It was the blurst of times...

I was talking to Beau the other day (That's right: he of the Tightly Buttoned Sleeves ) about how badly I wish I could start blogging again, but how whenever I tried, I always seemed to be in the midst of the general series of ridiculous occurrences that pretty much define my existence. Anytime I gave it a go, it felt like I was trying to explain an episode of an established television show to someone that had thoroughly enjoyed the first few episodes of season one.

To put that in context, imagine jumping from the Buffy pilot to the Season Four finale, without ANY of the backstory of what filled in the gaps. We're talking THAT level of incomprehension. Most of the characters look the same, but where we are, and how we got there? And why Willow is kissing girls now? That takes build up. But Beau convinced me to just ignore all of that. Pick something, and run with it. We can fill the back-story in as we go.

And at the moment, the thing REALLY occupying my mind a lot, is Borders. The bookshop that featured so heavily in my life over the last few years has gone into receivership. They're closing the doors, and soon, they'll just be a memory. So many good people that I'll always remember fondly have been made redundant, and for some inexplicable reason, even though I haven't worked there in over a year, it feels like a really personal loss. Which is dumb. I hated working there in the end. It was a nightmare. I used to sit in my car and just cry after a shift sometimes. It was THAT level of awful.

But the people? Some of the best people I've ever known, I only met because of that place. In a time in my life where everything was falling apart because of my breakup with Michael, these people provided stability, and acceptance, and became family. If it wasn't for Borders, Parkhill never would have become what it is today, and I shudder to think the person I would have become without the love and guidance of those amazing people.

Which is why it seems so strange to think, some time soon, the doors will close, the lights will go out, and the shelves that WE put up and filled with our bare hands will be disassembled and destroyed. Kind of devastating really. To make matters worse, souring what should have been a time of solidarity and togetherness, a rogue bitchy element in the place seem to have made it their mission to fuck heavily with Sarah, a crime I don't forgive lightly, and which led to me being UNinvited to the Borders Farewell. (How childish is THAT!) Which sucks. Because I'd love to drink to the stores memory with people that I haven't seen in so long, united in the knowledge that WE had something to do with the places success. But I can't go to an event like that and look the people that betrayed one of MY best friends in the eyes. I'm just not wired for that.

But whatever. The beauty of memories is that they last forever, and the beauty of that place is I made friendships that even now, years down the line, I know I'll carry with me for the rest of my life. Much like the way you never forget a REALLY good book. It's never far from your heart.

That's it, Glee. Suck my balls.

It's funny, the things that can drive me to start blogging again. Sometimes, something exciting will happen that I really want to share with the world. (By which I mean with the two people that still occasionally bother to check this place). Sometimes, I'll feel some sort of guilt at the fact I haven't updated in a while. And then, some days, I'll just be so monumentally pissed off about something that the only way I can adequately unleash the fury is by expressing myself in blog, so as to publicly (again, by which I mean to you two) acknowledge my indignation and rage. Guess what type of post you're getting today!

Let me preface this by acknowledging the fact that, in the past, I've used this very blog to sing the praises of Glee. Even this season, when almost everyone I know has stopped watching, and even I have to admit the show has been terrible, I've stuck in there. Because no matter how bad it was, I wanted it to get good again. I was like a battered wife, and Glee was my liquored up husband. I was prepared to keep telling people I was walking into the door, because every now and then, he'd come home sober and tell me how pretty I look. And that made me forget about all the bad things.

But then, Glee went and won a Golden Globe for Best Musical/ Comedy TV series. Which is all good and well, until you realise that it beat 30 Rock, Modern Family, AND The Big C. Are you fucking kidding me? Those three shows are three of the most well written, intelligent, HILARIOUS shows I've ever watched, and they were beaten by the inane adventures of a High School Glee Club? In what parallel world does that make sense, exactly? What episodes could the judges have POSSIBLY been watching that made this seem like a good decision? Was it the bad acting? The redundant songs? The lack of a continuing storyline? Honestly- as somebody that has made NO secret of my guilty obsession with Glee, even *I* can't think of a single reason for anybody claiming it's a better show than the other three! And I know everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but really? Is ANYBODY (apart from the Golden Globe judges) going to stand there and tell me that this seems to make any kind of sense?

I suppose I should be glad it happened. It made me angry enough to finally get sick of his shit. Glee, when you come home, expect to see my stuff gone, with a short note telling you I've moved out, and not to come looking for me this time. We're over. I can't take this abuse anymore. I'm sorry.

Spoilers!

