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  • Seduction.

    The Internet is an odd place. Here we can be anyone we wish to be - and compensate for any perceived failings by eliminating them. Self-invention. Highlight those qualities we like, play up biases we sense in our audiences, and brush under the rug those things that don't make us look so good.

    The wooing process.

    There are millions of sad lonely people out there, people who can't seem to get the kind of attention they crave in their real life, but find it easy to do online. If you are good with words, and good with sensing nuances, there are loads of lame ducks out there, desperate to connect, or to imagine they connect with you. One duck, two ducks, three ducks, more ducks - not recognising each other.  All writing madly back and forth. A flattering photo, some well placed comments, an email or ten - can be all it takes to find someone vulnerable and trusting and mess them about. For the unscrupulous or the fucked up - this is a temptation too hard to resist. All that ego food, just waiting to be plucked. And it's all the more powerful when it's wrapped up in something like an online diary, since it has the ring of truth. But not necessarily.

    You are being sold to every time you read an entry. Remember that.

    You can get completely emotionally involved with someone whom you've never met, based on how he or she respond to your words, or how you respond to theirs. If you are at all introspective, then if they strike a chord.  It is the instant of recognition that says, even though it's 3am on a Friday night and the rest of the beautiful popular people are out being beautiful and popular, I am not alone. Someone else is out there, who has been where I am.

    Maybe, Or maybe not. Maybe they are bored and fucking with your head because their life is making them yawn in the extreme, or they don't like themselves very much. You are sport. You are chum in the Internet sea.

    As a someone who writes online, it's difficult not to come to like the comments, or the praise. And to find yourself writing for them. And by extension, recreating yourself onscreen so that you woo and seduce and tempt the lonely, the insomniacs and the bewildered.

    Like shooting fish in a barrel. Not even sport really. And I figure I have some integrity. I figure I am aware.

    The more I get behind the skin of online journals, the more I realise that there's a whole world interacting that I know little about. Seduction, wooing, flirting, manipulation, all through journal entries. What is the point? Isn't lying in your journal kind of like faking an orgasm? Isn't the only person who misses out, YOU? And what happens when reality doesn't match the expectations you've created? Better run and hide methinks. Set up shop somewhere else perhaps.

    So.

    Here we are - on screen. On screen doesn't equal truth. And for those of you who are finding out just how weird the game here is played, my commiserations. It's never pretty when fantasy and truth collide. Life's hard enough without being sucked in by an onscreen superstar. You'll figure out who's real and who isn't. Go gently. Move slowly. Stay whole.

  • Right enough family bullshit about hubs. It tears me down and makes me less of who I oould be.
    Onto happier things.

    Two.
    The best part about being two is that mummy can do anything. I went to 6 parties since Christmas and we sang happy birthday and had cakey and balloons and there were parcels and I said to my mummy ' I WANT A PARTY', and she gave me two. She gave me two cos she told me she was having a birthday as well but she wanted me to have hers. Cos she was too old to have parties.
    On my Wednesday birthday, mummy woke me up and let me have chocolate yoghurt and peanut butter sandwiches for breakfast. She even put the Teletubbies on TV, even though she says they are spawn from Satan. Then she let me choose what to wear, and I chose my lime green tank top with the shadow of a fairy on it and my stripy skirt that makes me look at least 3. Mummy sez it also makes me look like a refugee from Woodstock but I like it. She didn't like my orange socks tho, but she let me wear them cos they are my favourite. She had to wash them by hand and then dry them with the blow dryer cos I really really really wanted to wear them. Then she took me to the Aquarium, which I kind of liked. I liked the chicken nuggets in the restaurant and the pretty little fish and the man in the diving suit cleaning the tanks and the seals, which were sleeping, and Ella my best friend but I didn't like the sharks and the big tank where they swim overhead. I was scared, but that's okay, mummy gave me a cuddle and said she didn't like them either unless they were grilled on the bbq with lemon with skewers.
    Then the very best part was when we went to the shop and mummy bought me a pink fuzzy octopus and Ella's mummy bought me a rubber butterfly. Just like she bought Ella's only nicer, cos it was mine and I didn't have to share.
    Everywhere we went, people said hello and sang happy birthday to me. That is a good song. I have sung it a lot. I sometimes don't wait for people to sing it to me - I just sing it.
    For my Sunday birthday, mummy took me to the beach where all my friends came and sang me happy birthday. Daddy was already there. There were balloons and sweeties and balloons and hats with feathers and cakey and sweeties and balloons. And Jordan and Ella and Isobel and Connor and Jasper and Eleanor and some babies in the tummy were there as well. Daddy's mummy (my nana) was mean to one of mummy's friends with the pink hair but my mummy just laughed at her and told her to have some cakey and a drink. Mummy (and Daddy sortof) made a cake that looked like Bart Simpson and she had a bandaid on her hand where she made a mistake when she was cooking it. And she didn't even say a bad word. There were grownups there and everyone gave me a present and I mostly said thank you and gave them a kiss except if the wrapping paper was really cool or the grownup was yucky and I didn't know them. Then people went swimming and mummy and daddy made the barbecue, which was sausages and stuff. I mostly ate sweeties tho.  And then, and then, and then it was my cakey time and everyone gathered around me and mummy lit the candles and everyone sang happy birthday to me and I blew them out with daddy's help. And then I looked at mummy and told her I loved her big because I wanted a party and she gave me a party. And that's what mummies do.


