Should have seen it coming.

As I am sure I mentioned at some point, I have been unable to access the Internet freely in my own home for some time due to my family and I using up the monthly limit a little too early. I'm back! I'm sure you probably guessed that when you read the first few words in this post. Or maybe even earlier when  you saw the title. I'm impressed that you noticed at all.

How does it make you feel to know this post was written while I was sitting in McDonald's eating a McFlurry wondering why they insist on putting 'Mc' in front of McEverything. I came specifically to use their free McInternet so I could waste some time blogging, face booking, email checking and tweeting to my little hearts content. Internet and and ice cream after a lovely walk across Port Macquarie on a summer afternoon. If only I hadn't done something immensely stupid this afternoon during this adventure. I will get to it eventually. I will tell the story from the start. . . .

The idea came to me after a lazy day in which I did nothing but eat a massive bowl of Froot Loops (it was impressively massive) and read an awesome book. Picture Perfect by Jodi Picoult. Yes, yes I am obsessed with this author. With good reason! Anyway my younger brother Matthew and I were sitting in my Dad's car waiting for him to return from his quick trip shopping. The big white van we sat in was parked in front of an adult gift shop. That sounds hilarious. The adult shop is across the road from a grocery store which my Dad was actually in. Had you going for a moment didn't I?

So Matt and I were sitting in the car, windows rolled down, sun warming our arms, lovely breeze blowing our hair, as we laughed at the bus of senior citizens being dropped off in front of the adult store. That place is the butt of jokes today-pun intended. I was laughing at the naughty Nana's when the idea came. I had a simple thought: "I wish I had the Internet so I could blog about this." Then I decided that when we got home I would take my laptop in my bag with my wallet and walk to McDonald's to steal their free Internet.

That is exactly what  did as soon as we got back to Dad's house. On my walk over I couldn't help but notice a few things, one being that Port Macquarie is absolutely gorgeous in the summer, another being that I am in no way a city person. I went from streets where almost every house has flowers in front of them, to a path that winds along the beach then the Hastings River and right into town. In Sydney there are many streets that scarcely have a blade of grass before the homes let alone flowers. In fact, the most natural thing to admire is how the sun rises and reflects off the mirror plated office blocks. Houses here, however, have an abundance of flowers.

Sydney is awesome, don't get me wrong. I can't help that I grew up walking on the beach brushing sand from my eyes and windblown hair from my face so I could better see a blue sky rather than an Opera House or a sky scraper. I was just raised with the smell of see salt singing with the sun. Alliteration and imagery! I wonder how I went with my English exam? My point is I am from Regional Australia and am proud of it. Gotta love the coast, and the random painted rocks on the break wall.

 Emily the Strange is most definitely a book worth reading.

I guess I prefer living in a place where you can walk from one end to the other without fear of getting knifed or something. I'm old fashioned like that.

I bet you're wondering when I get to the immensely stupid thing I did on my journey. All in good time, I still have some walking to tell you about, and some of my inner madness.

So I walked along the beach, along the break wall and right to Town Green. I took a couple of pictures of the War Memorial, freshly laden with flowers from remembrance day.

From there I had a choice. I could go into the street and get garlic bread from Eagle Boy's Pizza, or I could keep walking along the path to the wharf that always smells like fish. I got some garlic bread. It was delicious. I was walking along the road with my garlic bread when I passed the grocery store and the adult gift shop across the road where I originally started compiling my plan. Then something happened that happens to more people than they would like to admit: I had a mental argument with myself over nothing.

"If I had started walking there I would be eating a McFlurry and tweeting and face booking and blogging and emailing right now." I thought.

No you wouldn't stupid head, you wouldn't have George the net book with you or your wallet so that plan fails instantly. My subconscious mind countered.

"OK, OK you're right. Just saying would have been easier."

It would have but even if you did have your wallet and George you would have missed out on getting that freaking sweet garlic bread and you would not have thought of Sydney and Port Macquarie in a comparative way, much like that geography assignment of yours. . . .

"That's enough out of you subconscious!"

My madness aside, I continued to stroll and eat garlic bread. While my incredibly stupid mistake didn't occur just yet, I did get some lovely pictures.

After this lovely trip I made it to McDonald's, ordered my McFlurry, ate a McSpoonful of it to make sure it was McEdible, found a nice McTable and sat down. That sentence was fun. I got George the net book from my bag and flicked the on switch. . . .to no avail. It was a whole three seconds before I remembered running the battery down to nothing the other day and not charging it.

What an immensely stupid thing for me to do. I should have seen it coming. The plan was great wasn't it? A whole afternoon of McFlurry and McInternet and I didn't check the battery. I am a silly one. So I pulled out my notebook, which I had been too lazy to remove from my bag, and started writing a draft of this post. Now that I think about it, this is the first post I have ever written. The others had been typed straight away. Still, it would have been nice to have typed it on my own laptop rather than writing it in my unreadable scrawl then using my Dad's Internet later.

Oh well no point dwelling. I took the scenic route home and got some lovely pictures.

Told you I would get a better shot of that awesome mailbox.

RachOddSocks

Hello update!

