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Category Archives: Land Down Under

Nonsense

So, apprehensive time, y’all! I have 43 days until wheels up and I’ve been starting to get a little bit nervous. Why would I be nervous, you ask? Well, something about picking up and starting a whole new life is a bit nailbiting, but that’s really not the main reason my panties are in a bunch. You see, I am worried people will think I’m weird. I mean, I know I’m weird, but here people embrace my weirdness, mainly because people here have really no damn room to talk because ain’t nobody sane and normal round these parts.

But the thing is, I’m leaving a world where morbid humor, put downs and cussing is a standard norm. I don’t think there has ever been a time we talked to one another without mean words and snide remarks. Because that’s how we bond. And since I used to be a sailor, I tend to cuss like one. In fact, this is pretty much me most of the time

And that’s pretty much how we also communicate. It’s not for lack of word or smarts (for some of us), it’s just the way things are.

Also, I tend to speak in song lyrics. Like, if you were to say “Knock three times”, I would bust out with this

Sometimes I quote Tupac for no other reason than to be stupid. I like to switch back and forth between British and American accents. I speak with a Southern accent when I say something retarded. I like to move the emphasis on syllables so words sound different and retarded just because I can. I like to use the phalanges as opposed to fingers.

Kate Middleton LOL’s amuse me, even though I pretty much adore Princess Shinylocks.

Just utterly fantastical

Speaking of the word fantastical, I like to make up words. If Shakespeare can do it, so can I dammit.

I am also pretty much insane. My mood changes with the breeze, I can’t settle down for very long, I’m figgity, I hum when I’m bored, I burst out into song when I’m bored, I act out my writing so it’s more “real”. There are days when I feel awesome and cool, and there are days when I want to hide in sweats and not even glance at the outside.

I don’t even know if I’m worried I won’t fit in. I enjoy being insane, but I don’t enjoy feeling ostracized. I know no one likes it, but I still worry about it. I’m also embarking on another career path, one where I might not fit in and that kinda bothers me. I’m worried I won’t make friends; I’m worried I’ll end up cold and alone.

Me

This is all combined with my fears of getting older and never accomplishing anything worthwhile. Kinda like someone else I know…

So really this is all blah blah blah and nonsensical crap and I really should just shut my face because not everyone gets to have an awesome opportunity such as this and everything is going to be fine and I’m going to be the belle of the ball and this will be me.

So I’m just gonna end this right here. I’m being annoyed by work people and i really should get on the road, even though each time I venture out into the world while here at work, murderous rage take over because more often than not, some idiot is going to be retarded and I can’t just go and wall them up somewhere. I know I’m going to hear some fucknut get mouthy because my officers aren’t allowing them to drive like a fucktard and DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!?!?! and I’m gonna call your boss and then I’m gonna end up in trouble because the cool LT isn’t here today. I also know, I am so over this place, looking at people while I’m at work fills me with hatred and anger. Fuck all this serve and protect bullshit. I’m done dealing with pompous assholes who have this ego problem.

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Battle of the Bulge

Hello, how have you loverly people been? First off, I would like to share the most active search phrases that bring people to this blog with like 4 posts on it: “Who’s awesome, your awesome”, “Joseph Fiennes overacts”, and “Prince Harry’s bulge”. I would like to blast the first phrase because it is ‘you’re’ not ‘your’, okay. Basic little shit like that bothers the hell out of me. But thank you for thinking I am awesome, because I am. The second search phrase is spot on and whichever genius types that into Google search or Bing (ha, no one uses Bing except my punk ass self at work because the US government must have a contract with Microsoft or something since MSN is always the homepage and whenever I try to change it, the stupid computer loses my profile and I have to start all over again. With Bing. Bloody bastards). Joseph Fiennes (remember, about whom we were speaking) does overact. It’s unbearable. And he has no lips. Why does he not have any lips?! And finally, the third search phrase. Miss Sharon World is obviously the one who continues to type such a phrase into the Google search bar. Hate to break it to her,but that bulge is all mine. By the by, this is the first image to come up when you type in “Prince Harry’s bulge”

Clicking on this pic sadly does not redirect to Dlisted. That leads me to believe Michael K is slacking.

