.  Things like a tanning butler, or a dog psychic, or a menu of sex toys.

Well I think it's quite obvious I've been slacking off in the demanding guest department.  Why have I never thought of insisting on a massage in a gondola?  Or someone to hand slice my soap for me?  Or a gold plated iPad?

And truth be told, I honestly think if I called the concierge at some of the hotels I've stayed in and asked him to send someone up to slice my soap, he actually would.  The staff always seem way too eager to do whatever I've ask, no matter how ridiculous and unreasonable the demand.  Nothing is too hard, no request too difficult.

It sure beats home where, no matter how many times I ask, Gypsy the Feline Dictator refuses to turn down the bed and put a chocolate on the pillow.

But seriously, if you've never stayed in a five star hotel before, do yourself a favour and try it, even if it's just for a single night.  Get on one of those cheap last minute hotel deal sites, book the room that has the biggest discount, then go and pretend to be rich and famous for an evening.  Ask the concierge to bring you extra bubble bath.  Call room service and have them bring you an icecream sundae.  Order every spa treatment you can to be done in your room.

It's indulgent and totally decadent ... but so worth it.

Apparently your birth month says a lot about your health, even if it can't predict that you're going to meet a tall dark stranger...

I've never really been a believer in horoscopes.

I know, coming from a Pagan that's pretty rich, but there you have it.  I've always looked at them in the same way I look at fortune cookies ... fun, but not something I'm going to be basing any major life decisions on.

Still, I might just have to eat my words if this study [link] is anything to go on.  Scientists are saying that there might be a connection between what month you were born in and what sort of diseases and conditions you're susceptible to.

And we're not just talking about one crackpot in a labcoat who surveyed fifty people and called it a day, there are over 200 studies dating back to the 1920's that all support the theory.  I have to admit my first reaction when I read the article was to scoff, but when I thought about it from a scientific perspective it does make a strange kind of sense.  Different conditions, different climates, different temperatures, I suppose they must all have some sort of an impact on an unborn child.

You poor people who were born in April ... I'm so sorry.  You definitely come out worse on this particular survey.  Of the fifteen different categories, you guys are susceptible to eleven of them.  But on the plus side, at least you miss out on Alzheimers, Down's Syndrome, Epilepsy and Schizophrenia, so that's nice I suppose.  In comparison, if you're born in September, October or November you only have one category to worry about.

Lucky bastards.

I'm a May baby, so I seem to fare better than some of the other months.  I rarely drink so alcohol abuse is unlikely, and autism and childhood diabetes are already off the table.  I suppose I'm still in the running for eating disorders, glaucoma, and Parkinson's Disease, but I'm pretty optimistic of my chances.

As for the personality disorders ... no comment.

UK internet filters V's determined teenagers: my money's on the kids...

I'm not a big fan of censorship.

Considering I work in a library, that's probably not much of a surprise to any of you.  We're kinda big on the whole open access to information schtick, so when I read about how the UK are going through with the Internet block rigmarole in a wildly unproportional attempt to shelter kids from online pornography [link], my freedom to information loving little heart broke a little.

This is a slippery slope you're starting down, UK.

To be fair, it's not like they're putting a blanket block across the whole country, people can still "opt in" to be able to access the naughty rumpty pumpty sites if they want to.

And that's the thing, isn't it.  If they want to see those sites, they have to actually have the balls to put their hand up and say "Yes, I'd like you to let me see the filth you're so bound and determined to stop me from looking at".  Really, UK?  You're going to shame your population into becoming so sexually frustrated they'll have to resort to old school methods like dirty magazines and bootleg porn movies?

Where does one even find a bootleg porn DVD in this day and age, anyway?

But let's be realistic here, this is not going to solve the problem you're so desperately trying to find a solution to.  All it's going to do is get every husband in the country put in the doghouse by their wives, and it's not going to stop a single kid from accessing porn if they really want it bad enough.

Because no matter how good you might think your filters and processes are, they simply aren't a match for a 14 year old with high school level computer skills and a burning determination to see Busty Ladies VII.

Just saying.

How much do seeing eye dogs cost anyway...

In the laundry...

Me:  (filling the washing machine) Hey Gypsy, you okay down there?

Gypsy the Feline Dictator: ... 

