Into the Weekend

My horoscope today says:

Mercury moves into your sign and you're being given official permission from the Universe to talk and think about yourself, yourself and yourself as much as you like.

It goes onto say something about not becoming too self-obsessed as the risk of pushing people away is high, but I don't think it's relevant.

I've got planetary permission to be all ME, ME, ME, MEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEME! and I'm going to take it.

After my sesh with my boyfriend trainer (that's not getting old yet, right?) last night, I feel FANTASTIC. I feel all happy and endorphin-riddled. I have sore muscles, but they love it. I'm going to tell you he was a lot more touchy-feely last night and I'm going to let my imagination go into overdrive with that and I'm not going to think he was just doing that so I didn't knock myself out with a dumbell or fall off the Stairmaster in a tangle of limbs and sweat. Nah-uh.

Hope you have a great weekend!

Some mindless... huh?

I had this whole long post typed out last night about friendships and how a lot of mine have ended in one big pile of stinking shit, but I got bored with it and did a Facebook search for my boyfriend trainer.

Holy mother of hotness!

There he was in his profile photo, in all his shirtless glory. I had no idea all of that was under the tshirt. I mean, it's not like he struts around the gym with no shirt on (though I really do think he should). Of course, due to the privacy settings, I couldn't do any proper stalking (Facebook, I hate you. Look at what you've enabled me to do), like finding out who the ho in the bikini standing beside him was.

After seeing that, I couldn't concentrate. Anything I wrote sounded mindnumbingly, coma-inducing, boring. I made a few different attempts to start over, but nothing was coming to me so ended up deleting it all, turning off the computer and then the light and fell into another night's fitful slumber.

The post about friendships was how the husband of a former close friend got in touch with me on Monday to let me know they had had a baby the previous week. He wrote "You should get in touch with Sophie. She would like that." I was so tempted to write back and say something along the lines of how we would never have fallen out of touch if it hadn't have been for him and the shit that he caused by saying shit that he had no right to say. But I didn't. Babies take precedence. I got in touch, offered my congratulations and we now have plans for Saturday afternoon.

I'm looking forward to seeing Sophie again but I have absolutely no interest in seeing the husband, Turdburger, again. He can go fuck himself.

In Fletch news, I took onboard what you guys said about inviting him and Lara to my birthday, let it all simmer for a couple of weeks before finally doing something this week.

I sent Lara a short email, just saying I didn't expect her to be able to make it but you know, here's the party, this is the date, if you're there, you're there. If you're not, good. I made it sound as much like "I don't really care if you come, I'm just asking to be polite" as I could, because that's exactly how I was feeling. She emailed back after a couple of days to say she doubted she could make it, but would try. Pfft. Whatever. Don't do me any favours.

So then. That still left Fletch. I wrote out an invitation, scanned it and emailed it to the two of them. I wrote "Lara, I know you probably can't be there but Fletch, I expect you to show." I haven't heard from Lara, but I got a group email last night from Fletch with an article and a link to this site (click on the middle finger and read everything on there, it's fucking hilarious. You will wet your pants, I promise).

So, Fletch, is that a yes or a no? Coming or not?

Good News Monday

University first round offers are made on 18 January, but early offers are made from 27 November. I was looking forward to December, hoping that's when I would hear if I got an interview with one of the universities I applied to.

I got home this afternoon and had actual mail. Paper mail, not electronic mail. I still get a kick out of seeing my name on an envelope. Anyway, I open it up, noticing it was from the Teritary Admissions Centre. I just expected it to be notification of application or something. Instead, it said this:

You have been provisionally selected for admission to Arts/Professional Writing and Editing.

Congratulations on your offer of a place at the University of Awesomeness*!

Fuck, yeah!

It may not be my first choice university, but I don't really care. I got an early offer! Yay! Regardless of whether I get anything in the first or second round of offers, I'm still going to university next year to do writing.

I'm stoked. I fucking love it.

*It's not really called the University of Awesomeness. Though that would be pretty awesome. I'd definitely apply to that one.

Round-Up

Yesterday I sent my boyfriend trainer a text:

"Dude, just letting you know I hate you. I am in so much pain."

He took it pretty well like I expected he would. After all, upon seeing my red face all screwed up in agony while trying to do some ridiculous weight-resistance bullshit, he laughed manically and exclaimed gleefully, "You really hate me right now, don't ya! DON'T YA!!! DONCHA!!!"

Yes. I do.

I had my hair done last night - I'm a subscriber of the every-six-weeks theory, though more out of necessity, not choice. Greys: fuck off, I'm not even thirty yet - and when I came into work, one of the guys called me The Queen of Awesome Hair. I think I'm going to make that my official title now. Change my licence, passport, Facebook name. It's a lot of pressure though, the hair's not that awesome, but it was a pretty fantastic way to kick of my morning.

