famous last words in the last three days

How hard can it be?

Turns out that waxing your own legs takes some measure of skill — or at the very least practise. Or perhaps just patience. None of which I can claim. So I am currently sitting here, with one leg scabbed with the straggling remains of blue wax which is too thin to peel off in a strip. Wax doesn't wash off in water. I don't have any oil in the house. And guess who can't be stuffed even thinking about waxing the other leg now?

I'll just check out the jackets.

Problem being, the hot dresses and flirty skirts were between me and the jackets. And while I did not find any jackets, I did find some hot dresses, and flirty skirts. Upside: I have new clothes to wear to work tomorrow. (Hint: I'm going to be very Melbourne.) Downside: I will not be able to afford, er, to eat this week.

Yeah, sure. I could do with a drink. Just one, yeah?

Whenever I agree to "just one" drink after work, I never get to bed before 1am. This is because alcohol, charming and wily little chemical that it is, alcohol hunts in packs. Agree to just one and they all line up behind the first, sneaking into your blood stream, and before you know it it's been 7 hours and you're standing on the curb, swaying. Just a touch. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure I participated in a conversation which solved ALL the world's problems. All of them. Uh-huh.

28 February 2010 @ 17:37 | 4 Comments

the real marvel? no sunburn!

Briefly first (so I cannot be accused of being entirely neglectful (only mildly so)), there is a quick interview with me as part of the Snapshots 2010 on Rachel Holkner's blog.

(One day, I will learn how to segue gracefully even when too tired to do so. This is not that day.)

Yesterday, my car being in need of a drive, I ventured to Werribee Open Range Zoo. Those of you who've followed this blog for a while may well remember last time I went to the zoo (the Melbourne Zoo), it was to be treated to a concerted snubbing by every animal inhabiting said zoo. I have never seen so much animal butt in my life as that day.

Thankfully, yesterday's trip was not all about the animals turning their backs on us. No, yesterday's trip was all about the expressions.

I'll have you know, the lady camels go wild for this

I couldn't get a girlfriend. So they put me in with the kudu. Now I'll never get a girlfriend.

Do you MIND?

Aw! So Sad!

Effing nekkid monkeys.

HMPF!

Did we, or did we not, just tell you lot to SHOVE OFF?

I AM magnificent, aren't I? Ignore the weedy hindquarters, please to be concentrating on my MAGNIFICENT visage, thank you.

21 February 2010 @ 9:57 | 4 Comments

yes, this is how i spend my creative energy – what of it?

We interrupt our normal blog practices to briefly toot my own horn: this GoodReads review popped up in my browsing this morning, and I can't decide what I love more: the shelves she's chosen (books worth your time! kick ass heroines!) or that she's read the book twice in the space of two weeks. It's a good way to start the day. (Ladies and gentlemen, your author, quietly glowing for the rest of the week.)

But now, people, on to matters of EXTREME importance: Nutella: Bread? Or spoon?

It has come to my attention that some people, some clearly confused and misguided people, think this hazelnet paste is to be used solely as some kind of spread, and that it is indeed best when consumed via bread delivery means. And my response is this: why, why, for the love of all things vegetable oil, would you bother smearing it on bread and thereby making it too dry, when you could just eat it straight off the spoon?1

But, judging from the fact that my family apparently eat all sorts of foods "the wrong way", it is just possible that I'm the freak in this scenario. So, Internets, set me straight: bread or spoon?2

  1. I have also heard of nutella on crepes. I am less averse to this scenario, because crepes are not as dry nor as thick as bread, and therefore I assume the crepe would not suck all the moisture out of the nutella. [↩]
  2. I reserve the right, if all y'all turn out to be freaks who prefer bread to spoon, to blithely ignore you and go on with my spoonish ways. Just so you know. [↩]

14 February 2010 @ 10:25 | 16 Comments

i have since medicated with a generous application of crepes

There are various permutations featuring the following ingredients: Deb, a laptop, an umbrella, and the weather. Some permutations are rather less optimal than others, like, say, for example, today's: Deb, a laptop, no umbrella, and the entire contents of the Bass Strait pouring from the sky in the space of fifteen minutes.

