All posts in Life

I’ve got an itchy tummy…

With a bit less than four hours ’till I’m officially 23… I don’t feel all that different.

I’m getting a bit tired, but I imagine that 3.16 AM will do that you do.

I’ve got an itchy tummy… but I’ve had an itchy tummy all week.

What about gas? Does an excess of gas count as something that getting to 23 has helped with?

News Of The World

[url=;title;2]Proving that the world is really sad[/url] isn’t exactly the most difficult thing these days. Everywhere you look, [url=] something stupid is happening[/url].

But every so often, something truly amazing happens. Like the [url=]creation of a new island in the middle of the ocean[/url].
Now that is truly some luck to have been there at the time. Sure, the pictures aren’t the most spectacular in the world, but it’s still pretty amazing.

This blogging system has just pissed me off.

So here I am, writing a blog about how hot [url=]Elisha Cuthbert[/url] is and making comments about stupid celebrity blogs that blast her because she [url=]has a bit of facial hair[/url] when along comes my Firefox and blogging engine and — working together no doubt on the tip-off from those stupid celebrity blogs — goes ahead and refreshes my page so I lose all my blog.

Thank you blogging engine and Firefox, but mostly I can probably thank Windows. No matter what, it’s Windows’ fault. Always.

So if someone is really obsessive about facial hair and say meets Elisha Cuthbert in a Starbucks and you talk and she talks and you all talk even though the medical world is entirely confused how a guy without a mouth can talk… regardless, you get to talking and she asks you out… instead of being obsessive about the facial hair and saying “sorry but I can’t go out for drinks with you tonight, Elisha… your fuzz on your face just turns me way off” you can say “sorry but I can’t go out for drinks with you tonight, Elisa… my Windows installation has fucked up once again and I need to get it fixed immediately. You can come back to my place and we can have some wine, I’ll make some dinner, and we can install Windows together.” Who knows… if that works, you might just be able to see some fuzz of a different kind. One that is guaranteed to turn you on.

Isn’t that delightful though?

Windows can now become the romantic evening you’ve always wanted.

[b][u]Women: [/u]
Are you sick and tired of your man always turning to his World Of Warcraft computer game instead of paying attention to you?

Have you been asking him “does my bum look big in this?” for weeks now only to get the response “provided you’re not a level 12 rogue, it’s all good”?

Are you tired of all his (your) money going into that monthly fee instead of new shoes for you?[/b]

[b]Well the Windows command “regedit” might just be for you![/b]

Wouldn’t that be a charming way to get couples to rekindle their relationships.

A glass of red… a nice roast… roses… candlelight… and a copy of Windows installing in the background… it might be just what the doctor ordered for a relationship.

No more reasons for [url=]dressing up like a complete slut[/url] to try to get more guys to grab your ass to make your boyfriend or husband jealous.

It’s just you, regedit, and the delete key.

It’s so romantic, I think I might start crying. Or orgasming. Both are the same these days.

Like when [url=]Herbie[/url] and I got together… we got [url=]fully loaded[/url] and so smashed… it was just me and [url=]The Love Bug[/url] (as he likes to be called)… we were drinking and doing some nasty shit and then [url=]along comes Lindsay to show us who’s really the nasty one[/url].
Seriously, I have nothing against the way she’s dressed up for Halloween… but somehow, I didn’t think of [url=]Lindsay’s black-panty ass[/url] when I was watching Mean Girls.

Okay, maybe I did… but that’s entirely not the point.

And wow… [url=]how far has Michelle Trachtenberg come[/url] from The Adventures of Pete & Pete? She’s the Snow White, in case you’re wondering. I mean… wow. I wouldn’t watch [url=]Eurotrip[/url] since it looks like junk, but I’d gladly look at her all day.

And then a policeman would likely come and read me my rights and arrest me for stalking.

No, seriously… I wouldn’t stalk anyone. I’m far too lazy for that.

But what is it about Halloween that makes all the hot girls seem even hotter? Must be those costumes. Damn costumes.