I'm off to see the B-52's with Jake and Molly tomorrow at a winery. You know, Love Shack... baby, love shack. Love shack baby, love shack. You know? I'm not that fussed on seeing them but Jake is mad for them, so I said I'd go along for the ride.

Hope you all have a great weekend!

Ooooohweeeeeeeee

I've spent now three evenings this week with my new boyfriend.

Uh. I mean, my new trainer. Yeah. My boyfriend, dammit I mean trainer.

Our session tonight was meant to be 45 minutes long, but somehow it turned into an hour and a half. The appointment was for 6pm and I left just after 7.30pm. And I got there 30 minutes before the appointment, so really, I was at the gym for just about TWO FREAKING HOURS.

WTF?

I would never do that....

.... except for when I have a crush!

But damn it to hell, seriously, I am in so much pain! You know how you sit down, right? How effortless that is? I'm doing that spastic-looking thing where you grab onto anything near by to help ease yourself down into your chair. I'm like a geriatric. Washing my hair is a biatch because my arms can't reach that high. I rolled out of bed this morning because I couldn't stand. Trying to manage the clutch is making for some interesting driving. Hell, even holding out my arms to steer the friggen car is a drama.

All that and its so totally worth it! :)

Happy Thanksgiving for Thursday (right? I think Thursday) to my State-side peeps!

Meaty As...

***New Crush Alert!***

Turns out The Meathead is really cute. Really cute. And funny. I was laughing, even when I was doubled over, trying not to spew. Nice eyes. Nice tattoo on his leg. Cute, cute, cute.

I'm so friggen excited to have a new crush, it's been so long since I've had one that doesn't involve Fletch. I'm going to let myself go nuts with this. I'm going to be all 14-year-old school girl about it.

It's not a serious crush. The Meathead's a couple of years younger and seems like a bit of a tool - lost his licence which screams out drink-driving offense, and called one of the guys he worked with 'gay' to his face, in front of me which is a bit odd. But seriously. Funny as fuck. Cute as.

(There's an Australian-ism for you - we'll say "Funny as", "Bored as", "Hungry as," but we never say as what. It's implicit. When I would say it to people when I was overseas, they would be like, "...... Hungry as what?" Makes no sense, but there it is.)

He's no doubt a complete tool and wanker but it seems like he's one of those people who make you feel like the only person they're interested in.

He made me laugh as he taped my hands up and helped me into the boxing gloves. He made me laugh as he made me do sit-ups, him standing above me, my legs between his, his thighs squeezing my knees together. Hawwwwt.... He made me laugh as I sweated like a bitch and my nose ran. And he didn't take me anywhere near a scale and he didn't whip out the measuring tape.

I'm seeing him again tomorrow night. That's provided my muscles don't seize up overnight and I can't get out of bed. I'm going to need to shave my legs tonight while I can.

Fuckarse

Here

I joined a gym last night. I signed a contract. I hate signing contracts. I have an appointment with a trainer on Monday evening, some meathead. He had better not take me anywhere near a scale or approach me with a measuring tape. Just a warning, Meathead.

While I was at the gym, signing up, feeling over-dressed in my work clothes and surreptitiously perving on the hot guys doing hot stuff with weights, I spied a guy I used to go to school with. According to the tshirt he was wearing, he apparently works at the gym as a trainer. Or he's just a big fan of that gym which would be weird. And confusing for the people who didn't know he didn't work there.... So it's probably safe to assume he works at the gym. (I know, from running into him a couple of years ago that he's a personal trainer now, so with two and two put together..... I'm really tired.)

I didn't speak to him, the timing wasn't appropriate, given that I was busy signing my money and body over to the devil and all, but when the time comes I will say hey. I started thinking about him back in high school. When we were 15 and at a backyard party, drunk off one and a half bottles of beer, he went to jump over a fire (as you do) but tripped and landed in the fire, palms down. He wore his hands in bandages for weeks afterwards.

He had a penchant for graffiti, decorating school property with the word Yoda. I don't know why.

He also called everyone 'Fuckarse' which still makes me snort, even as I type the word. Fuckarse.

It's kind of perfect he's now a personal trainer-slash-fitness freak. I mean, what other choice did he have, given his past record?

Strange Behaviour

Things are getting weird around here. There's been the night terrors of late and last night, I was so terrified to fall asleep but you can't put that shit off forever so at some stage, I drifted off. I was so sure that my slumber was going to end in racing hearts and the sweats that I wasn't prepared at all for what did happen.

I woke myself up by laughing. As in, guffawing. Rolling around the bed, thumping the mattress with my hand, can't-catch-my-breath-type laughing.