The other day I told my family that if I ever became a completely immobile vegetable relying on drugs and a machine to keep me alive that they should just pull the plug. They then unplugged my computer and threw my coffee down the sink.

The previous line was written in italics because I didn't make it up I just thought it was funny. I don't even drink coffee. That's right, I am THAT cool.

I was reminded of that thing at the top that I wrote (my oh my what a way with words you have Rachel) because I've been out of Internet for a week or so. Well it probably hasn't been that long at all I can't actually remember when it was turned off. I just recall not touching my lovely netbook, to whom I dubbed the name George, for sometime because of it.

 I told myself "I will just write my blog posts as draft word documents until the Internet returns on saddled steed with a sharpened sword fresh from the blacksmith's store." Alright I didn't actually refer to the Internet as a metaphorical knight I just feel dumb for using a word as lame as 'thing' in a blog post and I want to make up for it.

In lighter less rambling news, I am now technically employed. If you have been keeping up you may recall a long dramatic post on this here blog about me delivering newspapers for my brother. If you haven't read it here is a LINK to it. That post was from the days that this was still yeaheyethoughtso. I wear odd socks now though.

Anyway I have now officially taken over the lovely newspaper delivery job for my brother. After reading that post I LINKed for you, you are probably wondering "Why on earth would you do such a thing? You made it sound dreadful! There was a three headed dog attacking you! You got many paper cuts!" The job is actually pretty good; I only got three paper cuts this time.

-Hold on a second I am distracted by a song that just showed up on my CD. Crying Lightning by Arctic Monkeys. I know you didn't ask but I don't care.-

You can't tell but I had to listen to that whole song between this sentence and the one before the interruption. Very distracting song.

ANYWAY. It is a good job only two to three hours work for $31 dollars. Consider the fact that I have never had a steady job before EVER and you will notice that I can appreciate the money.

The first time I did the job my bag broke, I got many paper cuts, my mp3 ran out of battery and I was in a miserable mood. This time my bag remained intact, I only got three paper cuts, two of which I hardly notice, I listen to Cd's on a Walkman now, my Walkman. . . ran out of battery but I remained in a good mood.!

Enough idiotic rambling, miss odd socks, get to the pictures you took on the job.

Rural silhouette on a random red Ute. I thought it was cool.

Sitting on a Lake Road mailbox, one broken key. I thought it was cool and I couldn't help but wonder like crazy how they had broken it, how they had managed after it broke and why was it on their mailbox?

I only took these pictures with my phone camera and I am no photographer so you can't even tell that the rock like splodge beside the tree is, in fact, a porcelain chicken.

These are my most favorite flowers ever. Who knew Gray street, the newspaper deprived street from hell, had such wonderful flowers? . . . Shut up I'm allowed to be feminine!

If you can't read it, there is writing on the mailbox that says 'our family rules'. Made me smile. Check out the expertly folded newspaper sticking out of it. Whoever delivered that is a total pro.

Their tree has ribbons on it. Why? Because it wants to feel beautiful that's why.

I always admire this awesome mail box every time I have delivered papers. I need a better photo of it to express fully how awesome it is. Next week I will try get a better shot.

It is a bathtub. On someones lawn. You saw and read correctly, a bathtub. WHY?

I think their solar power made their mailbox shy. Look it's hiding! It's OK little mailbox I just want to give you a newspaper.

That is all you are getting form me. I should probably inform you, out of sheer courtesy if anything else, that I am only able to blog right now because I am using my lovely sister's Internet. My Internet is still turned off. Curse you youtube and the ease of which I can browse through your archives and burn up many a gig of download!

-RachOddSocks

Sweeney Todd promotes cannibalism. And how I love it.

I have never really celebrated Halloween. I am Australian after all and it hasn't been big here until recently when our country decided it was cool to copy the US in everything they do. I am also terrible when it comes to scary films. The first scary film I can recall seeing was hide and seek with Robert DeNiro and Dakota Fanning.

Alright it is pretty tame as far as scary films go, but you see my imagination is at such an incredible peak that the slightly scary films will have me sitting in bed with the covers pulled past my ears thinking "If I stay absolutely still the murderer that obviously made that creaking noise will not come into my room and kill me."

It is interesting how at night with the lights out and the shadows making faces at me I can't actually see how unrealistic my fears are. Bumps in the night are, as we all know, caused by global warming. Hey we're blaming it for everything else so why the hell not?

How about I get back on topic? Friday night we decided to have a scary movie night. It doesn't really count as me celebrating Halloween seeing as there was no mention of Halloween, there were no pumpkins, we ate Chinese food and it was on the Friday before Halloween. If I'm being honest I didn't even know when  Halloween was until this weekend. I just knew it was October some time.

We had gotten the most unusual sounding 'scary' movies we could find and, because I hadn't seen it and really wanted to, Sweeney Todd. I swear if Tim Burton, Douglas Adams and James Cameron went into a room they would leave with a killer robot that was horribly depressed and had scissors for hands. If you don't get that joke I respect you less.

My train of thought is constantly de-railing. Back to Friday night.

