If anyone still visits here, you might like to have a look at www.bridgeermeesh.wordpress.com

Cheers!

Resurrection of the Hate List.

It begins thusly, with the list of CS's hates for 2012.

- I still hate graduates. And lawyers.

- Women who openly mock me for the fact that I watch Offspring. Because they are way too intellectual and busy to watch something so trashy.  Why don't you remove that pole from your arse and fuck the fuck off??

- The Craigieburn line. WORST TRAIN LINE EVER.  It's delayed, then it's cancelled, then it's jam packed full of spuds.

- When I tell people I work in HR and they say "does that mean you hire and fire people?". Honestly, have you been living under a rock for the last 20 years? I wish I could hire you so I could immediately fire you.

- Attention seekers, especially those who post deliberately controversial statements on facebook. Stop trying to make everyone look at you, and how about shut the fuck up - no one gives a shit about you or your uneducated opinion and your 'five laps of the Tan never felt so relaxing'.

- People who are always "so busy" and "so stressed" because their job/life/existence is so fucking hectic and important. NEWSFLASH - we are all busy and you are no more important than anyone else (especially me), get over yourself. (Note:  I reserve the right to continue to say how busy and stressed I always am)

- People who ask me "when are you moving back to Brisbane?". Quite possibly never because I don't want to live in the same city as you.

- That annoying blonde bitch on the sportsbet ad.

- Seal on The Voice. The way he inappropriately touched all the girls on "Team Seal" after they sang made me vom in my mouth. Keep your hands to yourself you creep!!

Obscure facts about me
- I strongly believe pole dancing classes are a sleazy degrading thing for a woman to partake in
- I would sleep with Kate before I would sleep with Leo
- I would not go out with a man who couldn't differentiate between you're and your in a sentence.

50 Shades of Grey currently on trend book purchase. It’s basically your average pulp romance, peppered liberally with erotica from a woman’s point of view. Probably similar to this generation’s Lady Chatterley, women are reading it with guilty fervour, putting it inside the MX for the commute home, talking in giggly hushed undertones with the girls. I don’t find it particularly shocking; I don’t find the characters particularly appealing, and the prose is…. Well, the author would benefit from using a thesaurus.

However it was this month’s bookclub book so I read it.

And the output of this is my your helpful guide to when 50 Shades of Grey is appropriate reading material.
You should read FSOG when:
- You need something reasonably non-challenging to read
- You have an outlet, in the event you find the subject matter titillating
- You want to know what the fuss is all about

You should not read FSOG:
- On a crowded plane / tram
- When you haven’t had intimate relations since Feb for awhile
- Millsnboonish descriptions of steely grey eyes and people who call each other Miss Steele and Mister Grey irritate you.
- You find the concept of a 27 year old oligarch who looks like an Adonis slightly far fetched.

Find it quite amusing how Melburnians love a good drama – (rain flooding Blackburn station! Commuters wading waist high through storm water! Screams the Age front page). Admittedly, it was a filthy morning, and my work flats are not watertight, annoying. Halfway through the year now, so things are only get better (weatherwise and otherwise)

 And if I stop sneezing sometime this century, I would be grateful and so would everyone else.

Convincing myself to be optimistic

...but God, my bed is cold.

Currently hanging out on or around duvet, reading political biography, trying to coax cold out of my head and nose and generally that way. I have managed to take sheets off bed and make porridge, and have high hopes about my production levels for the rest of the day.

And as my history fangirl emerges, I come across this on you tube. The jury rests.

Definition of stress

Your roof is leaking, you've had an allergic reaction to antibiotics meaning a return visit to the doctor and you are trying to juggle two clients. Oh, the fun. You wonder if vegemite toast will help.

Apparently it's June
Apparently I have my own business?
Apparently the Termi CH bottleo has closed
Apparently I have a sinus infection.

Raining like a mofo this morning; one of the nicer things about being able to work from home is the ability to remain in nighty + cardi + emu boots rather than venture out. I even have a new (old) coffee pot on the stove, so no need to go out into wet and get a latte either.

