I wanted to call my new blog ApplePants. This is because of my obsession with underpants that have pictures of apples on them. I would've decorated it with pictures of apples and pants and possibly apple pants, and it would've been sweet. Until I googled the phrase and found this entry on Urban Dictionary.

Apple Pants; When a female is on her period and the flow is heavy enough to soak through the front of her pants, skirt or underwear and look a bit like a red, shiny apple.

I apologise for the mental imagery here, but are you freaking kidding me? So now, quite understandly, I can no longer use ApplePants. Unless I want people to think I am blogging about menstruation. Apple Pants: a blog about laydeez with a Heavy Flow.

Cheesed off much. Every time I visit that page I give it a thumbs DOWN.

I think I have come up with something else though, and my initial searches have shown that it has nothing to do with surfing the crimson wave. This makes me happy.

Mystery of Life: Why am I never at home sick on the days when Oprah has a makeover special on TV? Hmm? Only B-grade US celebrity interviews for me. Life is so unfair.

Blog Resurrection Update: I don't want to stay at g.b.e. It is old and musty and there's that whole year-long gap thing which makes me look really slack. I have spent the whole of today trying to come up with a new blog title*, and I am totally stumped. The one suggestion that I have been given is "My Blog" which is currently in the lead.

Or maybe I should go with girl.blog.stuff or Diary of a Rapidly Ageing Hag. This is tough. Way tough.

*In between Days of Our Lives, reading, snoozing, and snacking.

I bought a computer.



So I should probably start blogging again, since it was fun and good for me and all that biz. And I'm sure there's hundreds (possibly millions) of people who would appreciate my mad drawing skillz.

Except!

I'm not sure if I can remember how to write. My brain feels all fat and puffy, like it's been snacking on cheeseburgers while my body has been slaving away at the office. And there is every possibility that I will post something half-arsed, become distracted by something shiny, and give up.

Anyway. I'll mull this over for a bit. Hello to anyone who reads this. I hope that you are tip top and dandy.

Well hidey ho.

I wrote a while back that there were changes afoot, and changes there have been. On April 25th I packed my things and left John.

I have never cried so uncontrollably in my life.

John knows of this blog, and I know that some of you have met him now, so please excuse me for sparing you the details. I don't want to disrespect him in any way. We were both slowly self-destructing and this was beginning to manifest itself both mentally and physically, and suddenly the relationship was broken beyond any chance of repair.

I think that it will be best if my life is kept to myself for a little while, as we both adjust to this change. It was not a mutual decision, you see. You see?

I am now officially off the air. Thank you for reading my shite. I have appreciated every page load and every comment and every e-mail. Even the ones from angry people and bad spellers. You people make me feel all funny in my tummy.

Keep in touch, k? Sniff.

[Moving right along! Travel shit, Part Three. Part One be here, Part Two be here. Yes!]



I don't know about you, but I love little faces in my bread.

We headed out of Arequipa and went crazyhigh, all the way to the Colca Canyon, which is known for its superhighness and condors. Also, there's heaps and heaps of vicuñas, which are these little wild llama things.



A poncho made out of their wool costs something like $3000 US. Mad! Gotta get me a herd of those bastards.



Here be the canyon. Twas lovely.



Here be a sneaky condor. Condors are real arseholes, because as soon as you travel for hours over one of the bumpiest dirt tracks ever to get up there just so you can have a squiz at the bastards, then they are all guaranteed to go and hide. We spent frigging ages standing there waiting for one to show its face, and in the whole time I think we saw a grand total of two, who came around the corner, saw all of the whiteymcwhite tourists, and pissed off quicksmart. Pricks!

Though I did get a few seconds of awesome video footage which David Attenborough would be jealous of, and as soon as I sort the video, I will show you. Mkay?

We spent a notworthmentioning night in a place called Chivay, and my best mate paid someone five soles to touch a wild, flat-eared, crazyangryspitting llama, and it was very entertaining for everyone involved, except for perhaps the llama.

On to Cuzco! It is the best place we went to in the whole of Peru, and it is also the most touristy, and I can't help but think that I enjoyed it so much because of the spoilt white girl amenities and the number of pubs. There's also drugs galore, and we went into a pub and the girl next to us ordered a beer and was charged about six times what it was costing us, and we realised that she had actually bought herself a nice cocaine snack to go with her tasty beverage. Yum!



The main square.



That really famous twelve-sided stone. Nuts! How much time did these people have on their hands?

