I’ve been mentally busy lately.

You know, the sort of busy where your body may or may not be doing much, but your mind is whirling along on 15 different tracks, constantly?

It’s all good, in a sense. We’re going to a wedding this weekend, I’ve got a new manager at work, things are looking quite happy-making - but I’ve been planning, and thinking, and trying to fit in with the new management/planning/development structure at work… while doing a type of work which I’ve never really done before, but wanted to get into.

The point is, while I have no complaints, I haven’t been putting much thought into blogging or effort into visiting and commenting on others’ blogs. So if you’ve missed me - my apologies. If you haven’t - you bastard!

MWAH. Take care, my lovelies.

Trains provide a great opportunity to people-watch, and to be watched. And to interact with your fellow public transportees. Especially on the train to Ipswich, where the people and the opportunities are even more varied. Sometimes not in a good way.

This afternoon, I sat down and feasted my eyes on a gorgeous dark-skinned woman. I was looking at her hair (braided), her books (indigenous studies?) and wondering about her genetic heritage. Part African, part indigenous, I guessed. Then she looked straight at me, and I smiled – safer than the oh-crap-I-got-caught-staring eye-flick.* Then I looked away, a little embarrassed that I’d been caught.

I leant back and closed my eyes.

Not so much because I thought sleeping on the train was a smart move, but because I was facing the aisle and the guy sitting opposite me was in the classic male ‘crotch display’ sprawl, with the occasional cupping for emphasis. I wasn’t keen on getting an accidental eyeful of his (probably stuffed) package. It didn’t help that I found him extremely unattractive. But I also found him a little unnerving (crotch notwithstanding). I puzzled over this for a while. Why on earth would I think ‘menacing’ and ‘creepy’ within a minute of seeing him? Then I clicked. Unlike my conscious mind, my subconscious tends to work. He was wearing gold shoes. With velcro. Eurgh. Truly scary. When he got off, I checked that he’d taken his plastic bag with him. He looked that menacing.

* Almost always, anyhow. Sometimes it can be somewhat dangerous. Like the time I was sitting on a train (again), looking at this stunningly gorgeous female. She had a clear complexion, heart-shaped face, green eyes and beautifully-dyed red hair with blonde undertones, arranged perfectly. I was thinking that a male friend of mine would howl at the moon with one look at her. She was JUST his type. She must’ve noticed me looking, because she gave me her phone number and an “I’d like to get to know you” when she got off. I honestly hope she wasn’t distraught that I never called her. I didn’t think, “I was scoping you out for a mate of mine” would really cut it.

If you’re a frequent reader of this blog, chances are that you’ve noticed I like to write fiction. OK, ‘like’ is maybe a bit of an understatement… for the last year or so it’s been more like a constant obsession. Probably fueled by an incapacity to do much else!

My post title is ‘Wowsers’ because the relatively quiet launch of Fiction Blogger (a blog written by one of my fictional characters) has generated a surprisingly high number of visits to both it and Nomesque Fiction. Thanks mostly, I must say, to the lovely Jayne, who has been a consistent supporter of Nomesque Fiction and was tickled pink to discover Sally’s blog

I’m stoked at the number of visitors (and at least 2 subscribed!!) because I’m consistently unsure and critical of my fiction work. I write it because I enjoy writing fun stuff, and I publish it because it seems to keep the creative flow going to know someone’s reading it - but I’m all too aware of my lack of writing expertise at times. So it’s nice to see that at least a few people are finding it readable and enjoyable. W0000000000oooo000t!

Oh, btw - Musical Mondays are undergoing some technical problems atm. Namely, the fact that Virgin Broadband is a pile of shit, and I’m STILL restricted to dialup-ish speeds not because I overused the internet, but because their product sucks.

Today is dedicated to comforting a sick Bubba Boy and entertaining a technophiliac Bogan Boy with violent card games. Because I’m such a GOOD mother.

