Earlier today a friend of mine mentioned that she had been introduced to fmylife - a collection of short little snippets of how much peoples lives suck. The jury is out of course on how many of them are actually true, but for the most part they're pretty funny so I tend to overlook that. I hadn't checked the site for a while and just spent the last few hours reading 42 pages worth of interesting things, some of which I may even use as plot devices in a book, they're just that good.

As I was reading, I started wondering what my classic 'bad day' story is. I actually have several of them truth be told, because A) I'm the kind of person that random crazy shit happens to, and B) I have 'interesting' (read: dubious) friends around whom all sorts of shenannigans occur. The best one however must be from about 4-5 years ago and was the first one I thought of when I thought of having a really bad day.

Once upon a time I wasn't feeling very well, I was very tired and I had to go to work very early. I got dressed, got in the car and headed off to work which was very conveniently quite a long distance away from my house. About halfway there I realised I wasn't wearing any shoes. PANIC! I immediately turn off the main road onto a side road and then onto another side road where it was safe to park.

I popped the boot to my car. As anyone could tell you, I'm famous for leaving my shoes in the car. I had just cleaned out the car but I remembered seeing a pair in the boot. So out I hop, shutting the door behind me so an oncoming car doesn't hit it, and I check out the boot. Shit. I'd taken them out. Oh well, looks like I'll have to go back home and get them I think to myself as I slam the boot shut and open the door. Fuck. It's locked. I've accidentally pressed the lock when I've gotten out of the car and because the keys are still in the ignition (!!) it's locked all the doors, which it doesn't do normally because it won't lock unless all the doors are closed - except if the ignition is on!

Panic stations again. It's about 6 in the morning, there is nobody around, I'm locked out of my still running car and my phone is on the passenger seat. What do I do? Something terribly clever of course, I cry. I still can't think of what to do and a random passer-by walking home from work asks if I'm ok and after relating the sordid story she lets me borrow her mobile phone and I call and wake up my still sleeping boyfriend (who was pretty grumpy) and asked him to come and bring me some shoes and his phone so I can call RACQ. For the record - I didn't know the RACQ number so I would have had to fart arse around trying to get it so I figured it would be easier to let the kind lady go on her way and not wrack up her phone bill by calling people to see if they knew what it was. The RACQ number was on the back of my RACQ card, tucked inside my purse, inside my still running car.

Ben showed up eventually, I had no idea where I actually was and didn't see any street signs when I called him to tell him where I was, so it's amazing he even found me at all. He brought me shoes. Yay. One problem solved.

Then I grabbed his phone and rang my dad. Dad knows everything. I asked him if he knew the RACQ number. He said to look on the back of my card. I screamed down the phone at him my situation and he laughed and then told me. Bastard knew it off the top of his head. Why couldn't he have just said that instead of being a smartarse?

I hung up on dad and called RACQ. Ben's phone went flat. Fuckity fuck. Now what do I do? Meanwhile, at least 40 minutes has gone by and my car is still happily idling away. Ben kept change in the front of his car (thankfully) so I grabbed some change and said I'd go find a payphone. I was parallel to a main road and I knew there were payphones scattered along it close to where a friend lived. I instructed Ben not to let anyone steal my car and off I trotted (wearing shoes) and eventually found a payphone a few blocks away.

First I called work and told them I would be late. Not good enough. I had to tell Jon exactly what was going on. I was treated to even more laughter. Then I called RACQ to ask for assistance. Turns out that my membership had expired the week before and I hadn't paid it (the bill was sent to my old address and good old Australia Post decided not to forward it even though I'd paid for redirection). The very helpful operator told me that I could renew my membership over the phone with my credit card and then they could send a car out to help me. I explained that my credit card was three blocks away in my still running car that I was locked out of. She had to discuss it with her supervisor because their policy is not to send cars out to assist people who aren't current members. Eventually they decided they would help me. Great.

I ran back to my car thinking that the day's troubles were going to be over finally. We sat down to wait since we were told it would be at least half an hour. As we were waiting a car pulled into the street and decided to park behind my car. The driver noticed she was blocking a driveway and decided that instead of moving up the street in front of my car she'd park as close as humanly possible to the back of my car and hit it. She got out, looked, shrugged her shoulders and walked off. Normally I'd be screaming blue murder at the bitch but I was just so gobsmacked I was actually lost for words.  The only saving grace of the whole incident was that I had been too lazy to take the bike rack off the back of my car after BMX the night before so she dented the bike rack and not my actual car.

