Ironically, I actually really hate moustaches. HATE THEM. But this is what you get for donating so I thought I’d display with pride. Everyone should donate to this worthy cause!
First, a little something I found on UrbanDictionary.com:
| 2. | amy | 3148 up, 402 down   |
|
to take, hold, or steal your heart. a person who is a soulmate. a good lover.
she pulled an amy on my heart. (she stole or holds my heart)
my heart was amyied. (my heart was stolen) watch out she will amy you. (she will steal your heart) you have yourself an amy. (you have yourself a soulmate) |
||
Yay! Sometimes the internet makes me so happy (usually when it’s not telling me my symptoms point to some horrible disease or that all my dreams are dead).
Last night I was the door girl at a local “gentleman’s club”, which is looking like being a regular Saturday night occurance for the forseeable future. I started last weekend and found it was actually strangely empowering to be one of the few women in a strip club who are allowed (and encouraged) to keep their clothes on.
I like it.
At any rate, last night I was there doing my thing (taking money, stamping and counting people) when the phone rings. I have issues with phones so I didn’t answer it, instead leaving the conveniently-located co-owner to answer. Afterward, he told me it was okay to answer the phone, gave me the appropriate greeting to use, and told me not to fear the phone.
The fool!
The next time the phone rang I DID answer it. And you know who was on the other end? Someone saying there was a bomb inside and we had 30 minutes to get everyone out.
Now we see why I don’t answer phones.
Not having ever received a bomb threat before, I didn’t think much outside of “Holy crap, some dude just threatened me and x amount of people with a bomb…” and hung up the phone once the caller hung up. Apparently what I should have done is leave the phone of the hook, thus preventing the caller from using their phone AND allowing Telstra to trace the caller. Lesson learned for next time (there had better bloody well not be a next time).
At any rate, I called the owner down, a customer heard and started announcing it loudly to all and sundry (thanks, buddy… really). One of the customers left and obviously alerted the police beat just down from the club, so we had the police there in increasing numbers shortly afterward.
The club was evacuated and searched. There was no bomb, of course (as friends have said, who bombs a strip club of all places?) and eventually we were let back inside. We actually ended up having a better night last night than we did last week - and this week we had a bomb threat which cleared the club for 45 minutes and it was raining. Pretty good innings, I think.
Later on in the night there was a kerfuffle outside the front door of the club and a man wound up concussed. More police came (one I had seen before - he took my statement for the bomb threat) and dealt with things… What mildly surprised me was that people just kept walking in past the kerfuffle (which lasted a good 20 minutes from start to police-intervention finish), shrugging, and going on in (after I took their money, of course).
Guess it just goes to show that a concussed man won’t put a horny man off seeing 20 pairs of tits.
You know that old idiom, “It never rains, but it pours?” I’m living it.
For some reason I have yet to determine, the past week has seen me garnering interest from men and boys at an unprecedented (for me) level - and not just through the online dating site I joined (I have pulled my profile down), although that accounts for the bulk of the interest. Suddenly I have become attractive to (relatively normal) randoms on Facebook, MySpace and various other locations. Even men in the street actually look at me now.
It’s a little weird.
I haven’t changed my hair, I’m still wearing the same clothes as usual, still doing my make-up the same. I don’t know, maybe I’m just shocked to be found interesting after years of being ignored by boys I liked at school. Although… I guess in a strange way I do feel more comfortable in my own skin recently, and confidence is supposed to be sexy after all.
Anyhow…
On Friday night I had a date with a lovely man I met through RSVP; let’s call him Mr D. He’s very sweet, funny, intelligent, loves dancing (and the fact that I do) and has the most beautiful chocolate-coloured skin. Skin to skin, we look like Top Deck chocolate (largely because I am very, very white).
We met in the city, went to a bar, danced, had a few drinks… kissed. Oh, the kissing! I think my moral compass is broken (or at least severely impaired) because there were several times during the course of the night that I really considered taking it there if the offer was made. My head was telling me “No”, but my body’s a hussy. Anyhow, luckily we both had the good sense not to do anything more than make out and get a bit touchy-feely before I left to head home. As important as sexual chemistry is, I’d like to know there’s more than mutual attraction pulling us together. But damn! Let’s just say my devious little brain has been in overdrive since I left Mr D to head home.