If costumes were a thing of normality, I imagine that people wearing regular clothes would be hot when they did. Weird that.

Life is funny. But not too funny. Only funny enough.

Funnier than the Paris Hilton sex tape, though. No wonder [url=]she prefers eating to sex…[/url] have you seen that video? [url=]The Tugjob Of Self[/url] could do a better job than that.

Granted, it wouldn’t be as interesting to look at, but The Tugjob Of Self would likely be better at it than The Bane Of The Hilton Empire.

Crikey! It’s Halloween!

Crack open the bottles of scalding hot oil and open the doors to all the kiddies, it’s time for a barbecue!!![b]– err… what I mean to say is that it’s Halloween… so just replace the scalding hot oil with sweets and lollies and other random crap[/b].

[url=]Dead rats.[/url] [url=]Dragonflies with popped eyes.[/url] [url=]Eye of newt.[/url] Do kids like that sort of thing these days?

Anyway, by the time this post goes online, it’ll be Halloween in America, but not Australia. We’ve already had our Halloween, which technically isn’t ours since it’s not exactly an Aussie custom… rather a fun bastardised American custom we use to pretend we’re cool.

Or something.

Still, it’s a good idea to have a day that’s recognised where you’re allowed to dress up and not be considered a dickhead.

Not unless you [url=]look like Steve Irwin.[/url]
[url=]A lot of people[/url] seem to think that Bill Maher is a dickhead for dressing as he did. Hell, there’s [url=]even blog entries[/url] about it. [url=]Blog entries![/url] Well if it’s written in a blog, it must be important!
There seems to be [url=,20867,20675221-1702,00.html]a fair bit of outrage[/url] about this. It’s a joke.

Bill Maher: you took a joke from South Park and made it into a brilliant costume.

Is it too early? To some people, I’d say yes. To the Irwin’s? More than bloody likely.

But to random ol’ you or me… seriously, you have no idea how over the Steve Irwin issue I am. Between having my “news” being bombarded with stories about Steve, Terri, and Bindi, I just can’t seem to escape.

He was a hero to many, but to me he was an entertainer… so why the fuck do I have to constantly hear about him all the time?

No offense, but this is bordering insanity how often there’s a story on an update on Bindi. This isn’t about insensitivity. What about the other people in the world who lose a loved one? Where’s their updates?

And seriously, when is the right time to make a costume about this sort of stuff. [url=]Steve Irwin died[/url] two months from Halloween, and while Halloween might be about scaring the shit out of random children (and then giving them things that scare the shit out of dentists), how many people do you know and see that will dress up as someone who’s used in a political, social, or celebrity-sense on Halloween?

Seriously, people who have problems with Bill… get over it. It was a great costume and joke for those of us who like that sort of humour.

Sure, I’m a sick fuck and I’ve got one messed up sense of humour. Doesn’t mean he is too… even though I’d suspect that he is. That’s not an insult, by the way. I’d hate to have a set of morals that restricts me from laughing when something actually is funny. [i]Oh no, we can’t laugh because it’s too soon or it’s not nice to people or something like that.[/i] That’s bullshit.

And while I’m here, kudos to the guys at South Park for coming up with a [url=–radio/south-parks-irwin-show-bad-taste/2006/10/27/1161749301655.html]Halloween based show[/url] featuring a [url=]brilliant line with Steve Irwin[/url] and a means to inspire a costume (I’m guessing here. While I don’t doubt that Bill Maher is a bloody funny guy, I have a feeling his costume was provoked by the South Park episode).

It seems to be a Steve Irwin-sorta-week, actually. A lot of [url=]Steve Irwin in the news[/url] lately. Mind you, there hasn’t been all that big a nudge to get The Irwin family out of the spotlight for news items since the tragic event. And yeah, I say tragic because it was a tragedy. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not insensitive to the point of lunacy at all. I recognise that it’s a terrible thing to have happen to anyone… but I’m just a little sick of hearing about it.

I mean seriously… did the French get all whiny when Jacques Costeau died? I mean, hell… he practically invented the genre that Steve Irwin helped to get more people into.