I've generally got a pretty strict "when in rome" policy when it comes to doing weird or unusual shit, which, thankfully, has always gone pretty well, and lead to some pretty interesting (and sometimes downright stupid) adventures. But it almost always gives me something to talk about. Which is why, when Simon, Wade and I were in Sydney on Sunday, we decided to take advantage of a handwritten sign on a scary looking door that said "Psychic Readings Within". Because why the hell not? I've always been kind of curious to have my fortune read, and this seemed as good an oppurtunity as ever. Now, I'm not sure if you know this or not, but I'm a big fan of theatricality over reality, so when Wade and I (Simon was FAR too sensible for this nonsense) ventured indoors, I was immeadiately thrilled that the store resembled a messier version of the Magic Box from Buffy, and after we paid, we had to follow a sign up the stairs that said "Ascend to the Oracle". So far so good.

Then, the Oracle appeared, and I shit you not, she was a seventy year old, one-eyed french woman. I couldn't make this shit up. The ONLY way I would have been more into it at this stage would have been if the door had been opened by this woman:

And as impressed as I would have been, I still probably would have asked for my money back. Anyone that can make Hermione Granger lose her shit aint worth my $25... So, everything was proceeding well, and then the reading started. And thats where it started to go downhill...

Now, I freely admit to being a slightly cynical person when it comes to stuff like this. But I'm cynical with a hint of optimism, because deep down, I really WANT that crazy, blow-your-mind experience people talk about. I was the same on the ghost tour I went on. I WANTED to be scared shitless, but couldn't get over my own skepticism. So it's possible that my problems here weren't entirely the fault of the vision impaired clairvoyant lumped with the task of giving me the upcoming spoilers of my life, but still. I was underwhelmed.

Here's what we learnt:

Travel is on the agenda. Love is just around the corner. I'll change jobs within a year. It's ok to be gay.

Which is all great, if slightly generic, until you realise one thing. I'M IN MY MID FUCKING TWENTIES.

TRAVEL- What person my age HASN'T got a trip planned somewhere? Especially when she felt the need to clarify that it wasn't necessarily a big trip, just that I'd be going somewhere. Like, I dunno, BACK TO NEWCASTLE??? Nice job, psychic sally. But seriously, without a destination or a time frame, thats an unimpressive guess, at best, as far as I'm concerned.

LOVE- She asked if I was seeing someone at the moment. When I said no, she smiled and said "You will be soon". I suppose that sales pitch is more impressive than "You're going to die a lonely old spinster and your dog will probably eat your corpse," but it's still not an overly informative piece of info. It's not like I'm some kind of hideous mountain goblin- I did kind of assume there would be someone in the future somewhere. I'm a single homosexual. Of COURSE somebody is in my future. It's just how it works.

WORK- What person in my generation is settled enough in their job that a career-change isn't at least a thought that has been MILDLY entertained at some point? We're known for being flighty! If she REALLY wanted to impress me, she could have told me WHAT I'd be doing, so I'd know when to apply for it! At this rate, I still have to do all the work! What's the point of knowing the future if I only know enough to go in chanting the mantra "Stay the course..."

GAY PRIDE: I walked in wearing tight jeans and rainbow converse. I think I crossed the "Good to be gay" bridge a while back. Seriously. Loved the reassurance, but look at me. Do I look like I'm struggling to deal with my sexual identity? I haven't been in a closet for so long, Aslan is sending me christmas cards addressed to "Mitchell". Stupid lion.

So, my first psychic reading was a tad underwhelming. It's not that I needed to OVERwhelmed, but just whelmed in general would have been nice. Maybe one or two bits of info that I had to admit was a little creepy, or wonder how she'd figured it out. Instead, I think I just received a stock standard, generic Gen Y reading. Which sucks. I wanted to find out that I was going to punch Winona Ryder, or get a pet monkey, or go to the moon or something. On that token, maybe I should become a fortune teller? At least I've got two eyes- surely that makes me twice as good at seeing the future than the one I saw?

I'm so cynical it hurts.

Utter fail.

Turns out that blog I posted yesterday, of all the tattoo designs I liked and disliked, failed miserably (cos I'm retarded like that) and none of the pictures actually showed up. Which is awkward, in a post that kind of existed wholey and solely FOR the pictures. Damn internet, thwarting me at every turn (because, you know, it couldn't POSSIBLY have been me making a mistake)

Anyway, I THINK I've fixed the problem, so if you looked and couldn't figure out what the FUCK was going on, have another go. The problem was probably your fault anyway.

Oh, and just for kicks, here's another design I like...

Although to be honest, now that I've waited a few days, I'm less keen for a new tattoo. I think I have issues...

Ink me baby, one more time.

