an9ie

Keys

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Tue, 04 May 2010 16:33:00 +0000

MFC: So, here are the spare keys to my mother's house.

an9ie: Yep.

MFC: Now, I know what your kind are like, so don't use them to break in and steal any valuables ...

an9ie: ...

MFC: Or to start up a Triad gang in the garage.

If I go missing ...

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Mon, 29 Mar 2010 16:01:00 +0000

I've recently joined a personal finance forum on the Internet (you know, because I enjoy diving into my swimming pool full of diamonds and gold coins, and I wanted to share the experience with like-minded people), and I told MFC that I replied to a post asking how female members on the forum became interested in finance.

MFC: Hang on a minute. You told an Internet forum that you were female?

an9ie: Yeah. What's wrong with that?

MFC: Oooookay. Well, when some weirdo abducts you, and the police ask me if I want to file a missing persons report, I'm going to say, "You see, officer, she DID tell an Internet forum that she was a girl," and they'll just nod and walk away.

Confession

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 14:45:00 +0000

The Backstreet Boys are coming to Perth in March 2010.

I am very excited.

That is all.

Oh alright, that's not all. Because if I buy a ticket, I'm not just investing (investing?) in an incredible stadium experience, I'm also going to relive my bittersweet youth.

And if they don't get all the dance moves right for, "Quit Playing Games With My Heart"*, I am going to throw rocks at them.

Except for Kevin. You've always been my favourite, sweet Kevin. In fact, let's check the BB Wikipedia entry to see what the boys have been up to.

...

Kevin left? Damn yooou, Kevin!

* Or am I thinking of another song? Because there weren't that many dance moves in "Quit Playing Games With My Heart", but in the video they did wear really thin shirts, and then it rained, and the shirts stuck to them, and then all the buttons came undone and ... hmm, maybe THAT's why it's my favourite song.

Graduation!

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 09:24:00 +0000

It's graduation night for our Diploma of Screen & Media (specialising in Animation), and I've been asked to give a speech on behalf of the class.
Go away, butterflies!

When things come together

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 11:15:00 +0000

I went to my mother's for lunch and she had bought this book for me:

The blurb on the back says, "Inspired by a course run by the National College of Ireland, [this book] comprises 20 letters from Maeve, offering advice, tips and her own wonderfully witty take on the life of a writer, in addition to contributions from top writers, publishers and editors."
This is a pretty special gift because it means my mother has accepted that I'm pursuing this crazy dream (and is no longer pushing me to be/marry a doctor/dentist/accountant/lawyer).
And as everyone knows, when you've got your Mummy behind you, you can pretty much conquer the world.
I suppose the universe agrees, because a catalogue with this message arrived in the mail this afternoon:

I know it's just a catalogue, but I'll take good portents wherever I can get them, thank you very much.

Time to get fit

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 16:08:00 +0000

How do I know?

My arms get fatigued when I wash my hair.

I look at photos from four years ago and my face had ANGLES.

And tonight I realised that my virtual pet on Facebook gets more exercise than I do. Mainly because I keep entering him in races to win money for snappy outfits and garden furniture.

What a sad state of affairs.

MFCs say the darndest things

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 08:06:00 +0000

While having dinner and watching Dollhouse last night ...

MFC: Who's that?

an9ie: Her name's Sierra. She's played by an Australian actress.

MFC: Her face looks like an Easter Island statue.

Before you die, do remember to destroy all private correspondence

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 16:23:00 +0000

I know! Multiple blog posts! But if the blogging muse is around you have to take advantage of her presence. Otherwise she leaves in a huff and you're left postless until December.

A comment that Tokyobling left in August reminded me of how much I like Kate Beaton's "Hark, a vagrant" comics. So I trawled through the archives and got to this one, about James Joyce's dirty, dirty, DIRTY letters to Nora Barnacle, and it made me laugh all over again.

an9ie: Hey, MFC! Come have a look at these filthy letters I was telling you about the other day!

MFC (from the kitchen): No thanks, I'm eating.

