Yes. That banner truly is the extent of my creativity. Come on. I only have a laptop touch pad and Microsoft Paint, people.

Since I am flying off to the other side of the world on Friday, I thought a South America theme would be appropriate in my absence, especially since I predict that I will be completely rubbish at updating this here blog thingo while I am gone. Thanks to the internet for the images, and to Vapidly Vibrant for pointing me to one of the most useful and excellent Spanish phrases of all time.

I am home today, after leaving work because I feel like shit, and I have not had a day where I have sat at home, bludged and stuffed my face with chocolate in at least forever. I figured that this would be a good opportunity to upgrade to Stupid Arsing Titting Blogger Beta or whatever it's called, rather than trying to apply tags when I'm using an odd foreign keyboard with backpacker sludge on the keys.

So I suppose I better make mention of the travel details now, because it's been planned for a year, and I actually am super duper excited about it, but there's only so many times I can say I'M REALLY EXCITED! before the Blog Gods smite me.

If you are in any way interested, the itinerary is here. I think it is grand. The flight leaves at about midday on Friday and we have TWO freaking stopovers. Three God damn aeroplanes to get there. Here's hoping that the flights are ok, that the food doesn't taste too much like flavourless mush, and that the pilot isn't shitfaced. Fingers crossed!

I am going, John is going, my best mate is going, her fiance is going. We will be arriving back in Brissie on March 21st. We are flying with American Airlines and I am planning on making myself look as unlike a terrorist as I possibly can, and I will also try and avoid lighting my farts in the aeroplane toilet. But I can make no promises.

This whole thing is very fricking expensive, and for my next holiday I am going to the cheapest place imaginable. Suggestions have included: sitting in the bus shelter down the road, and camping in the park around the corner. I may even just sit on the couch and read a book about somebody else taking a holiday.

Spent. I should probably be packing, or something.

Valentine's Day. Everyone knows that V-Day was invented by A Wily Florist with a surplus of roses on a particularly cunning day, but I will take any excuse to go out to dinner and guzzle booze. John and I found ourselves on one of those dinner boats, and though my desire to see passengers lurch about and fall over on unsteady waters went unabated, we had a super lovely time.

The pros and cons of our boaty dinner:

Pros:

• The lovely and delightful boatiness of it all. Swab the decks, me hearties! Ahoy, mateys! Arrrr! Etc.
• The pretty view was scrolling past us constantly, so we didn't have time to get bored of it.
• The dinner was mucho excellent. Though everyone was looking at us like we were odd every time we swapped plates half-way through the meal, which we did with every course. But, come on. You don't get to choose your meal, one person has the beef and one has the salmon, of COURSE you're going to swap half-way. Right? RIGHT??
• The cocktails! They refused to make me a pina colada, even though they had all the ingredients (the FIENDS), but I happily gorged on other brightly-coloured liquid concoctions with ridiculous names until I was on the verge of exploding and decorating Boaty McBoat in rainbow colours.
  
• Not waking up hungover and/or tired this morning, despite the booze, the late night, and the shitty night's sleep. Hurrah!
• I MET CAPTAIN STUBING. Except he wasn't actually Captain Stubing. He was just wearing his clothes. He wasn't amused by my rendition of The Love Boat theme song.
  

Cons:

• It was Valentine's Day themed, and therefore everyone was Getting It On. It was practically like an orgy. And while an orgy on a boat would be a new and exciting experience, I do not particularly want to join in when several of the participants are verging on A HUNDRED YEARS OLD. Live and let live, and all that, and I am not averse to Looking The Other Way, but inadvertently seeing Oldies pretty much licking eachothers faces is VERY DISTURBING.
• The Corniest. Music. EVER. John Paul Young's 'Love is in the Air' was drifting past our ears as we boarded the vessel (ha!), and was soon followed by Backstreet Boys 'All I Have To Give' (don't be embarrassed because you know all the words. I know the fricking harmonies.), and 'Heaven' (thankfully the Bryan Adams version, rather than the DJ Bloody Sammy version).
• We were always constantly aware that we couldn't get off if we decided we hated it. We could jump overboard, but I wouldn't rate our chances of survival in the Brisbane Slurry River too highly. Fortunately, we did not hate it. Yay!
• Brisbane River is not long enough, so consequently we would go along for a while, then turn around and go back the other way, then turn around and go back the other way, then turn around... etc. Which was a little disorientating after the second cocktail.

