Word Love

I fell in love yesterday. It was quick and fast, and I haven’t done that for such a long time. I wanted to savour it in private for a wee bit, before I announce to the public, my undying love for this thing. I like savouring it over and over, rolling it around the mouth, til I get it right. Remember, tongue and mouth work are important with first signs of love.

I fell in love ... with a word called behemoth. It means fuckin huge! Or if you want the dictionary meaning:
Behemoth (noun) -
1. an animal, perhaps the hippopotamus, mentioned in the bible Job 40:15–24.
2. any creature or thing of monstrous size or power
[Middle English behemoth, bemoth, from Hebrew bəhēmôt, pl. of bəhēmâ, beast; see bhm in Semitic roots.]

Isn’t it a tops word? Rolls off the tongue it does, and make for a lovely insult for those dumb fucks that think reading a classic is a comic book.

Farts

Farts are funny. No wait, that’s not true. Farts are hilarious! Gob smackingly hilarious! Just ask any child, man, man child and quite a few women. I am a woman, and find farts extremely funny. I have always wondered if you fart in a jar then put the lid on, does that capture the stink? I have never tried this, just like I have never tried to light my own fart. I have heard about many mishaps that have happened with people lighting their own farts, and a few have landed themselves in the ‘Darwin Awards’. I don’t particularly want to be immortalised in the Darwin awards for doing something stupid. I am immortalised already with my friends for doing dumb and moronic things to myself and including others in the windstorm that is my own stupidity.

Anyways, back to farts. I have a new job (you may recall the post before Christmas last year). I like my new job, I now really enjoy my job. I am a Chef’s assistant, with a big whoop arse kitchen. I can swear, throw things into the sink with a very satisfying clash of metal against metal and yell at people with complete impunity – I can also fart and belch to my hearts’ content. My highlight will be when I can muster a smelly enough fart, and drop that bugger in the cold room. Apparently it holds the stench for longer (something about the cold and water molecules *shrugs* I dunno, cause I HAVENT BEEN ABLE TO FART IN THE COLD ROOM YET!). Maybe I am suffering from performance anxiety, like a man who can’t rise to the challenge. GODDAMMIT, I WANT TO FART IN THE COLD ROOM. I want to fart then ask one of the boys to get me such and such from the cold room and have them come out almost asphyxiating and turning green or blue. *sigh* fuck me, farts are funny. A friend’s boyfriend (let’s call him Fart Man) put it into words that are now burnt onto my gray matter. Fart Man said “I want you to enjoy farts as much as I do, cause let’s face it, farts are normal body motions, only louder and funnier”. Right on Fart Man, you rock!

PS – I also like to belch. I really really really like to belch. In fact, I like to belch more that fart. But that’s for another post, another time.
PPS – my dog farts. Loud, audible and incredibly funny. He hates it when I laugh at him. Gets all sulky and bad tempered. I keep telling him, embrace and accept that its funny ... then he tries to bite me.

Lord Sidwell

I love my iPod. It is one of the best inventions (apart from vegemite, the toaster and showers). Catching public transport all the time makes this invention a GOD in my eyes. Thanks Apple. It blocks out the sound of wailing children, snotty adolescents and wankers talking on their mobile phones at the top of their lungs - like I give a rats arse what the Mrs is doing for dinner and that you are stuck on a train/bus/outer reaches of buttfuck nowhere, or that you are having sex with that swamp species. And it was crap. My blessed iPod drowns all that out with a touch of a button. Lord Sidwell is his name, and he is slowly dying – well, his battery is. We have been constant companions for 3 years and he has never let me down. He has been to England, Germany, Austria (and other places) with my mother as her companion, soothing her ears with Mozart, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky and that entire ilk, AND he downloaded photos into his storage. He has been half way round the world and also to Tasmania! He has been on long road trips, day trips and had gone to quite a few cemeteries. He loves photo shoots, because he can show off how cool he is!

But now, I face a difficult decision; do I retire him gracefully and buy a new one, or do I replace his battery like repairing a broken heart with a pace maker and keep him going till he finally shits himself and dies. Lord Sidwell is like an old gentleman, always has a soothing song for the soul when you feel like crap or a potty mouth when he is feeling spritely. In technology years, he has become positively ancient, like a 3 megapixel camera – but I cannot bear to part ways with him yet. We still have a lot of music to discover together. I have only just expanded his musical tastes to funeral jazz (he gets off on that, or maybe it’s just his age showing), and he is quite partial to Ella Fitzgerald, Sinead O’Connor, Regurgitator, and the theme song from Braveheart. He enjoys, he does, a little turn of the old bagpipes. Maybe he is a reincarnation of a Scotsman. Maybe I should find out what’s under his kilt. If I replace him, is it acceptable to call the next iPod after him? Lord Sidwell the Second? Lord Sidwell Jr? Or do I name the new one something completely different, like Sebastian Donkeylips Esq?

This is the decision I face, retire an old friend and let him rest in peace or patch him up with the magical surgery of a new battery and have him beat on for another 3 years. God, it’s like making the decision to pull the plug on an elderly relative.

2010

Right, it’s the New Year. Welcome 2010. You may very well WANT to be a better year than the previous, cause I am armed and dangerous for this one. I am armed to the teeth with very sharp knives, and if you don’t watch it 2010, I WILL stab you, skin you and fry you with fava beans. Or maybe stick you on a spit and watch you slow roast with an apple in your mouth. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.

And don’t bother me with your New Year resolutions 2010, ‘cos I am not interested. I have never bothered making resolutions, cause the previous years have learnt that I never, never, EVER stick with the bloody things. The previous years have learnt that I have usually broken every one of the resolutions I make ... usually by lunch time on the first day of the year. Hell, 2010, I have probably broken most before I wake from my drink induced slumber.

Oh alright, I will try to make three, you twisted my arm you bastard.

I shall call them vows.

I vow to have lots and lots and lots of fun; whenever I get the chance. Be it at my own dumb expense or the dumb expense of others. Laughing is fun. Laughing at other people is funner! *smiles* I think this is one that I can keep for the year, don’t you 2010?

I vow to photograph and draw lots and lots and lots; whenever I get the chance. This one I am guaranteed to achieve. It’s a shoe in. Have never failed on this promise yet. Proud of me, 2010?

I vow to eat chocolate. ‘Nuff said. This one is a no fail vow. I think I can hold up my end of the bargain 2010. You, just have to NEVER have a chocolate shortage this year. Otherwise, remember the sharp knives in my knife roll? You do? Brilliant! Because an unchocolated Pixie, is a bad tempered Pixie.

Right, I am off to slaughter chickens and bath in their blood; purely for the reason of keeping my skin looking youthful, mind you. Remember 2010, I have my eye on you and a sharp knife in my hand!