Cuzco became our base for the next three days, and we entertained ourselves with various day trips, excessive vomiting and general squirting, and taking full advantage of the many, many pubs. It was also where I drank such an incredibly large amount that I spent the night dancing by myself like a bit of a whore and made an absolute tit of myself in general. But hey, I think I can safely say that I'm not going to be bumping into any of those people any time soon, and needn't be embarrassed. Hooray!

After living the high life, they shipped us off to the Inca trail for some TORTURE. Read about it here. If those Incas were so God damn smart I don't know why they didn't build an elevator up to Machu Picchu. Some pics!



The first site we saw.



Oh! So pretty! It almost took my mind off the pain. Almost.



That's not me. The easy way to tell this is by noticing that that person is wearing a rain poncho, and I was not actually that clever.



The stupid effing nipple mountain! That was our target for getting over the highest point of the trek, and it took us three days to get there. Oh, how I hate that nipple.



Ahhh. Close up is here.

Coming in Part Four: I'll finally finish this bloody thing. Hoorah!

Bleurgh. Right now I have about as much motivation as a fatty in a cake shop who's thinking about starting that diet. I feel like making myself a tent using a bedsheet and the back of the couch and tucking myself in, nice and snug.

I don't mention everything on this here blog, would you believe. Yes, shock, horror, gasp, etc. In fact, there's a fair few subjects I consider Off-Limits. In-depth worky things, for example, because I am ever-fearful of the omniscient Google. Also, I don't post pictures of my naked wobbly bits, and I think that we are all better off for this exclusion. I generally try and stay away from the realm of Too Much Info*.

(*Excluding stories involving bowel movements, farting and/or vomiting, because I need something to post about.)

What I am gradually alluding to here is the subject of Relationships. Yes, Relationships. Can I get a collective 'SPEW'? Come on, all together now. I stopped blogging about the in-depth John stuff back when he discovered my blog, even though he said he wouldn't read it, and I believe him.

And I'm not about to start the heart-pouring right now, but I will just say that changes are afoot, and that I do quite fancy chucking a sickie tomorrow and curling up in front of some trash TV while I shove my face full of sweet things like jam and cakes and lard pies.

So, hey, the conclusion being: Relationships can eat my shit, and sugar is great.

Why can't life be all sunshine and lollipops? Eh? EH?!

I have been stopping and starting, deleting and retyping, for the past week. I haven't had the time to finish a blog post, and I think it might be partially to do with working for a million hours and then falling asleep by 9:30, only to be staggering to work in the pre-dawn darkness the next morning, over and over again. I was planning to go to the Supanova Expo today, to go and talk anime with the other anime nerds, but now my plans have been blown away.

I have been talked into applying for a job.

That is, I have been talked into applying for my OWN job.

Eh?

You see, instead of a manager pulling you aside and saying "hey, would you like a payrise?" which is what happens in everyone's wildest dreams, the way these wacky government people work it is they will tell you that there is a higher-paying position available and open to anyone who wants to apply. And if you get it, you actually do exactly the same job, but at a higher rate of pay.

So, essentially, I am applying for my own job, but if I don't get it, I'll still have my job. Unless I do such a poor job in my interview (another panel interview, bleurgh) that they decide that not only am I not worthy of more money, I should be booted from the department altogether.

Knowing my ability to make a complete tit out of myself at the most important and pivotal moments of my life, it is quite likely.

So I'll be working on my application today, and hey, if the Bullshit Hat decides to fit well, maybe I'll whizz through it and can still go and talk about nerdy things with the other kids tomorrow. The zitty teenage boys never seem to quite accept me, though. It's so hard to fit in.

[Boring travel rubbish, Part Two. Part One be here. Aiiii!]

First of all:



Ooh!



And, ahh! Check out all of those sea lion babies. Sea lions are busybusy.

So, after all of those stomach-churning activities, we checked into a hotel which was lovely, and completely deserted except for a couple of German men in shorts. The hotel had a couple of llamas, it's own cock-fighting ring, and the most mango-laden trees I have EVER seen.



Check that shit! South Americans sure know how to do their fruit.

I went to bed while everyone else drank and made merry. But all of that sleep hit the spot, and I was tip-top the next day. Hurrah! Speaking of the next day, we checked out a gold mine where the person presenting started SQUIRTING MERCURY around the place, and HEY, that's mercury right there, could you please not squirt it at me, kthx.