Moving on.

For those of you keeping track, I have just a little over 81 days and seven hours until my move to Australia. And starting Friday, 17 June, I start my 40 day diet to supplement my 20 mile weekly walks and help me get back down to my svelte, gorgeous self (’cause that certainly ain’t me now). I imagine on day three of said diet, this will be me:

I say day three because on day one and two, I get to eat whatever my little heart desires. And I plan on eating whatever my little heart desires until my little heart and oversized tummy scream for mercy. Day three and beyond is going to be tough. I delightfully refer to this diet as my “murder diet”, because I have a feeling somewhere around the halfway point of no good food (and no alcohol), I will be murdering some people. Keep an eye out for me on the 6 o’clock news, y’all!

In all seriousness, I am pretty excited. I’ve looked at decade old pictures and am amazed at just how badly I’ve let myself go. I like to blame the hell that is work and Western Washington, but it’s really all my fault. And I’m pretty determined to get myself back on track. Even if it means killing a few people during hunger blackouts along the way.

Walking twenty miles a week really helps. I don’t have that time to sit at home and get bored, which leads me to eat delicious food and drink delicious drinks. My social life is probably going to start to suffer, but I’ll get over it, crying softly in my bed as I dream of delicious cookies and cake and ice cream and hamburgers.

Anyway, Australia is 81 days away!!! I’m so eager to get going; you can’t even imagine. I’ll be able to do this every day!

And dating men who look like this:

Ah, Rusty, where did it all go wrong? You should go on this diet with me. Looking at newer pics of you only drive me to tears.

Now, thinking about the hot Aussie menfolk has brought me to this thought. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t hear how asshole-ish Aussie menfolk are to their wimmenfolk. If that’s true, some Aussie menfolk might get punched in the froat. I mean, as long as I get mine, there might be no froat punching, but if some manfolk thinks he can treat anyone like the crap on the bottom of his shoe, there will be blood.

This is me. You don't want to f-bomb with me.

So I forgot exactly where I was going with this because I did another check of search terms that happen to lead people here, and there’s one interesting one, waaaaaay down at the bottom, and it really just kinda sidetracked me. What is that, you ask? Well, it’s “bulge police”. Who the f-bomb is typing in “bulge police”? Maybe they mean “Bulgarian police”. Or “Bluth Police” (maybe they’re an ‘Arrested Development’ fan and they wanna see Michael Bluth in uniform?). So I decide to do some research, as a good internet user, and search for “bulge police”. Just so I can see exactly what this person might have been looking for. And this is what comes up:

Which, in turns, leads you to a blog post about Anthony Weiner (the most unfortunately named politician who has ever been embroiled in a dick pic scandal).

So, there you have it. That’s all you’re gonna get out of this post. A cavalcade of bulge pics and nonsensical utterings. Now, if i disappear, you all know what has happened. Don’t forget to send bail money.

 

The Countdown Continues

It’s officially 4 months until my move Down Undaa (written as it is intended to be pronounced).

False. I have it on good authority it actually does.

In case I haven’t mentioned this enough, I’m super excited. But I’ve been thinking about what to do when my year is up. I know it’s a bit premature, but it’s my nature. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to come back to the States. I’m pretty sure my purpose in life is to travel the world. So I’ve been searching the interwebs and came across this site. I’ve got a ton of tips; all I need is the green.

Why is this not a real thing?

It’s really too bad independently wealthy heiress is not an actual job position or else I’d apply. Still, if other countries offer the same awesome visa Australia does (where I get to work and vacay during my stay), I might be in like Flynn.