Opaque tights are very much on right now, due to the boring damp cold of Melbourne winter bearing thoroughly and prematurely down on us. And opaque tights are smart, and generally warmer than trousers, so I have many many pairs.

However, one such pair was clearly not in the reliable category, and has now been  tossed angrily in the direction of my bathroom rubbish bin, due to rolling precariously halfway down my thighs, halfway down Exhibition St, when I was halfway to a meeting this arvo*.  I attempted to walk with my knees pressed together, but nothing doing. The fucking tights, either shrunk in a warm wash or protesting against my NYC undiet, came arolling down aided by gravity. Not my classiest moment, as I attempted to hitch them back up, in full view of lunchtime foot traffic. So not fucking impressed.

That's the only accident I have had today. So not doing too badly. Apart from minor incident with the baking paper this evening.

*Yes, have decided to grace the labour market with my presence again, at least for a little while.

Oh Christ, you're still here? Sorry, forgot about you. Forgive me. Been busy doing, well not a helluva lot. It's been actually lovely, chilling and working to my own schedule. A few leads re work emerging, but it so nice to slow down for a change.

There was a gap in the deteriorating weather today, so I walked all the way up to Preston Market for some fresh f&v. Such a wonderful continental flavoured place. I was told by the mama in one of the grocers that I could not possibly make soup without onion and celery and parsnip. Came back and made mountains of it, and have stored it for winter. Might not have time soon to do such things!

Seems a waste to be working when the weather is so nice, doesn't it? I love the lovely n-cote crew, who instead of eyeing me suspiciously when I say I am not working, shake their heads wistfully and sigh 'God, I loved not working. Best 7 months ever'.

Ok, time to pretend to look at seek.

Back to semi-reality of Melbourne on Tuesday. Days have been filled with sleep, walking, cooking and some organisation. Weather calm and autumnal and blue. Procurement of job begins tomorrow, for at least half the day.

My only commitments are rent and the odd bill, and I am quite good at creating big meals from pulltogethers. I may never have this sort of freedom again, and it's quite exciting not knowing what will come next.

It's crazy, but it's true.

The overseas part of holiday comes to an end, but, given I am not currently working (perhaps even 'funemployed,' as young Maya would say) I am still technically on holiday back in Melbourne.

Best holiday of my life so far. Easily.

New boots (Dolce Vita) really, really hurt after hours of strutting around MoMA, and Hoary insistence on food and cocktails. Was ready to go home at midnight but I should have known.

Just put on 'Arthur's Theme' and started trying to pack (cram stuff in suitcase). Bag came in, sighed, and I mumbled to her that I might need some help. But first for some coffee and a bagel.

NYC, you have the goods to back it up.You really, really do.

'I'm normal though, right?'
'But Bridge, normal's boring.'

Bag is a bad person to ask such silly questions of. And to shop with (not quite a binge but certainly close to it. New ankle boots though. YESSSS.)

Have had enough of food now. Katz's delicatessen (of When Harry Met Sally fame) was visited today, had the pastrami on rye with pickle. Holy fuck, so good. With that and the Greenwich Food Tour (bagel, 'slice', and cannoli) I think I am a bit food spoilt. Trying to combat it by walking for miles each day; but probably ulimately futile and feeble gesture. If I walk back to Melbourne, maybe not so much.

I can see the empire state building from a corner of the apartment. The Baggage's and baggage boy's gaff is 5 blocks from the subway. (Distances are measured in blocks here.) Busker singing Jeff Buckley at the station. Quirky area is Williamsburg, no Starbucks, but I did find a tasti delete.

They are away; so the mice will play.

Big Saturday

Introduced to shopping along Broadway, including, most significantly, Sephora which is like a candy store for adult women (cosmetics heaven). Later, Mini, Baggage and me cavort around West Village, having dinner at 11pm, drinking a fuckload of cocktails (go the freepours, also) and getting handed business cards (men are different here to back home).

Baggage off to California this morning at 4am. Instead of going to bed, she stayed up (and I stayed up, by association), charged with two espresso martinis. She's off out the door at 4am, saying 'It's so much better to stay up than go to bed when you have an early flight.'

I am charged with caffiene and vodka and will be awake for quite some time yet.