tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190124682024-03-14T02:45:23.223+11:00Miss Otis Regrets...she's unable to lunch today, Madam.Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-55552649282306689592007-03-14T13:39:00.000+11:002007-03-14T13:40:59.848+11:00Over it...You know what? I’ve had enough. I’m absolutely and completely over trying to be accommodating of other people. I know that the general idea is that we’re supposed to strike a happy balance between looking out for the needs of others and looking out for numero uno. But to me, everyone seems to be a completely selfish being.<br /><br />I’ve put up with all sorts of shit from other people; I’ve counselled relationships, I’ve fed egos, I’ve been the shoulder to cry on, I’ve sympathetically listened to utter crap for literally hours on end. What I want to know is – when the hell is it my turn??!! <br /><br />Do I have to scream louder, be more obnoxious, or simply become hysterical? All I want (all most of us want) is someone to actually listen and give a toss on my behalf. I want someone to acknowledge my problem is important without putting it down to ‘that time of the month’. If I hear one more person say to me: ‘well I’m glad you’re over your bad mood now,’ I think I’m going to spiflicate someone. <br /><br />So I seem to have two choices. I can either bottle my frustrations up until they explode all over me and everybody else, or I can become a self-righteous, self-obsessed twat and force everyone to deal with my crap. Some fucking choice.Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-19365793468658447732007-02-02T08:20:00.000+11:002007-02-02T08:21:19.935+11:00The Eternal Question...bloody why??!!I’m really rather cross at the moment. I’m cross at whoever it was that started the trend in which human beings cannot simply trust each other. We all seem to have this crazy tendency to deny, reject or question everything that is put to us. This is particularly the case when people give us compliments or generally say something nice about us or to us. Many people (myself included) immediately think: <br /><br />“is that for real?”<br />“are they just saying that because they want something from me?”<br />“are they just saying that to placate me?”<br /> or, “are they just jerking my chain?”<br /><br />It’s not surprising that it’s girls, in particular girls with lower self-esteem, who are generally the ones asking these questions. <br /><br />Though I admit to suffering from periods of fairly heavy self doubt (what woman doesn’t?), I wouldn’t say my self-esteem is unusually low. I know some people who perceive my self esteem to be quite low, but I think I am actually more into myself than many think. While I recognise my flaws, I’m also (believe it or not) aware of what I can do and some of the good things about myself.<br /><br />Anyway, to cut a convoluted point short, the big old’ question I’m trying to put out there is:<br /><br />Why the hell can’t I take a compliment?<br />Why the hell can’t I simply accept when something nice is said about me and not worry that there’s a hidden agenda?<br /><br />Ahhhh!!!!Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-66760944380212451362007-01-01T21:34:00.000+11:002007-01-01T21:37:25.561+11:00The New 'Do...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiraqZo0Ljou9N7u76-S2bCgHf1pykD-b7ZxoQoJ4p7_RQDgae65TwJscT4vo3ar2V34bjTtMAVR53PAmwy_ab43oQGswyyTiV1gzBhKYVYUDZ-1wec4PxOUrc8nQF8FGbAEWkO/s1600-h/Copy+of+IMG_0435.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015008952220480578" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="102" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiraqZo0Ljou9N7u76-S2bCgHf1pykD-b7ZxoQoJ4p7_RQDgae65TwJscT4vo3ar2V34bjTtMAVR53PAmwy_ab43oQGswyyTiV1gzBhKYVYUDZ-1wec4PxOUrc8nQF8FGbAEWkO/s200/Copy+of+IMG_0435.jpg" width="126" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">Let me talk about bleach.<br /><br />I have just (perhaps stupidly – yet to be determined) had my hair dyed quite blonde. I had an interesting encounter with a fairly aggressive hairdresser who thought I’d look ‘totally hot’ if I changed from my fairly dark reddish brown hair colour to something a bit more Annie Lennox-esque.<br /><br />I'm still getting used to it. Actually, I'm still recovering from the emotional and literal physical scars that are part and parcel of the whole bleaching process. Apparently, according to my hairdresser, bleaching ‘bloody hurts’ at the best of times. Now I have quite a sensitive scalp – it tingles and hurts when I dye my hair normally.<br /><br />May I just say that the pain was excruciating.