The thought of having no ties to anyone or anything, being responsible for no one but myself and seeing every corner of this globe is seriously romantic and intriguing. And travelling is the only thing I’ve wanted to do with my life. I remember being just a wee lass and wishing we could just drive to the edge of the country and see everything there is to see. Just seeing the word “west” on the freeway would send me into a tizzy and I would beg my mom to keep driving because I wanted to explore. Unfortunately, that never happened and I pretty much looked like a little Royal flower girl when we pulled into our Douglas Road abode.

after every car ride. Minus the cutesy Royal couple.

Of course, this is all really sixteen months away. And I don’t want to have to spend any time thinking about what will happen after my visa expires because I need all my attention to focus on the awesome continent of Australia, filled with hot mens and a truly fantastic friend who has promised all Australian men are Russell Crowe circa L.A. Confidential/Gladiator. 

Sexiest LA cop eva.

Sexiest gladiator who ever....gladiated.

Plus, I found the following on the internet, and we all know the internet doesn’t lie.

Ah…Buddha bless rose colored glasses.

 
8 Comments

Posted by on May 1, 2011 in Chimera, Land Down Under

 

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Well, Hello There

Hello. Welcome. Thanks for stopping by. This is probably my 30th attempt at keeping up a blog, and I’m sure it’s getting just as tiring to all of you loverly people, but I’m bored. And it is 136 days, 6 hours, 59 minutes, 29 seconds (28…27…26…25…and so on) until Thursday, September 1, 2011 at 4:31:00 PM (Seattle time). That’s the time my flight leaves the tarmac from Sea-Tac, which begins my 22 hour and 59 minute flight to Sydney, Australia.

I’ll be there for a year, or until the Australian government realizes what a mistake they made by giving me a visa which allows me to live, work and study in their country full of murderous spiders and hot men with hot accents.

Needless to say, I am super excited. As well as super terrified. But, I’ll be in good hands. Miss Joders has promised to be my tour guide/wrangler.

Joders stunt double.

I still have a few kinks to work out. First, I’m going to need to convince my Chief of Police I need a leave of absence from the federal government. Then I need someone to watch Molly for a bit.  And I still have ten years worth of crap to get rid of. But my final hurdle? My car. I’m gonna need to sell it. Or store it somewhere and still pay the monthly payments.

Anyway. I still can’t comprehend the enormity of it all. Living in another country is going to be insane. And a welcome respite from the insanity that is the American way of life. And I won’t have to see that wretched place in which I work for an entire year.

Not an actual representation of what my PD looks like. Maybe

Every morning, I look like this:

And in 136 days, I’ll be all like this:

This is even better than the marriage between Wills and Princess Shinylocks! (I’m still pissed I will be at work from 6AM to 7AM, which is when the Most Important Marriage Of Our Time is shown here).

Ill schedule our royal marriage at a more opportune time

Im gonna move to Utah so I can be married to both my current husband, Daniel Craig, and Prince Harry. They will be brother-husbands.

And one of the best things ever about moving to a completely different country where they drive on the other side of the road? No more driving. Driving makes it so I have never been more willing to kill another human being. Seriously. I hate every single driver on the road…with their no turn signal using, tailgating, riding on the brakes driving ass. I HATE THEM!

Me. Every freaking day in traffic. Yes, I am a cat.

So that’s all the excitement going on right now. Of course, this is really all the excitement I can stand right now. 136 DAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11!!!1one!!!

I am now off to get a new tattoo. At the mall. Just so I can say I got a tattoo in the mall. Random.

I will now leave you with my new all time favorite song (it has Sean Patrick Flannery in it!!!! It has Sir Todd Bridges as a pervy priest!!!!! IT’S SHOT LIKE A TARANTINO FILM!!!!!) from my new all time favorite band.

If Tarantino actually made this film, I would sit outside the theater until opening day.

I would like to add Sean Patrick Flannery to my harem. Only if he talks in that fake Irish accent he had in Boondock Saints, though. Or wears an eye patch.

 
10 Comments

Posted by on April 18, 2011 in Land Down Under, Oh Happy Day