Parenting fail

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 15:34:00 +0000

an9ie: You know, if we ever have a child, your study will have to be the nursery, because there is no freakin' way I'm giving up my room.

MFC: Nooo! Bags not my study!

MFC: Heh heh, you can't touch it now. It's been bagsed.

MFC: I know! The nursery could be ... your mother's house!

an9ie: That's an awesome idea!

Now, I shall sit back and wait for anonymous criticism to arrive from people with no sense of humour.

That elusive early bedtime

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 16:54:00 +0000

I knew I shouldn't have introduced MFC to the Rather Good website just before bedtime.

Mind you, I have seen the Bagger 288 clip five times now (people in our animation production team keep showing it to newcomers), and it still puts me in stitches EVERY SINGLE TIME.

On the other hand

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 15:19:00 +0000

It could be worse. At least I'll never have to cook for the next forty years.

In summary, SMASHY-SMASHY-SMASH

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 14:29:00 +0000

What a day.
This morning a moron in a flashy white ute--you know, the type that are never used for actually transporting heavy goods (except inflated egos)--cut me off and spent the whole time talking on his mobile phone.
I used Chinese dialect to curse his ancestors, and prayed that his member would fall off at an inconvenient time in the near future.
Oh, excuse me, my mother just came in to ask me how much funerals cost in Perth and could I please look them up on the Internet. Such a cheery, organised person.
Right, I'm back. The answer? Not as much as you might think.
This afternoon I got rejected from rental by another property manager. Before I'd even put in an application.
Yesterday, at the home open, I heard the manager telling a lady that rent applications would take a minimum of 48 hours to process.
But when I called today to ask another question about the house, she said it had already gone--to people who had seen it that morning.
"That's quick," I said inanely, thinking, 48 hours my arse, to which that daughter of Beelzebub replied in a subterranean-class drawl, "You can't muck around, luv."
Muck around? I only saw the property yesterday morning, lady! ARRRGH.
Several times today I have entertained the thought of blocking out the car's licence plates, and getting my brother to take the wheel while I ride shotgun and do a drive-by egging of the real estate office.
Except of course I can't, now, because I have told the Internets.
My parents are watching Iron Chef on TV and shouting, "That's not how you cut up pineapple! Aiyah! What a waste!"
I am never going to get a (non-scummy) rental property.
This is going to be my life for the next forty years.

Smashy days are here again

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 11:46:00 +0000

MFC and I are planning to move in together and we have been looking for places to rent.
I found a place that looked OK; a little old, but within budget, and called the property manager up on Wednesday morning to find out more details.
The twisty-turvy conversation we had not only made me late for class, but also increased my blood pressure by about seven million units.
Let me re-enact the whole hilarious episode for you.
Ring-ring. Preliminary hellos and introductions and then I start to ask questions.
an9ie: I'm just calling about the property at XX Street. Is it still available?
Property manager PM): Oh sure, we had a couple come through last night, but you can have a look at it.
an9ie: O ... K. Can I ask some questions about the property?
PM: Sure, go ahead.
an9ie: Does it have ADSL?
PM: (Long pause.) Ooh, I've never heard of that before. What is it?
an9ie: High speed internet.
PM: Wait, I'll just go and ask someone. (Longer pause.) I don't know, but the couple who were in there last were pretty old, so probably not.
an9ie: (Must ... not ... kill.) Well, is there a garden shed out the back for storage?
PM: There's a single lockup garage.
an9ie: (That was NOT an answer to my question.) So is there a garden shed?
PM: I don't know. I don't think so.
an9ie: (This is too hard. We're just going to have to find these things out ourselves.) Well, my partner and I both work full-time, so do you think we could come and see it around 6pm sometime this week?
PM: No, we don't have after-hours inspections.
an9ie: (Right, that's it, lady. I am going to hunt you down and make you into my next winter hat.) But you said you had a couple come through "last night"!
PM: Oh, that was at 4.30.
an9ie: (So 4.30pm is night time?) What about the weekend?
PM: We don't do weekend inspections.
an9ie: (Is there anything you DO do, apart from using up precious oxygen?) OK, um, let me talk to my partner and we'll try to arrange a time.
PM: OK.
an9ie: OK. B-
... and then she hung up on me without waiting for me to finish! GRAAAAAH. an9ie SMASH.