<br /><br />I actually had to ask the hairdresser to take the bleach off, it was that bad. My jaw was aching from twenty-five minutes of clenching my teeth in pain. My scalp is raw, bleeding and scabbing. Needless to say, this is not a process I will be repeating in a hurry.<br /><br />And the outcome? Well, I'm not sure that I'm sold on it. Some people like it, some people don’t, some people have taken awhile to get used to it. I'm still undecided. Sometimes, I feel like I'm really digging the kind of rock chick look that I’ve got going on; other times I just feel like a blasted pansy. Still, when all is said and done, it’s just hair and it <em>will</em> grow (won't it??!!).<br /><br />And I can always dye it back. If I can stand going through the process again.</span> </div>Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-25664181718735661162006-12-20T17:27:00.000+11:002006-12-20T17:42:09.649+11:00Dream Jobs...<span style="font-size:85%;">I guess it’s only fitting that at this time of year, it’s natural to start thinking about the future. I’m not talking about New Year’s resolutions. Not: “In 2007, I will give up (insert vice here), lose weight, get fit and help feed the poor in my third world country of choice.”<br /><br />No, I’ve been thinking about dream jobs – that is, career paths that I could take if looks, skill-set and ability weren’t an obstacle. Here’s a few ideas…<br /><a href="http://www.site-etc.com/site-images/shopper.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 79px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 131px" height="216" alt="" src="http://www.site-etc.com/site-images/shopper.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><strong>Professional Shopper:<br /></strong><span style="color:#33cc00;">PROS:</span> I love to shop, on the proviso that it’s for someone else, not myself. And what could be better than spending copious amounts of someone else’s money? I reckon I’m pretty good at thinking of gift ideas for others as well; I haven’t ever given a gift with a “Gee thanks – what an interesting (read God awful) present!” response.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;">CONS:</span> I’m simply not glamorous enough. I can’t do the whole air-kissing thing (mwah darling!) with the right amount of insincerity and come to think of it, the superficiality that the retail world represents would get on my goat pretty quickly.<br /><br /><strong>Bookshop Owner: <a href="http://www.filmkultura.iif.hu:8080/1999/articles/films/images/halozat/halozat03.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 156px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 115px" height="136" alt="" src="http://www.filmkultura.iif.hu:8080/1999/articles/films/images/halozat/halozat03.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></strong><span style="color:#33cc00;">PROS:</span> There is something horribly and romantically Meg Ryan about owning your own bookshop. I love reading and owning a shop means I could surround myself with books. I’m it would be a prerequisite to hire a couple of overpaid but endearingly quirky shop assistants, and we would fill our days with conversation, drinking coffee, stacking books and changing window displays. Sounds boring to some, sounds great to me.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;">CONS:</span> Borders.<br /><br /><strong>Spy/Con Artist:</strong> (one and the same really – just working for different sides)<br /><span style="color:#33cc00;">PROS:</span> It’s all about the confidence – and the knowledge that you can kung-fu, hot-wire or sw<a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/property/graphics/2005/04/29/pscam29.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 172px; CURSOR: hand" height="108" alt="" src="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/property/graphics/2005/04/29/pscam29.jpg" border="0" /></a>eet-talk your way out of any sticky situation. I’m leaning more on the side of con artist; more fun and definitely less possibility of being blown up.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;">CONS:</span> I’m not confident enough, not glamorous enough, I get asthma attacks when I run for extended periods of time and I simply could not deal with having to be impeccably dressed all the time. Don’t spies ever just bum around in their tracky-dacks?<br /><br />Hmmm…I think I’ll stick to my day job.<br /></span>Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-60036765477653037892006-12-12T11:19:00.000+11:002006-12-20T17:41:25.034+11:00A work induced rant...