Yeah, that wasn't my smartest move.

11 February 2010 @ 17:29 | 6 Comments

the zombie apocalypse: i'm ready

Yesterday involving some good news,1 last night required celebrating. Which is how I ended up at one of my favourite locals, a grungy pub with a grandiose name in direct contrast with the ubiquitous portraits of Arab sheiks and its decidedly less than grandiose couches and crazy wallpaper and praying mantis mural.

So, naturally, because I was with speculative fiction writers, and we like to discuss the important issues, the topic of zombies came up. LOTS.

And who cares whether it's already a meme2, it is now.

The question is this: Zombie Apocalypse. You choose: Location. Weapon. Soundtrack.

Karen gobsmacked me with the promptness of her answer (clearly, she's considered this issue in some detail before now) and I very nearly pulled my normal stunt when put on the spot, which is to blush, and stammer, while my brain does a flawless impression of a sponge. Luckily, alcohol, while it does kill brain cells, seems to concentrate on killing the shy ones first, so I managed to sidestep my normal reaction and, even better, summon up an actual answer. Which I shall share with you all, because it amused me, although I do reserve the right to change my answer repeatedly and at any point.3

In short:

  • Location: South Yarra
  • Weapon: A machete or two
  • Soundtrack: Mad World (the Gary Jules cover)

Location is easy: I'm always at work, so it's got to be South Yarra. I'm picturing one of those trendy chic upmarket roof gardens or courtyards, full of ambience and dripping with money I don't own and can't seem to find, and full of people who (if they weren't zombies, obviously) look glam and fab and corporate. Because this is up to me, however, I will look better in my knee-high boots than they ever did even when they were actually alive and not covered in blood, gore, and the brain tissue of their (and probably my) work colleagues.

Zombies, zombies, squished and jostling every inch of this placid courtyard. I'll be on that little balcony off to the right, leaping into their squirming, reaching mass. In slow-motion. Naturally.

The weapon I gave less thought to, admittedly. I'm not entirely sure where I'm going to get usable blades, because at work we don't even have knives sharp enough to cut cake. But I just feel that long blades are going to look awesome with my wardrobe, which, as I might have mentioned, is going to be corporate and hawt. And not a little bit schoolgirl anime, because obviously I'm vicariously reliving my adolescence in this scenario.4

I will probably have my hair back, for practicality's sake. And I will be wearing knee-high boots, not knee-high socks. And, um, I'm not actually a brunette. (Oh, and also? Those three in the background look far too surly. They're probably already zombie-food by this point.)

And as for the soundtrack, well, there's not much to say on this one other than: HECK YEAH I'M GOING EMO ON THE SCORE. This is South Yarra, with corporate zombies, and I'm going down in slow-motion glory. I can think of no better soundtrack to underscore this poignant moment.

  1. In my case, it was dayjob related, so I won't bore you with too many details, but suffice to say the past 2 and a half months has been an examination period, wherein every single report I wrote had to be handed in to be scrutinised by no less than 3 people. Who each gave me a mark. And then all those marks added up. And in order to pass the exam, I had to score a minimum of 95% — which, yes, is INSANE, and possibly is reason aplenty for explaining my strange and frazzled state of late… The good news being that I passed, I passed, frabjous day take that, voice in my head that taunted me with thoughts of inadequacy! [↩]
  2. Seriously, if it's not already a meme, I'd be surprised — but I'm too lazy to google because I've been awake since 5:30am for no reason whatsoever except my circadian rhythms apparently possessing some kind of ninja-competency doctorate in cruelty. DAMN YOU, BIORHYTHMS. DAMN YOU. [↩]
  3. It's a zombie apocalypse! I can't be tied down! I need to be free! And organised! And have backup plans! [↩]
  4. I am including this picture because it ticks the corporate, hawt, and schoolgirl boxes — but mostly because this picture did actually come up when I searched for zombie apocalypse corporate wear. I do not really see why, but I heartily approve. [↩]

Untouchable Face (Ani DiFranco — Dilate)

6 February 2010 @ 6:53 | 4 Comments

back in my day…

During the recent edits on Shadow Bound, I tripped over my outdated grammatical education. Namely: did you all know that the plural of roof is ROOFS?

