The · Mousehole

Kel and I were talking yesterday about people that irrationally bug the shit out of us. It got me thinking about things that generally shit me for no good reason:

1. People who eat loudly - this includes noises made with mouth or cutlery. My god, we have lips. I don't need to hear you churning your food in your mouth like an idiot bovine! Nor the collision of fork with your teeth. Doesn't that hurt anyway?!
2. Renee Zellweiger and her stupid pouty mouth
3. SO picking his toenails. Gross. Get a pair of clippers.
4. People spitting on the pavement. You dirty shit.
5. People who get to the counter at the shop/supermarket, wait 'til everything's tallied, THEN spend ages rummaging about for their money. You stood there mouthbreathing for five minutes watching the poor sod behind the counter earn half a cent scanning your groceries. Couldn't you have been organising payment? Mothers with children are excused. That they can do ANYTHING with a child in tow is heroic!
6. Prams/buggies the size or small cars. I get attitude if I ride my bike on the pavement, but everyone has to leap aside for these fucking stupid overcompensating vehicles at the centre of which is nestled a pellet of a child. Even worse at the markets where a) it turns a 10 foot wide aisle into a one way system, or b) a pram convention with nattering mothers blocks the way for EVERYONE.
7. Absence or inappropriate use of apostrophes. It's not that hard. Really. *experiences panic attack that there's an innapropriately used apostrophe in this post*
8. Sexing up a movie. If I want to watch people shagging in an unrealistic fashion, I can watch porn. Jacknifing to two people shagging in the middle of a story is crap scriptwriting. If sex in a movie titillates you, it's time to get a hobby. Maybe scriptwriting. NB: this irritation factor is absent if AR is involved. Well, that's porn to me!
9. Styx. Jesus. Domo Arigato Mr Roboto, my ass.
10. Windows needs to restart in order to install an update. Restart now? Yes, please cut me off while I'm working then spend ten minutes failing to install a fucking update, leaving my computer limping about like a one-legged flea.

You knows that you're a lot more addicted to coffee than you should be when you're being sick into the toilet and all you can think is "What a waste of a good cup of coffee!"
I've gotten myself a netbook.  I call it Minilith.  I felt it necessary to get one because it enables me to slink off and type stuff in private without SO bursting in and sticky-beaking.  He's already eyeing my netbook, wanting to make it faster, higher, stronger.  Of course, the cat doesn't like this idea.  She sees Minilith as an intruder on her lap space and has been stridently denouncing it, which means I'm now awkwardly balancing the netbook on the arm of the sofa whilst she's crashed face first on my legs.

I honestly can't recall if I've mentioned this previously, but if you're interested in interviews with a variety of people of varying fame, take a look at Robert Llwellyn's Car Pool.  You can download it (for free) via iTunes as well.  There's a new one each week.  He's got Patrick Stewart coming up soon - I nearly wet myself when I saw the preview.  He's had Stephen Fry and Adrian Edmonson previously, as well as scientists, environmentalists, musicians.  Take a look!

“Mmm,” thinks the cat. “What a week it's been. I got taken to the vet to have my teeth cleaned so that none of them have to be pulled out, and have my claws clipped whilst I was unconscious so that I don't get caught on the carpet, sofa and people's clothing; procedures which cost $450. Whilst on the 3 minute trip to the vet I felt it necessary to kick up a stink, spew and shit myself, making everyone else (except my owners) feel sympathetic to my dreaded plight. When I got home, I acted as if nothing had happened until after I was fed, at which point I'd flee at erratic times and hide downstairs as if someone was about to beat me with an old shoe. Wandering around the house this morning, I thought I'd ice the cake and piss in the laundry basket, because God knows, my clean litter tray just wasn't good enough. I then proceeded to hide because I knew I shouldn't have done this.”

Of course, the issue is mine. I expect the cat to act with some kind of rationality, forgetting that she is, in fact, an animal with a brain the size of an almond, but HOLY SHIT WHY DID SHE PISS IN LAUNDRY BASKET?! It defies logic! But there I go again, attributing to a cat the kind of intelligence I often find lacking in humans a vast majority of the time.

And before anyone gets concerned, the only retribution the cat will get is me glaring and shouting. There will be no hitting or kicking – I don't do that. This cat gets taken to the vet every 6 months for a plethora of jabs and checks. Her diet is carefully monitored. She gets brushed every day at her insistence, and she's spayed and microchipped.

The smell had better come out of the clothes or there'll be a lot more glaring and shouting!

"The initial inspection has concluded that your media has suffered extensive internal damage."

$1000

My ass. Maybe if I was BHP Billiton.