<a href="http://gerryleet.com/images/clipart_angry_man.jpg"><span style="font-size:85%;"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 132px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 142px" height="148" alt="" src="http://gerryleet.com/images/clipart_angry_man.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />Ok, let me give prior warning that a rant is about to start…<br /><br />As a secondary school teacher, I reckon I have one of the hardest jobs in the world. Oh, poor teachers, I hear you say. Yes, we do get lots of holidays and yes, the holidays are awesome – even if we spend most of them either cooped up in bed sick or planning for the new term.<br /><br />But the responsibility that goes with the job sometimes hardly makes it worth the effort. When will parents admit that they have a responsibility in the education of their child? Why is it so difficult for parents to admit that their little darling is not the shining light of the world? And where the hell do they get off placing the blame for their offspring’s misdemeanours squarely on the shoulders of the teacher?<br /><br />I’m not a parent, and I understand how easy it could be to believe that your child is intelligent, talented and brilliant – even when they’re not. After all, everyone only wants the best for those that they love. But please people, TAKE A BLOODY REALITY CHECK!<br /><br />Newsflash. Guess what? Your child may not be academically smart. In fact, it’s highly likely that they’re a bit of a dope. Most teenage kids can’t think past their stomach or their genitals, it’s human nature. And yes, your child may painfully socially inept, a smartass or a plain old asshole. But even that’s cool – that’s what puberty is all about.<br /><br />However, working in a private girls’ school as I do, I’m sometimes gob smacked by the way that parents refuse to acknowledge that their child is in the wrong in any way. Low grades? Must be the teacher’s fault for not teaching them properly. Too social in class? The teacher has clearly failed to discipline them properly. Too many detentions? The teacher’s discipline practices are overbearing.<br /><br />What can we bloody do? The answer is: nothing. We have to sit back and cop it all. The nastiness and emotional blackmail from the kids, the threats and blame from the parents, and to top it off, like any other workplace, we have to deal with stupid bureaucracy and crazy office politics.<br /><br />Take some responsibility people; don’t palm it off on us…<br /><br />That is all.</span>Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-3249099450104871162006-12-06T08:59:00.000+11:002006-12-20T17:41:48.590+11:00Tis the season to be jolly...<a href="http://static.blogo.it/gamesblog/santa-drunk1.jpg"><span style="font-size:85%;"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 131px; CURSOR: hand" height="140" alt="" src="http://static.blogo.it/gamesblog/santa-drunk1.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br />Ah, the festive season.<br /><br />Don’t get me wrong, that comment is not laced with some form of bitter sarcasm. I’m no Ebenezer - I love Christmas. I love the gift buying (not so much the receiving, believe it or not – no one ever seems to get it right when buying for me) and the Christmas carols and the twinkle lights.<br /><br />But what I don’t love is the tempers, the stress, the blowouts and the crap that goes with the silly season. It’s the end of the year, everyone’s winding down and we all go through this time where we’re all so completely over it all that we snipe and bitch and get horribly depressed. We can’t stand the sight of other people and we tend to wonder where the hell our life is going. Usually, I’m a bandit for the pre-Christmas downer. I’m all for a good solid period of bitching and sniping – it makes me feel alive.<br /><br />This year though, it’s all different.<br /><br />I’d like to be stressed, but I can’t say I honestly care that much. I’d like to say I’m a little depressed, but happy hormones seem to have taken over my body and seem to be holding me hostage to a life of goofy smiles and spontaneous (and horrendously tuneless) singing to myself. I could say that I don’t know where my life is going, but that’s cool with me right now. I could say I’m exceedingly tired all the time, but I’ve combated that by simply curling up on the floor next to my desk and taking a snooze a couple of times a day.<br /><br />I guess it’s other people that I’m worried about. It’s a little hard to watch friends and family do the pre-Christmas downer. I’m so used to revelling in my own depression that I sometimes find it difficult to help people out of theirs.