It was time to watch movies. We had bought Chinese food and fortune cookies and chopsticks separately. Why doesn't the Wall Of China* sell fortune cookies or supply chop sticks? We Had our food and we put on the first movie we had hired. . . . . Human Centipede. You heard me.

I bet you're thinking I am going to tell you all about this wonderful serendipitous moment when we stumbled upon this awesome film thinking it would be absolutely ridiculous. No. It was ridiculous. Scratch that, it was ridonkulous.

 The cover makes you think "Dude some crazy scientist probably makes a human centipede and lets it rampage around Germany or something!" No. Yes there is a crazy German scientist that makes a human centipede but it is just. . . . weird. No rampaging just a lot of whimpering and squealing. Though at one stage the Japanese guy exclaims wildly that Japanese people are dangerous when backed into a corner. Good to know.

This doesn't count as a scary film because it wasn't scary at all it was just gross. I won't tell you more about it as you probably wouldn't look at me the same ever again. I will just tell you that it is so not worth your time. Terrible acting, terrible plot line, and it is just so fake.

On a lighter note after that terrible film which we had fun insulting, we watched Sweeney Todd. Tim Burton is brilliant, I may have mentioned. I love that movie. It isn't a scary movie and the gore looks so fake that it is almost comical but there is murder and cannibalism involved.

There is a song in the film that I was fond of instantaneously. That's right I can spell that word. Anyway the song is called 'a little priest'. It is quite simply a song in which they judge what people will taste like in their pies. I am a fan of bad jokes and puns so I can truly appreciate the lyrics, which I looked up.

Todd: Haven't you got poet or something like that?

Mrs. Lovett: No y'see the trouble with poet is 'ow do you know it's deceased? Try the priest!

Todd: No this isn't fiddle player, it's piccolo player!

Mrs. Lovett: How can you tell?

Todd: It's piping hot!

Ah lame yet Witty and wonderful. The fact that it is a music really dulls the fact that they are in fact murdering and eating people. Not just eating, but selling them too! Well on the bright side, Mrs. Lovett stopped having the worst pies in London.

Well I'm all out of reasons to continue this post so here, a parting picture that has nothing to do with the post and I shall be on my way.

*fun fact about the Wall Of China Chinese restaurant in Port Macquarie. The far wall is covered in delicate porcelain plates, cups and bowls. That is right it is the wall of china.

-RachOddSocks

 

I fixed the comments on the blog!

Do mind the hyperbole regarding my intelect but. . . I am a freaking prodigy or something.

For far too long this blog has been without it's comment section. I recieved many* complaints from my many* readers because they all just desperately wanted to leave their two cents among mine on this blog.

Well complain and quip and leave as many LOL's as you please because the comment section is back. It also has a word verification thing you have to go through for every comment. It doesn't have to be there, it just is because I find them annoying and I am the only one who can comment without having to go through it. Tremble at my power.

There are also lots of other little buttons that have showed up with the working comment one. I don't know what half of them do but it will be fun to find out.

That was a fun post full of exaggeration and sarcasm.


RachOddSocks

*many in this scenario means something completely different and much less impressive than what you are used to.

Why, hello dynamic duo!

I do believe I have a bit of an Angus and Julia Stone obsession. If you have not been able to come to this conclusion by default yourself then you are clearly no Sherlock Holmes. If you don't have a degree in medicine, you are no Doctor John Watson either. Guess you'll have to relate yourself to some other character from English literature.

The reason I bring up the musical Stone siblings is because they both have solo albums. Today when I bought Julia's album and listened to the whole thing right through, then went on myspace and listened to Angus's solo album right through, I had to wonder why they would part ways musically.

I know I wouldn't always want my name to just be the extension of my sibling's name. I get enough "Hey aren't you Matt's sister?" at school. Of course when they ask that I say "No Matt is my brother" and walk on while they give me the weirdest look of confusion ever.

I'm not trying to say Angus and Julia were fools for going solo, I am just trying to complain that their together stuff was better than their not together stuff. I must be in a complaining mood, I mean did you see that last sentence? It read like it was typed by an illiterate child rather than the literary rock star I am.

I listened to their solo albums and, while I did enjoy them (except for the two tracks where Angus tried to be a rock star from the 80's and failed miserably) I enjoyed the two songs from their partnered days I listened to after a little bit more. They were two songs I hadn't heard before so you can't say I am biased by enjoying songs that I have enjoyed many times before. That's right judgemental people. I thought of everything.

I am done complaining now. I am onto the next stop my train of thought took while I was listening to those lovely Australian tunes. Keeping up? I think this is a high speed, multiple carriage train of thought. I also recently had a frozen coke so that might explain my rapid subject change. The Silver Frozen Coke* has been unleashed, I guess.

On to the subject change. All this referring to the dynamic duo in my thoughts got me referring to them as the dynamic duo rather than Angus and Julia Stone. Even in my head I get tired of using all those syllables. Then I got thinking "How many awesome, dynamic duo's are there?" I know of many, within music, television, film and even in my own life.

