I wanted to write something. I've been hanging around the 'jar for the last half an hour after my shower, smelling sweet, and wanting to type something but not being able to come up with a jot. There is a saying about needing and God providing and until right now I didn't really believe it, but now, I believe it [forRosie: somebody told you that I didn't believe it, but you did believe it, and now I believe it]
The New Zealand Herald, our pathetic excuse for a National Paper, carries an article about the Royal New Zealand Ballet's tour of the UK - and heading that article is a photograph of their finest looking [okay he's a flipping good dancer too!] member [you said member] - Alex Wagner.
I mean, can you *say* silver platter?
This article has spared you a post on how nice my inner arm smells, how sore my calf muscle is, how many cabs I have caught today, the evolution of the telephone, dialadextraphobia (or the fear of dialling numbers), the new book I am reading (ok I haven't actually started reading it yet, it's resting from the purchase), how much work I have done, how much work I have yet to *do*, how heavy laptops are, how much I love my electric blanket, and whether it's a good idea to drink Berrocca before bed.
God Alex Wagner has beautiful hands.
I dunno - I guess I just want to talk or maybe I just want to listen. I crashed Rosie's and Mitch's and Mark's (you don't know him) meeting today, just to sit quietly with people who like me (well, okay - maybe I just like to think they do) and drink my cup of tea.
Alex Wagner looks great in his underpants.
*drinks the Berrocca* It's always a little unsettling when you forget you drank Berrocca the very next time you pee and wonder why it's orange/red/green. (ok it's never been green I just needed another colour and didn't want to say yellow) I remember the story Richard Trenham told me once of thinking he was peeing blood but really it was all the beetroot he'd eaten the night before (and it had been a *lot* of beetroot).
So between the Berrocca and the St Johns' Wort, my pee should be rainbow-onic come morning.
I have no idea why I'm talking about this.
Read MoreMy Friend J.D
So this is my embarrassing little secret. Recently, my dreams have been populated with the cast of television shows. Queer Eye (that I saw them in a mall; I was surprised at how short they were) and Scrubs (1. That I was walking down the hill beside the house with J.D, and I mentioned that people would think we were going into the bush to pash (how intermediate school) even though we weren't. 2. That there was a product-placement conspiracy, whenever the guys from Scrubs got their burgers from McDonald's they looked just like the pictures on the menu board (if not even better!) and so I wanted to go around lots of Mcdonaldses to see if they got this preferential treatment at all of them.)
To clarify, in these dreams I was not in the shows, they were in RosieLife.
After telling this to my sister, she had a dream about the guys from Queer Eye as well, that very night: that she was following them around as they made-over some guy, and they were so very confident in their shopping, and she was not, and she felt bad.
Right, so the original motivation for bringing this up was that Michael J. Fox is going to be on Scrubs tonight and - like that will help my little problem.
[Later] Double episode! <squeals>
Read MoreFree Kleenex and Band-free Bars
Movie theatres should provide complementary kleenex at the end of every aisle. To pay $14 to see a movie and have to wipe your eyes and nose on your sleeve isn't good enough. It's a small extra that theatres could do for their more fragile customers who tend to cry during movies. 50 First Dates made my eyes leak uncontrollably for almost the entire time. It was funny too, but the underlying illness and love were what got me.
I was surprised actually. Not so much that I cried, I cry at lots of movies: AI, XMen, XMen2, the Goofy Movie - well you get the picture. I hadn't taken kleenex in my purse I mean, why would you? It's an Adam Sandler movie, who's going to cry during an Adam Sandler movie? So, I would have appreciated a box of complimentary kleenex if the theatre had seen fit to provide them.
Of course, imagine if theatres did supply complimentary absorbant substances for the weaker-eyed amoung us - the rest of you: yeh you rough careless lot who like to spill your popcorn all over the floor and leave your cups in the cupholders when you leave - you guys'd probably pull all the kleenex from the box and wad it up with the liquid from your coke and throw it at the screen thereby having the theatre management rethink their "free kleenex for the pathetically romantic" policy and we'd be back to Square One. But, in fact, we'd be worse than Square One because now we'd know how great complementary kleenex would be and we'd miss that part of our movie-going experience.
But getting back to being surprised. The movie had a couple of themes that ran deeper than your average American cinema boy-meets-girl/girl-forgets-guy/guy-burps-walrus kind of flick. I was also surprised at how beautiful Drew Barrymore is. I mean, I knew she was but she seemed spectacularly so in this movie.
A nice thing to do after a movie, is hit an Irish Pub and have a Kilkenny and some chips and talk about the movie and all things done since you were last with your movie-date.
This lovely plan is thrown into disarray by the presence at the pub of the "local band" and it's covers set. No one dances, no one can talk. I can't see the POINT. We stayed for one beer and moved on. To another Irish Pub actually, with a band as well, but the venue was larger, the band wasn't so loud and I could hear when spoken to.
Bands shouldn't start in pubs until after 10pm so I can eat my chups and drink my ale and talk my shite in peace and an audience who can hear me.
PS: In case I haven't told you lately, I love you, Radiohead.
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