Impending doom and the Australian problem.

Sooooo. I have been playing with shiny, pretty things and not sleeping. But I've also been sucking at taking photos of shiny, pretty colors so you will get no good evidence of such tonight. You can have this, but it's all messed up and the colors are really far off.

 I am a little irritable about this, but whatevs. I'm crampy and I'm whinny and you will just have to deal. Or, you know, go on not caring. Which is also fine.

 

I already feel a little bit random tapping shit out on here. Cause, you know, narcissism and what not. Still. I like it, so I'll keep it. May as well. And sometimes there's nagging bits. Today there has been nagging bits. Cause now when something in the world explodes or erupts or washes everything away, I just think about distance and how much it unsettles me. Cause if I'm gonna get all paranoid about impending apocalypse, I'd really rather do it in the presence of my giant because, lets face it, without him I'm unsettle enough without a pandemic or legion of the undead spreading across the globe knocking out my interwebs and leave me more alone.  And generally when I'm scared or nervous or beat over the head with nagging feelings I either sit around in bunny ears until I feel better (not working-maybe I should just take them off) or I go to sleep (which is easier said then done). 

 

 

I look settled here, don't I? I'm not. I'm just faking it for the camera. I don't know. Shit just needs to stop fucking up before I can reach out and touch him. Cause I'm all brave, and stuff and I'm still the girl who dropped the bum with the kidney shot when he grabbed my hair in the dark, but I breath better when my giant's about so I'm sick of him not being about. *sigh*

 

AND I remembered that I don't have a steady zombie escape plan here. I've never really had to think about it here, cause I'm generally not around long enough to care, but it was brought to the forefront tonight that in case the zombies descend and try to eat up all of my brains, I have no f'ing Costco. Nope. All I have is stupid Walmart. I am unhappy about this. Stupid Sam Walton. And I can't imagine being holed up with the general population here. I'm pretty sure they'd toss me to the zombies as bait at their first chance. To be fair, I would them as well.  

 

And I'm out of Creme Eggs. I'm out of Creme Eggs and we don't even get the Creme Egg ice cream bars here. It's a fucking conspiracy is what it is! They're over there taunting me like the Australians! The Australians elude me like no other. I heart them. I heart them severely, but the second I'm around, they are suddenly else where. Sometimes I swear they even die to avoid me! INFURIATING! I'm half convinced that when I finally fly my ass over there, the plane will tough down in Melbourne only to discover a mass exodus of every last Aussie has taken place within the preceding 24 hours. I wouldn't put it past them. But John's nice. They'll probably like John. And he's tall, so if I stand behind him, maybe the just won't see me coming...

 

This is the plan.  

The ukulele conspiracy.

So lately Amanda Palmer has been rubbing it in. I mean, she's all over the twitters so I keep being reminded about how she's prancing about Australia when I would really like to be in Australia chasing koalas. (It's on our to do list, for serious.) There's that, but there's also the ongoing thing where she has a ukulele to play with at random and I am currently ukuleleless. This has been coming up far more often than one would ever imagine.

EXHIBIT A:

Amanda Palmer playing one of my favorite uke songs. Sure, this is an oldie but she's still dicking around with one-evidence is abundant. Don't believe me? Just toss "Amanda Palmer ukulele" into the youtubes. It's all over the place.

EXHIBIT B:

Um. I wanna watch the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain play "Shaft" live! Duh. I think it should be an inalienable right that if you are to find yourself without your own personal ukulele with which to attempt to play shaft yourself, you should be given the opportunity to go see the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain. Otherwise it's just mean.

EXHIBIT C:

This is John playing his recently acquired ukulele. Now, he is willing to send me videos of him playing the ukulele to me pretty much when ever I demand them. And, yes, I demand them fairly often. And yes, eventually his ukulele will be available for all my ukuleleing needs (of which there are plenty) but right now I CAN'T REACH. This is rude, and this is the outcome:

I think the evidence speaks for itself. There is a conspiracy, and it is aimed at me. The whole world is keeping me from strumming annoyingly at an instrument I have no idea how to play whilst singing aloud at the top of my lungs. And I already have two Nick Cave songs all picked out to ukuleleize too!

So come on, universe. Send me a ukulele. I think I deserve it.

That is all.