Where would Angus be without his Julia? Trying to be an 80's rock star. It may haunt me. Where would Julia be without her Angus? Making many very nice slow songs with nice lyrics and nice album art, but no wistfully tortured ballads or songs that wish to pick up the pace. Where would Buzz be without Woody? Still trying to reach star command. Where would Woody be without Buzz? On display in a Woody's round up museum in Tokyo.

Dynamic duo's manage to work for us. They tug at the heart strings, they make us relate, they remind us that humans do have superpowers, one being friendship. Gosh that last one was so cheesy I feel obliged to put this here.
Cheese and Biscuits! That can be number one on our list of dynamic duo's.

Holmes and Watson
can anyone say 'Classic duo?'. I can. I can spell it too. Didn't need spell check or anything. It's OK to be impressed.



Sherlock Holmes: You have the grand gift of silence, Watson; it makes you quite invaluable as a companion.

[Watson punches him in the face]

Lois and Clark.
I tried to keep the super heroes to a minimum because of my last really long, superhero heavy post. Can't deny this dynamic duo their spotlight though.



Lois Lane: And let's get something straight, I did not work my buns off to become an investigative reporter for the Daily Planet just to baby-sit some hack from Nowheresville! And another thing, you are not working with me, you are working for me. I call the shots, I ask the questions. You are low man - I am top banana and that's the way I like it, comprende?

Clark Kent: You like to be on top. Got it.

Castle and Beckett.
Now would I be a hardcore Castle fan without mentioning the self proclaimed ruggedly handsome, literary rock star and his inspiration? Can't help but love it when the dynamic duo are completely opposite. Not to mention when there is murder involved. I love this show.


Richard Castle: When I'm writing a new character, there's no telling when inspiration might strike.

Kate Beckett: I thought I was your inspiration.

Richard Castle: Oh you are, detective, and in so many ways.

Kate Beckett: Yeah, well, your inspiration might strike you sooner than you think.

Wayne and Garth
Wayne's world! Wayne's world! Party Time! Excellent! Love their solid friendship. No matter how ridonkulous** things get, they always have each other's backs.



Garth Algar: Did you ever find Bugs Bunny attractive when he put on a dress and played girl bunny?
Wayne Campbell: No.
[cracks up laughing]
Wayne Campbell: No.
Garth Algar: Neither did I. I was just asking

Buzz and Woody
Spaceman? Cowboy? Space cowboy?! I knew there was a reason this combination just bursts with AWESOME!


Woody: All right, that's enough! Look, we're all - *very* impressed with Andy's new toy.
Buzz: Toy?
Woody: T-O-Y, t-oy.
Buzz: Excuse me, I think the word you're searching for is "space ranger".
Woody: The word I'm searching for, I can't say, because there's preschool toys present

Brennen (Bones) and Booth
More awesome team ups with complete opposites that involves murder. I wonder why it is on directly before Castle on Sunday. . .


Booth: Did you know that giraffes can weigh up to two tons?
Bones: Yes. Everyone knows that.
Booth: And they sleep less than two hours a day.
Bones: That I did not know.
Booth: Yes! Pinky stumps The Brain!

Bret and Jemaine (flight of the conchords)
Kiwi musicians that can't catch a break? Gotta love it. Their songs are absolutely hilarious.


Bret: I would never go out with an Australian!
Jemaine: But if you were to, I would be fine with it.
Bret: When I first met you you tried to have me deported from New Zealand because you thought I was an Australian.
Jemaine: That was a misunderstanding; you were wearing a vest top.
Bret: My mum gave me that; thought it made me look like Bruce Willis.
Jemaine: Well it didn’t, it made you look like an Australian

Spongebob and Patrick
Last but not least, the best friends to live under the sea. They are the most up-beat delusional buddies there are.


Spongebob: What do you usually do when I’m gone?
Patrick: Wait for you to come back




There you have it a very long blog post fueled by Frozen coke. Hope you enjoyed it. Just to make sure there are no misunderstandings. . . I still love Angus and Julia Stone's solo work. In fact, I listened to the whole Julia album several times while writing this. Anyway I'm done!

RachOddSocks



*if you reveal The Silver Frozen Coke's secret identity you will have to face the point of her shiny sword! Also her wrath. Also a few sentences in which she refers to herself in the third person.

**I am trying to use the word ridonkulous as many times as possible. Lots of fun.

There aint' no denyin' it folks, this sentence is a gramatical nightmare.

Face book is fun isn't it? My friend put as her status on face book, the following:

What is your Superhero name? (2nd favorite color + favorite drink, and add "THE" at the beginning)

Naturally I wrote The Silver Frozen Coke. Then I got thinking, imagine if I were the silver frozen coke. I couldn't help myself after that. I got carried away.It went from "What would my superhero name be" to "What would my powers be" to "What would my costume be" and it just escalated from there. So I thought I would use this train of thought to practice that free writing I mentioned before the train got de-railed.

If I were The Silver Frozen Coke I would be like Popeye the sailor man, but rather than downing cans of spinach to activate my incredible powers, I would down large frozen cokes. My name and outfit would be connected in a heartbeat, from my silver cape and boots to the shiny utility belt around my waist. I would be armed with an awesome sword, a rapier, the kind pirates use.

