While I'm away...

For any curious kittens, I've set up a travel blog to track my whereabouts as I faff about Indochina for the next five weeks.

Email me at teejmahal{at}gmail.com if you want the address, but just remember, no references to this one if you comment on the other one please! Bannination will be swift and terrible.

Apart from that, I'm packed and good to go with two days to spare.

The boy's meeting me for the Thailand leg of it at the end, and I'm almost puking at the thought of not seeing him for nearly a month before that. Aaack.

However! A holiday! A sorely needed one! I'm outta here!


Fare thee well!

Post-apocalyptic ergonomic

Wow.

Some angry little men just tore in, ripped the bejesus out of my office, and pissed off again. Gone. Vanished. Evil fucking pixies or something. Pixies with sledgehammers and crowbars.

I've got my client coming in tomorrow, and I would prefer not to have to say "Ooops - don't slip in the wall stuffing! Hahaha" as I take them to the presentation room, you know?

If this supposed to be a 'modern re-furb', well, quite frankly I'd rather have that dingus from Backyard Blitz make one of his special murals out of spray-painted cicada shells.

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Conclusion: Goddamn pixies can't decorate for shit.

I've done all the dumb things

Update, before anyone panics. Things with the jaw situation seem to be stable for now, so we're just playing the waiting game and doing some more tests in January. No, we don't know what it is yet. Yes, I may still end up looking like a pirate. No, I'm not getting a parrot.

So there you go.
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In other news, last night at the gym I asked a young fellow with the most ridiculous handlbar moustache I've ever seen how much money he managed to raise last month.

He just looked baffled, and I realised to my horror that his upper-lip monstrosity had nothing to do with Movember at all, but rather was a deliberate and self-chosen fashion statement.

I believe this is the equivalent for males of asking a merely chubby woman when she is due and what colour they've done the spare room in.

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Outside the shopping centre at Cooleman Court the other day, an old bent gentleman was delicately (and badly) playing a piano accordian.

I dropped a few miscellaneous coins into his tweed hat as I walked past, and was pleased to see the young Italian gentleman from the grocery store follow behind me and deposit a large note. I thought it was lovely that he was rewarding his local elderly citizens for their contributions to his entertainment throughout the day.

This sentiment was of course ruined when he lent down and loudly exclaimed "Mate, tell ya what - oi'll give ya twenny dollahs if ya'll SHUT DA FUCK UP AWLREADY!"

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I have a cocktail party at the Hyatt on Friday evening. I even have a short slinky little black dress (from my second year at ADFA, ye gods! I can't believe I fit in this stuff again!) to show off my recent body efforts in.

I also have severe frictions burns all over my knees.

It is a result of taking a dive on polished wood flooring at badminton on Monday night, but to hear people snicker at it at work, I'm either a 10yr old who has come off a skateboard or someone who has a MUCH more interesting social life than the actual reality.

So for Friday? Well, I was going for a 'slimmed-down sophisticate" look, but I guess I'll just have to stick with the 'engages in fellatio marathons whilst kneeling on cheap cane matting' effect instead.

"Roorooroorooroorororoooorooroo!"

What a bizarre evening.

I was feeling a bit woogy after all the stupid tests and blood-taking yesterday, so Foo and I decided to go have a huge steak dinner to fill me up again.

Then, because I was antsy about not going to the gym, we went and did a lake walk instead.

^ NB: 'around' the lake, not 'on' it. Although, I am that good you know.

Foo does the lake walk a lot. If he's out of the house and I ring him in the evenings, chances are I will hear him clomping and huffing into the phone as he trumps along. I always ask him if he's met any nice girls, but alas they've all had something wrong with them. Weird nostrils, or somewhat.

(He's fussy.)

Last night however we did the full length of Commonwealth Park and up past the King's Avenue bridge around to the Boathouse. And then back.


And on the way back we saw two strange figures on a park bench.

Now you often see couples canoodling in the park late at night - nothing new there. This, however, was a whole new level of canoodling.


In the brightly lit area just next to Stage 88, about 6 or 7 metres from the main walking path, what I thought was a guy wearing pale coloured chinos turned out to be a man with a pale coloured bare arse and his strides around his ankles. His naked companion, reclining on the park bench, was keeping his hand warm for him (if you know what I mean) while she was extended the same courtesy with her hand cupped between his legs.

