Sing out, Louise!

There are times when I realise I come across as a fairly suave individual, with an air of coolness about my person that reduces others to tears of jealousy and an overwhelming desire to emulate. It's both my gift and my curse. I've learnt to deal. However. One social situation in which this does NOT apply, apparantly, is when I'm busted in my car, singing Cher's "Turn Back Time", complete with hand movements and hair flicks, at the absolute top of my lungs by a group of heterosexual males that happened to pull up alongside me whilst we were both stopped at the same set of traffic lights.

Yeah. There's no smooth way to come back from that. Maybe if it was one or the other, horrendously loud OR ridiculously animated? But no. It was a mash-up of the two, and as I've since learnt, my car ISN'T some kind of Cone of Silence, in fact, it seems to have the worlds greatest acoustics, because I 'm pretty sure they heard every word. Every. Single. Word.

It wouldn't have been so bad, had I noticed they were there earlier. As it was, I managed to make it half way through the damn song before I twigged to the fact I was with audience, and from then, it seemed to take another seventeen minutes for the stupid lights to actually change, all the while with me trying to quietly disappear from the face of the planet, with no success.

What can I say? I was born to be on a stage. So long as, in all future experiences, that stage is as far removed from others as possible. Preferably in a soundproof room. With the door shut. And locked. From the outside.

Brand New Day!

It's always fun when you look at yourself and get the smug satisfaction of knowing your life is back on track. That overwhelmingly good feeling where you look at your calendar and see that you've got an upcoming schedule full of fun and awesomeness, filled with people you can't get enough. From the simple pleasures, like a plan to watch Legally Blonde: The Musical, or hosting a Tupperware party, to the slightly more elaborate, such as seeing Wicked for the third time, or going to see JOSS FUCKING WHEDON live! (Hell yeah!)

Because I'm a firm believer that boredom should pretty much be reclassified as one of the seven deadly sins, (Surely nobody thinks "Lust" deserves to be on there anymore, am I right? Let's start a letter writing campaign...) which is why I try to be as constant as possible. I mean, it's worked pretty well for me so far. Despite the fact even I sometimes find me exhausting ("Hurricane Mikey", somebody once described me as, which I found apt) but I'd rather that than have my only memorable quality being my overwhelming sense of niceness. There's nothing that screams "BLAND INDIVIDUAL" more than someone describing you as "nice". Because really, that's such a cop out. Everyone's nice. Nice is how you describe furniture, not people.

So for the next few weeks/ months, a full agenda means I'll FINALLY have something to write about here again, which I think we can both agree (because you know you're the only person reading this, right) will be more entertaining than the continuing non-adventures of my love life. Although romantic mishaps DO tend to be entertaining, despite the fact I don't have a great deal to report on that front right now. I do have to admit though, it IS one of the more pleasant things about being single, doing that whole flirty/swoony thing all over again with new people, and finally finding people that respond to your looks, instead of just your exceedingly fabulous personality. What can I say? Flirting is fun!

This post has been kinda nonsensical, in hindsight. But if you think reading a stream of consciousness like this is exhausting, you should try camping out in my head sometime... It gets worse...

It's a safe place

It's no secret that my blog is a Pro- Darren Hayes place. He made me gay, did you know? (There's a story there- remind me to tell you some time!) As such, there's a pretty special spot in my heart for him, and his very voice invokes a sense of swooning inside me that is largely unparalleled. Which is why this song leaves me feeling ALL kinds of happy. And deserves to be posted. And lets face it. Anyone that can make a Delta Goodrem song sound this interesting deserves some sort of brownie points! (I WILL be honest though. He does look a little chunky in the film clip. Not his greatest look- watch it with your eyes half closed...)

Holy crap- when did THAT happen?

You know what's a terrifying thought? That moment when, out of the blue, you look at your life and realise "Holy shit. I'm a grown up! When did THAT happen?" Because really, I still don't FEEL particularly grown up. And when I look in the mirror, I don't SEE a grown up (immature man-child comes to mind, but not "grown up"), but the evidence is there, that when it comes to life, I'm definitely sitting squarely in the "adult" category.

And that scares the christ out of me.

Because look at me- I SHOULDN'T be an adult.