When the call for help is heard I will chug down my super power juice of frozen coke and be on my way to save the day. Running faster than a speeding superman on a sugar high, I would swoop in with my crazy hyped up energy and strike down whoever dare cross me and my blade.


[note: not actually me at any point in my life it was just the funniest thing google came up with when I wrote 'female superhero' in the search box]

. . . . Bored. Anyway I'll just fill the rest of this with pictures of my favorite superhero/villain combinations.

Superman and Lex Luthor. Superman is a legend. Lex Luthor is relentlessly self centered and evil. Allow the feuding to ensue.

Captain Hammer and Dr. Horrible. If you have never heard of these two, go to youtube and search Dr. Horrible's sing along blog. Best waste of time ever. It is one instance where you will like the villain better than the hero.

Batman And the Joker. Let's face it, I just absolutely love Batman the dark knight because Heath Ledger made an awesome lunatic. Rest in peace dude!

Captain Malcolm Reynolds and 'The Operative'. I just wouldn't be a nerd If I didn't mention the coolest hero of them all now would I? Space cowboys rock.


Though I think I should mention one of the other completely twisted villains from this show called Niska. He is Russian and has torture toys. Need I say more?


I guess I do. I couldn't find a picture of Niska and his torture toys so I put up that one. No relevence whatsoever.

RachNeedsALife

Hate being sick

I have to make myself blog more, and about more interesting topics. Lately my posts seem to have been empty of meaning and marginally uninteresting, to me anyway. I remember my earlier posts were deep and meaningful. . . sort of. Guess I'm just getting bored or running out of things to say.

I was reading a book, all weekend, and in it there was mention of a Stephen King novel about a writer. When the writer got stuck he would free-write in a way that involved him practically conversing with himself on paper. He would start by asking "What are you looking for?" or something like that then would continue the conversation with himself on paper until he uncovered something from his subconscious that would get him back on track.

I thought it was pretty cool, in a multiple personality kind of way. The whole idea of this free writing thing is to just write whatever comes into ones head without stopping. Sure the result isn't always worthy of any ones time but at least it gets words on paper. Or in this case, on screen.

I'm at the point when what I am writing doesn't matter just the fact that I am writing at all. I don't want to leave a blank screen on my computer every time I open up my blog. I would have it open, stare at the blank title box, glance down at the blank page then slide the mouse up to one of the other tabs and click away from blogger to face book or twitter or mylifeisaverage.com.

Depending on how many updates there are on face book or twitter I usually glance back at the blogger page once or twice but if I am on mylifeisaverage.com I rarely return to the blog for any reason but to close it and tell myself that I will update on another day. If you have never been to www.mylifeisaverage.com, go there now. Or finish reading this then go there. That would probably be better since once you go there you will more than likely be entertained for hours.

Today I realised that I had gotten slack with my blogging. Just now I realise that last sentence sounded like a post on MLIA. I don't even remember where I was going with this when I started. Maybe I should stop this post and lie down or something.

For no reason here is a picture of a T-shirt I think is awesome.



It says "Speakerphone. Not nearly as fun as the alternative."


RachHeadHurts

Random scribbles

We are not held to earth by gravity
That wore off long ago
Our shadows are just so accustomed to life on the ground
that they keep us there with them
That is why when we leap, we fall
Were it not for the shadows stitched to our toes,
no one would be able to say we can't fly

-Rach

What an odd creature.

Have you ever seen a platypus? It is an extremely random animal and if you ever see one it is difficult to believe such a thing can exist out side a myth. It has the tail of a beaver, the bill of a duck, the feet of an otter, lays eggs like a bird but is a mammal, and the males even have a poisonous barb in their foot.

Why is it that creatures as random as the platypus, the narwhal, or even the camel exist, yet creatures like unicorns, or even gremlins, can't? If someone says they saw a platypus at the zoo people won't think twice but if you say you saw a unicorn they will think you are crazy.

Unless of coarse you explain that rhinos are actually unicorns that have let themselves go a bit.

-Rachel

I bet you could use this little bit of cheer

Tim Burton, you have much to teach us.

Braces for your teeth are weird. The whole process is awkward, uncomfortable and just plain odd. Yesterday I came into the orthodontists, lay back in the fancy chair, wore the fancy sunglasses and they got to work.

I think the most uncomfortable thing about the process was the plastic things that held my lips apart. They stretched my cheeks and made me look ridiculous. Then they got to work covering my teeth with weird glue and sticking the little metal clamps to each individual tooth. To finish off they threaded a wire through the clamps. The unusual contraption attached to my teeth is meant to straighten them.

When described like this, don't braces sound completely random? Who on earth would think to create a device that sits in ones mouth for more than a year in order to straighten ones teeth? It sounds like something from a Tim Burton film. Edward scissorhands had nasty metal contraptions on his fingers so, if you think about it, metal teeth isn't such a far stretch from one of Tim Burton's works of art.



Rach

Lame movies.

Second week of the school holidays has come far too soon. Can't they just drag on forever so I don't have to ever do school work, assignments, exams or actually speak to teachers?