<br /><br />What to do? Bring on the beer and alcoholic rumballs I say…</span>Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-1163650387070523212006-11-16T15:11:00.000+11:002006-11-16T15:13:07.083+11:00Pondering the Hallmark factor...What’s that old saying? A problem shared is a problem halved? Something like that. <br /><br />Normally neat little sayings like that annoy me; life is never simple enough to condense into a quaint little phrase. I’m positive they pay some little hobbit-like old man to come up with and write down such phrases. He’s probably sitting in a dingy little cellar right now, trying to capture the world’s problems in one sentence. Then I’m sure he sells them to Hallmark, or some other corporation who make their money from cheesy inspirational quotations.<br /><br />But every now and then, they ring true. And when that happens, you have a bit of an epiphany. I seem to be in the process of epiphing at the moment. My problem, now shared, has definitely lost much of its weight. As a consequence, I feel like I can deal with it far more easily than before. <br /><br />Profound. Maybe a little cheesy (and definitely angsty), but profound. I should call Hallmark.Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-1163463644191035802006-11-14T11:20:00.000+11:002006-11-14T11:20:44.206+11:00Silence is golden, golden...Karma is a wonderful thing. I promised myself that I wouldn’t get hung up over my ‘friend’s’ (read patronising wanka) review – and I didn’t. Well, not much. Not enough to actively pursue the issue anyway. And the best thing? He just got reviewed himself and I feel completely vindicated. Not because he was specifically and horrifically criticised, but because his work wasn’t mentioned – at all. Not one comment. For better or worse. <br /><br />And I can feel comfortable in my state of vindication knowing that I’m not being bitchy, I’m not rejoicing in someone else’s specific misfortune and that silence is golden. <br /><br />The best way to deal with patronising wankas? Silence…<br /><br />(I’m now officially over this topic. Perhaps the reason I’ve been writing about it so much is because if I write about what’s really going on in my head, I’ll scare myself – and others.)Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-1162798956172549612006-11-06T18:41:00.000+11:002006-11-14T11:21:14.520+11:00Smiles and diabetic comas...Call me a cynic, but whenever my life goes into happy mode, I automatically look for the thing that I know is about to go wrong. Well, I’m in happy mode at the moment, and my biggest issue is – I can’t find anything wrong! I’ve been smiling so much over the past week, it’s almost obscene. I realise that this elevated mood is completely contradictory to previous posts (and I know how Suzie-high-school I sound) but I’m SO not worried. In fact, I’m not worried about anything really. It’s like my life has gone into slow motion and, for a highly anal and organised person like myself, this is weird. If I get any more laid back I’m going to fall off my chair. And if life gets any sweeter I think I’m going to go into a diabetic coma. <br /><br />Shit…Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-1162420077559874682006-11-02T09:26:00.000+11:002006-11-02T09:27:57.593+11:00...still cleaning...I'm spring cleaning...it's a grand feeling. Farewell patronising wanka! Out damn spot!<br /><br />By the way, did I mention that life was great?Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-1162345315517461822006-11-01T12:40:00.000+11:002006-11-01T12:41:55.536+11:00The wrath of grapes...Well, he did it. The wanka mentioned in the previous post did exactly what I had hoped (and specifically asked him) not to do. So, yeah, I’m pretty pissed off with the things that he said about my performance. I know, I know, sour grapes and all that, but honestly – who throws a shoe? His review only revealed that he is an incompetent, insensitive wanka who clearly values his reputation over his friendships. Hopefully others will sense the patronising tone of his review and I for one am going to allow myself to sit back in vindication and watch others soundly (though figuratively) wallop his ass. <br /><br />Besides, at this point, life is too good to be worrying about people like him.Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-1162188795081352662006-10-30T17:12:00.000+11:002006-10-30T17:13:15.113+11:00Sour grapes and wankas...Sometimes I wonder: ‘How on earth am I supposed to deal with patronising wankas?’ I’m sure it’s a fairly common question. At what point are you allowed to say to a friend: ‘You’re a patronising wanka and I no longer wish to partake of the friendship?’ <br /><br />A ‘friend’ of mine has agreed to pass public judgement on a special project of mine and has just phoned me to give me the heads up that he’s about to do it. And (his wankatron words) he’s ‘not above being controversial’. Surely that’s slang for you’ve-done-something-really-good-and-because-I-hate-myself-at-the-moment-I’m-going-to-bring-you-down-with-me. <br /><br />And if I go ahead and criticise <em>his </em>criticisms of me, does that automatically count as sour grapes? I HATE the sour grapes rule. It’s one of those nasty clauses of life that defends anyone who ever gives ‘constructive criticism’. <br /><br />Perhaps I should look at it in a positive light. Maybe this will provide me with an opportunity to do a little spring-cleaning on that particular friendship. Maybe I should just wait and find out what his criticisms are first. THEN I’ll spring clean.<br /><br />I hate wankas. And sour grapes.Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-1159763245856643702006-10-02T14:26:00.000+10:002006-10-04T08:42:52.123+10:00The Road Most Travelled...Ah, the first day back at work. This morning, all feelings of optimism and rejuvenation were soon replaced with feelings of despondency and desperation. Why is it that it only ever takes about five minutes for you to feel like you’ve been back at work for weeks? <br /><br />But life is not so bad. I’m still basking in the glory of a successful road trip. Pursuant to the last post, I managed a nice blend of holiday bogan with road trip chic in terms of dress. There was many a beverage consumed and many a table danced upon. ‘Pursuant’ became the word of the trip; ‘I Like Big Butts’ was the token song, and our ipod, fondly referred to as ‘podley’ became our road trip mascot.<br /><br />And yes, our destination was not completely void of male talent. Clearly the dyke haircut is a winner. Who’da thunk it?Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-1157678835804977252006-09-08T11:26:00.000+10:002006-09-08T11:27:15.830+10:00Go Team Road Trip! But what to wear...?Well, I’m going on a road trip. Clearly, I’m not going to divulge the exact location (yes crazy internet stalkers, I’m onto you), suffice to say that it’s going to be beachy. A girlfriend and I have officially crammed an ipod full of daggy tracks from our youth (circa 1998) and are ready to spend more than enough time in each other’s company.<br /><br />After ten weeks of what has been a phenomenally crazy time at work, I really feel I deserve this trip. My big question now becomes: what is my motivation? Do I think carefully about my travel wardrobe in the event that I may meet some exciting people of the opposite sex? Or do I attempt to live the entire week in my Thai fisherman’s pants, looking like a complete, albeit comfortable, bogan? Decisions, decisions…<br /><br />At this point I’m leaning towards the more dressy travel wardrobe, purely because I have recently had my hair chopped rather short and I’m feeling more than a little boyish. Or dyke-ish. (I wasn’t going to say dyke originally, but seeing I have two good mates of the citrus variety, I feel a little more at ease in being politically incorrect where lesbianism is concerned.) I guess what I’m trying to say is that I feel a little manly and unattractive at the moment. But that’s ok, I’m sure I’ll get over myself once my hair grows a bit more. <br /><br />So, the decision has been made: clothes to make me feel attractive for the first couple of days, and fisherman’s pants for the inevitable moment when we realise that our destination is completely devoid of any male talent. Or at least, any male talent that may be remotely interested in us…Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-1132802506084211572005-11-24T14:17:00.001+11:002005-11-24T14:21:46.083+11:00FontsI love fonts. They bring me all sorts of happiness. I've found some great free fonts sites on the Internet and I can't stop downloading them onto my computer. I'm a teacher, so when I create worksheets, I always use an appropriately funky font to try and make it more exciting (if correct use of subject/verb agreement can ever be exciting: pick the English teacher). Even the other people in my office love my fonts. I love fonts. I only wish I could use my funky fonts on my blog posts. Then my life would be complete.Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-1132698245100555352005-11-24T04:25:00.002+11:002005-11-23T09:26:06.670+11:00No hot water for you!I really shouldn't have got out of bed today. When I'm lying in bed at six thirty in the morning, I'm cosy. I'm warm. I'm all snuggly and drowsy. I've hit the snooze button for the sixth time. <br /><br />The only thing that can entice me to get out of bed is a shower. Preferably a long hot shower.