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Tuesday Jul 20, 2010

Serious question:

What do you feel when someone uses the word gay in describing something/one other than a homosexual person?

(Sorry, that sentence feels so forced and proper.)

Are you offended when someone says, “that’s so gay”?

Why are you offended?

Do you use it yourself? Do you use it without even thinking of it?

And because I’m curious as to whether the use/offensiveness of it is a generation thing, how old are you?

I’ve seen a few people use the term recently in the interweb and, let’s be honest, been torn apart for it. I’m genuinely curious and would love if you left a comment.

(Anonymous commenting is a-okay.)

Cops lied to me…

Tuesday Jul 13, 2010

As you may have gathered I have a thing for the TV show Cops. Can’t explain it, just know that if you call me between 7:00 and 7:30 on a weeknight I’m not answering because I’m watching people get tasered.

I have learnt many things from Cops, including (but not limited to):

Getting tasered hurts.
People getting arrested for domestic violence are always complete dicks.
Do not lead police in vehicle pursuits, they will do the pit manoeuvre on you (it’s totally the technical term) and it will end badly.
If you carry rolls of 20 dollar notes on you this probably means you’re a drug dealer.
Junkies lie. A lot.
If you’re going to use a prostitute you should probably check if it’s a real woman first.
And running from the police tends to end with you getting tasered and/or getting bitten by a police dog.

I thought Cops would never lie to me.

But then I got pulled over a few weeks ago for a random breath test. Since I’d just got my license a couple of weeks before and it was 10 a.m. and I was on my way to Lincraft with Sabine I knew I’d be okay.

Except when the nice but scarily efficient scary policewoman put the test box thing in front of me and I blew on it.

Did anyone else know that they no longer do breath tests by blowing into a straw thingy? That you just talk into the test unit and it measures it that way?


I still love you Cops, even if you made me look like a knob and had to threaten my sister on pain of death if she tweeted about it.

(Everything else is fine, we found another bank to do my farm loan through so I’m just finalising the new application now. I’m still having teething problems with the new boss but it’s not too bad. And all of the bad work stuff is over now. The love life is oddly barren but generally everything is okay.)

The one where I complain a lot…

Tuesday Jul 6, 2010

For someone who only got their (provisional) licence 2 months ago at the age of 29 I love Top Gear far more than I should.

Especially considering that the car I’m driving at the moment is a Suziki Ignis (seriously, Google it, it’s the best lawn mower-esque car a girl could ever want.)

Last update my new boss and I weren’t getting along too well. We’ve had another reaming since then. As this was another issue caused by a lack of communicating that he wanted me to do something, and blaming me when I surprisingly didn’t do it, I’ve come to the conclusion that he is a git that I shouldn’t let get to me.

So far it’s working.

Unfortunately last week was pretty much the work week from hell when we lost 6 guys from our pretty close IT department through redundancies.

There was more than one night last week that I came home and pretty much drank and then went to bed.

Also the mortgage gods? Hate my guts.

The main bank my broker recommended we use declined the application. Not because of my earning capacity, or the amount I wanted to borrow or the property itself.

But because half of the deposit hadn’t been in my account for more than 3 months. Rrriiiggghtt.

Also it would’ve been nice if broker dude could’ve told me about this requirement BEFORE I filled in a 13 page application form.

Just saying.

Apparently a lot of banks don’t provide finances to properties more than 10 hectares. The land I want is 11.

It’s driving me fucking batty. I mean I can afford the loan, I have a good credit history, I have a deposit, I have a (relatively) stable high paying job and can more than meet the repayments. Everything is fine from my side.

It’s either the size of the land itself (which I love!) or some retarded obscure application clause that (to me) has no bearing on the whole bloody thing.

I spoke to my broker tonight and asked whether it was a lost cause, whether I should find another smaller plot or just give up.

(As you may have picked up, I’m a little defeated at the moment.)

He said no, that it was just a speciality (?) property and that he’d find the right lender.

But jesus fuck, it would be nice to just lock something in before someone else puts in an offer on my lovely future farm.

Then last night while reading Masterchef tweet’s (shut up) I found Mark’s twitter page. Not only is one of his friends the new girlfriend (who’s twitter account is a GRATITUDE JOURNAL!) but I got to read that she’s using the L word.

I closed my browser at that stage. For my sake (and to protect you guys from more ranty angsty posts like these) it was the best thing to do.

Oh, and I think my doctor, who I’ve been going to for years and years, has died.

Sure she was mean and played down all of the illnesses I’ve ever had, and sure she was old. But she gave me my crazy pills and my not-pregnant pills and now I’m going to have to explain to a new doctor that I’m slightly nutty all over again.

And because I just somehow complained about how some poor person’s death has negatively impacted on me I think I’m done.

Hope everyone’s well.


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