it's not you it's me.

somebody recently left a comment alleging that in order to increase my readers and comments i should talk more about my massive rack and penchant for pole dancing.

i am not offended by the remark, and nor am i adverse to waxing lyrical about either of these topics, as many of you will know.

after all, i do have a massive rack and i am obsessed with pole dancing.

however if people feel that this is all i have to offer the blogosphere i think it may be time for a bit of a break.

and besides, i'm so freaking busy whoring my soul to the advertising world and learning to hula hoop that i can barely find the time to bathe, let alone blog.

so don't cry for me blogospherina, always remember that mummy loves you very much, and she is never more than an email away.

stay dorky.

x

maximum exposure

last week i received a 'bring david hicks home' campaign poster in the mail from wonderful tree-hugging lefty organisation GetUp.

this is what it looks like (except it's bigger in real life. der):






























assuming i was meant to display it somewhere for others to see, and lacking in better alternatives, i hung it on my balcony, at the rear of my appartment.

the problem is that there is only one person ever likely to see this poster, and that person is my very possibly obsessive compulsive neighbour with an eerily strong resemblance to hicks himself.

and maybe his three cats.

so i thought i'd write this here post in order to spread the word a little further than my backyard.

bring david hicks home and give him a fair trial, etc.

pass it on.

hypothetically speaking, of course.

if your 80 year old grandmother randomly gave you $100 and said it was "because you don't have a valentine and your parents died", would you feel like the most incredibly pathetic creature to ever walk the planet?

some like it hot

ladies and gentleman, i believe i've met my match/future husband:
































it will be a love like no other, born of a mutual tolerance for all things spicy.

our children, "jalapeño" and "habañero", will be idolised by kids everywhere, and we will tour the world in a traveling festival of chilli eating wonder.

and who knows, maybe we'll even cure cancer or something cool and helpful like that.

you can leave your hat on

my office, which i share with two very spunky co-workers, is commonly referred to in my company as "the cave".

this is in large part due to the lack of natural light filtering in, and in small part to the fact that the three of us have gone a bit primal since moving in here.

anyway today a colleague sent an email around the entire company to inform us all that he was free for the afternoon should anybody need his assistance with anything work-related.

and being the hilarious ball of original comedic genius that i am, i replied to his email with the following words:


"your services are required in the cave. NO PANTS REQUIRED."


funny stuff, huh?

yeah, i thought so.

and so did every employee at my place of work when i REPLIED ALL!

and now i am currently receiving about one email per minute on average inquiring as to my "going rate" and other such humorous questions.

i will never live this down.

well, until i do something even stupider. and we all know that's only a matter of time.