Me:  Usually you're meowing up a storm, begging for food.  Gotta say, it's nice to be able to finish this without having to stop to get you a chicken wing. 

Gypsy the Feline Dictator: ... 

Me:  How about I finish up with this laundry, then you can come into the bedroom with me and we'll snuggle up while I read?   

Gypsy the Feline Dictator: ... 

Me:  You really are being quiet, are you okay? 

(reaches down to pat her, then jerks away) 

Me:  Um ... 

Vacuum cleaner: ...

I actually spent ten minutes talking to the vacuum cleaner last night.  Ten minutes, using that sickly voice you always use with animals, not realising that the cat was sitting out in the loungeroom and I was talking to a cleaning appliance.

I think perhaps it's time to look into laser eye surgery ... or I could just remember to put my glasses on before wandering around the house.

If I murder the infomercial people, I'm pretty sure I could get off with justifiable homicide...

Source

They used me, abused me, and violated me in ways most unbefitting.  I thought I could trust them.  I thought they had honor.

I will never trust television advertising again!

I was watching something on television the other day when an ad came on ranting about the benefits of using this new frizzy hair product. You'd smooth out the tangles, you'd reduce the static, you'd end up looking just like the model ... apparently.

I found it hard to believe that I'd end up looking like a six foot amazonian blonde who seemed to have left her lower ribs at home that day just because I used a handful of goop on my hair, but hey, I'm open minded. I decided to give it a go anyway.

I suppose I should have known better than to believe a ruddy hair product ad. They've never told me the truth before, why should they start now?

But despite what my common sense was telling me, I trotted down to my local apothocary and shelled out the ridiculous sum of $40 for the bottle of serum.  A very, VERY small bottle of serum.

Sure it was a lot of money for such a teensy amount of hair product, but it'd be worth every cent if it actually worked.  My hair has always been on the curly side, with a definite leaning towards frizz whenever I'm silly enough to try brushing it.  If the production worked even half as well as they claimed, it would have been money well spent.  I got home, washed my hair and smoothed the stuff on, then dried it.

 No difference. No berloody difference whatsoever! 

 I've been duped! Hoodwinked! Honestly, one of these days I'm going to hunt down all these snake oil merchants and exact my own special brand of vigilante justice!

Seriously, it's a dangerous thing to do, tempting a frizzy haired woman with promises of smooth, silky curls!  There isn't a jury in the land that would convict me!

It was a dark and stormy night when Harry crept into Draco's dorm room...

There's one question I get asked a lot that never fails to make me gulp in a visually comical way.

"So, Kellie, what are you reading at the moment?"

I'm sure you guys know what I'm talking about.  When people find out you like to write, it's just a short jump to assuming (quite correctly) that you like to read too.  And if you like to read, then you must have some amazing recommendations of stuff that will blow their minds.  Perhaps some hidden gem that will turn out to be the next Harry Potter series.

Oh boy, I could definitely recommend things that would blow their minds ... I'm just not sure if I should.

Okay, I'll just come out and say it ... I read fan fiction.

I know, I know, I'm not supposed to like that stuff.  Or at least I'm not supposed to admit to liking that stuff.  But you know what?  I'm done with the hiding!  I'm coming out of the literary closet!

I'm a fan fiction reader, and proud of it!

And really, before you go scoffing at my lack of literary depth you really should try it first.  I can't even begin to tell you how wonderful it is knowing that somewhere out in the world there's a small army of people, and they're all writing hundreds of thousands of words a day about shows and characters that I already love.  I never run out of things to read, I get to see what my favourite characters would do in situations the TV networks would never allow them to be in, and I don't have to pay a cent for it!

So instead of hiding my literary leanings, I've decided I'm just going to be honest from now on.  When someone asks me what I'm reading now, I'm just going to tell them.  Maybe I'll even give them an URL or two.

But I don't think I'll warn them about the tendency fan fiction authors have to pile on the homoerotica and make all their characters gay.  I'll just leave that as a surprise.



Kellie's Fan Fiction Recommendations (just some of my favourites)

Sandstorms [link] by Mithreon (Stargate Atlantis) - Lot and lots of angst here.  I cried so much reading it! 

Make A Wish [link] by Rorschach's Blot (Harry Potter) - This was written before the series was finished, but it's hilarious and well worth the read.   