I think Warner Bros needs to spend a bit more time rectifying certain screenplays than being a killjoy.  But I guess that's how it is in "the biz"... find a cash cow and protect it like a stupid little dog growling at anyone who even LOOKS at its bloody dinner.

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Fuck, I hate clowns.
Why is corn smut so scary to people? Surely it doesn't leap out at you when you de-husk a corn. Sure, it looks ugly, but then so does diarrhea.

Our cat is possessed.  Periodically.  As soon as the cat cage comes out of storage, it's a race to the vet before she works herself up into a frenzy during the 3 MINUTE car ride and spews.  I thought it'd be alright this morning.  She's going in to get her teeth cleaned, and her claws clipped whilst under anaesthetic because she's a total witch about having them clipped.  No food or water before an operation, hence no spew material.  But no.  The rat bag manages to shit herself in the car, then hork up spit all out of the door grille of the cage and onto the vet floor.  Anyone would think we'd been driving like Bodie and Doyle to get her to the vet!  Now we must explore sedation options for future car rides.  And I always feel like a heel when we walk into the vet's with a cat who's yowling and soiled herself at both ends... like we were abusing her or something.  "Awww, poor Cushion," say all the vet staff while SO and I stand there, ashamed, wondering what the hell we're doing wrong to cause demon-cat-itis.
And the bill today: $450.

I do enjoy a Sunday morning breakfast at a cafe where the waitress forgets part of my order and gets another part wrong while the guy on the table next to us has a voice that can cut through steel.  I thought the cockroach on the wall was a nice touch, as well.

No real update. SO's going to be talking to data recovery companies today to se if something can be clawed back from my failed hard-drive. A hell of a lot of my drawings, comics and photos are lost to me otherwise.
I'd also like to thank b for sending me this: It's somewhat correct, but I still love cricket.  Just you wait, you've been turned to AFL... given long enough and a visit during the right season, we could turn you to cricket as well!

The avalanche of computer shit continues to bury me.  Yesterday, a file I'd been working on for a day and a bit corrupted.  So now I have to do it all over again.  Thanks Flash CS4, I always knew you were a shitty, bloated canker on the timeline of your history but  I had almost forgotten.  Thusly, I will be working on the weekend.  Again.  How the ulcer of bitter hatred grows in my stomach.
Other than fun with computers.... that's it.  Work consumes me far more than I would like it to.  I daren't think any further than a week ahead in the schedule or even postulate we may get things done on time lest it all fall apart.  I hate managing people.  I hate looking at them suspiciously when they turn up late or leave early.  I hate the thought they might be tooling about on the net when they should be working.  I just want to sit at my desk and animate.  I find myself difficult enough to manage, let alone 5 other people.
*dives back into the oil slick*

In case it doesn't embed: here.

Last night I dreamed about being back at school.  And that I had an English exam in the afternoon that I hadn't studied for.  I had to go and eat lunch in the cafeteria and it was the worst tasting piece of shite.  At that point I chucked a tantrum and shouted "I'm 34 years old! Why am I back at school?  How do I get out of this shithole!"
Now all I need to complete the trifecter of metaphorical dream guff tonight is to dream about going on holiday, with 5 minutes til the plane leaves and I haven't packed and I'm nowhere near the airport.
Crikey dick.

My life is so sunk in work and various obligations at the moment that I have very, very little to report.  Noble plans to do exciting arty things at the weekend fall through because of said work and obligations, or I'm just to knackered to even think about it, let alone do it.
I don't know about anyone else, but I have recurring dreams that I'm sure are pretty good indicators/metaphors of what I'm experiencing during the day.  One of those recurring dreams I had last night.  It varies in some details but the theme is the same.  I'm on a film set.  I have a minor role.  I haven't learned my lines.  And filming starts in 5 minutes.  Thusly, I'm running about trying to find the script so that I can cram my lines something chronic and not look like a total moron/unprofessional.  Even in my dreams I can't escape the feeling that I'm constantly running behind and am about to get flattened by something I haven't prepared for.  It's a reasonably stressful and despressing dream that my brain chooses to vomit up every so often.  It's right up there with the dream where mysteriously I'm back at school, not knowing where classes are, what my timetable is, and having not revised for the exams I'm about to take.  The upside of last night's I-haven't-learned-my-lines dream was that I got to seriously and bordering on almost illegally molest Alan Rickman.  This is an exceptionally rare occurance for me, as some of you may recall.  This is the person who dreams about filling out forms.  Yep, it gets that exciting.  However, last night my brain must have gone to glitch-town and volunteered up something of a rollicking adventure, so I'll take the bad with the good, thanks.  I know which part of the dream I'd prefer to have recurring, though.

Here's a link for some crazy pictures of Sydney in its dust storm today. This one is my favourite, though:

( Kicking up some dust. )