Working girl

Oh man, how do you people do this?

Had my second day of work today and with that I have been reduced to an aching pile of flesh and bones, helplessly slumped on the couch with pathetic pleas for someone, anyone, to please bring more wine.

Considering that I have been well unwound for the past six months, the need for unwinding after a measly two days of work is surprisingly big. But if there's anything I've learned from all those well spent hours watching Oprah it's that you should listen to yourself and to your body. And what both me and my body seem to agree on and loudly proclaim is that what I need is to sit on the couch and enjoy a few glasses of red wine while that vacant look spreads slowly across my face and my eyes glaze over.

So that's what I'll do.
Because after all, who am I to question the infinite wisdom and knol edge that is the Oprah Winfrey show?

On children and not having them. At the moment.

A while ago I read an article in the paper, stating that couples without children are generally happier and enjoy way better mental health than couples who have procreated.

Reading this article, all I could think was: "Well, duh.."

Despite my mother assuring me that I was a very good child, and a very good teenager, I can remember quite a few instances of being a complete asshole to my parents. A spoiled brat, whining and screaming and slamming doors, sulking and more often than not responding to the question "how was school today" by throwing a tantrum.
As you do.

It is obvious that in an effort to keep from feeling hate and resentment for her child, my mother has repressed memories of any such incident.
Which is kind of great news, since I do prefer her to keep loving me.

Being a parent a lot of times seems to mean putting up with all kinds of abusive behaviour that in any other kind of relationship would be pretty good grounds on which to tell the person in question to piss off.
That is however, in most cultures not considered good or even acceptable parenting technique, though I'm sure the children of Joseph Fritzel might have some objections to that statement.

Anyway.
I'm sure I will at some point in my life at least attempt having a child, considering fiancé's aversion to indoor pets and all, but a process that starts with not being allowed coffee, wine or soft cheeses for nine months only to be followed by being ripped apart from the inside by a small persons head?
As tempting as that sounds, I think I might have to pass.

At least for now.
But who knows, maybe it's like how I used to hate olives and now I really really like them?
Maybe all that stuff will seem like fun and exciting in a year or two.
Until then, I will continue to gorge myself on cheese and wine and maybe I'll throw in a bit of mercury laced salmon just for the thrill of it.

Going to the movies just got a whole lot more appealing

It seems Melbourne is caught in some sort of mini hurricane (for about three minutes there, I couldn't remember the word "hurricane" but instead my brain kept suggesting the word "trombone" as the proper term for what dictionary.com defines as "a violent, tropical, cyclonic storm of the western North Atlantic, having wind speeds of or in excess of 72 mph". Yeah, not sure what's going on there).

And for a good part of the day I just saw that as a convenient excuse not to have a shower, get dressed and go see "the September issue" like I'd planned to do. But then, after realizing that I was in fact watching an episode of "Days of our lives" (and not the first one this week I might add...) and having the words "crazy cat lady" flashing before my eyes (why does it keep doing that?) I decided that having a shower might not be such a bad idea after all.

So now I'm back home after an hour and a half of watching Anna Wintour & co and stuffing my face with hand made chocolates (it's a documentary about Vogue, I couldn't very well eat buttered popcorn now could I?) and wine.
Yaha, wine!
Cause apparently cinemas can serve alcohol in Australia.
How, I ask you, is it possible that I did not know this? I did after all receive a "Welcome to Australia"-pamflet when my visa came through, one would think that this information would have been in there somewhere between the national statistics and the helpful tips on how to maintain an acceptable level of personal hygiene, no?

Well, no.

Obviously someone, somewhere, in a governmental writing-of-pamflet type job has a somewhat askew list of priorities.

Does Ruddy know about this?