PACMAN

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You can play Pacman on when you go to Google because Pacman's 30 today!!!!

I just played for 20 minutes straight. That game never gets old- don't get chomped!

Did I really do that?

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This afternoon, Miss K Kaif and I decided to head out for lunch. We stopped off at the ladies beforehand and like all females, we continued our conversation as we entered the stalls.

In my clumsy haste I knocked a near finished roll of toilet paper that had been sitting on top of the toilet roll holder, off from its perch. It dived a perfect arc into the toilet bowl and sank rapidly southward as I stood gaping like a stunned mullet and clutching at the empty air.

What do I do??? I can't just leave it there- If I do that, that toilet will be "out of order" and there are only two toilets on the whole floor! But then again, I don't want to put my hand anywhere near that water- it's full of e-coli, salmonella and funk...

But then again it's only half submerged so maybe I should just grab it before it sinks any further into the water!

I procrastinated for all of 5 seconds before I selected the last option. It was the utilitarian option after all.

I held my breath, squinted my eyes, plucked it out and dropped it next to the toilet.

At that point I craved Domestos- but I made do with regular work bathroom pink soap and washed my hands at least three times over. Miss K Kaif chucked a massive "ewwwww!" face when I told her what happened and I did the best that I could to blank it out of my mind.

Office Highkinks

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Today at work, there was a 15 minute slot where the office was abnormally quiet. All you could hear was the sound of typing, the occasional chair shifting and the constant whirr of the printer spitting out reams of paper. There was no chatter, no phones ringing and it occurred to me that it was pretty nice- this abnormally quiet office.

Then, came a moan- somewhere far away from our pod. It was nothing- the innocuous sound that slips out when someone is enjoying a nice, long, satisfying stretch far far back into their seat.

But all it took was one giggle, one sneak peek at Miss K Kaif who couldn't help but let loose a "What was that?!!" and a big giggle from Miss CalmFarm, for me to erupt into hysterics.

We were all thinking the same thing- the same kinky ridiculous thing that made absolutely no sense at all in the context of our open plan office. And what made it funnier was the fact that no one in the pod right next to the suspected moaner was laughing- there they were, serious as ever, typing and staring solemnly at their computer screens.

Later, I approached Miss DB and asked her if she'd heard the moan and whether she'd found it funny. She started laughing before I'd even finished the question and admitted that she'd heard it but she just chose to ignore it because she didn't know what it was.

This always happens- I bet everyone in the office heard it but everyone pretended like it was nothing! I mean, it was nothing, but it might've been something!!

Just like medieval times...

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This morning our house woke up to complete darkness- the power was shot.

My mum hollered that the lights weren't working, my dad explained to her why they weren't working and then she struggled to put her make up on in the semi-dark with the help of a candle. I got woken up by her hollering and trudged to the kitchen. There I found my dad with two short vanilla scented candles burning their lovely essence and him efficiently spreading avocado on 6 slices of bread for his, my, and my sister's lunch. What a trooper.

I ate my cereal in a meditative state (candles tend to have that effect) and substituted porridge for cereal and toast for a banana. I told my dad that it felt like we were back in medieval times when warriors marched through fields with the help of an oil lantern. He agreed and laughed.

Doing things in the dark was pretty fun in that "this is something new and different" way- I was kinda sad when the electicity came on 20 minutes later.

Sweet Sundays

Sundays are so sleepy and slow. Especially when I have no plans. I woke up, watched 2 episodes of Friends before eating my bonza breakfast of porridge, fruit cocktail (non-alcoholic, naturally) and 2 pieces of toast. A deliciously slothy start.

Then I looked out the window, sussed out the weather and decided that it was too nice a day to spend indoors. So I texted a bunch of people and asked them if they wanted to hang. Yes, yes they did, but no, no they could not. Everyone was already booked up. No worries, I thought- I'm just going to hang by myself!

So I hopped on the train and went to the city. I started my day off by stocking up on the food that I'd need on my day with myself. A gourmet sandwich from the German bakery, a blueberry danish from Woolies, some Grainwaves and a banana. I stowed my food away in my handbag and started my day perusing Sportsgirl, Witchery, Man Witchery (or whatever boy Witchery's called) and that whole strip under Town Hall station. I walked for miles and miles (really really slowly), looked at the sky, got in people's way, was answerable to no one, set my own pace and had a grand time.