<br /><br />So I get up this morning, wrap my dressing gown around my shoulders (Lord-of-the-rings-cloak-style: you've got to have some dignity in the morning) and head off to the shower, only to discover...<br /><br />We have no hot water. Quelle nightmare!<br /><br />So I have a cold shower. I douse myself with cold water for as long as I can stand it - which is about 1 minute. I can't wash my hair because I don't think I have the internal fortitude to stand under cold water for that long. So, the only solution for unwashed hair is to put it up. I have short hair, so putting it up is a delicate business. I probably spend about 10 minutes on my hair - a record for me. I head off to work, feeling kind of grubby and cursing my gas hot water service. I get to school, my paranoia sets in and I'm sure people will think I smell or something. But no! I'm greeted with...<br /><br />"Hey! Your hair looks great today!"<br /><br />Go figure.Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-1132180034079573552005-11-18T04:31:00.000+11:002005-11-17T13:49:41.553+11:00The not so humble stapler...<a href="http://images.google.com.au/images?q=tbn:ULASUEoq_UcJ:www.justinnewitter.com/stock/Stapler.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://images.google.com.au/images?q=tbn:ULASUEoq_UcJ:www.justinnewitter.com/stock/Stapler.JPG" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Now I will be the first to admit that stationary whips me into a bit of a frenzy. A good stapler, in particular, is a favourite of mine. The hand-held stapler I own comes with a 12 month warranty; a clear indication that I value a good quality product. <br /><br />Now, an Automatic Stapler. (Note reverent use of capitalisation)<br /><br />I suppose an Automatic Stapler is like the Ferrari of staplers. We have one in the photocopy room where I work. Today I thought I'd give it a burl - I had a fair bit of stapling to do. Now normally I would say that Automatic Staplers have the crunch of the photocopier stapler, and the pleasure of the hand-held stapler without the arm strain. But no...<br /><br />Do you know how difficult it is to get the staples in the right place on an Automatic Stapler? I do. It's exceedingly difficult. <br /><br />That is all.Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19012468.post-1132110492146070652005-11-16T13:30:00.000+11:002007-01-22T21:46:20.432+11:00And she looked at the blog and smiled, for she saw it was good...<div>I realise that I have now entered the realm of the geek, but no matter: I HAVE A BLOG! And this is my first post. Kudos must go to my bro for introducin<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD8Zo0GZn95B6q0yGP13iDDQrdoxTj4J9dDU9Up24BBIcY_g4QH4iBgWqe7sroK07f-jVLctVRrRvljifq855a4BTSyL6f1Stn4VCR58eTKi7AzRWjKIxlbToxGyeZrY-rB9pZ/s1600-h/profilepic.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5022804306658018130" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD8Zo0GZn95B6q0yGP13iDDQrdoxTj4J9dDU9Up24BBIcY_g4QH4iBgWqe7sroK07f-jVLctVRrRvljifq855a4BTSyL6f1Stn4VCR58eTKi7AzRWjKIxlbToxGyeZrY-rB9pZ/s200/profilepic.jpg" border="0" /></a>g me to the blog craziness. Does this mean I'm officially a nerd? Do I love my computer too much? Do I have to wear socks with my sandals??!!<br /><br />In truth, this blog will be dedicated to what has become my obsession. (Actually, my previous obsession - my new obsession being, of course, my blog) That is, the pursuit of the perfect top five. The perfect list (in order of virility and aesthetics) of male specimens.<br /><br />Here is the list as it stands:<br /><br />1. Hugh Jackman (Poncy? NEVER!!! A talented triple threat who manages to look fabulous in white pants singing 'Copacobana')<br /><br />2. Johnny Depp (A classic. Timeless, talented, versatile - you can dress him up or down.)<br /><br />3. Karl Urban (Not to be confused with Keith. Kiwi actor, rugged, does the 'Russian-bad-ass' thing very well.)<br /><br />4. Matthew McFadyen (I thought no-one could beat Colin Firth, but Matthew can Mr my Darcy any day)<br /><br />5. Crown Prince Frederick (The original cutey. Treats his newborn son like a fish: "I got one this big!")<br /><br />At this point I must point out that this will probably change. Hugh and Johnny have been hot favourites for a long time now; other contenders have included Jude Law (briefly, and on looks alone), David Wenham and Ewan MacGregor.<br /><br />In the immortal words of Homer...<br /><br />"Mmmmm...male celebrity goodness..."</div>Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07192442405097286426noreply@blogger.com1