No shame, no hesitation - they didn't even flinch or look up when we scurried past giggling and gasping, scant metres from their bobbing nekkid booties.

They were seriously going for gold.

Now neither of us are what you would call prudish, but we have our limits. The fact that this couple were in such a well-walked and well-lit area leaves no hesitation in my mind that they were actively trying to be seen.

Dear me, well I never, etc etc.



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The second fun thing occurred while driving home, just past the Defence College in Weston.

As Foo was sleekly tearing up the road I caught a glimpse of a pale blob moving on the side of the road.

My first thought was "Oh not ANOTHER naked arse", which quickly changed to "Dear me! That seems to be a large hopping marsupial on a direct collision course with our vee-hickle!".

What came out of my mouth was:



"ROOOROROOROOROOROOROORROOROOOROOOROOROO!!!"



Thankfully Foo managed to interpret my manic basset hound impression properly and engaged the ABSs with a screeching jolt.

The stupid animal in question took one look at the car coming towards it, froze, and then flopped on its side in our direct path.

We didn't even hit it! It took a dive!

It wasn't dissimilar to the obstructive flopping-in-your-path that Feargal does when she wants a belly rub.

(Behaviour which greatly alarmed a house guest, until I told him that

he simply has to give in and rub the damn belly, at which point she'll

stop harassing you and you won't end up with a broken toe)

So either Feargal's been teaching the local wildlife tricks, or it slipped on a banana peel. Either way, it looked really really stupid.


Roo got up, looked around, and scurried away over the roundabout. Foo thanked me for my insane Scooby-Doo impression, and out of gratitude granted me a single point-out-a-parking-spot-in-car-park privilege, which is something that normally drives him utterly bugshit.



(He was also somewhat edgy when we got home, and wanted to head back to the park with a camera. He claims it was merely to provide me with an accurate record for my blog so people wouldn't think I was fibbing, but I wonder...)

Here we go again...

Sorry for my extended absence. Stupid shit going on.

I just lurve my wonky bone tumour-prone genes. Thanks mum! Thanks dad! Thanks for probably conceiving me in a vat of radioactive waste and making me a freak!

(My life = 'Oh look! Another disfiguring fast-growing lump! It must be a Wednesday!')

Just got back from the doctors (another appt. tomorrow) and am currently kicking the wall because what good is all this work to get my damn body in shape if I'm just going to end up with another hideous surgery scar?

(My life = 'Well, I'll most likely have to wear a rice sack on my head for the rest of my life but damn I have a muscular arse!')

A facial one. Three inches along my jaw bone, most likely.

Pray for a cyst or an abscess, people.

(My life = 'Eww. Never thought I'd be saying that, but it's a fuckload better than the alternative')

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Will update when I know more.

Teej "Just call me Frankenstein! Haha!" Mahal

(Grumpy and Freaked-Out Artist's Impression)

Most stereotypical female blogger post ever. EVER!

I've been in a pissy mood all day.

Not depressed, not angry, not rational... just peevish. Pissy.

Like I want to pinch small children and animals. Hard. And then twist.

I've been debating whether to write this post or not. When I reanimated (iiit's aliiiive) this tired old blog, I didn't really have a clear direction in mind for it.

Was it going to be as glaringly personal and raw as the old teejmahal.com? Or was it going to take a more mature turn, and finally put a lid on the emotional babbling of former years?

If you write a blog that has a 'funny' label attached to it, there's a pressure to maintain that image. People expect lighthearted flippant and snarky writing, not raw honesty. And I felt like I needed to do raw honesty for a bit.

So instead, I haven't been writing anything.

Good solution. Dickhead.

The reason I am in a pissy mood is that I have been working my ass off in every sense of the word for the last few months.

Career wise, I have transitioned to a permanent employee with my company, doing my dream job (after two years as a pond scum but rather highly paid contractor), so that's going really well. I'm even doing my Masters next year. Aaagh.

Personal life wise? Well, I'm getting there. I have a crush. Ahem. A bad one. Although I must admit I'm enjoying have that tingling, stomach-fluttery feeling when you see a particular someone walk into a room and smile at the sight of you. I haven't felt that for oh...about six years. I've dated quite a few guys during that time, sure, but that feeling? That level of attraction? That's rare for me.