Eventually though, I ran out of food, got sore feet and needed some sit down time. Given that I don't drink coffee, don't really love cafes and didn't want to go anywhere where I'd be asked "Do you want anything else besides your pineapple frappe?" I opted for my bookstore of choice: Basement Books. It's right at the end of the tunnel in Central Station and they have an excellent selection of books, games, art supplies and stationery. Plus, they have comfy chairs that sink down like a warm duvet, a soundtrack that features Norah Jones and Enya and no intrusive sales people asking me whether I'm "okay to just browse?"

I chose a bunch of books, snuggled down into my chair and actually read a whole book while I was there. Well, actually, I read the first half and then the last 3 chapers which enabled me to get the entire plot and the exciting conclusion. When I'd finished (2 hours later), I got up, stretched, yawned and put the book back. Then I mosied on out of there all zen and nonchalant- and trotted onto the train back home.

Meanwhile, Man from Mars is back in Melbourne for a couple of weeks. He has a cold, so it's a good thing he's back in his home hood, where he can relax and catch some zzzz's. I had a mild male moment last night where, even before he called to chat, I resolutely decided that I wasn't in the mood to talk. Normally, I'm the typical female who talks and talks and talks and only stops when I'm given hints from Man from Mars like "OK, I have to go and iron my shirts now". But last night, my mind wasn't in it. Some days the phone just isn't all that appealing. Plus, I honestly had no goss. So Man from Mars, puzzled as pasta, but very understanding all the same, let me go after a series on one word answers on my part.

That's all on my end- Have a fabulous week!

PS: How brave is Jessica Watson???!!!!! What an incredible, amazing, gigantic achievement.

Work mates, China Town and our genuine pretend jewellery...

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Fridays are fantastic- there's no disputing that. But today was particularly fun because Mr Smart Abs along with Juy Pee and Jathon graduated on Wednesday and we all went out for drinks and food after work (well actually, Juy Pee and Jathon didn't come, and Abs and his mate came, but it was for all of them making it through uni, so I trust they were there in spirit).

Anyway, the night started off at World Square Bar where Miss DB and I squashed both our arses onto the one seat as we courageously ignored the chair shortage and convinced each other that our bums were both very comfortable and yes, we were fine thanks; and no our bums were not splitting exactly in half.

Thankfully, Mr Funky Glasses came to the rescue- how chivalrous, we proclaimed, as he read our bum's minds and brandished an extra chair from the depths of the pulsing crowd. We sang our thanks and flopped into our respective chairs- relief.

The conversation turned odd as people became tipsy, but enough drink was enough and we scooted our hineys down the road, across the street and around the corner to China Town. Miss Tiny had been trying her absolute hardest to convince everyone that wedges and steak were the way to go, but when our stomachs hit the streets, they guided us to the dumpling house in China Town. We ate, laughed, talked, shouted over one another, misheard, sang bits of songs that popped into our minds and made actions to accompany the songs. As our bellies grew full and the clock hit 9ish, Miss DB and I decided to brave the China Town stalls:

Some stall down here sells pretend Tiffany stuff for 5 bucks! I shouted, pulling Miss DB along and persuading her to get one with me. Just for the fun of it.

Okay! she agreed, clutching on for dear life, because only everyone knows how dreadful our combined sense of direction is-- and if we're gonna get lost, we're gonna do it together.

We struggled through the crowd and stuck our heads into one stall to the next. Finally:

How much are these? Miss DB yelped

Yeah, how much? I echoed

$28 was the reply.

We grabbed at all the different pendants and necklaces and pulled out our awesome negotiating skills:

Nah, how about 2 for $40

Stonewalled down. Absolutely not, said the street vendor.

We put on our "Well it's no loss to us" polker faces and shimmied on out of there to the next stall:

There's gonna be another one, I know it! I declared.