Also on this next day, we checked out how the local folk made pottery, and the guy showed us how they made it shiny using the oil from their skin. This involved the rubbing of his nose on some pottery. Whacky! We all then went and bought some of this pottery, and there's now a pot thing hanging on our wall which has been glazed with a man's nose. Are you jealous?

Open graves!



Man, I don't know about you, but I have seen enough skeletons to last me a lifetime.

We stayed the night in Puerto Inca, which is basically a pretty cove which was purchased by a German man who turned it into a resort for gringos and rich Peruvians. There's lots of ruins around the place if one fancies a walk, and about a million open graves. These ones aren't in the least bit protected by any inconvenient barriers, so hey, feel free to grab a handful of bones and wave them around, send them home, whatever floats your boat.





We had a Sangria Party, which basically consisted of getting a lot of campfire smoke in our eyes, getting burnt when we tried to toast marshmallows, and playing cards until the wee hours. It was followed by a trip to the discoteka, where we were the only people there (this is a bit of a theme - the joys of visiting in the off-season) and they actually went and got the DJ out of bed so he could play us a Queen megamix, while two of us danced and watched the whacky light effects (strobe, anyone?), the tour guide danced while he watched his own reflection in the mirror, and about 20 locals stood off to the side and discreetly watched us.

We slept off our hangovers the next day on the journey to Arequipa. Well, we tried to, but those crazy Peruvians have built the windiest, twistiest, most stomach-churning roads you have ever seen, and the driver was doing lots of overtaking on blind corners. There was little snippets of sleep, mixed in with nausea, and a bit of fearing for my life, etc.



Arequipa had:

• Most excellent coffee.
• Three cuba libres for 10 sol. Translation: three reallysuperstrong rum & cokes for $4.
• Lovely architecture, see above, etc. etc.
• A zillion churches, and a convent.

This is a nun's toilet.



Those crazy nuns also keep making outfits for Mary and Jesus, which is a lovely gesture, though I'm not sure when they're expecting them to drop by to try on their new threads.

Arequipa was also where we met up with another chunk of our tour group, because the tour company had decided that our tour would join up with another group half-way through, and then lose some people a bit further on, very confusing, pain in the arse, etc. We settled into our musty hotel with doors that sometimes refused to open and tried to prepare ourselves for some major altitude.

Coming in Part Three: Everything that I said would be in Part Two. Ha!



This is a tin of Peruvian tuna. Would you like some?

News from the warfront:

• The government have quite foolishly offered to extend my contract by another six months, which means that they will be dealing with my crap until December. Yes, they really are THAT desperate.
• I recently signed up for the Borders mailing list, figuring that I spend so much bloody money in there that I may as well try and get a discount or two, but I have now found myself more out of pocket than ever. You see, every time Borders sends me a new voucher, I have to use it. So I am buying a book every week (at least), whereas I would normally buy a book just on a whim, or if it was something I specifically wanted. I think that this could perhaps be part of the Borders Grand Plan to lure people who can't pass up Good Value.
• Why is the radio continually playing 'Suddenly I See' by KT Tunstall? I know for sure that this song is about two years old, because I distinctly remember playing it on my guitar and trying to emulate the huskiness with my whiney voice back in 2005. This is very peculiar indeed.
• Who's going to the Supanova Expo? I am! Hooray for being a 23-year old female with the interests of a teenage boy!
• I am not the girliest of girls, and I never wear make-up never ever never, but I am constantly wearing stuff on my lips. It is normally bog-standard chapstick, but when I was in Priceline the other day I saw that they were selling off a 'lip-plumping' gloss. So I bought it. Wouldn't you? Oh, you know you would. I put it on and waited a while, and then my lips started to sting a hell of a lot. It felt like I was having an allergic reaction. And apparently I had done a shit job of staying within the perimeter of my lips, despite the gloss's stern warnings, because all of the skin surrounding my mouth went all red and irritated and I looked like that kid at school who always had windburn. But the most important thing to note here is that there was NO lip-plumping to speak of. My lips were non-plumped. I think my body was just reminding me how absolutely shite I am at this Girl Stuff.

My latest Pedestrian Pet Hate is the people who swing their arms when they're walking, like they're marching. It is particularly inconvenient when their arm is flailing so wildly that they punch you in the crotch. Do you agree?