(The obscure reference I made in an earlier post was about this guy. He's a champion (read: Australian rep) cyclist, and during a lunch together a few weeks ago my mouth ran away from my brain, as it is wont to do. I started telling him about how I needed to buy a new bike (I don't) because I was quite interested in getting serious about cycling (I'm not) and could he please help me choose one? AAAAAGH! SHUT UP MOUTH! YOU DON'T MEAN THESE THINGS!!! STOP ACTING LIKE A DIPPY SCHOOLGIRL!!! So the other day he perched on my desk with a catalogue and pictures and babbled stuff about carbon frames and model hybrids and 278 gears, while my face went green at the price tags. They'd want to be designed by NASA to cost this much. What the hell am I doing? SHUT UP MOUTH!)

However, the main changes I've been making in my life at the moment have been around my health.

That nasty stomach surgery earlier in the year really threw me. I don't have the right temperament for invalidism, and I didn't handle it well - especially when all I could do was eat soft foods and moan on the couch. Recovering from that, combined with ongoing problems with my torn hamstrings and my stupid popped shoulder, and that thumb that had to get sewn back on (fuck I'm a mess) meant that the extent of my fitness routine was half-hearted badminton once a week.

And I was eating food that was terrible for me.

Foo's a food-lover, a brilliant cook and prepares the most fantastic meals. I love them - they are so damn tasty. Rich, decadent, usually quite cheesy and/or creamy. And they're generally all really bad for me, goddammit. Unfortunately I only have to stand in the same room as a piece of cheese, and it will have teleported its equivalent fat mass on to my body. I can't get away with what he can.

He was by no means the sole cause either - I was doing a pretty awful job of it on my own. I was sluggish, and miserable, and chunking up in a serious way. Now, I never got above about a size 16 (AU size which I *think* is about a 12 US - disclaimer: remember I'm 6'1"), but I was in pretty bad shape health wise.

So I finally got the shits, and went to the gym. I've been doing cardio+weights x twice a week, 1 pure cardio (interval training) x once a week, and badminton x twice a week. That gives me two rest days (Wednesday and Sunday) to let my beleaugured limbs recover. I'm finding this quite an easy routine to stick to - it works for me and I have the flexibility to shuffle it if I need to. I've barely missed a single session.

I've been working on my current program for a bit over three months now, but I just had my formal 9 week re-assessment yesterday. The stats have really really thrown me.

9 weeks:
Weight down 9kg.
Chest down 8cm.
Waist down 11.5cm.
Hips down 12cm.
Thighs down 7cm each.
Arms down 2.5cm each.
Body fat down 11%.

Goddamn. That's a lot.

I feel different. I look different. Kinda. I just wish the changes were more obvious. Being as tall and broad as I am (my trainer measured me shoulder to shoulder and basically said to ignore anything to do with a BMI because apparently I am made out of a combination of solid concrete and lead ball-bearings), I need to lose huge numbers to have any kind of highly visible impact.

And that's frustrating. I see other girls who can lose 5kg and go down three dress sizes - I simply don't work like that. I've put on a lot of muscle (most of my weights have at least doubled in that last phase and I'm out-lifting some of the guys), and that will skew the kgs down score a bit. So I'm basically ignoring that. My face doesn't go pink, let alone purple anymore, after two solid hours of badminton. My stomach's perfectly flat and I can stick my thumb under my collarbones. The numbers don't matter that much.

That said, in terms of numbers, I'm wearing size 14 (AU) jeans right now and they're falling off of me. I need to wear a 12, but they're always too short in the legs for me - I keep doing a weird hitching shuffle when I walk to pull them up, because I can't do belts (stupid belly scar). In nine weeks, I've managed to almost get back to the size I was when I left the Navy - I'm only about 5kg off my official discharge weight now.

Man. I was expecting some results, but not this.

And damn I'm in a pissy mood about it.

Huh? This makes you mad?

Yeah.

Frankly, I'm grossed out that I can lose huge numbers like that without looking amazingly different.

I'm grossed out that I had those huge numbers to lose in the first place.

The scary thing? I didn't even realise. I didn't know I'd gotten that big.

Even Foo said it when I showed him the piece of paper with the results on it. The first thing out of his mouth was "Whoa. You were fat".

And yeah, I think I was.

You see, there's only so far you can ride on the 'voluptuous Amazon' tag, and I crossed it about six months ago.

I am, however, thankful that I only had to live like that for about six months. I've caught the slide very early. I'd remained reasonably active, my cardio was actually excellent when I started (all things considering), so it wasn't that rough a transition for me into my new routine.