A diary for someone who’s stuck in the middle of someone else’s plane of existence (Also known as Leigh’s first entry into his new blog).

Right. Well. Right. This is the first entry into my new and improved blog. And what a whopper I have for you.

All… two or three of you, that is.

Well… anyway, last night I went to The Strand as there was some fashion thingy on celebrating and advertising and encouraging many people with larger wallets than mine to spend, spend, spend on clothes they probably didn’t need but bought anyway.

So there I was… mostly bored… waiting outside Bowie’s store… while otherwise hot women walked by dressed in things that cost more than parts of my computer… and I was playing on my Nintendo DS. Well, you might ask why I didn’t join in on the festivities… well what the bloody hell am I to do? I’m just a techie! I don’t know about social situations any more than I know about trapping wild buffalo with a staple, a steak knife, and an Atkins diet book. Go ask Macguyver. Don’t pester me about it.

Anyway, the night was ending and I’d already talked to Wendell and met the beautiful Ida (who I’m working with at Bowie basically) as well as finally knowing the store manager’s name (Joey, another beautiful girl) and meeting various other people I’ll probably never meet again. Models… designers… hair stylists… random single serve people who are all well and good and very nice but knowing my luck or lack of logic, very few will even see me again and if they do, are unlikely to remember me.

Ok. Moving on.

Ida, Joey, myself and a new fella named Alan Saunders get into a taxi and head to a bar that I probably can’t even pronounce: Kirketon.

The place kinda reminds me of Wine Banq, except without the live music and wine racks lining the walls. Unlike Wine Banq, it did have jazz — real jazz — coming out of the speakers that weren’t exactly inconspicuous. Sorry owners of Wine Banc (Jonathan Zchwartz???) but your place ain’t all that jazz.

Right, well anyway… Ida seems to want to pay for all of the drinks this evening at Kirketon… Kirketon… Kirk-e-ton… it doesn’t even sound like a word. It’s an uncomfortable name. It doesn’t even roll off of the tongue. It’s more one of these names that requires a forklift and a heavy machinery license to remove from an oral cavity before it can be said.

Right. Back on topic, Ida seemed to want to pay for the drinks that night. I’d already said to Alan Saunders — a nice chap (did I just say ‘chap’?!) who’s a restaurant critic with a design show on ABC Radio — that even though he’d offered to buy me a drink, he shouldn’t since with me being poor (I didn’t word it like that) that I’d be unable to buy one in return for him. He was fine with that, and off he went to get me a Scotch on the rocks.

When he came back, it seemed it was Ida who paid.

I’m not sure why, honestly.

Ida is a beautiful girl who seems very smart but I can’t quite figure out why she’d want to pay for all of our drinks.

Anyway, there was talking and low-lit rooms and stuffiness since the room didn’t seem to have the world’s best ventilation and martinis and all sorts of stuff.

There was Wayne Cooper… someone who seems like a decent bloke and a fashion designer to boot. Upon returning home, it actually dawned on me that I had a Wayne Cooper shirt… and probably one that didn’t sell all that well, knowing me.

There was Alan Saunders, who I’ve already mentioned. He’s a restaurant critic, it seems, and has a radio show on ABC about architecture and design. We both agreed that Mexican in Australia is severely lacking and Azteca’s is probably among the best we have.

There was Bowie Wong… who was laughing and… drunk, probably.

There was Ida and Joey who both drank gin martinis.

There was a guy on the other side of the room who seemed like he’d be a model. At one point, I heard a conversation saying how he was supposed to be or how he was going to be the new face of Hugo Boss or something for David Jones. His name was James. I only met him as he was leaving.

There were other random people I probably won’t remember after going to bed in 15 minutes.

And then there was me… stuck in the middle of this and confused as hell as to why I was here.

I mean… this is me… the guy without any real degree of success in his life sitting amongst people who obviously had some… what the hell?