Whether this is a pro or a con, I do not know, but one of the crew was a girl wearing a dress which featured her breasts so prominently, I swear she was 90% breast. All of the Very Devoted chaps were rendered incapable of paying any attention to their ladyfriends, due to the presence of The Almighty Breasts.



Oh, check my laptop drawing skillz!

Also, all of the girls received a rose, so the lesbian couples each had a rose, while the gay boy couples had NO roses. Is this unfair? You have a penis, and YOU have a penis, no rose for you! I do not know.

95% Thursday, 5% today, 100% bollocks.

• I have not been asked to "upgrade" to Beta Stupid-Label-Rubbish Blogger! Nobody gives a rat's, I am sure, but after I first read about Chesty's involuntary change, and then Adam's, I was awaiting the enforced Labelling with much trepidation. But it has not occurred! Ooh. Confused. I shall try my hardest to defy the Blogger Beta Bullshit. I shall!
• I am not sure if you are aware, but Reg the cockatiel cannot talk. He can mumble, like me after a big night On The Lash, but he cannot copy human speech at all. We threaten him quite often by telling him we are going to take him back to the pet shop and demand a refund because he is defective. But John and I were thinking about this, y'see, and wondered what he would say if he could. And we came up with this Very Disturbing List of phrases that are directed at Reg most often:
  
  "Shut your millet hole, gitbird!"
  "You are SUCH an A-hole."
  "Stick that in your beak and smoke it."
  "You agree with me, don't you Reg."
  "Don't you dare shit on me!"
  "Ew! He just shat on me."
  
  And when he starts his Alarm Squawk in response to a crow:
  
  "I am going to get a crow and put it IN YOUR CAGE."
  "Protect your eggs!"
  "Alarm, alarm! Polizei, polizei!"
  
  But we love him really.
• I made The Announcement. And I very nearly shat my pants. But given that I'd just told my work that in two weeks I would be departing the country and wouldn't be back for a month, they took it very well indeed. This is because I lied so abominably about my reason for going that I am 100% certain that I have just reserved myself a place in Hell, alongside Hitler and the man who invented underpants with a seam running up the middle.
• I have just had my first day back at work after a most excellent Long Weekend. It is my first time experiencing the joys of government flex-time. And I really bloody needed it, would you believe, after the RSI-inducing Hard Work I've been doing. No! I'm not even kidding!
• In a hurry one lunchtime, I rushed up to Coles to buy some shower gel, because the one I had previously bought turned out to be extremely strong-smelling, so I ponged of sweet artificial vanilla smell very muchly. In fact John, in a moment of immaturity rivalled only by my own, wrote this on the bottle to demonstrate:
  
  
  
  So I went to Coles and picked up a different one, had a sniff, and all seemed ok. Brought it home, pulled it out of the bag and realised that instead of shower gel, I had purchased 375mL of Body Lotion. Body Lotion! I am not a Body Lotion Girl. I have never even used it before. It is a well-known fact that I am rubbish at being a girl. And after squirting this gooey crap on myself, I realised that Body Lotioning Up is a very time-consuming process.
  
  When I get up in the morning, I have precisely one hour to get up, drag my sorry arse into the shower, wash, dry myself, get dressed, eat my breakfast, drink a glass of orange juice, feed Reg, listen to Reg squawk, hurl obscenities when the morning radio DJ's do yet another phone-in, tame my shitty hair, grab my lunch, lock up the house, and get the bus. That's right. No time for Body Lotion Action. Therefore, if you would like a free, hardly-used bottle of Body Lotion, which apparently smells like cucumbers and green tea, then it is all yours. $6.50 for me, free for you. VALUE!

Oh. The rewards of reading my drivel. Plentiful, yes? Um.

I ventured outdoors to brave the lunchtime crowd after discovering that the frozen lunch I'd brought from home turned out to be a kitchen experiment gone wrong, rather than the marvellous pie I'd been salivating over for most of the morning. Sushi in one hand, giant cookie in the other, and with fifteen minutes to spare I wandered into a nearby bookshop, to enquire about That Book I'd Been Meaning To Get.