[Guys, this is the first part of the travel post that I promised, written as though I am 12 years old and my homework was to write about my trip to Peru. I'm chopping it up into parts because pictures take up a lot of blog space, and I also ramble a whole lot of shit. Sorry if you think travel posts are a load of arse. Just pretend I didn't post it and go back to the one about the old people Getting It On.]

Getting there was a right royal pain in the arse. Brisbane to LA, LA to Miami, Miami to Lima. I thought it would never bloody end. The meals ranged from ok on the first flight, to chunks of gristle and fat in gravy on the last. Yes, American Airlines. You have excelled. From LA to Miami, we were mildly interested to discover that we were queueing for the plane behind Stifler's Mom.



Woah! Semi-famous! Um.

Lima is full of restaurants and tattoo parlours. When you walk down the main street, people will yell at you in broken English, requesting that you purchase their goods and get a tattoo. I really can't help but wonder what sort of person would get a tattoo in Lima, just because somebody yelled at them.

Peruvian: HELLO! Would you like tattoo? WOULD YOU LIKE TATTOO?
Tourist: Oh, alright then.

The policemen and policewomen wear extremely tight pants. As well as this interesting feature, Lima has this rather nice building with an assault vehicle parked outside.



It never rains there, and when you get out of the shower and take a couple of steps, you discover that your feet are black, because there's a layer of dirt on everything. Turns out that rain is most excellent for keeping the dirt at bay. Hooray for rain!

Peru is the land of half-finished buildings. It is also the land of historical ruins, and we joked that maybe they took their building inspiration from their ruins, but this is in terrible taste because they are poor and all that.



The tour commenced and we met our fellow travel buddies. They were quite ace. Our tour was led by a happy chappy who was amused by my obscene playing cards, and a melancholy-looking chap who taught us about life, the universe and everything, including the following nugget of wisdom:

"If you look at nature, females are always chasing the alpha male. It is the same with this tour guide business. Being a tour guide automatically makes you the alpha male, and it is natural that a girl would want your spunk up them."

Oh. Teach us, wise one.

Our most excellent bus took us out into the desert. There was a lot of desert. There was desert and some little house things.



There was desert and a beach.



There was desert and a valley.



Plus, we went hurtling over the sand dunes in this:



and all got our fair share of sand in our pants. Damn you, sand!

We spent the night in Pisco, which was completely forgettable because we checked in when it was getting dark, drank beer on the roof with the cats, and checked out the next morning shortly after dawn. But mainly because of the beer. It is known for:

• Having cats on the roof of one of its hotels
• Sharing its name with the most famous drink in Peru, the Pisco Sour (topped with eggy goodness), and
• Being the place where I first started spraying my insides out of whichever orifice volunteered first
  

What did I do with my exceedingly queasy stomach the very next day? That's right, I took a jet boat out on the ocean to look at the Ballestas Islands, and then jumped in a light airplane and flew over the Nazca Lines. If you scooped out my stomach, stuck it in a blender, took it out and jumped on a few times, threw it up into a ceiling fan on high speed and then put it back in my body, it would've been less shaken up than it actually was by the end of that day. No dirtyhands gastro bullshit was going to spoil my holiday, damn it.

I am going to skip out on the pictures of the sea lions and the pingus, because you have all seen them before, but listening to a whole frigging colony (colony?) of sea lions collectively roaring and wailing is something to be experienced. You would not want to be inviting them around to your house for tea. They are really noisy shits. The pingus, on the other hand, were very quiet which was disappointing as I was hoping they would get their groove on and sing songs, like they do in that movie.

When your pilot, who is taking you over the Nazca Lines, decides to take his hands off the steering wheel to point at things, you get a little scared. When he accidentally bumps the steering wheel, making the plane lurch violently in the air, you shit your pants a bit. You're already shitting your pants from the gastro, so you do a bit of a pee instead. By the sixth or seventh bump of the steering wheel, you are starting to get used to it.



Here's a picture of the ground. Oh wait, there's a spacedude engraved there too. To have any chance of actually seeing the lines the pictures need to be a whole lot bigger than the Friendly Blogger Folk allow, so I've put a couple elsewhere. The one they call the hummingbird is here, and the one with the name I can't remember is here. That second one is next to a road so you can sort of get the scale of the bastards. That's if you manage to spot them. Trust me, it's tougher when you're trying not to hurl.

Coming in Part Two: Spiteful condors, watching people order a beer with a side order of cocaine, and getting up close and personal with our llama friends. Ooh, baby.