(no subject)

Oh, I forgot to mention. When I gave the interview today (today still being Thursday in my head), the woman took it in shorthand. She said she'd never had to write "archaeologist" in shorthand before. Heh.


I've just woken up, having gone to bed at 8pm Thursday (I'm going back to bed shortly). I checked the ABC "Just In" news, only to be greeted by the following headline:

British Conservatives choose Howard as leader

What the hell? I think. I read the little paragraph underneath, and I discover that the British Conservative Party (the Tories, unless I'm mistaken. Bet you didn't know I knew that, right? At least, it certainly used to be. *whistles*) have elected a gentleman named Michael Howard to resolve their current leadership crisis.

Still, I'm amused.

(no subject)

This "crazy dip" is the best stuff ever. It's basically three types of sugar, with carbon dioxide in there to make it pop in your mouth. Carbon dioxide makes everything better.

Except, y'know, breathing.

I'm confused, though, as to which bright spark thought that making the lollipop into the shape of a foot would make it "wacky". I don't find that I have any desire to lick someone's foot, and I would expect that few people do, who don't have an actual fetish about it. It is rather perplexing.

I got lots of sleep last night, and that's all I've felt like doing today.

I'm all pink, but because I'm so goff, it's in little places. A small triangle on the tops of my feet (because I was wearing my big chunky, black sandals, under the misunderstanding that it was going to be warm today). A little pale pink bit along my ankles, because I was wearing a long black skirt. A thin triangle from the nape of my neck down my décolletage (which dictionary.com is trying to tell me is a neckline, when I've seen it used referring to what is revealed by a low neckline), because I was wearing my long jacket. ALL ACROSS MY FACE, because the sun is a bitch. This all reminds me why I never go out in the sun. Why couldn't I have been English?

The irony of all this was I was burnt because it was cold. Being the intelligent little cookie I am, I thought, "Gosh, being out in the sun in the middle of the day is a bad idea! I'd better stay in the shade!" But. Because it was too freaking cold, and the wind was blowing the whole damn time, it was either be burnt or suffer hypothermia, and I'm not a one for delayed pleasures (viz., not being burnt/getting skin cancer). Stupid Australian sun. At least I got some writing done. Still, it was only about 800 words, or so, in 3 1/2 hours. I don't know what's wrong with me. Or why I persist in attempting NaNo when I am patently not good at writing lots in a short space of time.

Sigh. In theory, the car's fixed today. If any of you need a car, and you happen to be in Melbourne (or thereabouts), go to some car place on Warrigal Road opposite some park, and ask for Pete, and say I sent you. I think it's about 671A, and is possibly called "Great Cars" or similar. It's next to a pottery place. And is right near a Bunnings Warehouse. And let's pretend I didn't just spell warehouse incorrectly twice.

The photographer yesterday referred to me as "a writer", which thrilled me to bits. However, my da didn't even get a copy of mX today, so I have no idea whether I look a fool, or indeed even if I'm in it. Ho hum.