I remember the days when the end of the holidays was practically a god send. Those were primary school holidays for you. The holidays would start, I would maybe have some plans for the first week or so, but after a little while the days would drag on.

I'd lose track of what day it was, thinking Wednesday was Friday and Saturday was Thursday somehow. Now I see the losing track of days as blissful ignorance that fuels a relaxed break from that hell hole they call school.

I suppose school isn't that bad, but I might just be saying that because it has been almost a week and a half since I have had to deal with it. Some more of that blissful ignorance working for me.

I remember what drove me insane the most, back in the primary school days when I actually got over being on holiday, was the extremely lame movies they always play at lunchtime on channel seven.

Weather it is a story about a dog saving the world, a little boy getting lost on a mountain trail, or a kid born with a condition that causes calcium build up in the skull making him look like he'd face planted into a moving train (I'm serious that was the plot of a midday movie I saw once), the midday movies on channel seven are always fun to laugh at.

Apparently, according to my dad at least, there are sometimes decent midday movies. . . . . Right. I'll believe that when I see it.

All I know is that when I was in primary school the lack of interesting action on TV during the day made me go crazy enough to not be devastated at returning to school. You are a fool, past-me! You should have lazed about and sucked up every ounce of your freedom! Or better yet, you should have constructed a Tardis out of a handy refrigerator box so you could bring me back to those times so I could enjoy the holidays for you!

. . . . OK, you know you have been sitting in the house watching lame movies for too long when you start having figurative conversations with your past self.

-Rachel gone mad

Wow, what an interesting title.

I love it when pet mice crawl all over my arms when I'm on the computer.

Random short story for you!

I wrote this because a friend of mine was telling me that her father used to be a ninja. I was in a random mood and decided to say "I'm going to base a short story on your ninja father." I think it was a heat of the moment thing because after writing half the story I got bored. Also I got another idea for a story that has taken up my creative thinking. What I am trying to say is, I don't think the story is very good. Enjoy?

-----------------------------------------

Leather bound secrets

As I unpack my box of books and start filling the shelf in my new office, I find a small, red, leather bound book that I am almost certain my father planted in there. The memories I have of my childhood days all seem to go back to the day I found that little red book crammed among the hundreds of others in my father’s study.

I remember the day clearly, right down to the feel of the soft scarlet carpet that tickled my toes as I stretched to reach the book that had caught my eye. The book shelf loomed so high above my seven year old form that I once wondered if it was tall enough to keel over and spill books onto the deep brown strands on my head.

I was not as afraid of this outcome as I was awed by it. Each overflowing shelf dipped in the middle where the weight of the books threatened to team up with gravity and break their sturdy home. The dark brown walls that surrounded the matching shelf combined with the scarlet carpet and the soft leather armchair behind the large desk made up the room I always loved to escape to. Not only did I love the room because of the books that loaded it from floor to ceiling, but because the desk was large enough for me to hide behind.

I couldn't read any of the books in the study, they were not written for seven year old boys after all. Whenever I found a book in the shelf within my reach that had pictures though, it was like striking gold. The little red book I pulled from the shelf that day had pictures all through it. I flipped through it, smile plastered across my face, looking at the images. I looked once more at the cover. I may not have been much of a reader but any fan of the teenage mutant ninja turtles can recognise the word ‘ninja’ when they see it.

“What have we got here Danny boy?” I jumped slightly at the sudden sound of my father’s voice. I remember always thinking of him as impossibly sneaky. I could have sworn I had seen him walk silently over a gravel road once. I looked up at him and his finely combed golden locks of hair.

“Why do you have a ninja storybook?” I asked frowning at the white-gold lettering on the book’s cover. My father sat in front of me on the carpet. I could tell by his black suit and navy tie that he must have just returned from a meeting. He looked at me with his unnaturally calm blue gaze and spoke to me like he would an adult.

“Would you believe me if I told you that the book you are holding is not in fact a story book, but a handbook?” I liked that he was never condescending, even to a seven year old. I frowned at the book in my hands, thinking maybe I had read the golden lettering incorrectly.

“But it says ‘ninja’ not ‘hand’. Why would you have a book about hands?” My father smiled at me. “A handbook is like a book that gives you pointers on how to do something.” He explained. “That ninja handbook is a book on how to be a ninja.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “When I was younger, Danny, I trained to be a ninja. I’m not making this up; my teacher gave me that book.” said my father as he reached for the book in my hands. He shifted beside me as he opened the book so we both could see the printed words and images.

“One of the first things I learned was to control my breathing” he began. I was puzzled once more by this comment. “I don’t need training to breathe. Does that mean I’m a ninja?” I asked innocently. My father laughed easily. “I knew how to breathe before the training. They just taught me to breathe in a way that would calm me and give me control over. . .” he trailed off as he looked at my blank expression.

“Maybe I should tell you this story when you are older. Let’s go find one of your picture books instead, OK?” he said getting to his feet and taking my hand. We started walking out of the office, my father picking his cane up from the floor on the way. The familiar soft thuds of his cane on the carpet made me realise something.