    I wish I was two - life's pretty simple.
    Cake
    Sweeties
    And party hats.
    Life's simple.

  • Message from Drzuse39@yahoo.com


    or:


    "Great reading your diary.. so sorry to know you hate me so much,thanks for the Smashed stove and the Bogie in the lunch.. jeez your a real fucking gem.........."


    he loves me tho, he *worships* me....

  • Hell no.


    I am not closing it down. If he can't take it, he can go download porn. I can handle the fall out.

  • Unemployed.
    Yup, today at 4pm, I got the news. The job I've had for the past is no more.The reason? They are going to hire a 'professional' copywriter.


    Part of what I've been doing apart from managing 3 million dollar projects is write damn advertising copy - which I suck at, since I cannot lie about the product that I end up sweating blood to put in. And the product bites big time. In my not so humble opinion.


    Bottom line: he needs marketing schmoose more than he needs a project manager, cos as he says' once they've signed the contract and paid ½ million, they ain't going nowhere'. So much for ethics.


    Still, I took his money and tap-danced my way along the line. But I still managed to stay truthful and loyal.


    Dammit. I had some integrity, you know? My clients knew I'd never lie to them, and I always tried to do the right thing by them. I still have clients that ask about me from 3 years ago. Where has that got me? UN-EMP-LOY-EEEED.


    Dammit. Now my birthday money will go towards paying the mortgage. WOO fucking HOO.


    Dammit. Now I won't have a little 40th birthday treat. I wanted a little birthday treat. Dad told me to buy something sparkly. Oh goody, we got the vacuum cleaner fixed.


    Dammit. Now I am wallowing in self-pity and I hate hate hate that when it happens.


    The mental 'Jiminy Cricket' I have sitting on my shoulder gives me a really hard time when I start moaning 'woe is me'.


    Sez Jiminy: Other women have a harder time. Your hub loves you and is faithful; you have problems, but you seem to be working them out. Okay, it's taking a high priced shrink, but well, hey, many people can't afford shrinks, they shout at Oprah instead. You have some money in the bank finally after his job loss in December. You still have some savings. You have some work coming in. You both have your health and you have (most of) your teeth. You could be living in a trailer park eating tinned Vienna Sausage and watching Full House re-runs.Sez I: Fucketty fuck to YOU Jiminy. I may have no right to wallow and curl up and pull the covers over my head, but dammit I feel life owes me this at least. Everyone needs a good wallow. Where's the bug spray. Die you little green cartoon fucker, I liked Gepetto better anyway.


    It's not fair. It's not fair at all. WAAAAH!


    I feel like my two year old. I want to drum my fists on the floor and jump up and down. I want to scream with rage and throw something. I want to run outside and smash windows, tear up the lawn and run as far away as I can. I want to dance to something loud and ear splitting and thumping and hateful. Where's my NWA CD? I want the pictures to shake off the walls and the dog to cower. I want to walk down the street with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth. I want to kick dogs, yell obscenities at small children and push old ladies out of my way. And.Not.Give.A.Damn.


    There is no point to being a good person. None.


    Fuck karma; fuck my reward in heaven, I want some slack cut NOW. Gimme a machine gun, I want to blast it at the heavens.


    *time passes while I wait*


    Okay - it isn't going to happen, and I am for gun control anyway, so in that case, I want a bottle of good red wine and a joint and some good drugs cos I am sick of being good and honourable and upright and responsible. Time to get drunk and sloppy and maudlin. I'll be good and moral and dependable tomorrow, tonight I am going to get bad. Sue me. I couldn't pay you anyway. And I couldn't care less.

  • Got.
    Got a tooth loose and it's gonna fall out and I am going to look like a poster child for bad dental hygiene.