American Psycho, specifically. I'm pretty sure that somebody mentioned the book in the comments of this blog, once upon a time, and seeing the movie at Blockbuster the other week had jogged my memory. But this is not altogether about the book, and more about what followed.

I did a search on the little computer terminal thingy to see if they had any copies in stock. "Yes!" said the computer screen, excitedly. Not only on the shelf, but also in the Bargain Bin.

The Bargain Bin! Oh, it's every girl's dream.

"See staff!" yelled the computer, and I complied.

Me: Hi, I'm looking for American Psycho. I just did a search and it said it's available in a Bargain Bin (!) somewhere?
BookMan: [views me with deep suspicion]
Me: Uh. Bargain Bin? On this computer terminal thing?
BookMan: Hmm. I will have a look.

BookMan tapper-tapper-taps away at his keyboard, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on me.

BookMan: And who is the author?
Me: Um, I don't know, I've closed the search down. Bret Ellis som...
BookMan: And HOW do you spell 'psycho'?
Me: Oh. P, S, Y, C, H...
BookMan: OH THERE IS A H, is there?
Me: Ye.. yes?
BookMan: Hmm.

Several moments of awkward silence pass during which time BookMan appears to make no attempt to locate the book in question.

Me: Do... uh, do you hav...
BookMan: Well if it is the book I am thinking of then IT IS BANNED!!1@!
Me: Oh. Banned?
BookMan: BANNED!
Me: Oh.
Random woman to my left: I have a copy. [leans in close and lowers her voice] It's very disturbing.
Me: I've heard that.
Random man to my right: You can buy it on ebay!
Me: Yes. Uh, thanks.
BookMan: We will NOT put it on our shelves! It is BANNED in Queensland!
Me: Yes. Got that. Well, thanks. I have to go back to work now...
BookMan: You will need to look elsewhere! We cannot stock [looks around, takes deep breath] BANNED books!
Me: Um. Goodbye. [turns to the Randoms] Bye. Bye.

Most people pay $24.95, and it turns out that I must pay with Blood! Public Shame! Etc! Jesus, I don't want it that much.

John and I pottered down to join in the pub quiz around the corner for the first time ever and settled in for a couple of teensyweensy beers and a podium for displaying our IMMENSE BRAIN POWER. Cough.

Twas a Dead Posh quiz, with DVD featurette bits, a real-life chalkboard for keeping score, and miniature bottles of booze as prizes, conveniently sized for popping into ones handbag.

I figured we'd fare a better chance than our last effort a looong time ago. The main reason for this being that the last time I tried a pub quiz, I was on the other side of the planet, and everyone was English and asking English questions with English accents about English things.

Question #1: Name Australia's five largest sporting stadiums in order of seating capacity.

What? WHAT? Do you think I am some kind of sporty nerdy SportNerd?

WANTED: One person who knows lots about sports to round out our unbeatable (cough) Trivia Team.

Question #2: What is the English translation of the French term: mardi gras?

"Sad Tuesday," said John, looking smug. He learnt French for years and lived in FrenchyLand for a time, so I wrote it down without hesitation, despite thinking in the back of my mind that it was a bit odd. IT WAS WRONG.

WANTED: One person to swiftly punch John in the head.

Question #3: And now a science question! Which element is Western Australia's largest export?

And HOW is that a science question, exactly?

WANTED: At least a little bit of knowledge of the current state of the world, it seems. Shit shit shitty shit.

The rest of the night went along similarly and we finished up third last. We are utter thickos.

And also:



I went to a goverment induction-type thing today and the presenter looked like Jennifer Hawkins and if I'd stayed in there one minute longer than the three hellish hours they locked me in I would've declared my undying love for her and asked for her hand in marriage because she almost made me like The Laydeez in THAT way.

And also:



HARRY POTTER'S PASTY WIZARD BODY.

Our good mate Hazza Potter is apparently featuring in a play that sees him having sex with horses. I do not think that Hagrid would approve of this sudden exposure of Potty's winky to the world. Do you?

Oh. It's all about the shock value.