Six reasons to move interstate

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 04:44:00 +0000

We went to the airport last night to pick up my uncle, who was on his way home after visiting his children in Melbourne.

They told us his flight arrived at 11pm.

The arrivals board told us the plane was due at 11.40pm.

There were delays and it landed at 12.05am instead.

Oh, and then they had to wait for the flight to Sydney to depart, so the Melbourne plane could dock. It was 1am by the time the passengers disembarked. I could hear the airport parking fees ringing up in my head, ka-ching! Ka-ching!

I would have been irate but then my uncle handed me this:

and I lifted the lid and saw these:

All is forgiven!

Introducing...

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Wed, 20 May 2009 14:45:00 +0000

Mr Toki Wartooth Bun-bun (name reached by consensus after hours of negotiation).

I'm a bit shy at first ...

... but curiosity soon gets the better of me.

Model sheet. Side view. Heehee. Sorry, that was an animation joke.

Front view.

Toki is on top of the laundry bench in these pictures. I don't know how he gets up there, but he's usually sitting on the washing machine or behind the clothes baskets when we come in to say hello.

Such a handsome fellow with his sleek black coat. There is a tiny white stripe on his nose and faint white socks on each paw.

MFC is going to do a little drive-around in his area on the weekend to look for "Lost Rabbit" signs, but he's kinda hoping he won't find any :)

Rabbits!

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Tue, 19 May 2009 05:16:00 +0000

Two Sundays ago, MFC and I were driving back to his place when something black and shiny streaked past the car. MFC hit the brakes and missed it by a few inches.

As it was black, we didn't think it was a wild rabbit (the usual culprits around here who like playing chicken with your car). We hopped out of the car and went looking for the mystery creature (secretly hoping it was a puppy), but couldn't see or hear anything, so we continued up the driveway and forgot about it.

Tonight MFC was on his way home when the black thing streaked past his car again. He stopped and looked in the bushes, and found a little black rabbit! It didn't run away into a hole, but hopped around in a wishy-washy "I don't mind if I get caught" way. It only took a few minutes for MFC to swoop own on it and carry it back to the house. So it looks like the little guy could be someone's pet that has escaped (or been dumped).

MFC called me after he'd settled the rabbit in the laundry with some water and a jumper to lie on. Apparently it's a little thin and has some scratches from being attacked, but apart from that, is pretty healthy. It's also quite friendly and doesn't mind being picked up (unlike that demon, Mao. "Hand-reared" my ARSE, you stupid pet shop!)

MFC: We should think of a name for him.

an9ie: Him? How do you know it's a boy?

MFC: Because when I chased him, he grunted, and then squirted pee at me.

an9ie: LOL!

an9ie: Maybe we can call him Bun-bun!

MFC: I was thinking of something a little more grown-up.

an9ie: MR Bun-bun?

MFC: Something that doesn't sound like a three-year-old thought of it.

A nice wedding party

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Sun, 17 May 2009 07:55:00 +0000

MFC and I went to a wedding yesterday, held in a fancy Catholic chapel. A fancy Catholic chapel in a fancy Catholic girls' school in the middle of the city, no less.
On our way in, we noticed that high-rise apartments had been erected near the school grounds, and all their windows faced the school's swimming pool. I don't know how that got through the council, but ... ewww!
Quotes from the day:
MFC (sweating in his nice suit): I wish I had a comfortable slinky dress to wear.

an9ie: Well. the strapless bra that goes with it hurts like a bitch, if that's any consolation.

And later, when the dancing started at the reception:

MFC: You know, I had two years of dance lessons in school.

Yep, MFC is indeed a good dancer. Much better than I am, in fact, dammit. I kept stepping on his feet, but he was sweet enough to say it was because his feet were too big, and not because I am a klutz.

an9ie: And I also see you have managed to make up an entirely new kind of dance, which is 90% groping.

MFC: That was an accident!