    Got sciatica from lugging my lazy toddler back and forth from the bus stop. Isn't this an old-lady problem?


    Got a major attitude about a client who's idea of a punchy ad reads like a software manual and who rejected 7 better design ideas in favour of something hackneyed even though I told him it was shit. Now he isn't returning emails and the deadline for the ad submission is Friday. Hey, I have a life outside of computers, geek.


    Got a major jones on for home and family and sisters and all that loving stuff that I can only take for about a month before I need to head out for warmer climes and some autonomy. Doesn't matter, I miss them all so much I am dreaming about them.


    Got a case of tired frustration with my teething toddler tyrant who can switch from angel to devil before I finish saying the words. I no sooner tell her off than I have to cuddle her cos she is melting into tears. I feel like I am in a Toddler-PMS nightmare that's retribution for all of mine. Make up your mind child,whether you are going to be a little cow or a little princess cos I am losing patience.


    Got some irritation with my hub who's lost his 3rd mobile phone and is using mine. Which means I don't get calls and all my numbers are in the phone. And he seems to be mighty cavalier about getting a new one. Hey bub, since you fucked your credit over so badly, you need my signature on the contract.


    Got some guilt over the fact said hub hasn't been laid in a month, not counting this morning at 4am when I told the toddler I was getting up to get a drink of water.


    Got some mummy guilt about lying to toddler about previous sex-escapade.


    Got some serious love beaming to my father who tho pedantic and a bit of an old curmudgeon is a big softy at heart.


    Got some major annoyance going on with our dog who seems to have a gaseous bowel problem and there's something not quite right about having to vacate a comfortable chair in front of your favourite TV show because of the dog.


    Got some fear about getting older and sliding into decrepitude (see teeth issue).


    Got some weird shit going on in my head about dying and what it all means. Maybe it doesn't mean shit. Uh-oh.


    Got some sorrow and some guilt and some grieving to do about my hope for another child.


    Got a desire to dance to Jimi Hendrix after reading PinkDegas' blog. Yes. I also love the Grateful Dead. What I can remember of them, anyway.


    Got some nostalgia for old loves, wondering what's going on and if their lives turned out the way they planned.


    Got a longing that I could learn to be happy or learn to live in the moment, more like. I worry too much, I worry, I worry, and I worry.


    Got a large amount of depression over the amount of snot my child can hold in her nose until she sneezes all over me.



    Got a desire to go to Seattle this summer to see all my mama friends.


    Got some shock and horror at the realisation that return trips to Seattle are $2200 Australian.


    Got a deep abiding conviction that unless I win the lottery this ain't gonna happen. Oh well, there's the wading pool in the back garden and a blender.


    Got a wish that there is life after death so I can see what kind of a woman my child turns out to be - because it's always unfinished, no matter how old you are - until you die.

  • Despair.

    Went to see the IVF clinic today.


    The process sounds incredibly daunting. And painful. And heartbreaking, to be quite honest.


    While the nurse was explaining things, Hub was getting visibly agitated. He is angry. Angry that this is what it’s come down to. Angry that I don’t believe we have much of a chance on our own. But then, he is an angry kind of guy.  I think he feels like he needs to ‘fix’ something, but isn’t quite sure what to fix, and so he’s angry about it.


    I can understand his anger. it seems really unfair. It seems incredibly unfair that we have to shell out money to have the possibility of our next child conceived in a lab.


    All those years we sat around and said ‘yeah, we want kids, but we want to wait until we are settled’. Weren’t we arrogant?


    He wants to keep going. He must think I am 30. No matter how many charts or articles I put before him, he has blinkers on. He doesn’t get it. He wants it badly, therefore, it MUST happen. He can't see past that.


    I know better. I do.


    I surprised myself.


    Yes, I was weepy, and teary and frankly, I feel like shit.


    But I think I am going to say ‘no’ to IVF. I think. I don’t think I can stand the distress, I don’t think our relationship can stand the stress, I don’t think the child I already have, needs parents who are on different sides of the fence on this issue. One of us will have to grimly admit defeat and adopt the other’s position. Either way we lose. If he joins me, he will have deep moral reservations and think we are giving up, and if I join him, I will be mentally ticking off yet another month that I did what he wanted and still no baby. And let’s be honest, resenting the hell out of him.


    Time to get my head together. Time to make my peace.


    Enough for heaven’s sakes.


    Disapproval from family members who don’t have a fucking clue.


    Little if no support from family, come to think of it.


    $5000 we don’t have.


    Scare stories in the media about a higher incidence of birth defects and mental disabilities.