Completely unrelated to matters of the heart (and body), I have a review coming up at work and I’m having a hard time figuring out how to nicely say “I’m only still here so I have 12 consecutive months’ industry experience. Come January 7, 2009, I’m out of here, bitch.”
… I joined a dating website.
Here’s hoping for some interesting stories. I’m not expecting much.
So…
Greyden and I broke up. About an hour ago. Sort of. Well, not sort of. We did. It was very amicable. He is my best friend (beside my mother) and hopefully that won’t change too much (I’m not unbalanced enough to think it won’t change at all). I adore him.
Ultimately it’s for the best. It boiled down to a few things, but first and foremost was my overwhelming desire to be a mother and wife (I know, those words make boys’ giblets shrivel, right?) and his not having any idea of when or if he wanted those things. There was no fighting. A fair bit of crying (from both of us) but no fighting. It’s kind of weirdly wonderful… I’m sad that I’ve lost a boyfriend, yet I’m filled with a strange sense of excitement - like something entirely wonderful is just around the corner.
I’m going away to Melbourne with him for three days tomorrow (planned well in advance of this, FYI). It would be nice to think it will change things but it probably won’t. I’m (mostly) okay with that. In fact I know given how things are I should most certainly NOT hope for it to change things, because a relationship shouldn’t be based on a holiday. Holidays make everything seem rose-coloured and peachy and then you get back and you’re slapped in the face with all the reasons it wasn’t working…
Not that I have that much experience in this arena.
Greyden was my first real, serious, I-want-to-actually-marry-this-guy boyfriend. Needless to say, my break-up/a holiday will make it all better experience is limited. But I read a lot and it never fixes anything. Not even in Mills & Boon.
Fact of the matter is he’s just not ready to be that grown up yet. Maybe in the years to come he will be and maybe we’ll find our way back to “us”. For now though, we’re the best of friends and I’m happy with that. And maybe the guy of my dreams is out there just waiting to marry me and have 2.5 kids and a nice house and a big dog… Maybe he’s been waiting all along.
Either way, I just wanted to fill in those who care. Donations of cookie dough and/or ice cream gratefully accepted.
p.s. No Greyden-hating. This was a mutual thing and he is still my friend. Haters will be shunned. SHUNNED.
I think I mentioned previously that the dance school Little Sister and I attend holds a showcase at the end of each term to show off what people have been learning in their classes, and to allow the crews to show us what they’ve got. We went to see the previous Hype Night and I was blown away… that night I made it my goal to be in the next one.
Lo and behold, tonight Gemma informed our class that we’ve been asked to perform at Hype Night. I am so excited.
This is a brief video of a teensie part of the routine that we’re going to be doing. You’ll probably guess which one is me, so I’m not pointing myself out. I will say, though, that I need to stop wearing super-baggy clothes to dance cos they just hang off my curves and do nothing for me.
My dance diet starts tonight - junk food is banned from here on in.
WINNER!
Hey folks,
My apologies to anyone who missed me on my hiatus (sprinkled across the world - nay, the universe - as I’m sure you are**, hahaha!). I did try vlogging a couple of times but Viddler (my service of choice, although I can’t quite recall why) kept dropping out when I tried to upload my wonderful creations***. Trust me when I say, though, that Viddler did you all a favour.
Life since my birthday has plodded on in much the same fashion as it was plodding before my birthday. My birthday itself was fairly good - certainly well above my average birthday drudgery. My party went off almost completely without issue and I was liquored up without cost to me all night. This worked wonderfully until someone (I’m still not sure who entirely) decided it was a brilliant idea to do chartreuse shots.
For those who haven’t had the [dis]pleasure, chartreuse looks, smells and tastes like perfume. And not nice Jean-Paul Gaultier perfume (my scent of choice, hint hint nudge nudge), but the dirty ten dollar bottle you pick up for that relative you don’t really like because, hell, you can’t get them nothing.