WTF?

I dreamed that someone had gone through the house and taken all the doors off their hinges and lined them up in my room. Apparently, this stops the snakes and the spiders from getting in the rooms at night time, you know. And it is also quite hilarious.

Maybe I should stop smoking crack before I go to bed?*

More weird shit:

When I got out of the shower last night, instead of drying myself off, I laid the towel out on the floor, got on my back, closed my eyes and felt the warmth from the heat-light-thingy drying my body as I snoozed. I was there for about 15 minutes.

Why?

What would possess me to take a nap on the bathroom floor? I mean, it's clean and all that, but the bathroom floor? Really?

Really time to lay off the crack*.

Sleep Tight, Don't Let the Bed Bugs Bite.... mwahahaha, sucker

Lately I've been having horrible dreams. Truthfully, they're not dreams, they are night terrors. Sure, that sounds a bit melodramatic and I'm not at all, in no way, shape or form, prone to melodramatics. Nah-uh.

But for the fourth time in two weeks, the middle of the night has found me sitting on the edge of the bed, confused and disorientated, with the shakes and my heart racing.

I've been dreaming that there are spiders in my bed. Every night when I turn out the light, I'm scared of falling asleep. I don't like the feeling of pure terror, as I'm trying to find where the bedside light is, wanting to turn it on to make sure there aren't any spiders, but being too scared to in case the sheets are one big swarming mass of eight-legged beasts.

Last night was the worst one. I crashed into a cabinet while stumbling around the room, in a rush to turn on the bedroom light. I took five minutes to calm down and realise it was just a dream. Just a dream.

This isn't the first time this has happened. About five years ago, I used to have night terrors about snakes. Snakes in the bed. In my waking hours, I have a snake phobia. Absolutely terrified. Can't watch them on tv, can't even look at a picture of one. I don't know how this phobia developed, but I know it's out of control. When people say that the best way to get over a phobia is to face it, I shut down. No thanks, I'd rather live like this.

The funny thing about the snake terrors is that I had them almost the whole second half of my relationship with my ex. Snake dreams usually indicate deception. He was cheating on me. I knew it, but I never would admit it to myself. My subconscious wouldn't shut the hell up about it though. About six months after we broke up, he sent me a text message. That night, for the first time in months, I woke up screaming that there was a snake in the bed.

Fuh-reaky.

So spiders? What do they mean?

According to my book with the snake definition, spiders "usually signify a change for the better, a reward after a period of famine (particularly financial)". How can something that terrifies the absolute crapola out of me signify a change for the oh-yay-yippee stuff?

I bought a lottery ticket online today though, just in case.

And honestly, what the fuck's wrong with me? I write about how I'm terrified to turn out the light and go to sleep because of dreams about spiders in the bed, and where do I sit as I write this? In my mofo-ing bed. Good work, genius. Good night.

Elise versus Facebook

Facebook sucks. It's making people suck. Facebook is making people think it's acceptable to make big announcements via their status. Facebook is turning people into bigger arseholes than they already were.

On the weekend, I logged onto Facebook and saw photos of my friends' baby. Newborn baby. As in a day old baby. I didn't even know the baby had been born. She wasn't due for another four weeks.

This is a friend who I have known since I was 18. We lived an hour apart so we didn't see each other all that often, but when we did it was like we saw each other only yesterday. Even when there was three years in between catch-ups. I even spent Christmas with her and her husband. (Even though he makes me want to stab myself in the face. "Hey, that's black." "No, it's not. It's white." Stab.)

They moved to London about six years ago and then to the States last year, so I don't get to see her very often at all, but we exchanged emails just last week about how she was now on bedrest until the baby was born - which, incidentally, they had found out was going to be a girl and had already named (tempting fate, if you ask me) and had tagged the baby in a photo on Facebook. As in tagged my friends' pregnant belly with the baby's name. CREEPY. Facebook is making people super-creepy.

I gave them all weekend and all of today to let me know about their daughter being born. I waited for a phone call, a text message, an email, a Facebook message or wall post, carrier pigeon, telegram, smoke signal, ESP.

Niente.

(That means fuck-all in Italian.)

I really hate Facebook. I hate that it's become a platform for announcing things that maybe should be told face-to-face - or when circumstances dictate, over the phone. I hate that Facebook has let it become acceptable to do this.

Remember the old days when people telephoned to tell you news? Am I being really uncool about this all? Obviously this is the way the kids do it these days, so I must be uncool. Jeez.

As much as I hate Facebook for all of this shit, I mainly hate the fact that my friends think it's okay for me to find out their big news this way. That shit hurts the most. But really, fuck Facebook for letting them do it.