There may, indeed, be more than one way to skin a cat. But always, at the end, what you have is a dead, bloody, skinned cat. And was that really worth it?

I feel the need to rant for a minute. Avert your eyes if you're sensitive.

What the fuck is wrong with people at this college? They can't donate 1 fucking hour of their fucking precious time to showing prospective residents around the place? It's down to the point where it's just me - me who has a thesis that's about a month behind schedule, me who has done it for four fucking years already, me who signed up to do her bit and has ended up doing the bit of fourteen other people as well.

Fuck you all. You make me sick. With your privilege and your whinging and your designer fucking apathy that you wear just to hide the fact that you're fucking hollow. You are no one. You are nothing. You are pathetic. You don't have to care. You just have to have a little fucking consideration and fucking do it.

Fuck you. And the little dog you rode in on.

(It's safe to come out now.)

I'm starving. And bored. And wanting to talk to people who steadfastly aren't here.

There's nothing else for it. I shall go to bed at once. (2 points)

Spring is arriving. Hurrah.

Spring is arriving, and everything is wet. It will get wetter. And everything always takes so long to dry out in Canberra. And then it just gets rained on again. I'm going to be squelching for the next three months. Joy.

Spring is arriving, and today I saw two galahs (birds, not idiots) getting it on. They didn't seem worried by my scrutiny. She had a long-suffering expression. He kept trying not to fall off. I could see why he was having trouble, though; they were at it on top of a street light. Surely there are more comfortable and convenient locations for procreation. Then again, maybe he likes the challenge.

Burger Rings. Late-night study snack of champions, I tell you.

Excuse me. I think I'll have a nervous breakdown, starting right... about...

...now.

Turn the fucking hot water back on already!

I love doing a sort of mystic-Oriental-East-hand-waving, bouncing-up-and-down, head-wiggling dance, and then realising there are four people over at Johns leaning out the window, watching me.

Wave to the nice Johns people!

A parrot, bright and colourful and, I think, very young, just strutted past my window. He then stopped, came back, and peered in. Literally peered. Pressed his little beak right up against the glass like someone trying to see into a darkened shop window. When I laughed, he jumped backwards, and fell off the ledge.

I'm not worried. He's a bird. He can fly.

The new social activity for impovershed university students:

"Hey, wanna come Malicious Lingering with me?"

The idea of the exercise: fun, entertainment, bollocks-all else to do.

The practise: Choose a storefront. Make like Jay and Silent Bob. The more obnoxious you are, the better. For variety, stick your head through the shop door and make suggestive comments.

Points are allocated to the person who tips the balance, and gets you moved along.

If you manage to get paid to move along, then you can go somewhere and get a drink, before commencing again.

Rinse and repeat. The round ends when you're bored. The game ends when a sign is posted with your descriptions, ordering you to stay away. That or someone gets a restraining order.

Hmm...

On Sunday, hungover and fragile and unimpressed with the roast for dinner, the Wenches went to Dickson in search of fatty, greasy food. I got a Happy Meal for Big Kids (aka a Quarter Pounder meal). Unable to face most of the drink, however (carbonated beverage + hangover = baaaad), I stowed it in my fridge for future consumption.

It's still there. I am unsure as to what it's future might be. All suggestions welcome.

I love doing random searches, and then clicking on the results, in the hopes that it will show up in the statistics of the site I visit. I can't help wondering what people will think when they find I've found their site via a search for "Viggo phone chicken".

I am tired, and slightly hungover, and moving carefully in the way people do when last night was huge and, in fact, last night didn't finish until it was well and truly this morning.

But I had a great deal of fun last night, partying with the Old Skool (who still do it bigger, better and more random than anyone else) and playing infantile games involving coins. I think I probably gave everyone my cold. Serves them right, I'm sure. Or maybe not.

Certain other aspects of last night were very interesting indeed. But a lady doesn't kiss and tell.