(North Americans please to be looking away, since you have always known this, because for you this has always been true, and thus my perplexity may in turn perplex you.)

Okay, back to those of us who were taught that the plural is rooves, such as (apparently) Kiwis or Australian children pre-1980's,1 I have one thing to say about this new development: DO NOT WANT.

Australians pluralise elf and hoof to elves and hooves respectively — why have we decided to make roof an exception to this rule? WHY? It's not as if English needs yet another rule that only applies sporadically, is it?2

Sigh. Too bad I wasn't consulted in the vote.

  1. for the record, my grammatical education was decidedly NOT pre-1980's. Which means one of two things: I owe the majority of my grammatical er, excellence, to my mother, or I went to a school that was a little slow on the uptake. [↩]
  2. No, I have nothing of actual merit to say on this issue. What did you expect? I'm a writer. I'm allowed to posture dramatically over grammar, aren't I? [↩]

31 January 2010 @ 18:26 | 2 Comments

awake: not a patch on asleep

So I told myself, when I finished the edits, I would not write a word, not a single word, before Saturday. Five days off. Obligatory and compulsory and well-deserved.

But you know what my brain is? Contrary. Because I barely made it through two days before this girl spoke up inside my head with the first line of a novel. Yeah, I'll just tack that idea on to the list of the umpteen novels already waiting in line to be written, shall I?1

So instead I give you people a video I was sent today which made me laugh.


Nobody's looking for a puppeteer in today's wintry economic climate…
  1. Through a monumental effort of will, I have not actually started writing this new novel — because the faerie novel needs finishing first, and because I really do need a bit of a break this week. Conscious but very little more and all that. [↩]

21 January 2010 @ 16:56 |

gotta tell you: liking this doing-nothing schtick

Today I bring you: a title!

Book 2 of The Binding — which I have previously been referring to by such monikers as Book 2, Pledged, the rest of Matilde's story, and "that effing car-crash of a narrative" (you know, when I'm feeling particularly affectionate) — shall henceforth be known as Shadow Bound.

I'm very happy with it, and not only because pretty much every title I could think of with Queen in it started to sound dreadfully, er, steamy. So going with Shadow for the linking element? Good thing. (Titles. They're hard.)

In other news, today, in stopping to let me board, the tram stopped directly under the insulated point, and couldn't start again. The driver tried all sorts of strange and mystical things like peering at the roof, adjusting the side-view mirrors, sitting down so heavily in his seat that he rocked the tram (not enough), and even jumping in his cabin to rock the tram (not enough). After all his efforts failed … we had to get out and push. PUSHING TRAMS. I have never heard of such shenanigans.

Makes for a good story, though, there is that.

19 January 2010 @ 16:54 | 3 Comments

for i know not what i do

Today's grocery bill: $331
Today's alcohol bill: $60

Now, granted, it was a most half-hearted grocery shop, and will not last me an entire week (and follows on the heels of a rather more thorough stock-up type effort last week), and the alcohol will last longer than a week, but still…I can't help but feel that my calorific priorities are not shown to best advantage this week.

But you know, I can live with that.

  1. At least $5 of which went towards the purchase of a corkscrew, which will come as no surprise to those who follow my Twitter stream [↩]

Please Forgive Me (David Gray — Scrubs)

23 November 2009 @ 15:51 | 2 Comments

never said thank you, never said please

Today I realised — entirely out of nowhere — that I can't remember my student number any more.

I don't know why this surprised me. It has been an entire decade since I graduated from uni,1 after all, and it's not like I've needed to know said number even once since then. But that number marked everything to do with my days for so long, I quoted it so often, I scrawled it on papers and assignments and theses, that it felt like it was part of my DNA.

And now I don't even remember when I forgot it.

(I wonder what the memory cells dedicated to remembering my student number have now been put to use remembering in its place?)

  1. actually, this month marks the decade – hey, lookit that [↩]

Please Bleed (Ben Harper & The Innocent Criminals — Burn To Shine)

20 November 2009 @ 18:38 | 9 Comments
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