We weaved in and out amongst the crowd, chattered on about uni and walked some more. Just as our enthusiasm was starting to wane, there it was, another stall right at the end of the laneway:

How much is this? Miss DB queried, slightly more subdued because it was probably going to be nowhere near the $5 I had promised.

$15 and $12

Whee! Way cheaper than the one with the stonewalling girl! Miss DB and I pored over the pendants, charm bracelets and necklaces with our non-expert eyes and chose the ones we liked best.

Then we walked to Central Station a little rowdy and high on our new purchases and went our separate ways.

What an awesome night. The coolest work mates anyone could ask for, new accessories and great food all against the backdrop of the bustling, colourful and impulsively fun vibe that China Town always brings.

How many is too many?

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Somehow, sometime last week, Miss DB, Miss K Kaif and I came upon the topic of how many undies we have in our undie drawer.

I thought I was pretty normal. I don't have that many pairs of undies- maybe 6 or 7 pairs of boring undies that show their face on normal weekdays when nothing special's going on except work. Then I also have nice ones- but not that many. My undies get vigorously rotated and I never run out because they get washed more regularly than I exercise.

Miss DB estimates that she has about 60 pairs. Although, she concedes that there are perhaps only 20 boring pairs that she actually wears regularly.

Miss K Kaif came in as the winner pipping us both with "at least 100 pairs, my undie drawer is overflowing."

I actually gasped and pondered how often you'd need to wash your undies if you had that many. Fortunately, Miss K Kaif read my mind and declared that with her supply, she could possibly go for a very comfortable period of time without doing any undie laundry.

Talk about eye-opener. That's gold!

Does everybody have that many pairs of undies?

In the dead of the night...

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Last night, Man from Mars woke up in the middle of the night needing to take a tinkle. Nothing unusual. If it's not him going, it's me and I don't think we've ever gone a night without the annoying need to tinkle (at approximately 3 am) interrupting our blissful dream world of sleep.

When it's me, I wake up, turn to him and whisper: "Need to pee, do you?" The only reason I do this is because the toilet is really really far down a long long corridor, and when the lights are off, it's kinda spooky. Especially in the dead of the night. I know, I know, I could turn all the lights on, (and when from Man from Mars isn't at my house- I do) but to be honest, if I don't have to, then I won't because whenever I do this, I completely wake myself up and practically never go back to sleep again. Anyway, without fail, Man from Mars will answer in the affirmative and we'll both shuffle down the long long corridor and exchange annoyed/sleepy smiles.

When it's Man from Mars, he leap frogs over me (in a sleep fogged hurdle of arms and legs) and asks "Need to pee?" and I'll without fail answer in the affirmative because if I don't then I might need to go later and turn all the lights on and wake myself up.

Anyway, last night Man from Mars woke up needing to tinkle and turned to me with the usual question which I answered in the usual way. Things weren't urgent for me, but if he was going, I was going too. I went to get up and he was in the process of leap frogging over me when he went:

Ohh no, the electricity's cut off...

And I said:

Why? how do you know? (because he hadn't even turned the light on yet)

And he said:

Because your alarm clock's off

And I went:

Aww man.

And he went:

Do you have a torch?

To which I replied, No, no I did not.

Man from Mars lay there for another ten minutes- waiting for the electricity to come back on because I suppose there's nothing more counterintuitive that peeing into the dark. I kept right on sleeping because my bladder was still in a relatively comfortable state.

He lay and lay and kept checking the alarm clock. No response. Still black.

And then, when his good old bladder was ready to pop, he half leap frogged over me before announcing:

Ohhhh, the cushion on your bureau was blocking the alarm clock

And I went:

What? So there's no black out? Aww man!

Then he laughed, went back to leap frogging, I laughed, went back to accompanying for the hell of it, and we scooted down the long long corridor to the cold porcelain throne.

The guy with the William jersey

There's this guy at my station in the morning who stands with his mum and waits for the train. He has Down Sydrome and he carries his school books in one of those backpacks that have the expandable handle that comes out the top so that he can roll his bag along like a suitcase.

He talks to his mum and she's dressed smartly- a 2 piece suit, tidy short blonde hair and a crisp white shirt.