Time for a hearing test

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 14:41:00 +0000

My mother pops her head into my room and says:

"Angie, would you like some semen sponge cake?"

an9ie: WHAT? (Walks into kitchen.) I really hope you said, "cement sponge cake". (Looks suspiciously at baked goods on plate.)

Mum: CINNAMON! CIN-NA-MON SPONGE CAKE!

Time to shift some pounds

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 14:25:00 +0000

Yes, I know we're on the metric system in Australia, but "pounds" just flows better in a sentence. (I also like to use terms that help my American readers feel at home. Hi guys!)

You know how in the Nancy Drew books they always, ALWAYS describe poor Bess as "plumply pretty" and George as "athletic" or "tom-boyish"?

Well, I'm a Bess who desperately wants to be a George. I saw a video of myself at the zoo (we could have all sorts of fun with that one, so I'll just let you use your imaginations) and the camera really does add 20 pounds. I think I could have painted myself grey and crept into the elephant enclosure, and no one would notice.

If cameras did not exist, there would be more happy women in the world.

I think I'm going to join a religion that forbids people from taking my picture, because they might capture my soul.

Take that, technology!

An evening with the Candyman

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 15:16:00 +0000

So MFC and I watched Candyman last night. We were pretty excited for most of the movie because we thought Gillian Anderson was playing the lead character (Helen Lyle).

When the credits rolled at the end, we found out that Helen was actually played by Virginia Madsen. Oh well.

Before the end credits, we kept saying things like, "She looks different in X-Files. Has she had a nose job since then?" and, "OMG! We're seeing Scully's boobies!" (Well, that's what I was saying. MFC just kept going, "Mmm ...")

This is what happens when you do not pay attention to the DVD cover.

It took a bit of cajoling from MFC before I agreed to watch the movie with him. As you all know, I have something of a love-hate relationship with horror. I love reading it (and sometimes, watching it, or at least reading the spoilers over at themoviespoiler.com--warning! This site is addictive!) but I am unable to withstand the mental trauma that my imagination doles out afterwards.

I mean, I was doing so well, falling asleep with the lights off, and not worrying about ceiling demons or vampires in the back yard or serial killers in the front yard or soul-eaters in the mirror.

an9ie: Fine, I will watch Candyman with you. But you have to promise not to scare me before or after the movie.

MFC: Sure.

an9ie: Or during the movie.
MFC: Damn!

an9ie: I mean it. No creepy whispers, no waiting outside the toilet door and making scratching noises, and no hiding around corners waiting to jump out at me.

MFC: Deal.

(4 minutes later ...)

Eerie whisper: Aaaaangie ... What's that noise, Angie? Ooh, it's getting louuuuuder.

an9ie: YOU COULDN'T WAIT FIVE MINUTES, COULD YOU?

Update (Tuesday, April 7th): OK, so I managed to fall asleep with the light on last night, but then I woke up at 5am for no reason and kept thinking Candyman was standing in front of my bed. I had to have my interrogation-strength reading lamp on until dawn broke. GAH.

Funny because it's true

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Mon, 30 Mar 2009 13:00:00 +0000

MFC and I are walking down Oxford Street in Leederville with his mother and her partner.

an9ie: And down that street is the little sushi restaurant where [MFC] and I went on our first date.

an9ie: We might even go back there one day and re-live it.

MFC's mummy: Aw, how cute!

an9ie: Except this time he'll actually be nice to me. Ahahahahaaa!

MFC: Hey!

Stupid brain! Why can't you send me nice dreams about unicorns instead?

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 13:07:00 +0000

This morning I turned off my alarm and snoozed for about 45 minutes. During that snooze I had a horribly vivid dream.

I was driving through a suburb in the hills, past a block of flats, and just for a moment, I looked over at the passenger seat and tried to pull a yellow plastic bag towards me. The bag was caught under something and diverted my attention from the road.

Then I felt my wheels go over something rigid, like a light pole or a long bit of pipe. Bump-bump.

I stopped the car and parked to the side. When I turned my head I saw a figure splayed out on the road.