Just received in an email from the Male. Apparently, this is part of an actual contract:

10.4 - End of the World. Upon the occurrence of the end of the world before full payment and performance of the Notes and Drafts, the Notes and Drafts, at the option of the Required Banks, will become immediately due and payable in full and may be enforced against the Company by any available terrestrial, extra terrestrial or spiritual procedure. For remedial purposes and for purposes of determining the relative equities of the parties, the Company, by virtue of its attorneys, will be deemed to be aligned with the forces of light, and the Banks and their attorneys will be deemed to be aligned with the forces of darkness, regardless of actual ultimate terrestrial, extra terrestrial or spiritual destinations of the Company or the banks or any of their particular officers (including the Treasurer and the Vice President-Finance).

(I swear, weird shit happens every day. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it (2 points).)

There's always something that's the last straw, I suppose. On the back of everything that's happened today, the whole feeling awful, and blowing my nose once every five minutes, not being able to see Machine Gun Fellatio or play netball tonight, having lots of work, tramping all over Civic looking for movies... on top of all of that, some fucking JAFFY has to come gaily prancing into my room, touching my shit like he owns the fucking place. Would you be such a happy fucking fairy with your own detached fingers shoved up your nose??

Ahem. Sorry. Just had to vent.

But, on the bright side, new Ultimate X-Men tomorrow, and by the sounds of it, it's going to be delightful. Plus, I might finally get to see the Viggo interview on the DVD before I go to bed early tonight.

Fun for hours, or at least five minutes: Wowbagger has something to say to you...

Dammit. I wanted to NaNoWriMo so badly this year. And I was going to be able to, because thesis hand-in is around the beginning of November. But now I'm looking at getting an extension, which will effectively wipe out November. I could, of course, not get it. But I need it.

Bugger.

You know, I get so more out this whole 'meeting people' thing when I'm completely in my body. And in summation, the only thing that needs to be said is that we 'Berra Bloggers are a fine, fine (mad, quirky, amusing) bunch of people.

Plus: Shauny! Email! Now!

I had a great time. What next?

Just how much of a dozy bint do I become when I get sick? This much:

Thinking ahead, I realise that, since I am a total Snot Factory at the moment (ew! gross out! ewww!), I'm going to need tissues when I go out, so I carefully fold some, and put them in my pocket. Yes! I am Prepared!

Hmm, I then think. I might have to go straight from this appointment to work, so I should really change my pants. So I do.

Do I then put the tissues in the pockets of my new pants? Of course not!

Blog Meetup. Why aren't you people coming? Jen and I aren't going to get drunk and hysterical by ourselves, yanno.

[Edit: Actually, we probably are. We have before. We have the technology. We're perfectly capable of it. However, it'd be more fun if there were other people present, too.]

When I try to be friendly, people look at me like my head's on backwards. Maybe I should just bow to peer pressure, and be a vicious bitch all the time.

On the other hand, being pleasant now and then keeps them on their toes.

How happy am I? How damn delirious with joy am I? Look at it! Look at it work!

Jen will be back up as soon as she wakes up and we get her set up again.

Glee. Motherfucking glee. Oh yes.

My middle toe is itchy, horrible itchy and red and swollen in that chilblain way. The two smaller toes are almost black.

Circulation? What's that? (I need warmer weather.)

Cleaning out my Outlook Express. Mervellous procrastination (yes, I noticed the typo myself, but I like it so much, I think I'll keep it).

Some of the more amusing subject lines in my sent box:

• I *am* a cave troll
  
• Tantric cyberspace
  
• Goth with a sledgehammer
  
• What was I doing with my youth?
  
• Holy Sequel, Batman!
  
• you, me and some latin git
  
• 97% hobbit-free (unfortunately)
  
• People who suck this week.
  
• Non-pornalicious arty-farty fanfic
  
• Re: I'm a wanker
  
• Re: Advice - McGuffin
  
• Not *gasp* a HAPPY ENDING!
  