He's in year 12- which you know because he's wearing the ubiquitous year 12 jersey- blue and white striped, he turns around and you can see what special word he's chosen to put on the back. In my year, most people put their nick names, or something a little more trendy and cryptic like "short black" or "flat white" (references to their height and hair colour/lack of heaving bosom and skin colour).

Instead, he has just put his name: "William".

As the train approaches, William carefully lifts his bag and gets on the train. He moves in a slightly off kilter way and gets the usual stares which generally reflect mild confusion or genuine sympathy. He chooses to stand near the doors and starts talking and motioning to another high school boy who doesn't appear to know him.

He points to this other guy's earphones and then points to his own ears. The other guys shrugs and smiles and offers him an earphone.

William grasps the earphone and puts it in his own ear. He grins and puts his face close to the Ipod screen, reading the name of the song he's listening to.

The other guy says something about needing to get off at the next stop to get to school and William nods and grins. He plucks the earphone out of his ear and tries to carefully slot it back into the other guy's ear. He misses a couple of times, squashing the earphone into the other guy's sideburns.

The other guy laughs and waits until he finally gets it in. William beams.

The other guy waves and saunters off the train.

I watched all this and seriously couldn't stop smiling. It made my morning.

The excruciating train ride...

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This evening, I was one of many unfortunate commuters who didn't read the screen properly when I went to catch the train. Six carriages not eight. Which means: don't stand at the end of the platform because you'll have to run like a fool when the train ends 10 metres away up the platform.

The fool I am, I ran and ran and got onto the train last.

That carriage was packed like sardines, because of the many other fools who also ran and ran and just made it on before me. Ho hum, where do I sit? Will I even be able to sit? I must sit.

So, I muscle my way through and go downstairs.

Some room hog is using his backpack as a quasi-passenger. I stare him down and demand:

Can I sit?

He moves his bag to reveal a space just wide enough for me. It's covered in some unidentifiable brown and white funk. I examine it suspiciously. Has it been stuck to the seat for some time? As in, is it one of those lumpy things which come about when someone has jammed a chewed up piece of gum onto the seat, but the gradual drying effect of dust, air and people sitting on it has meant that it can no longer do any harm? Or is it recently acquired- off the floor of the platform from where this room hog has just come? These things are so hard to determine in the space of 5 seconds. My judgement falters. All I think is:

Do I sit? Should I sit?? I must sit.

I debate whether I should brush the seat off with my hand. But then I think, if I do that, I look like one of those clean freaks who needs everything to be sanitised within an inch of their lives. Admittedly, I am a bit of a germaphobe, but where everyone is vying for that elusive empty seat, I don't think anyonewill appreciate my hesitation.

So I swallow hard and sit down.

The entire train ride I just think: What will my skirt look like when I get up?

I wait and wait. I ponder, I grimace.

Eventually it's my stop and I get up.

I look down back at the seat with bated breath.

No more brown and white funk.

Only clean shiny blue train seat.

The funk wasn't old/permanent/no harm doing funk. But fresh new funk that was now on my skirt.

What a disaster.

I quickly spin my skirt around so that it's on back to front, thunder up the stairs, down the hill and onto the bus before anyone can yelp out: "Oohh she got something on her ar*se!"

May the 4th...

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Today I was walking to the station with Mr Funky Glasses and he goes:

Hey you know how it's May the 4th?

and I went:

Yeah (inside I'm thinking, what's the big deal, it's not like it's the 4th of July)

and he went:

Well it's like "May the 4th be with you"

and then I couldn't stop laughing because hell that was the last thing I was expecting and in all its sillyness it sounded really cool.

Apparently he tried the same line on Mr Smart Abs and he just slammed it down because he took 10 minutes to get it and then said it wasn't all that funny.

Tee hee, I thought it was gold.

My Gorilla Eyebrows

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I've misplaced my eyebrow pluckers and can't bear my gorilla brows any longer. It's been 3 weeks since their last pluck and my forehead is starting to shy away from my eyes for fear of being overtaken by my unruly brows.

I must save my forehead.

Where have those blasted pluckers gone???

Meanwhile I never ever noticed how bushy Jake Gyllenhall's eyebrows were...