I had run over a small Chinese schoolboy.

I raced towards him at the same time as his aunt and mother. They were wailing and sobbing, and my lungs clenched as I looked down at his crushed leg, flattened and bruised against the bitumen like an uncooked chicken wing*.

What had I done? I had destroyed his life and mine. My future flashed before my eyes and then immediately blanked out. There would be no bright future for me or him.

His mother looked up and me and started shouting. More and more people gathered, either staring at me, or the boy, who was taking shallow breaths, eyes closed.

This horrific tableau seemed to go on forever, and then, I don't know, maybe a siren went off in the background, or a crow cawed, or the sun hit my eyes in just the right spot, and I woke up.

The message is clear: avoid the Perth hills like the plague.

Rodent must-read

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Thu, 19 Mar 2009 13:24:00 +0000

Another brilliantly funny post from the inimitable Blandwagon. Bonus capybaras at the end. I especially like the bit that goes:

INTERVIEWER: Porcupines?

AL-MUNAJID: Pointy whores!

Heehee!

Honestly, dude, your true talents are wasted in your day-job. You should have your own newspaper column!

The best of starts

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Sun, 08 Mar 2009 02:21:00 +0000

... leads to a productive day.

(Also, hi Sophie, who left a comment in the last post saying that this was the first sunrise she had seen in a while too :)

Remember how last September I was groaning about our busted reticulation and how I had to spend fruitless hours out on the lawn hand-watering it? (Which, although better than nothing, still tends to encourage shallow roots, according to Don Burke. By the way, I was so sad when they took Burke's Backyard off the air. I know it lives on in print and on the Web, but it's just not the same. Sigh.)

After months of hand-watering, and now that summer is over (great timing, huh? The hot days are still coming, though), our sprinkler system is finally fixed. I would pass on the name and number of our reticulation guy, but he's probably too busy sunning himself on his yacht in New Caledonia to pick up more work. I reckon that on a per hour basis, the man is getting paid more than most neurosurgeons.

He didn't replace any sprinkler heads though, so this morning my brother and I went to Bunnings for supplies, then came home and fixed all the heads that were blocked or just going crazy spurting (teehee--that word always makes me giggle like a schoolgirl) water everywhere, and now the lawn can diminish the earth's water supply, twice a week till the rains come, with minimal human intervention.

This means an9ies will no longer have to spend excess time on the lawn with a digital timer, a garden hose, and an expression of suffering. (When cars drove past, she would also pretend that she was not related to the hand holding the hose.)

So much work done, and it is not even noon. Hurrah!

I think I will reward myself by ordering some telescopic loppers (ratchet! Woo!) off the Internet. And some ratchet secateurs, and maybe even a ratchet screwdriver set. Trust me ladies, once you go the ratchet, you never go back. They are so easy on the hands.

Also, bougainvillea; as soon as I get my ratchet on, you're next.

Speaking of sleeping arrangements

noreply@blogger.com (an9ie) — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 22:39:00 +0000

I always find I sleep better in my own bed, as opposed to when I stay at MFC's. His bed feels like it has been filled with hard gym socks and wood chips. I toss and turn, unable to fund a comfortable spot, and wake up all irritated in the morning.

He loves his bed though. I don't know what we're going to do when we move in together.

MFC is also a rather fitful sleeper. When he comes to bed, he likes to launch himself onto his mattress, like someone throwing a saucepan at a stray cat in a Looney Tunes cartoon. He will then continue his aerial manoeuvres throughout the night, flinging himself into the air before flipping over and landing as softly as a zeppelin on a mine field.

One of the best sleeps I've had, while in the same bed as MFC, was in Germany, where we had those European-style beds. You know, the ones that have two single mattresses in a queen or king-size bed frame. Awesome. MFC could toss and turn as much as he liked and it didn't affect me. And it was fun having a visible line to point to when I said, "Stay on your side of the bed!" if he was being particularly irksome.

You can get these in IKEA, but MFC will not consider them. He says he doesn't like the hole in the middle and we'll be like those couples that don't love each other. Bleah. It's always the person who sleeps better that says that.