Eventually the RACQ man showed up, let me back into my car and I went to work. Upon my arrival I found that Jon had told everyone in the building what had happened so the rest of the day was a universal 'pick on Kaitee' day.

Now how's that for a bad day? :p

I am very excited. Why? Because as of next Wednesday, I am completely committment free.

I quit my job. It's something I've always wanted to do. Writing down my job description as "Lady of Leisure" always sounded so glamourous. Of course, that's not the reason why I did it. I did it because the last two weeks have probably been the worst of my life. I don't necessarily feel the need to elaborate at present although I am sure I will in the future when I can think about what's gone on without alternating between despair, severe anger and an overwhelming desire to destroy my surroundings which is my natural instinct when things don't go my way. 

Working seems like an unnecessary form of torture at the moment, particularly since I've got very little actual work to do. The giant paycheck is going to be missed but if some stupid schmuck buys my second house it won't matter because I can live off the profit from that for several months, possibly years.

Part of my conditions of unemployment (yes, George has supplied me with a list of conditions) requires me to produce at least one lengthy tome of fiction and work on this website more often than once every three months. Given that he's pretty much paying for me to sit on my arse and do nothing from now until I graduate in four years I think that's one condition I can probably meet. At least he didn't demand I spend four hours a day in the gym, host dinner parties for his clients, dye my hair blonde, remove my personality and spend more money than I've ever seen at once on plastic surgery to become the epitome of the trophy wife. Were that the case I think he'd probably find himself contemplating a life without children because his testicles would be removed with a rusty blunt instrument.  So after next Wednesday I'm going to be making a serious effort with this website as well as my novel/s.

Also, I technically will be a trophy wife as George and I have decided to move the wedding to February. We'd decided it would happen later in the year, next year, or never at all but recent events have kind of inspired us to want to do something so that we remember the beginning of this year in a more positive note. The celebrant sent us through a list of vows and readings that we can pick from to tailor the ceremony to suit us, but to be perfectly honest all of them make me want to be sick. If anyone has any kind of ideas of how two extremely nerdy shy heavy metal loving weirdos can get married without vomiting over sugar coated rubbish please let me know!

~ Apologies for spelling errors, grammatical mistakes, etc. While I pride myself on my usually brilliant English, I'm also incredibly drunk and building a fort out of empty bourbon cans. It really has been a fucked up week.

I would like to point out that I failed maths in high school. Not the kind of fail where you still managed to approximate 50% and therefore actually pass, like most people seem to think is the equivalent of failing (perhaps it's more English that is not their strong point), but the ridiculous 12.5%, E minus kind of fail. And the only reason I got 12.5% was because I cheated and got the answers off someone else. Before I was at that school I was passing pretty well actually... mainly because Nyssa was a better mathematician so Emma and I would just copy everything from her. Except we failed once because the teacher noticed our assignments were identical and we couldn't explain any of the things we'd actually written, mainly because we had no idea what we'd written.

So I don't like numbers. Never have, never will. My friends went into accounting. I would rather prostitute myself on a dark corner in the dodgiest city on the planet than actually have to spend time with numbers. I'll take my chances with the drug pushers, rapists and murderers, the chances are I will probably come out of it better than if I sat down with a calculator and a page of numbers. I have been known in past employment to have to deal with accounts. Saying I spent 90% of my time tearing my hair out would be an understatement. It would be more accurate to say I spent 90% of my time tearing my hair out, swearing, ripping pages, bashing the keyboard, hitting the monitor, kicking the desk, throwing calculators, hurling the contents of the desk across the room and screaming like a banshee. Actually, I've always wanted to meet a banshee just so I could hear what they sound like... plus it would be a kind of cool career choice, I'd love to run around all day screaming in peoples faces. I already do it in my head.

I'm actually out of town this week, I'm on campus doing all my practical work for my uni course. My uni course, which I might add, that is in the medical not mathematical field. 30% of my exam is based on mathematics. This is dire news indeed and I've resigned myself to certain doom.

The laughable part of the entire week of course is the fact that I actually understand the concept. I don't like numbers, I failed maths, I'm about as clued in as a deaf person at a rock concert, yet I still understand the basic concept. What's even funnier is that I've had to explain it to other people, which is pushing me towards pulling out my inner banshee. So it can't be that difficult if even the most stupid numbers person on the planet (me) can get it.

I did pull out my inner banshee this morning at an intersection though. Some stupid idiot decided that it would be fun to stop on a green light. Even I can do that maths:

Green light + foot on accelerator = GO! = No banshee.

Green light + brakes + no traffic hazards ahead + Kaitee running late + Children of Bodom CD picking that moment to stop working = BANSHEE! + scared pedestrians.