I'm also really really enjoying it. I love the gym, I love running (shuffling, waddling, whatever) with my iPOD, and I love the sweaty afterglow. I never thought I would. My new program starts tonight and it's twice as hard. It's going to completely kick my ass, and by god I'm actually looking forward to it.

It's killing me to admit all this though. I've always been an athlete in one form or another, and it makes my (shrinking) stomach feel like lead to think that I let 25 years of hard work go through laziness and apathy.

I know I'm heading in the right direction now, before everyone jumps in, but I'm still really angry at myself right now. I'm allowing myself precisely one day of pathetic angst about it before I let it go and get on with things. Bear with me. I'm getting there.


*pinches*

*twists*

*eats cheese*

Typing this from the small meeting room at work that I have been confined to because I'm well into my third hour of a hiccupping fit...

Now, we all know I'm not a political creature, but seriously:

what the fuck?

I have no idea what this insane dingleberry is blathering on about in her mission statement.


(Help?)

Nemesis: The greek goddess of vengeance. (Trivia night question from a few weeks ago...)

I have declared war on that vulture that lurks in the corridors of the Woden Westfield trying to pedal hand and skin cream.

The first encounter was a few weeks ago, just outside Big W.

A sharply dressed young man with a distinct french accent leaped in front of me, wielding a bottle of some stuff, and cries "Madame! Can I interest you!?" I grimaced and did the usual hip swivelling side-step to avoid him. Kept walking.

He changed his tone, stepped back and said "Madame! Please. Wait. Can I ask you something?"

And stupidly, I paused and turned.

Him: "I see that you wear your nails natural..." [translation: 'gnawed to bloody stumps'].

Me: [warily] "Yessss..."

Him: "Does it worry you that you are unfeminine!?"

Me: [In shock] "EXCUSE me!?"

Him: "Your hands! Your nails! They are not ladylike! Does it disgust you!?"

Me: "Look, MATE - I play sport. I do weights. I use a computer. I can't have long nails, I don't want long nails, and frankly I have more important things to waste my time and money on!"

And I went to walk away.

And he grabbed my arm to pull me back.

At which point I lost my shit, pushed him away, and told him in no uncertain terms to leave me the hell alone. How fucking RUDE. You don't win customers by bloody grabbing and insulting them. Chrissakes...

And then, a couple of days later, he tried to do the exact same thing again! "Madame! Can I interest you! Madame! Can I ask you something!"

Gahh! I set my shoulder to 'barge' and just kept walking. He trotted alongside me for about ten metres then gave up.

AND THEN! Last weekend, he was set up outside Jacquie E upstairs. Leaped in front of me again with the usual "Madame! Can I ask you something!?"

To which I put my hand out and said "Mate, if you come near me again I'm reporting you to your company. You are pissing me OFF!"

He fell back with a stunned look.

I guess my mouth wasn't too ladylike either.

I can't stand bullying salespeople. I absolutely hate it. It makes me wonder how many timid old ladies have been pushed into buying shit they don't want because this maggot has hassled them.

Ooooh... cranky.

I have to go there this afternoon to buy a present for my brother's birthday, and if this fucking leech tries anything, I'm going to yell "Fuckwit! Can I interest you! Fuckwit! Can I ask you something!?" and mace his eyes with a perfume sampler.

In a ladylike manner, of course.

Licked By A Bear! And I Wasn't Even At Cube!

For my birthday a few months ago, my parents bought me one of those Zooventure tour thingies for The National Zoo and Aquarium here in Canberra. Shut up. I like animals.

I found the gift certificate under my bed about a week ago, and realised it expired at the end of October. Fuck fuck fuck. I rang them to book my tour, got redirected to the website, which redirected me to the reception, which redirected me to an answering machine. Wash, rinse, repeat. Three fucking times.

Then I just got the shits, stormed in there in person and booked the damn thing in a very cranky tone of voice.

The tour was great, but damn those guys are disorganized!

Where was I? Oh yeah. Tour was great.

First up was the Sumatran tiger. He likes chicken drumsticks.

"Why...hellooooo..."

Please get used to the grid lines. Every damn picture has them. Grrr.

The tiger would stretch up full length and very delicately take the drumstick out from between your fingers. Observe:

Yes, those are my stupid little pink pudgy fingers.