My Father's Keeper [link] by Emerald1 (NCIS) - Another angsy offering, this time with poor Tim McGee getting the rough end of the stick. 

Syrup and Honey [link] by LauGS (Glee) - a really well done "what if" story where Kurt owns a bakery. 

Ianto Jones' Diary [link] by Torchwoodfour (Torchwood) - This one was great!  A bit of a "missing scenes" one, in the form of a Bridget Jonesesque diary written by good old Ianto.  

Feel free to leave recommendations of your own in the comments!  I'm always looking for new stuff to read!

Go back to Uni, they said ... it'll be fun, they said...

Help, I've got my first postgrad exam on Tuesday and I'm kind of having a melt down!  Send chocolate!

Okay, maybe I'm overstating it just a tad.  I'm not exactly panicking yet ... I'm sure that will happen sometime on Tuesday morning ... but I am starting to get worried.  Why did I decide to study accouning?  Why couldn't I choose a nice, safe postgrad in ancient history or anthropology or archaeology?

But no, I had to decide that if I was going to make my career in finance, which given that I've been working in the field for 18 year seems pretty likely, it might be a good idea if I actually had some qualifications.  I know, I'm full of kooky ideas like that.

Now I'm no stranger to mature age tertiary education.  I did my archaeology degree while I was working full time, so I know all about having to juggle work and study and how to make use of the company photocopiers.  Back then I could do my readings before work started, jot off an essay in my lunch break, and barely break a sweat.

But a postgrad in accounting?  That's a whole other kettle of fish.

Last time around I was studying a history based course, which pretty much meant I spent all my time reading stories and then bullshitting essays based on what I read.  I was good at that!  Hell, I'm sure any blogger out there could cruise their way through a history based degree on the power of their bullshitting skills alone.

But I can't do that with this course.  This time I can't rely on a half assed knowledge of the facts and a better than average vocabulary to get me by.  This time I actually have to STUDY stuff!

I know, the sheer nerve!

Oh well, I guess I should just suck it up and keep at it.

But seriously, how the hell does one do a Cashflow Statement anyway?  Because as far as I can tell the numbers make about as much sense as if they'd been pulled out of one of those rolling bingo cages at random.

I just wonder if they'll provide the bingo cage in the exam or if I have to supply my own.

Warning, cranky woman ahead...

My head hurts. My hair's being all sticky up. My shoes are too tight. The underpants gnomes ate all my undies. My pen is scratchy. My computer is flickering. My bird hates me. My fridge smells like dirty sweat socks and cheese. My carpet is like a wilderness preserve for ants. My desk is buried in paper. My filing cabinet is trying to eat me. My cat is ignoring me.

It's just one of those days, I'm afraid.  It feels a little like the world is conspiring to ... well, not make me angry exactly.  Annoy me a little, perhaps?

Do any of you ever have those days?  You know the ones, where everything seems to take a perverse delight in going wrong and no matter how hard you try all you really want to do is yell at someone and my GOD why do people insist on standing so close to my desk to have a twenty minute long conversation about something I neither know nor care anything about?

Seriously, you've all got your own desks!  What's so appealing about mine that makes you all head straight to it!

I know, I know, I'm being unreasonable, but I just can't seem to help myself.  Everything is rubbing me the wrong way today and it really is only a matter of time before someone's left in tears ... and it ain't gonna me me. 

Normally I'm PMSing when I'm in this sort of a mood, but I've checked the calendar and I'm definitely not.

It's official then, it's not me. It's all the rest of you guys.

Demons are a ghoul's best friend...

It's Halloween week, everybody!  Happy Halloween!  May the costumes be tarty, the horrors B-grade, and the chocolate plentiful!  I hope you're all ready to go out there in your Halloween best and celebrate in the spirit of the season!

Spirit!  Get it?  Get it?

Well if you won't do it for yourselves, at least do it for us poor Southern Hemispherians.  Much to my chagrin, Australia doesn't really take Halloween very seriously.  Sure the supermarkets have started selling carving pumpkins in the past few years but they're stupidly expensive, and trick-or-treaters tend to be the exception rather than the norm.

We are severely Halloween deprived down here, we have to live vicariously through you lot.