When I got my tattoo, lots of people warned me that it was an addictive experience, and that it wouldn't be long before I'd be strapping myself back in the chair for another go. Knowing that I don't have an addictive personality (*cough*), I figured I was safe, and ignored all such warnings.

In a completely UNRELATED note, I kind of want another tattoo. The trouble is, I'm having a REALLY hard time picking something that not only LOOKS awesome, but that has some sort of significance or emotional connection that I'm confident wont wear off in a few years. See, the Batwoman tattoo I got, I adore. And I'm confident I'll always adore it. Because it's a snapshot of a very specific time in my life, and not only do I like the symbol, but it matters. It's a way of reminding myself, every time I look at it, that I'm in control of my own life. Which sounds wanky, but have we met?

So now, I'm faced with the challenge of finding something JUST as relevant, and equally nerdy, and you know what? That's harder than it sounds! At first I was considering getting the Converse symbol, like this:

But as much as I love cons, I don't love the idea of permanently marking myself with ANY kind of advertising. (Unless it's the JB Hifi sticker "Buy me, I'm cheap'...) Also, even though I DO have an unhealthy obsession with them, they ARE just shoes. And I'm not quite crazy enough to forget that.

Then I saw this one online, and wished I was a bigger Ghostbuster fan, because let's face it, it's pretty much the greatest thing ever:

But as much as I love the movies, I don't have any sort of obsession with them, and I think for the permanency of a tatt, your fan levels need to be a little higher. Other possibilities have included:

(too cutesy)

(possibly TOO obscure)

(Wallace Wells is awesome.)

In all my searches for nerd tattoos though, one that DOES keep popping up, and impresses the hell out of me, is this one-

BUT! I could never get it, for several reasons. Firstly, you'd have to maintain a relatively attractive, hair-free chest for the rest of eternity, and let's be honest- thats SO much work. Second, as someone pointed out, I DO want to have sex again at some stage in my life, and unless the other party is every bit as nerdy as I am, a tattoo like this could be a DEFINITE deal breaker. Thirdly, IT MAKES NO DAMN SENSE! If Spider-Mans skin was torn up like that, you'd see his insides, not his damn suit. So, as geeky as that makes me sound, I could never get a tattoo that would drive me insane with its total lack of logic for all eternity. It would just piss me off. And I'm not prepared to give up ALL future chances of getting busy for a tattoo that would make me crazy anytime I started to think about it!

But yeah, that's where I'm at. NO closer to figuring out what I want, but getting closer to thinking that possibly, I might want something. I'm decisive like that.

I do also like the idea of getting a quote from one of my favourite books, but how the hell do you narrow THAT down?? Look, this is all too much. Here. Have a picture of Michael Schofield, half naked and covered in tattoos. Because that's how I roll.

Romance. A lost art.

Ok, so we ALL know I have issues when it comes to romance, and REALLY tend not to be the best at responding to "I love you". We could sit around for hours trying to figure out why that is, dissecting my inner psyche and diagnosing me with an ever-expanding list of eccentricities, OR, we can accept it as all part of the wonderfully quirky landscape that comes together neatly to make me me. I choose that one. But anyway, I was trying to figure out the PERFECT response, because let's face it, sometimes it does come out of nowhere, and thinking on my feet always seems to get me in trouble (And would probably make me respond with "Yeah, I love your mum. Real good") I found the three GREATEST responses when someone says "I love you". If I'm cool enough to go with ANY of these, I'll need some sort of medal or something. For winning at life.

1. THE MELODRAMATIC RESPONSE

(Ok, so the video didn't include the "I love you", but we get the picture. There's a reason she won an Oscar for this.)

2. THE DOCTORS RESPONSE

(If you're in a hurry, jump to 3:20 to see the important bit. Otherwise kick back and treat yourself to one of my favourite Doctor Who clips ever. If you don't tear up, you're dead inside. We probably shouldn't stay friends)

3. THE GREATEST RESPONSE

(Honestly, if this doesn't make you want to have Harrison Fords babies, you're lying. As arrogant as it sounds, this is the perfect response. PERFECT. If I'm ever dating anyone nerdy enough to get this reference, my life WILL be complete.)

And just because I love me some Star Wars:

I love you.

My music doesn't ALWAYS suck!

See! Proof that my musical tastes aren't ALWAYS as predictable as people assume they are (musical theatre and Cher notwithstanding), I decided to share a song that I've been listening the HELL out of lately! I think this buys me cool points, if you're that way inclined. Personally, I'm not. But you might be. And if so, you're welcome. And consider yourself lucky it's not the new Cher song. Ah, Burlesque. It's like someone took a movie directly from my brain. But I digress.