I've never really considered myself as leaning towards being 'old' even though all the signs are there.

• I'm closer to 30 now than I am to 20.
• My two youngest brothers are still in school and have a long way to go yet.
• I graduated high school before Graham even started school.
• People used to confuse me for Graham and Connor's mother, not their sister.
• I remember clearly changing Connor's nappy when he was a bratty little infant and he is now almost 6ft tall and towers over me making me feel horrendously ancient.
• My cousin is 2 years old.  My other cousins haven't even been conceived yet, they're still in the works.
• The age difference between me and my uncles is almost the same as between me and my brothers.
• My sister Nicole who is 5 years younger than me is married.
• Standing inside the main office of my old high school with Nicole when we were picking up Graham the other day I had to count back quite a few years on the honour board to find my year. And then I chanced to glance at previous years and noticed that about 85% of the even older students I knew from work.
• Attending exams at university (I do distance education so I can work) only to find 99% of the other students in my course are freshly graduated, can't drive and can't even drink yet  and are talking about how old they feel.
• Hearing my friends wince at the thought of eventually getting a mortgage - I have two.
• Realising the car I bought almost brand new is now 10 years old.

Even though some of these things make me feel particularly past my prime at any given time they generally don't tend to all gang up on me at once. Today however, they are. Why? Because yesterday a most unfortunate incident occured - I put my back out.

No big deal you say? Well put it this way, I wasn't training for BMX, I wasn't snowboarding, I wasn't lifting furniture and moving house, I wasn't at the gym, I wasn't fixing my car even though I really should, I wasn't in the throes of passion with George... I wasn't actually doing anything that is even remotely cool. Embarrasingly, I was pulling my pants on getting dressed in the morning when my back spasmed, I screamed in pain, George comes running in to find me clutching at the door frame unable to move. If that's not a sign of getting old, I don't know what is.

Then, to really compound the problem there's a whole bunch of really awful questions that the doctor asked:

Have you ever had a car accident - Check!

Did you injure your back - Check!

Have you ever been involved in high impact sports - Check!

For how long? - Ummm 14 years (fuck!)

Do you get back pain normally - Check!

Have you ever had any other back injuries - Check!

Do you have any spinal conditions - Check!

So basically, I'm fucked. I'm hobbling around like a 90 year old woman wincing in pain every time I have to move and have to go see a chiropractor. I'm feeling every inch of my age today and I'm cranky as fuck about it.

Anyone who's ever used the internet is familiar with the great internet debate of Pirates vs Ninjas. Indeed, a quick google search for that exact phrase turned up 1.8 million results. If that's not a cultural phenomenon I don't know what is.

Someone somewhere asked who would win a fight between pirates and ninjas. Given my name on every forum ever known to man is KaiteeThePirate, it's probably fairly clear which camp I'm in. Every nerd and pseudonerd from here until the end of the universe is on one side or the other, most of them with no clear reason as to why bar they're either a fan of Bruce Lee or Johnny Depp.  You can even buy shirts to declare your allegiance and before you ask, yes I actually do have one:

And that necklace is actually a pirate ship which my friend gave me for my birthday a million years ago. Yes, my obsession with pirates pretty much predates the written word and I have the extensive sword collection to back that up. I managed to freak a few people out when I rocked up to a pirate party a few years ago and was the only one there with real weaponry. Hehe.

Anyway. Pirates ARE cooler than ninjas and here is why:

• Ninjas hold to a code of ethics; pirates do not.

• Ninjas have to train all the time; pirates do not.

• Ninjas watch their weight; pirates are free to slaughter wild animals and feast on what they fancy.

• Ninjas wield swords; so do pirates. Pirates swords are bigger.

• Ninjas obey the emperor; pirates are a law unto themselves.

• Ninjas go where they are sent; pirates can go wherever they want.

• Ninjas do not accumulate personal wealth; pirates can pillage and plunder all the treasure they desire.

• Ninjas are solitary creatures; pirates get to have hot sex with all the womens.

• Ninjas do not indulge in vices; pirates get to booze it up.

• Pirates get to burn stuff!!

Basically, pirates get to have all the fun in all the ways they can think of while ninjas moralise, deny themselves fun and are subject to someone elses's rule.

And as to who'd win in a fight? Well. I imagine it would be a little like that scene from Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark - some fancy ninja will be doing sword tricks and backflips to psych them out and the pirate will just shoot them. Pirates don't play fair. And that's why they would win. End of story.

Now if it came down to a war between pirates and Vikings.... THAT would be a tough call.