I have next to no backbone as it is, and it decreases exponentially as the amount of alcohol in my system rises (oddly enough). When the boys brought the shot glasses over to our function area, I made it known (a tad too loudly, I’m told) that I was already suitable sozzled and did not feel that chartreuse was a good idea. I had been on a steady bender of a lovely rosé up until that point and - although quite saturated - I felt fine, if a little unsteady (and loud - apparently I was discussing strippers and masturbation (not my own) in front of my mother)…
Point? Oh, yes…
I didn’t want to do the chartreuse shot but I did it anyway because I don’t have a backbone and my feeble fight was quickly quelled. They gave me a swig of beer to chase it down with.
I hate beer.
Needless to say, within about ten minutes of that fateful green perfume-shot, I was hunched over the toilet bowl expelling it and the finger food I had consumed earlier in front of one my closest (but still fairly new) work friends as she held my hair back for me. From that point onwards, I felt dizzy and awful which serves me right (though this did not stop my whining at length about my state). By 12am I was at home, showered, and in bed getting some of the best cuddle action I’ve ever had.
Something few things know about my partner is that he is a wonderful person to have around when you’ve had far too much to drink. Granted, this has only happened to me twice (and I’m not keen to repeat it, FYI) but on both occasions he has taken wonderful care of me and I have woken the day after with not so much as a trace of hangover.
Apparently I should have felt awful the day after my party. I didn’t. SB from work was most disappointed, as she felt it was fair penance for my antics the night before. Perhaps I just don’t drink enough (my mother would argue otherwise) to get hangovers?
At any rate, that was my birthday. It was awesome.
I had a week off work in the lead up to my birthday and was really, really hard to go back to work after having that time off. It doesn’t particularly help that things and team members have been changing and not necessarily for the better (in my opinion). The honeymoon period has ended, which is to be expected, and I’m getting really annoyed at the little quirks and other eccentricities (scratch that, I think you have to be cool to be eccentric) scowl-inducing habits of certain people, but hell I like having someone/thing to keep my career-bed warm.
Some days I am just biding my time - I’m already six months through, twelve months experience is just around the corner. Other days (last Friday, for instance) it is almost enjoyable again. My direct manager has said that once we hire another web developer I will be taken off priority for web-based stuff (i.e. the boring coding yuckus) and be free to exist in a graphics and layout world I have only dreamed of until now.
Okay, so it probably won’t be that exciting, but any step up from the dullness of what is currently my role (no creativity involved at all in most cases) is worth celebrating. All that’s left now is for me to get myself poached into the marketing team which, if I heard correctly in my interview all those months ago, was my previous manager’s plan for me all along. If SB has her way, I’ll be poached sooner rather than later. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
In a similar vein, I have been seriously contemplating starting a little something on the side, freelance-wise. I’ve been looking around and having seen what people will pay money for (some of it is just hideous, and you don’t have to be a designer to see that) I think I would make a killing if I can just figure out how to market myself correctly… More on that at a later date.
Dancing is going well. I’ve fallen in love with jazz, decided I don’t really like modern or contemporary (except to watch), and am slowly returning to a certain level of goodness in hip hop. Next term I’m aiming to tackle burlesque and truly unleash my inner sex kitten. Little Sister and I went and watched our dance school’s showcase night at the end of May and I was blown away by the burlesque performances. They were incredibly sexy but somehow not entirely smutty. It had my name written all over it.
I have decided that once I reach my goal body-shape, I will reward myself with this, and I will look freaking awesome. There will be pics - don’t even try and stop me!!
In short, I’m ba-a-a-a-a-ack!
* Hahaha. Not.
** I’m pretty sure you’re not. And I’m pretty sure if you didn’t pick up that I was being hugely sarcastic that there may be something wrong here.
*** Oh come on, you know they were awful.
But I’m in a bad headspace. I feel like this:
I will find my way back when I pick my self esteem up off the ground.
Yay! It’s my birthday. I’m go’n party llike it’s my birthday!