*snicker*

Yesterday, after plonking Bubba Boy in bed and Bogan Boy in front of Civ4 (computer game), I sat down to type out a single sentence which had been bothering me all morning. A few minutes later, a story had emerged. It’s about a bloke named Pete, a gal named Wendy, and a drug dealing gang known as the Damn Yankees. Not really my usual material, eh? So if it sounds interesting, wander over to Nomesque Fiction to read Wendy. It’s Part 1 of what could be a lonnnnnng series. You know what I’m like.

Edited to Add: But wait, there’s more!

Early this morning (don’t ask - just don’t ask) I did something a little unusual. No, not that, you filthy-minded pervert! If you’re a Sally & Lana fan, head over to Fiction Blogger and check out what Sally has to say about this whole mess.

I went shopping yesterday.

I bought a dress and makeup and perfume. I buy makeup once every 2-3 years (except this time it’s been about 5) and usually don’t buy standard chemical-ish perfumes. But I made an exception when I smelt this one.

Then I looked again at the perfume I bought.

Dagnabbit. Widdle Shamrock is gonna LOVE this one.

(for those wondering what on earth I’m on about - a certain Kiwi blogger by the name of Widdle Shamrock is convinced that I’m pregnant with an alien baby. Possibly because of Jayne’s musings on the subject. They are, of course, completely wrong. And don’t you forget it)

I don’t know who you are.

I have no idea how I’d go about tracking you down, even if I was so inclined.

I still have a bone to pick with you, though.

I’m talking to the person who found this site by searching on “what to search for”.

WHAT.

THE.

HELL????

If you don’t know what to search for, I don’t think asking google is the answer. Really, I don’t. Because you’re likely to end up on my blog and discover that you should be searching for “alien inside me”. And really, can anyone see that ending well??

Go search for “how to find Jesus”. I hear there’s a scavenger hunt starting up soon.

Some people love RPGs (Role-Playing Games). This I know. And I can see the appeal, honestly. It’s just that I have a short attention span, a bad memory, and a short-term kinda imagination. And so RPGs have just never worked for me.

HOWEVER…

Like the title of this post says, now there’s an RPG for the rest of us. The easily-bored. The small-concentration-spanned. The dim-witted.

Written by one of the biggest names in RPG-ish stuff, Steve Jackson, is the card game Munchkin. It’s fast-paced. It’s witty. And it’s a truckload of fun. Lemme show you one of the cards:

Did I mention silly??

Cost: Around $35

Play time: 1-2 hours (depending on how long people take to have their turns - if you’re playing with my husband, double it)

Expansion opportunities: Ridiculously abundant. Several expansion packs PLUS different Munchkin flavours which can be combined for yet more heady game-playing fun.

Kid-safe?: Mostly. As long as you don’t mind your children giggling at chopping people’s heads off. Obviously if they’re young enough to mostly want to eat the cards, you might want to make another player hold them (bahahahaha).

I walked to the train station last night through relatively heavy rain - I didn’t have an umbrella (didn’t realise it was raining when I left) but was wearing a waterproof coat. So I got on the train, and as I was standing in the aisle removing said (dripping) coat before I sat down, someone asked me,

“Is it raining outside?”

Nah. I just found an illegal sprinkler and danced under it for a few minutes.

Once again, work’s a little flat out. So no decent posts from me til later in the week… if I don’t just sleep for the rest of it. Tempting, I tells ya!

MWAH. Take care, and don’t get into too much trouble. Coven trio, I’m looking at YOU!

When I titled a story ‘There’s an Alien Inside Me’, I wondered.

Then I thought, “Nah, surely not!”

Then I looked at my stats. And sure enough, people have found my fiction blog using the phrase “alien inside me“. What the hell? Is this a band or something? I do NOT want to search to try and find out. Because God knows what I’d find in that sort of search. There are some types of innocence I would like to keep. For now.

I overheated a few fingers while getting scones out of the oven. I guess I should wander off now and google “burned fingers can I still have sex?“