But I shall not allow the lack of Halloween spirit in my homeland to bring me down.  I WILL carve my ridiculously expensive pumpkin.  I WILL have chocolate on hand just incase some intrepid tot finds their way to my front door in a home made Spiderman costume.  I WILL wait until it's dark out on Thursday night and then watch Ghost Ship, the absolute best B-grade horror film ever made.

Seriously, if you've never seen it you have to.  It's worth it for the opening scene alone. (careful though, it's pretty graphic)

No?  Bit too gruesome?  Oh well, there's always Hocus Pocus, I suppose.  A talking animatronic cat and Bette Midler as a three hundred year old witch?  Sign me up!

But whatever your spooky viewing pleasure, I hope you all have a Happy Halloween, my dears!

Sometimes I'm not sure if I really trust my moral compass...

So ... this is a conversation I had over brunch the other day.  There are times when I probably shouldn't let people know exactly what I'm thinking.

Me:  Are you all ready to go to Mexico?  You're going to have a great time!

Her:  Yeah ... if I can just survive long enough to actually go.  I've got so much to do before then.  Seriously, I need an assistant, someone who's willing to work for about fifty cents an hour. 

Him:  Well you do work with refugees and immigrants, if anyone has access to cheap labor, it's you. 

Her:  That's an awful thing to say!

Him:  Come on, are you saying you've never even considered it? 

Her:  Of course not!  What do you think I am? 

Me:  (mutters) Obviously not one to take advantage of the opportunities offered. 

Her:  I'm supposed to be HELPING them, not turning them into what pretty much equates to slave labor! 

Him:  But if you could, would you? 

Her:  ... 

Me:  I hate to admit it, but I might.  

Her:  ... 

Me:  I'm not saying that I'd do it, just that if things were different, if we lived in a world where slavery was considered "acceptable" ... I can't be sure exactly where my morals would fall. 

Her: ... 

Me:  I'd like to think I'd be all "Slavery is bad, m'kay?" but I know myself well enough to admit that, if the option was on the table and no one was going to judge me for it, I might. 

Her:  ... seriously!!! 

Me:  I said might. 

Him:  (shakes head sadly) Kellie, I'm very disappointed in you.

Me:  Oh, don't come across all holier than though.  I know for a fact that the only thing keeling you from committing cold blooded murder is that you wouldn't survive in jail. 

Him:  Touche. 

Her:  ... how are we even friends? 

I suppose it's lucky I don't live in a world where slavery is considered okay, I'm not sure if I really trust my moral compass.

My presence in a mall is a sign of the apocalypse...

If you know anything about me, you'll know that I'm not a shopper.

 Actually, that's an understatement ... I'm perhaps the world's worst shopper.  I'm impatient, I lose my temper if I don't find what I want right off, and I've been known to make innocent little shop assistants cry with my sarcastic comments and temper tantrums.  I believe they still tell stories about me at some of the larger centres.

It's like I'm an urban legend!

The reason I bring this up (yes, there actually IS a reason) is because yesterday I found myself with a friend out shopping.  Don't ask me how I got there, I'm not completely certain. All I know is suddenly there I was, wandering through kitchen stores looking for a baking timer! This was completely unprecedented.  And even scarier, I didn't lose my temper once!

I'm starting to worry myself now. Kellie going shopping and not hating it? Kellie wandering around in a shopping centre for the better part of a day and not wanting to rip someone's lungs out through their nostrils? It's something that's never happened to me before and I'm sure how to deal with it. Am I becoming what I hate? Am I becoming a shopper?

I suppose it's possible. I wandered around that place like a pro. I meandered through shops and checked out prices like I was going to buy something, but without any real intention of buying anything. Isn't that what recreational shoppers do? Oh no, please tell me I'm not becoming a recreational shopper! I might as well go stake out a corner of the food court right now if that's what's happening!

No, it's got to be a one off occurrence. I couldn't become a shopper, not at this late date. Don't most shoppers start pretty young, like in their early teens? I'm not practised enough, I'd never make it into the shopper Olympics. Most of the time I can't make it through an hour's trip to pick up groceries.

Maybe it was just something in the air?  A random occurrence that will never happen again. I'll just go back to the way things were before where I'd perform hit-and-run missions on the shops when I needed anything and looked sulky when other people dragged me there. Yep, it's going to be fine.

... oh god, please don't let me be turning into a shopper!

Scientists may discover some cool things from time to time, but sometimes they're real assholes...