    A 15% chance of succeeding.


    Becoming a hormonal pin cushion.


    If it happens, it happens.


    Enough already.


    Time to realise that the child I have is good enough for me, and good enough for anybody. That she is good enough to take the place of a hundred children I will never have.


    Maybe if I repeat it to myself often enough, it will make the deep sense of loss go away.


    But I feel like something has died. I know I should be braver and tougher and stronger but I am not.

  • Old.


    I am old. I am so old that my teeth are falling out and my knees ache if I kneel on the floor for too long. I can’t sit for longer than an hour and a half in the cinema without shifting to protect my poor tailbone.


    I hate it. I don’t do mortality very well.


    Anyway.


    My kid turns 2 the day after I turn 40. She’s having a big party and I am determined to make a big fuss of her. Hey, she’s only 2 once.


    So then there’s me. And MY birthday.


    To my way of thinking, there’s a few ways to handle my horror at hitting the big 40 when I can pass for 35 in a dim light.


    Ignore it. Get up, sweetly accept any congrats that come my way and move on with the rest of the day.


    Pros: the day will slip by and I won’t have to think about it. Cons: when I am moaning about turning 60, I’ll wonder why I was such a putz about turning 40.


    Embrace it. I could have the whole day off to do something for me. Read, shop, get my feet done at a place that does feet thingies (can you tell I’ve never had this done), do some girly stuff at one of those places where they put cucumber on your eyes and talk soothingly about your pore size, go see a movie.


    Pros: It has been 2 years since I’ve had an entire day to myself. Cons: yeah right. It will never happen. There will be some sort of crisis that will necessitate me sticking close to home. Like the milk fell on the floor.


    Party thru it. Have a huge big drunken bash with all my friends who will drink too much and someone will throw up and possibly I might get engage in some illicit substance abuse which I have not done since a year before Mouse was born. And maybe I’d get to yell at some cops.


    Pros: I am a wild child still and I miss the odd night of irresponsibility. Cons: The hangover. The hangover with a toddler.


    Rock it. I could do is see a band – I haven’t seen a live band since I saw LIVE when I was 7 months pregnant. The Wiggles, and Sesame Street on Ice doesn’t count. I would love love to ruin my hearing and pass out in the midst of a horde again. Hey, I wouldn’t even have to do that. Spearhead is playing next week.


    Pros: Dammit, I love good music. Cons: I am too damn old to mosh. I tried it 3 years ago and couldn’t walk for a week. And I felt like a big ASSFACE.


    Defy it. I am debating swimming with the Great White Sharks in the Sydney Aquarium. Yes, I am deadly (geddit?) serious about this.


    Pros: A once in a lifetime experience. Cons: Cat chow. Cat chow. Cat chow.





    So what should I do? Help me turn 40.


    Cos after this birthday sweetie darlings – the clock is going back on this old rat bag, I don't care how politically incorrect it is.


















    How Do I Turn 40?


    Ignore it. Nothing to see here, folks.
    Embrace it. Lalala, I am a girly.
    Party Thru It. Got any smokes,man?
    Rock it. What did you say?
    Defy it. It worked for Steven Spielberg.

    Click above to vote using CoolSurveys.com

  • Hey.


    Take the damn Site Data away. I don't care. It's making my site lumber along like an eighty year old at a rhumba contest. Send it to me in email format. Or something. But even I can't be bothered to load my site. So it's kinda pointless isn't it?


    Back later. Off to a meeting. Must feign interest in records management and workflow software. Must be nice to clients. Must care about data cleansing and business process realignment. Wish me luck.

  • Hee, hee what a fucking surprise.
    Pardon me while I go look for my best bud, Yorick.



































    Which Classic Book Are You?
    Book: William Shakespeare's Hamlet.
    Synopsis: Hamlet is an atmosperic story of internalization - of feelings (guilt, love, hatred), of people, thoughts, and actions. Marked by indecision and a strong sense of self-pity and self-consciousness, Hamlet makes the slow transition from fear to determination in his quest to avenge his father's death. Oedipal complex, supernatural powers, royal incest, revenge - these are all explored in the play. Several famous questions are posed and thoughts explored - of existence, suicide, meaning, value. Hamlet is just packed with philosophy, psychology, and humanity. A must-read in which you will find many of the most famous soliloquies in all of Shakespeare.
    Excerpt: To be, or not to be,--that is the question:--Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them?--To die,--to sleep,--no more; and by a sleep to say we end the heartache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to,--'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd.
    Amazon: Hamlet
    Which Classic Book Are You?