“Dad, how could you be a ninja if you can’t walk properly?” I asked. My father gave me one of his knowing smiles, the kind that made him look trustworthy and sneaky at the same time. “I can’t rightly be a ninja without being able to walk properly, can I son?”

“I knew you weren’t really a ninja.” I muttered. “Well I’m not a ninja now.” He said with that same mysterious tone in his voice. “Ever wonder why I can’t walk properly?” I was about to say something but I realised I didn’t know why.

“Being a ninja would be dangerous work, don’t you think?” he said.

Holding the book now in my hands, I realise that there is a lot more of my dad in me then one would think. I have his sly confidence, his eerie calm and his ability to make people believe even for a second the most unlikely things. I have no doubt that he put the book in the box to remind me of that day. It is as if he is saying “If I can be a ninja with a cane, then you can do this job better than anyone.”

I smile and put the book in the top draw of my desk. Just what every desk in every law firm needs: a ninja handbook. Something I learned from that book without actually reading the secrets bound within it is that all lawyers should have ninja fathers.

THE END

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Well that was fun.

-Rachel

The contents of my wallet

The other day I was at my sister’s house and I discovered a pile of five cent coins sitting on a shelf in her living room. She let me have the entire pile when I pointed it out. Naturally, I swept up the coins and spilled them into my wallets change section.

Just a moment before, I decided to re-count the coins to see just how much change I have. I discovered that I have three dollars exactly in five cent coins and a couple of ten cent coins too. What surprised me most was the unexpected discovery of an American dime.

How on earth did that get into my sisters pile of five cent coins? I don't even know how she got such a big pile of coins let alone one harbouring illegal immigrants. When I thought of the dime as an illegal immigrant the thought that came after my internal chuckle was "I'm going to keep this coin for as long as possible."

So I opened up the compartment of my wallet that hold my various cards, student I.Ds, and a whole lot of bits of junk that I have at one stage thought "I'm going to keep this for as long as possible" upon discovery. The realisation that the junk was piling up didn't make me think it was time to let go of a few things, it just made me reminisce about why I kept them in the first place.

The four leaf clover I found and covered in clear contact for luck is pinned to the inside of my wallet with a safety pin my friend gave me to keep me safe. Beside that (attached to the wallet with a paperclip that was attached to a Christmas card I received last year and joked about how the paperclip was such a nice present as if the money clipped to it weren't there at all [shut up they thought it was hilarious]), is a few small cards that appear to be 'schrute bucks'. If you are a fan of 'the office', the American adaption that is, you will know what a schrute buck is. Or not.

Those are just a few of the random things I have kept in my wallet because of an inside joke with . . . myself. There is a tag that says 'Hamish the haggis' from a toy that was given to me by the same person who gave me the safety pin to keep me safe. There is one of those unusual toys you get from Christmas bon bons that you really can't tell what it is. That toy is there because I had one much like it when I was little. I thought it was awesome.

Even the key ring type thing on the zipper is there for a reason. It looks like Jack Skellington's head and it came off my Jack Skellington bag when it started falling apart. It is on my wallet now because I really liked that bag.

Now there is also an American dime that I will keep in there because when I found it I thought of it as an illegal immigrant and I thought it was funny. Every time I see it in my wallet I will think of that silly thought, or maybe this blog post.

Every one of these obscure items tells a story, brings a memory and more often then not makes me smile. The bits of junk in my wallet are more valuable then they seem. After all, what are we without our memories?

-Rachel

Hello painting!

"We'll paint them red" by me.

-Rachel

My life according to Angus and Julia Stone.

Here is an interesting activity to fill a lazy Saturday. Pick a band or musician then answer the following questions using only the titles of the artist's songs.

Pick Your Artist:
Angus and Julia Stone

Describe Yourself:
Jewels and gold

How do you feel:
sadder than you (not really it just fit the question well)

Describe where you currently live:
Hollywood

If you could go anywhere where would you go?
Big jet plane

Your Favorite Form of Transportation:
Horse and Cart

Your Best Friend is:
Old friend

What's the weather like:
wasted

Favorite Time of Day
another day

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called:
Draw your swords ;)

What is life to you:
Santa Monica dream

Your fear:
the beast

What is the best advice you have to give:
hold on

Thought for the day:
heart full of wine

How I would like to die:
Choking

My motto:
walk it off


Sure most of them aren't really true but it was fun. I am so bored.

-Rach

I'm so postmodern I found the lyrics to a hilarious song and put them on a blogpost with a really long title.

I’m So Post Modern by The Bedroom Philosopher

I’m so postmodern that I just don’t talk anymore, I wear different coloured t-shirts according to my mood.

I’m so postmodern that I work from home as a surf life saving consumer hotline.

I’m so postmodern all my clothes are made out of sleeping bags, I don’t need pockets, I’m a pocket myself.

I’m so postmodern I go to parties I’m not invited to and locate the vegemite and write my name on everyone.

I’m so postmodern that I write reviews for funerals, and heckle at weddings from inside a suitcase.

I’m so postmodern I’m going to adopt a child, and teach him how to knit, and call him Adolf Diggler.