Source

Did you guys ever read about the group of scientists back in the 60's who did experiments on kittens to work out if they could make them blind without doing anything to their eyes [link]?

Yeah, I know.  Uber creepy.  Apparently it's not enough to be able to blind someone by damaging their retinas, you have to use psychological and developmental methods to screw their eyesight up from infancy if you really want to make it as an evil scientist.

I think what they were trying to determine was whether eyesight is an instinctual or learned skill, and they got their answer.  One kitten's eyesight developed normally while the other seemed blind, even though there was nothing wrong with it's eyes.

But seriously, if you're going to do a bunch of weird and highly questionable experiments, why on earth would you choose to do them on kittens!  No matter what results you came up with, people were always going to be appalled by what you did.  If you do them on rats you have a 50/50 chance that someone will be horrified, but everyone loves kittens!

You might be wondering why I'm even bringing it up.  It was fifty years ago, after all.  People did weird things back in the 60's, like building nuclear bomb shelters and wearing flares.  What's a little kitten experimentation compared to that?  But the fact is that kittens are still used for similar experiments, like the ones who had their eyes sewn shut not that long ago to study crossed and lazy eyes [link].

Now THAT disturbs me.

I'm not exactly anti animal experimentation, provided there is no other way that research can be done.  I love animals, but I love human beings more, so I'm always going to be on the side of helping people.  But still...

Kittens!  They're just widdle baby kittens all fluffy and mewling and adorable!  How on earth were those scientists able to do it!  I'd be eating my heart out if it was me.

But I suppose those evil scientist types are made of sterner stuff.

Just call me the cuddlewhore...

Source

I'm totally in the wrong line of business.

No, seriously, why did I decide to be an accountant again?  What with all the numbers and the spreadsheets and the wails of "But I don't have enough money!  Give me more money!", I'm beginning to wonder if I should have thought about it a teensy bit harder.

I suppose you do get to boss people around, so that's always nice.  There's something about being in charge of the money that seems to scare the bejezus out of people.   I'm pretty sure that there are more than a couple senior managers who would do a rousing version of Knees Up Mother Brown for my amusement, just because of how scared they are of having to do their own finances.

 It's just that in some areas the job is ... lacking.

The biggest one?  That would be the lack of cuddling opportunities, hands down.  You get surprisingly few offers of a quick hug when people just see you as "that finance type person".  Work as a psychologist?  Lots of hugs.  As a lawyer?  Well they always seem to hug after they win a case on TV.  As a sporting person?  Hugs galore and the odd pat on the butt.  As an actor?  More hugs than you know what to do with ... and if you're really lucky, a simulated sex scene or two!

But no one wants to hug the person that told them their salaries budget was at risk of going over by more than the acceptable percentage and they'll need to submit a report to senior management.  It just doesn't happen.

Maybe I should have done what this woman did [link] and started a cuddling business.  She actually gets paid for cuddling people AND taking naps, can you believe it?  I want that job!

I suppose I could start an on-the-side business at work.  I could put up one of those little signs ala Lucy's therapist sigh in Peanuts, declaring that "The Cuddler Is In".

I wonder if I'd get many takers.

Late 70's hard rock is my comfort music. Yeah, I'm weird, I know...

I'm not really a music person.

That's not to say I don't enjoy listening to music, I do, it's just that I don't have the same burning, all consuming love of it that some people seem to have.  I have friends who can name every song or album by a particular artist.  Who can name any song just from hearing a ten second clip of it.

I'm not that person.

When I love a song, it's usually because it's linked in my mind to something.  I'll always love "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic" thanks to an ex-boyfriend who serenaded me with it (and by serenaded, I mean warbled all the bits he could remember in a decidedly off-key manner ... but it was still sweet).  And there definitely more songs that have a place in my heart thanks to their connection to a TV show or movie than I'm entirely comfortable admitting to.

See that's the thing, I really only love a song if it prompts an emotional response in me, and that emotional response usually has nothing to do with the song itself.  And the songs that have the biggest responses?

AC/DC.

I know, it's a weird choice.  Late 70's early 80's rock.  But for some reason in my mind they're connected with being little.  I'm guessing they played on the radio a lot when I was a tot and I've subconsciously linked them to being safe and contented.

Because nothing calms a scared toddler more than a good dose of "You Shook Me All Night Long", don't you agree?