Adults know how to do things like their laundry BEFORE it gets to crisis levels and they're forced to either wash or buy new undies.

Adults know things about politics and the world in general. Or at least more than they do about the world in general in the DC Universe. Actually, do adults bother themselves with the fact fictitious universes exist?

Adults don't consult a Magic 8-Ball for major life decisions, to the extent where they download an App for it on their phone in case they need to make decisions on the run!

So, I've decided. Accompanying this epiphany, I'm making a concentrated effort to be more of a grown up here on in. Grown up decisions, grown up time management skills and grown up relationships (he says whilst listening to Legally Blonde: The Musical and playing with a Sonic Screwdriver and shopping for Cher Barbies in the other window)

I'm not sure why this whole thing has shocked me so much- I think it's because I've always expected there would be something that would LEAD to adulthood, instead of a general merge that you don't notice coming. I mean, if my life were a TV show, and had been for several years as I've always maintained, surely we're reaching that awkward stage where the audience realises they're all far too old for these dramas! So it's settled. We either need to spin off into a more age-appropriate setting, or risk cancellation. And I don't DO cancellation.

So. Grown up. Spread the word.

Sigh. Not again...

So, it's time for the annual Angus & Robertson Top 100 Books list to come out, and I'm really not sure why I anticipate this so much every year. It's like anticipating new Star Wars movies. You can't help it, but you know you're going to be disappointed. And this year is no exception. Fuck you, A&R. There, I said it. These lists are getting progressively worse, and they're proving, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Australians shouldn't be allowed to vote for anything, ever. Because as a nation, we're obviously retarded.

The first thing that grinds my gears (and from memory, I bitched about this last year as well) is the fact that in the top three spaces, we already have FOURTEEN FUCKING BOOKS! In THREE SPACES! What the hell is with that? Isn't that against the rules? Doesn't it defeat the purpose? And, of course, "The Twilight Saga" is number one. (Harry Potter Series is #2 and The Millennium Trilogy is #3) Yep. Australia's number one piece of literature is the Twilight Saga. All four of them, apparently, held equally to a pinnacle of literary genius, beating out Pride & Prejudice, To Kill a Mockingbird and The Book Thief. Does that seem right to you? I mean, sure. Let's say for a second that Twilight IS just that good. Do the other three need to be considered equal? Because I've read them. And they're not. Mandatory inclusion is as stupid as saying that because Jaws is a fantastic movie, all of the sequels should be regarded with equal respect. Even Jaws 3D. And NOBODY says that about Jaws 3D.

The other thing pissing me off about the list is how obviously the books on there are reflected in film. Last year, the Book Thief was #7, The Lovely Bones was #17, and Time Travelers Wife was #21. The latter two had movies come out in the last twelve months, and guess what! This year, The Lovely Bones is #5, Time Travelers Wife is #9 and The Book Thief is #10! The ONLY reason for that fluctuation is the fact that people saw the movies. I REFUSE to believe that level of change is due to the fact that people have only just started discovering books from five years ago. There should be a rule that you can only vote for a book after answering a questionnaire proving you've read it. Otherwise, I call bullshit on this entire list.

And finally, you know what REALLY shits me? Not ONE of the books I voted for made it. Ok, fine, my bunch of grapes may be slightly sour, but christ! Not one?

I voted for:

• The Other Hand by Chris Cleave
• Watchmen by Alan Moore
• Bridget Jones Diary by Helen Fielding
• Stardust by Neil Gaiman
• Northern Lights by Philip Pullman

And you know what? I know that none of those books deserve to be number one. Hell, they probably don't even deserve the Top Ten. But when you've got Five Matthew Reilley books, The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown and Pride & Prejudice & Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls already occupying spaces on the list?

Fuck you list. Fuck you in the ear.

Mikey: Now with street cred!

Out of curiousity, does anyone remember this post? http://notonetogossipbut.blogspot.com/2009/05/need-advice.html

It's from May last year, and it's me yabbering on about the tattoo I'd finally decided on. Well, given that now is the perfect time for an image upheaval, and I've already got the new wardrobe and the new hair, I figured I'd procrastinated enough. I can't decide wether it counts as impulsive or not, when you've been planning it for over twelve months, but when the actual decision is made the day before, thats gotta count for something, right?

