Friday, 11 September 2009

A Brief History of Mine

I think I have dyslexia when it comes to finding constellations. I've never been able to see anything but a bunch of stars. If I could do it all again I think I'd be an astronomer. Eh, is it still not too late? I know I've passed the use-by date for being a ballerina or gymnast, but an Astrophysicist? Maybe it's best I master the pretty pictures and getting past the 2nd chapter of A Brief History of Time first.

I Wiki'd the snail. I have a real issue with the snail. I don't get it. Like the crab I don't know why it's here in such a ridiculous state. Apparently there's a 70cm variety out there. Why put in such an effort to upsize without figuring out a set of legs first I'll never know. Wiki only explains so much. Sometimes I wish I had my own personal Zoologist.

So the Vegemite thing will never die. I can't shake it. I'm forever the Vegemite Girl.

Thanks to the net it's spread itself around the office. I think my boss got suspicious how tight lipped I keep about my arty history and took it on herself to Google me. I had to myself after that to make sure it's just art history they got. I discovered if they get bored searching around 5 pages in I won't be on my knees to Boost. Also, I share my name with an acclaimed snake milker in Canada.

Small tip. If you're unemployed, pushing a pram or in a pack of Asians, don't venture out of the house before 9am. That last place on the crowded bus is mine. Seriously, that priority seating should extend to the workforce and students. I don't know why anyone else is up at that time of the morning anyway. You were lucky to see me before midday before I started working. The only way I can fit on a bus is if I'm standing in the right spot I've predicted the bus door to stop at. That's a fun game to play every morning when I'm half asleep, de-cafinated and being elbowed in the ribs by the elderly who by all means should be in a rush to hold up the post office queue. Ugh. I've been too much of a delight. Rant over.

1 comment:

  1. The Zoologist would belt you over the head with a copy of 'The Origin of Species'.