• Werewolves are scared of the dark
  
• Orli's a bastard, so he is
  
• If you don't like my walking, get off the sidewalk
  
• Make a move and the Snoopy gets it.
  
• all the things that are't good about scientology
  
• KFC boys are easy.

In The Elements of International Strategy: a primer for the nuclear age, there is a diagram on page 27. It shows two dogs, labelled A and B, in a stand-off over a bone. The caption reads: "Call A 'NATO'; call B 'Warsaw Pact'; call the bone 'Berlin'." This diagram claims to be a serious depiction of deterrence theory.

Well, yes. Of course, if dog A gets too belligerent and dog B decides to take a little nip at it, the world doesn't cease to exist.

But you can't ask for too much in a diagram, I suppose.

Provided all goes to plan, this should be visible in 48 hours. Or so.

Please, please, please, let it all go to plan.

From the damn funny sig files:

"My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die."
"My name is Luke Skywalker, you are my father, prepare to die."
"My name is Darth Vader, I am your father, prepare to die."
"My name is Oedipus, I killed my father and fucked my mother, I want to die."

Never to be outdone by:

"Are you frightened?"
"Yes."
"Not nearly frightened enough; I know what hunts you."
"What?"
"Fangirls. Lots of them. Oh, and nine ringwraiths, but I can take care of them."

"How unsystematic does a systens abakysus gave ti ve vefire we cakj at tajubg sycg ybcakcykated rusjs wutg iyr fate ib tge vasuc..."

The keyboard version of the descent into schizophrenia? Or just Dee's fingers straying from the right keys while touch-typing?

Tonight, I tried to fill in my tax form, but got stuck on the first question, which was "Tax File Number". It appears I've lost mine.

Fuck.

So, failing that, I went out, had a pint and a half of stout with the old skool, and ended the evening rolling down Parliament House Hill with a mad American.

There should be more evenings like this.

However, there seems to be a problem in the fact that in order to take my spanky new boots off, you have to be sober. I am not. I might just have to go to bed with my boots on.

Yes, I am a geeky fangirl.

Puss: Guess what I got for my birthday?
Me: What?
Puss: A DVD.
Me (perked): Oooh!
Puss (smug): That's what I thought you'd say.
Mandy (confused): Which DVD?
In unison: Lord of the Rings.
Puss: There's a bonus disc.
Me: I know.
Puss: There's Two Towers previews on it.
Me: I know.
Puss: And interviews. With Orlando Bloom -
Me (flippant): Seen it.
Puss: And Viggo Mortensen.
Me (bright-eyed): Meep! And you have it with you?
Puss: No.
Me: Fuck you!

(Swiped off the aus.culture.gothic newsgroup for time-wasting purposes.)

Wearing: Chocolate brown drapery.
Appreciating: Being back in my own space.
Observing: The no-smoking sign.
Hearing: Nothing but my fingers on the keys.
Remembering: All the things I should be doing.
Calculating: How long it will be before Jen comes back.
Eating: Nothing, and my stomach is grumbling about it.
Reading: Perfume, an oddity of a novel.
Inhabiting: My own personal world of hurt.
Learning: That maybe I am going to have to grow up.
Enduring: The fuckwits that people the world.
Drinking: Not yet.
Believing: In faeries.
Avenging: That's far too active a verb for my state.
Deciding: To finish chapter one by the end of next week.
Beginning: Chapter one.
Abhoring: The whole concept of a thesis.
Concluding: The phase in my life when I have any free time except what I steal from myself.
Distrusting: The calendar.
Loving: The possibilities beyond the void.
Attending: To my skincare regime.
Noticing: That some things aren't as hard as they look.
Discussing: Living arrangements and the souls of buildings.
Imagining: Living in modern Victorian splendour.
Enjoying: The moment.
Feeling: Like it's all slipping away from me.
Dreading: It doing just that.
Lending: Other peoples' books.
Entering: Into negotiations with God for an extension.
Admiring: Architecture.
Destroying: My gastro-intestinal tract.
Leaving: Behind a mess.
Denying: That any of it was my fault.
Approaching: Warp velocity.
Buying: New sunglasses, because I left the old ones on the bus.
Singing: Inside my head with Paul Dempsey.
Admitting: That I've fucked up here.
Protecting: Myself from myself.
Avoiding: Actually doing any work.
Changing: My mind. Numerous times.
Awaiting: The laundry being free, so I can wash my socks.
Modifying: The wording of every sentence at least three times.
Regretting: Letting the time/words slip away.
Chasing: The perfect moment.
Shedding: Ghouls.
Borrowing: Books, music, ideas, patience.
Craving: Coffee!
Watching: My fingers turning slowly blue.
Expecting: Myself to come up with some clever answer; I usually do.
Despising: Myself for continually doing this. Will I never learn?

