Wednes Day Links

I was lucky enough to go out of town last weekend. My room mates and I drove out down to Warnambool, met up with some other intrepid travellers (the Scots) to do a spot of whale watching (the whales mentioned on this site were *our* whales). We were very flippin' lucky, by all accounts our two whales were the first spotted in nearly a month! Go us! go them! whoo!

It was a great weekend, full of wine, me talking too much/too loudly/too stupid-headedly.

The hotel we stayed at had a revolving door. Upon using it to gain access to the booking-in procedure of the hotel, I took the opportunity to regale my fellow travelers with a tale of an old friend, who, once upon a time and while using a revolving door not unlike the one we had just used to enter this fine establishment, had it explode on and around him, shattering glass firing in all directions across the hotel lobby he was trying to leave. An amazing story, you'll have to agree, and one most vivid in my memory.

Both my room mates looked at me, as they often do, with slack-jawed amazement - I assumed because of my storytelling prowess and gift of pathos, sharing wonderful anecdotes of days gone by. But alas, this was not the case.

It was Fox who broke the silence first "Jesus, Michelle, that wasn't a friend of yours - that was on youtube!" Willo agreed with her and I had to think for a moment. Was it true, it was so vivid in my memory. I could see the entire thing as if I'd been there; as if I had been hovering near the ceiling of the lobby watching down on my poor friend who was nearly wounded from the explosion of revolving door glass; as if I were the very CRT camera that had filmed the.. entire......thing.........

So here's the video: and I am officially a senile old biddy who can no longer tell the difference between the internets and real life.

Things I wish I could change about myself:

  • The volume at which I communicate - god I'm so loud.. so loud. I'm surprised I didn't wake the baby Charlie Fantastic up a dozen times over on Saturday night.
  • The number of times I toss and turn through the night - I'm like a windmill. I wake with the duvet all twisted and yoinked out of place, pillows cast asunder. I would love to just sleep calmly and quietly like a little bird. Not like Borked Big Bird.
  • The amount of words I use in a day - I talk a lot when I talk. Verbalising every thought in my head, at times with no regard for quality whatsoever. Worse when I have a drink or two. After three drinks, it's every man for himself.
  • My insistence that all answers must be hilarious - sometimes I'm funny. Sometimes I get the timing right. Sometimes though, I don't. And sometimes, I fail on the appropriateness of comment vs situation completely.
  • My need to share single, isolated thoughts with complete strangers - which sometimes they appreciate. "That colour looks great on you!" might be okay, but going into a restaurant and handing a man a piece of paper with a score of 8 out of 10 for "lounging" is just plain weird. I gotta stop doing that.