My current crush (because of whom I will probably have to buy a very

expensive mountain bike to impress - long story, another day, another post) pointed out that he was completely baffled at how I can be a mean and

muscular 6'1" and still have hands and feet like a Cabbage Patch Doll.

Who knows. It's up there with the Bermuda Triangle I guess.

I desperately wanted to tickle his squidgy pink paw pads, but the guide chick said Mr Tiger would quite likely eat my face if I did so. I resisted the urge.

Puma was up next. Puma was awesome. Well, except for the dumb bitch who gave her husband a withering glance when he said he liked the 'panther' and said "Duh! You idiot! That's not a PANTHER! That's a PUMA!!".

To which I employed the same self control I had used with the tiger tickling and refrained from shooting her one back and saying "THEY'RE THE SAME DAMN THING, YOU PATRONISING SOW!"

Because I'm nice.

Anyway. Puma. Puma was funny. She'd hover with her paws on the edge of the enclosure and make little rumbling noises like a kitten, following the food with her eyes.

"Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr"

"...watching you..."

Then, when you poked the meat through the grid with some tongs, she would scurry up the entire length of it and pluck it off. It was like watching a really big sleek housecat shred the back screen door.

Very cool

Next up was the vicious beast of a Dingo. Heavily restrained, of course.

I call this one GRIMMLORGG, DEVOURER OF INFANTS!

"GRIMMLORG DEMANDS INFANTS! BRING ME INFANTS!"

"INFANTS...A...A...AND EAR SCRITCHIES! MANY EAR SCRITCHIES!

AND BELLYRUBS!"

Pathetic.

The giraffes were funny - they were two brothers and kept whomping each other with their necks.

'Whomp!'

And I kept cutting their heads out of the photos, which I imagine happens to them a lot. My mind drew a Gary Larson-style cartoon while I was watching them, in which a giraffe family was having a family photo portrait taken, and every one of them had their heads cut off by the edge of the photo.

No, I'm not going to draw it. I'm busy. You can just play with the mental picture yourself. It really doesn't work on too many levels.

They also like to show their butts a lot. Every time I had the shot set up and the focus and everything tuned to perfection, the crafty buggers would do a quick shuffle and I would end up with a picture that looked like this:

I find it somewhat depressing that the best picture I took throughout

the entire day is of two giraffe arses.

There were Elands too. Elands have pretty eyes.

Heh. Wet snuffly Eland nose.

"Durn Eland ett mah durn carrot!"

Oh, the big old lion was next. He was great. He had a very expressive face.

"Why is that...is that STEAK? For ME!?"

*Yoink!*

"Nyum, Nyum, Nyum"

"Check it. I'm so majestic I'm freakin GLOWING!"

There was also a stunning lioness who licked her chops and slurped her tongue a lot.

"Nyerr!"

And some very funny otters.

"BLUHH!"

There was a little kid there who turned to his dad and goes "What are they!? What are they!?" and his dad said "You know Meerkat Manor" "Yeah..." "Well, those are soggy Meerkats".

"BLUUUHH! VANT TO SUCK YOUR BLURD!"

That's a prawn he's catching in his mouth, by the way. He's not actually trying to slaver rabidly with malicious intent. Then again - you never can tell with those soggy Meerkats. Killers, you know.

This monkey's name was TJ. No shit. Look at that - he's even got my profile.

Slurple slurple. Bear tongues are purple and foul. And overexposed.

And my hand stank like rancid bear saliva long after I washed it.

My cat freaked about it when I got home.

But still! Licked by a bear! Pretty cool!

There was also a snake, and more monkeys, and a tigon that didn't show up because he was sleeping (or being hunted for his skills and magic, probably). But overall it was a good afternoon. I really enjoyed it.

There was also a couple of horrid little kids who I desperately prayed were going to get chomped at some point, but such was not my luck.

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I do have some more news coming, i.e big job news. Pretty cool. When I get a spare moment I'll write the damn thing up.

In the meantime, I'm also doing random guest posts over here. I wonder what petty bullshit will come about this time. Ha HA!

Review: Children of Men

Full version coming soon, but for now - wow.

That shit was good.

Even the bits where I proved to be an even greater source of embarassment to Foo than usual by sobbing, then squealing, then pointing at the screen and yelling "FUCKING LOOK OUT! AAAGH! AAAGH!"

I try and make myself believe he shakes his head in affection.