Surely there’s something wrong with the lunar alignment or something. Perhaps there’s someone more suited to this part who’s supposed to be sitting where I am in these terribly uncomfortable leather seats that look so plush and inviting and are about as comfy as sitting on a stone bench.

Less, actually. Less comfortable than that nice stone bench.

And at one point, I started paying attention to the incredibly hot waitress.
It was probably the same time both Ida and Joey started paying attention to the incredibly hot waitress.

There were some short conversations as the waitress cleared up some of our glasses and as we all (Ida, Joey & myself) commented on how pretty she was, I told her that the guy across from me was someone named Wayne Cooper and had she heard of him. I had to check it with Ida, but yes, that’s who he was… and her eyes lit up.

I tried to make a little conversation with the gorgeous waitress, even with how hard it is for me to make conversation with anyone.

I asked her if she was a uni student: she was. Where did she go, etc, etc… and it turns out, she’s interested in film-making, too.

Ida then wrote her email on the back of a card to get her into the guest list for Bowie as well as writing my email on the same card.

I don’t actually know if the waitress — whose name I later found out was Genevieve — will ever actually email me or what-not, but I have a feeling that was Ida attempting to help me in talking with a girl who might actually have something in common with me.

Thank you Ida.

Really. 🙂

It might not actually happen and nothing will probably eventuate from it, and by that I mean just friendly conversation, but the effort is always appreciated.

The night started lessening with more people leaving and with only a few of us left, those that were left seemed to want to go to some bar that wasn’t all that spectacular… but I’ll get to that in a moment.

As we left, I walked up to the waitress and said that I hoped she’d have a brilliant night. I don’t know why… I just did.

Seriously, if I knew why my brain gets me to do half the shit it gets me to do, I’d know more about myself than what my cat knows.

And he knows a lot. That cat ain’t one to be fucked with.

He’s got claws. Don’t fuck with someone who has claws.

Not unless you’ve got some mutant vision.

I’m getting off-topic, I know, and it comes from being tired, which I am. And I should go to sleep soon since I have an interview at Paxton’s in the morning, which I should probably be fresh for even though I won’t be able to bring my business jacket because…

…after getting into that craphole of a club we moved to after the Kirk-e-ton… some dickhead spilled beer all along the back of my jacket. Yay! A need for dry-cleaning!
Thankfully, it missed my DS. Phew.

However, Ida didn’t come into club nor did Alan. I’m not sure whether they weren’t allowed in or whether they didn’t want to go in or not.

Me, someone who normally isn’t a fan of clubs, went in since Joey said she’d like to have someone there who’s like family, I think.

Having only known Joey for a day, this made a lot of sense.

(If only people understood my brain… the world would be a more confusing place… and I might actually attract girls instead of deflecting them with a weird wavelength aura or something… who knows…)

It didn’t take me long to be bored.

I was beer bathed in a place filled with loud music and hot girls dancing in an environment where I’d look like such a wanker even attempting to dance with them (and I’d probably slip and break my back on the beer that didn’t soak into my jacket when it was dropped on me).

I told Joey I was going to leave within about 10-15 minutes of feeling like such an out-of-place wanker just standing around and doing piss all trying to blend in.

A guy in a donkey suit would have blended in much better than I did.

Joey tried telling me that I should stay and make contacts and talk to people and do all sorts of things like that because that’s the industry I was in.

But that’s not the industry I’m in. It’s just the industry I occasionally do work for.

And I’m not usually a club person. They have to be playing music I like… which they weren’t… and I have to be with people I want to dance with or know… and I was pretty much alone in terms of surviving that place.

Joey kissed me on the lips. Why, I don’t know. It wasn’t a kiss that you’d think “well, Leigh finally got with someone” so put away those notebooks, children. You ain’t winning a prize today from finding Leigh some lurve.

Nope, it was just a kiss, I guess. Not knowing what “just a kiss” is, I can safely assume that after finding out that Joey has a boyfriend, it was exactly that: just a kiss.

Weird that I put so much stock in just a kiss… I need to get kissed more often, I guess.

So I left. Caught a bus home. Had a shower. Wrote this blog.

Weird night.