I’m so postmodern that I break dance in waiting rooms, play Yahtzee in nightclubs, at three in the afternoon.

I’m so postmodern I only go on dates that last thirteen minutes, via walky talky, while hiding under the bed.

I’m so postmodern I invite strangers to my house, and put on a slide show of other people’s Nans.

I’m so postmodern I went home and typed up everything you said and printed it out in wingdings and gave it back to you.

I’m so postmodern I held an art exhibition – a Chuppa Chup stuck to a swimming cap, and no one was invited.

I’m so postmodern I make alphabet soup, and dye it purple, and pour it on the lawn.

I’m so postmodern I request Hey Mona on karaoke, then sing my life story to the tune of My Sharona.

I’m so postmodern I only think in palindromic haikus – “Madam, I, Glenelg, I’m Adam!”

I’m so postmodern that I sit down to wee, and stand up to poo, at job interviews.

I’m so postmodern that I dress up as Santa, in the middle of August, and haunt golf courses.

I’m so postmodern that I cut off all my hair, and knitted it into a beanie, and threw it off a bridge.

I’m so postmodern that I stole everyone’s mail, and cut them up into a ransom note and hid it in a thermos.

I’m so postmodern I take my lego to the supermarket and build my own shopping trolley, and only buy one nut.

I’m so postmodern I wrote a letter to the council – .I think it was ‘M.’

I’m so postmodern I bought a round the world plane ticket, and stuffed my clothes with eggplant and pretended it was me.

I’m so postmodern I’ve got a tattoo of my pin number in hieroglyphics on my neighbour’s guide
dog.

I’m so postmodern I fought my way into parliament and made a law banning Nuttelex, and then moved to Spain.

I’m so postmodern that I iron all my lettuce leaves, put my shirts in the crisper – they’re real crisp.

I’m so postmodern I give live mice to buskers, dirty tea towels to the Mormons, and pavlova to crabs.

I’m so postmodern that I live in a tent, on a platform of skateboards that’s tied to a tram.

I’m so postmodern I write four thousand-word essays on the cultural significance of party pies.

I’m so postmodern I recite Shakespeare at KFC drive thru, through a megaphone, in sign language.

I’m so postmodern I’m going to watch the Olympics on a black & white TV, with the sound down.

I’m so postmodern I go to the gym after hours, push up against the door, then cry myself to sleep.

I’m so postmodern I wrote a trilogy of novels from the perspective of a possum that Jesus patted once.

I’m so postmodern that I marry all my friends, soak myself in metho, and tell them that they’ve changed.

I’m so postmodern I bought every book written in 1963 as a reading challenge, and clogged up a waterslide.

I’m so postmodern I think I might be a god in my undies rolling in sugar, in the carpark of a rodeo.

I’m so postmodern I prerecorded this song, and laced a message subliminally telling Shane Porteous to buy a smock.

Hilarious sign

How ever will I fill this silly title box?

Mario is just about the most dedicated plumber there is. If there were spiky turtles, angry mushrooms and walking bombs strolling about my plumbing, that red hatted man with the moustache and overalls is the guy I would want to take care of it.

I don't actually have much to say I just know that if I don't write something it could be ages before I write something else. I was just thinking that the game super Mario bros. has evolved somewhat from a plumber doing the most expensive job in the most complicated sewers in history to a vigilante that travels the universe.

What if that happened with other jobs? What if a post man went to open a mail box just to have a bomb with eyes and feet leap out and attack? What if a guy is delivering a pizza only to discover one of the mushrooms has obtained an expression of grumpiness?

It is fun contemplating the impossible.

Rach

Just a random picture to brighten your day

I'm afraid my Internets availability is being limited for a while. Just so you know, I might not be able to post much. Here, have a silly picture.

There is a fish in my lightbulb.

I have put a picture behind the heading of my blog because I am bored. How the fish got in that light bulb remains a mystery.

There are many things people do out of sheer boredom. Writing on a blog is one. Wondering how a fish could get in a light bulb is another. Eating chocolate while watching the biggest loser as you pretend they can see you eating is also a good way to relieve boredom.

I have run out of enthusiasm for this post.

Has it really been a month already?

This is the final post in my everyday posting, but in no way is it my final post ever. If anything making myself write at least once a day, even if it wasn't meaningful, has made me more confident with my writing. I don't think it is a secret that I want to make writing part of my profession in some way or another. The term 'writer' is old hat though. I prefer 'literary rock star'. It will catch on I'm sure.

Now while I will not be posting every day without precedent, I will be sure to post at least 3 times a week. Maybe more if I feel like it. This whole blogging business is much fun and it gives me a whole new way to procrastinate.

I mean in addition to reading, watching TV, going on various websites such as facebook, IMDB.com and mylifeisaverage.com, drawing, practicing my aim with a Nerf gun, putting a whole box full of paperclips together to make an epic chain that stretches right across the room, pulling the paperclip chain apart, drawing faces on the eggs in the refrigerator. . . .



All in all I am proud to have accomplished the blog every day thing, even if I did miss a day or two and had to go back. . . I still feel accomplished.

-Rachel