I can see nothing but white everywhere I look. The whole mountain is covered in some serious snow and it doesn't help there's massive fog and winds.

Thanks to everyone who directed their thoughts of not breaking things to Mr Kaitee. Unfortunately my sarcasm seems to have actually had an effect and the twit has wrecked his elbow... on day one of all things. So my prediction of him falling over and getting the shits for the rest of the trip also seems to have come true. Perhaps one day I will just learn to shut my mouth.

Anyway, it's fucking cold and visibility sucks. I'm waiting until after lunch to see if I bother heading up or not. I'm not a fan of little kiddies crashing into me, the little shits seem to know exactly what part of your body doesn't already hurt and then ram a ski into it so that it does. If it doesn't clear up I'm going snow tubing. Sounds like fun anyway. After today it should be pretty good, even if the weather still sucks - because all the school groups go home! Hurrah! No more teenagers!

Mr Kaitee is all grumpy sitting at a table by himself and my 20 minutes is up.

I'm sitting at a little internet kiosk at the Brisbane Airport because I can't live for a week without internet access. I also managed to rip off my fingernail and it's very heavily bandaged and I will apologise for typos because I'm kind of in a rush.

The trip so far: Wedding was good. More on that later. How is this for bad luck? Mr Kaitee forgot to renew his license and I managed to get incredibly pissed at the wedding. Needless to say getting back to Brisbane to catch our flight to Melbourne was absolute hell.

We're both suffering the absolute worst kind of dysentery known to man - the kind that can only be achieved by copious drinking, not enough sleep and being in a rush. Mr Kaitee wasn't nice enough to find me some jabotocavas (seriously, I have no idea how the hell that's supposed to be spelled). I somehow feel as though I wouldn't be suffering so much if I had some fruit to eat. We can''t get them where we live and I sent him off on a mission while I was getting my hair curled and face painted (yes, I really DID get my hair curled. I looked like mutton dressed as lamb). And he FAILED! Right now I think fruit reminiscent of chocolate would go down really nicely.

Right now there are also creepy weird people looking at me seeing what I am doing on the internets and I don't like it.

Oooh gate call.

BYE

With that overly dramatic announcement I shall take this opportunity to exit stage left.

I am going to a wedding on Sunday 20 zillion miles away.  With any luck it will be the last one for this year, because I've spent over $2000 on this wedding alone and $825 for the wedding three weeks prior (although to be fair the first wedding didn't require me to actually travel to the opposite side of the state) so if any more of my drongo friends decide to get married this year they can go to hell.  And don't any of you aspiring Bridezillas tell me that it's already August and no sane person would suddenly decide to get married before the year ends, because last year it happened twice.

The day after the wedding, as sort of a congratulatory present for having survived the wedding season (silly season) as well as not succumbing to the temptation to kill myself because I have a full time job on top of full time university and the entire universe has been lining up to take potshots at me this week, I am taking myself away to the colder climates and indulging myself in a week of snowboarding.

The best part of this trip however is going to be seeing how Mr Kaitee manages to hold up. He's never seen snow before in his entire life and rarely ventures outdoors because he's afraid of the sun. He can't stand not being good at something so I'm predicting that on his first day he's going to make a mammoth effort to coat his body in bruises and spend the night complaining that I'm an evil heinous bitch for dragging him out of his cave and away from his precious guitars and internet. Then I will throw back in his face the line "Well how do you expect to get good if you don't practice?" which is his response to me bitching that my skills in something are less than perfect, which of course would never happen because I am perfect and I kill anyone who sees me being otherwise. Then he will complain some more about how bored he is without the internet and I will throw a book at his head and he will get pissy because I hit him in the eye or gave him a papercut and anyway he doesn't read books and I should know this and just give up my stupid quest to make him.

He should be glad however I am not evil enough to do to him what Mr E did to me when I first got the impulse to strap a piece of wood to my feet and hurtle face first down a mountain. Mr E dragged me to the top of the mountain and threw me off  "See you at the bottom bitch" he said and went whooshing down the slopes leaving me alone thinking "Fuck me, I am so going to die".  Obviously I didn't die and karma hit back very nicely when he went arse over tit on a jump and knocked out some teeth. Then he broke his arm two days later and had to spend a week sitting at the base cafe bored out of his brain while the rest of us nooblets cranked it up to the blue and black runs. Serves him right.

SO BYE!!

~Please send any thoughts about broken bones to Mr Kaitee. I have state championships in 6 weeks and do not need to be sitting around idly, waiting for the osteoblasts in my legs to form bony calluses to repair any fractures so I can walk again. He sits on his arse all day anyway.