I made the decision to get my shiny new tattoo before work yesterday, and excitement gave way to terror pretty much the moment I walked into the premises and saw the locals. Tattooed scary people who's topics of conversations alternated between mercenary friends that love killing people and sexual practices I don't think even have names yet. So obviously, the homosexual sitting there wanting a Batwoman tattoo felt slightly out of place. But, I was there, and figured I might as well see it through, and half an hour later, had this to show for it:

First question people tend to ask: Did it hurt? And the answer is, fuck yes. It really, REALLY hurt. But after a while, it kinda just became a pain you're comfortable with, and at no point was I tempted to yank my wrist away like I was worried I would. I figured you never see people with half finished tattoos because they couldn't handle the pain, so it mustn't be TOO bad, and I was right. You know that good pain? It was that. (By "good pain", did I just reveal a little too much about myself? Oops.) To the point where when she asked me if I wanted her to go back over the outline, I said yes, instead of trying to end it as fast as possible.

Second question tends to be: Does it mean anything? And the best part is, yeah. It does. I mean, there's the obvious "Batman" level on which it's awesome (well, Batwoman, but still. There's a connection). But like most good symbols, there's a far deeper meaning to it which I feel is important. It sums me up, as well as my life outlook, and it's suitably wanky, as well. But I didn't just get it because it's pretty, which I think is important.

And you know what? At the end of the day, I have this on me. Forever. And I'm pretty damn happy with that!

Note: Dried blood NOT permanent addition to tattoo...

Letting it lie

So, I've been tempted to come on here for a while and talk a bit of smack about the break up. You know, new information has come to light, and as I'm want to do, writing about is my way of dealing. But I've decided against it. Bitter isn't a good colour on me, and I'd much rather take the moral high ground and do the classy thing. At least once. So, sadly, despite this essentially being a gossipy blog, there will be no dirt dished, or mud slung.

Let's just move along and be better people. And bitch about Lindsay Lohan going to prison. Because isn't that more entertaining??

Masculinity Aplenty!

You know that lesson everyone tries to teach you, when you buy your first car? That one where they think it's SO important that you know how to change your own tyres, should anything ever happen, and you sort of stand there thinking "Surely SOMEONE will do that for me, right??" Yeah, turns out thats one of those things it helps to pay attention to. I know, right! I'm as shocked as you are.

So I discovered this life lesson, as I always tend to, the hard way, when the other day, I was driving to work, and someone in the car next to me felt the need to point out my rear tyre was flat. At first I assumed his attempts to get me to wind my window down were to critique my choice in music (you'd be suprised how often that happens), and I actually would have preferred that. At least I have a standard response to that situation. As it was, I had nothing. I knew I had to get to a service station, which fortunately, wasn't difficult, but from that point on, I no longer had the situation under control.

First, I had to attempt to pump up the tyre. Despite the fairly obvious flatness that was apparent, even to other motorists. In my mind, this was pretty much going to solve everything. Stick the pump thingy on and continue on my way. Sadly, and as is a repeated theme in my life, it wasn't that simple. Because no sooner did I pump it up than the stupid wheel deflated again, before my very eyes. Just like in a cartoon. I didn't even know tyres WORKED like that.

So, in my infinite wisdom, I decided to drive somewhere to buy a new tyre. In hindsight, this plan may have been slightly flawed, but it seemed solid at the time. Of course, it took about five minutes for me to realise my wheel was about to fall off, and I'd need to take matters into my own hands. By changing my own tyre. Sigh.

Now, heading to work, I was dressed pretty well. New jacket, hair done, fancy rainbow cons... none of these things are conducive to manual labour in the rain, especially when you don't actually know the first thing about what you're doing.

Suprising EVERYONE, I actually managed to change the tyre. Successfully. With a minimum of fuss. But lord it was a trying half an hour. I was struck with the ridiculousness of the situation when I finally managed to locate my car jack thingy (who knew the boot had a false bottom! Ingenious!) only to find it was covered in glitter. I'm fairly sure that's not a common complaint amongst most car-minded people. Seems appropriate in mine though...