So what are your go to comfort songs?

Are we taking zero tolerance too far...

Source

Sometimes I really do think our society no longer has a functioning sense of proportion.

Alabama teenager, Christian Adamek, committed suicide earlier this month after he was caught streaking at a school gridiron game.  It's hardly the stuff hardened criminals are made of, and yet he was threatened with legal action and the possibility of being added to the sex offender's registry for indecent exposure. 

[Continued here...]

Naughty authors, Goodreads will smack...

Source

Holy crap, guys, self publishers have finally done it. I mean, I know that authors, and writers in general, have the ability to be obnoxious little jerks with the mental maturity of twelve year olds, but they've finally gotten to the point where they're being so dreadful on Goodreads that they're forcing them to go all "bad-parent" on their asses.

Naughty authors!  Goodreads will smack!

Thanks to a spate of "revenge ratings" on Goodreads, usually organised by a rival author and their cronies, that the social cataloguing site has decided to change their T&C's and start deleting ratings and reviews that are obviously not aimed at the work itself [link].  That's kind of pathetic, isn't it.  We can't be grown ups so they have to supervise us.

Although I have to think that the phenomena has less to do with the fact that they're self published authors and more with the online nature of the catalogue.  As I'm sure we've all been witness to at least once or twice, people can be little bastards online.

There's just something about the anonymous nature of online interactions that seems to make people believe they can be as rude as they'd like.  No face, no consequences.  It's all ridiculous, and so 7th grade, but it is what it is.

But I have to admit it makes my soul weep a little when I hear about self published authors doing it to each other.  I love the current self publishing trend.  It's opening up the industry in a way that's never been seen before and allowing all sorts of wonderful works to be put out there.  It's a true revolution, and we're getting to watch it happening.

But instead of supporting, or at least tolerating, each other through it, authors are doing things to each other virtually that they would never dream of doing face to face.  All because they don't think anyone will notice and call them on it.

Well, Goodreads has noticed.  Consider yourselves grounded.

I've become that one person on my street that all the parents tell their kids not to talk to...

I think I'm just going to stop answering the door altogether.

I know I told you all a few weeks back about my run in with my neighbour who accused me of catnapping [link].  At least in that particular situation I wasn't at fault.  This time, however, I really only have myself to blame.

I decided it would be a good day to put on a face mask.  No real reason, just that I'm home and have no particular plans to leave the house today.  It seemed like the perfect opportunity to deep clean my pores.  So I broke out the tube of goo, smeared it all over my face, and waited for it to dry.

That's when there was a knock at my door.

Here's a little tip from your Auntie Kellie, kiddies.  If you're going to answer the door, best to make sure you're not wearing a cosmetic face mask ... and if you are going to answer the door wearing a cosmetic face mask, perhaps you should make sure it doesn't make you look like Al Jolson.

My neighbour was very nice about it, but you could tell he was a bit disturbed.  I thought about telling him that it was just a face mask, I wasn't "blacking up" or anything, but I thought maybe that'd just make things worse.

Yeah ... definitely going to stop answering the door.

The difference between victims and survivors...

I read stories about rape and sexual assault all the time.  It is, unfortunately, a part of our world.

Usually I read, shake my head sadly, then move on.  As important as they might be, I really don't have anything worthwhile to say about them.  Rape is awful and horrible and despicable and people who do it deserve to have their bits chewed off by rabid squirrels, I think we can all agree on that one.

But I had to pause at the article I read today and give it a second look [link].

Not because it was any different to the myriad of other rape case news articles, in fact it was pretty much the same thing.  Man attacks woman trying to kidnap her, rape her and murder her.  Luckily woman gets away and man get arrested.  All pretty straight forward.

But that's not what got my attention.  What I focused on almost immediately was the mug shot of the guy that was included in the article.

He looked like he'd gone seven rounds with a feral cat ... and lost.

I don't know the details of what he did to that poor woman but, if his face is anything to go by, it certainly looks like she put up a good fight.  It must have been terrifying, but she managed to scratch up his face like nobody's business.  I'd imagine he'll have a hard time if he tries to claim it was consensual.

I can't help thinking it's the perfect reminder that women and men who've been raped aren't just victims ... they're survivors and battlers ...

... and, if that picture is anything to judge by, rather vicious fighters.