Another for the list of things you don't see every day: Four guys obviously needed to move their mattress, so they put it on the top of their car. Nothing unusual, right?

Well, they needed something to hold it down for the journey, so one of them sat on it. With a case of beer. I mean, it's thirsty work.

There are half a dozen drunk people in the bathroom. There are two in the bath alone. Not mentioning any names.

"What's your thesis about?"

"Strategic theory."
"You want to be a bit more specific?"

"Do you really want me to explain in more detail?"
"Yes."

"Do you know who Clausewitz was?"
"Uh, no."

"Do you know anything about game theory as applied to nuclear war?"
"Wait... oh, no."

"What about the strategic and logistic equation of organisation versus friction?"
"No."

"Still want me to explain this?"
"Come to think of it, no."

(Yeah, I'm a bitch today.)

"Lane one form!" our delightful American friend chirped.

"Oh you're one of those people," Bec declared, using the 'art show' voice we'd been delighting in earlier in the evening, stretching out 'those' until the noun that came afterwards could have been anything but would always be synonymous with 'cockroaches'. "I don't carry those people in my car." She screeched to a halt on the brightly-lit pedestrian crossing. "Get out."

"Hmm," the American said, not moving. "I'll just steal a bicycle from the shed over there."

I have the coolest motherfucking boots in the history of anything ever!!

That is all.

Signed up for the Blog Meetup in Canberra. Sounds like fun. I'll be there. I'll drag Jen along. So if you're in the 'Berra, and you blog, what's your excuse?

So, Vanilla Sky. Interesting, interesting. Must say, I really do admire Tom Cruise. I think he has talent (*ducks*). Plus, very pretty. Don't like the smile much. Strange, ain't I? But in the party scene, I swear, half the time, he looks like a girl. Even with the damn stubble. (Now that's talent.)

Got real Lynchian in the middle there, didn't it? Kinda... unformed in places. Might have needed a little more smoothing. Not sure. A little unsure about the ending. In general, though, thumbs up. Not that I'll be watching it again or anything - it wasn't that kind of movie - but it was damn good entertainment while it lasted.

Me: But there's no musical quality in those songs. They're just... synthesizers and hip wiggles.
Him: This from the girl who listens to 80s stuff?
Me: Hey, they use their synthesizer powers for good, not evil!

Sometimes my life is so random.

Like when a guy in army cammo gear knocks on my door looking for a hug. Apparently the Defense Force needs love too.

(Don't worry, it was just Puss.)

An example of both what is great and what is terrible about my chosen discipline:

"A deterrent policy or weapons system is often described by an analogy to some arrangement of insurance safety engineering. ...insurance policies are taken out against nature which is indifferent to our moves. Taking out hail insurance does not increase the likelihood of hail storms, nor do automobile seat belts provoke other drivers to crash into our car."

(From the introduction by Karl Deutsch to Anatol Rapoport's Strategy and Conscience.)