dee - viscerate.com

GIRL
Diana Evans
called Dee
since May 25th, 1980
terrorising inner-city Melbourne
consuming flat whites
producing words, hers and other people's
contact dee [at] viscerate [dot] com

SITE
viscerate.com
consisting of personal reflections
photography by Amy Q
archives here

Saturday, December 15, 2001

There is no better song to dance like a manic elf to than Happyland's "Don't you know who I am".

11:18 PM - link to this - (0) comments

I've got really indelicate about showing bra straps in my old age. I used to stress about making sure they weren't showing, or wearing a strapless bra if it couldn't be guaranteed, but those things bloody hurt, and I really just couldn't be arsed any more. My mother would be so disappointed. Then again, maybe not.

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Have I mentioned before how much I admire a man who can dance? (Yes, Puss, that would be you.)

I'm stuffed. I'm beyond stuffed; I'm buggered. Good night.

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Friday, December 14, 2001

Cleaning would be twice as boring if I wasn't working with the mad girl I am working with.

Sadie: I hope lunch is soon. I'm ravished.
Me: *blink* And... sex makes you hungry?
Sadie: Oops. I meant famished, didn't I? Famished.

3:32 PM - link to this - (0) comments

Thursday, December 13, 2001

After wavering for a goodly long while, I've decided: I actively dislike those chromeless popup window things. I was predisposed to dislike since they're popups, and I hate popup windows. They're unnecessary. Design without them, people. Think outside the box. But chromeless ones definitely no-doubts-about-it require you to have images on. And I don't. Ever. Neverereverer. So they piss me off.

This post was brought to you by five hours of bar work and a Porter. I'm going to bed.

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Lunch these days is liquid. Four teaspoons milo, one sugar, one coffee, three-quarters full of machine coffee, and top it up with milk. I'm currently experimenting with adding one teaspoon of hot chocolate as well. Early results indicate a success.

From coffee (practically) virgin to full-on caffiene addict in one year flat. Is this some sort of record?

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I went to Challenge in a can, vaguely looking for some fic inspirations, not that I really need another fic on my plate, but Kate's so good with the inspiration, and maybe just a short one...

My challenge was: Mystique, wanting, grass.

Anyone for a Stoned!Mystique fic? Snigger.

9:48 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Wednesday, December 12, 2001

Hey ma, look, it's me. Sorta. I had fun playing with dolls. I fiddled with it a bit afterwards too, since she was too busty to be me, and her hair was a weird red, whereas mine is slowly reverting to its natural dust-mud brown. There's still a lot of black in there, though. But the hair's about right now, and the wardrobe was pretty accurate all along. Note spikey collar, fuck-off heels and smirk.

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I'm reluctant to answer the phone because if I hear his voice it will just reinforce to me the fact that he's a long way away and going to go further and going to be longer before I can see him again.

Plus I really hate phones.

Meanwhile, to the fucker who left the sand in the 2H bathtub: Up yours. If you're going to come inside with half the volleyball court on yourself, at least have the bloody decency to make a sodding effort to wash it away, and not leave it to dry like cement on the bathtub so that some poor innocent cleaning chick (namely, me) has to scrub at it and get wet and curse your name unto the tenth generation.

If your kids have horns, that'll be my fault.

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And now I'm getting spam from Clarice Starling. Doesn't she have better things to do? Like, I dunno, catch serial killers or bond with Hannibal Lecter or shoot something?

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Tuesday, December 11, 2001

KFC now does buckets, so we got one. The girl (who looked about half my age) looked at me like I was nuts as I bounced up and down and chortled with glee at finally getting to purchase a bucket of chicken. We came home and ate it watching reruns of The Nanny and Becker. I love Becker. The show's awful, but the character makes me laugh just by existing.

I spent more time with J1 today than I think I have in the rest of the year put together. I'm sure he's very happy with his Evil attachment, but sometimes I wish she'd just drop off.

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Back home, we have a plastic Christmas tree. Before anyone calls me a heathen or anything, think about it. I live in central Queensland. Conifers? What about a nice palm tree?

In any case, during the year we keep our Christmas tree in a box in the cupboard in the spare room, and about this time of year I drag it out and start putting it together. I'm the only one who can be arsed. I do it because the Christmas tree provides a good rallying point for presents. We can put them all underneath it, and then when it's time to leave for the family gathering in Brisbane, we don't forget any. It's happened before.

I am a decorating-nazi. Each year, I will look through the generations of Christmas decorations we have in rotting old plastic bags, and I will declare: "This year, the Tree will be silver and blue!" Or red, or gold. Those are about the only choices. And then I will drape and hang up and all those sorts of things, standing back to analyse the decoration to tree ratio and move a bauble half an inch south. I'm terrible. Really terrible.

Of course, all my hard work's undone in half an hour when the cat comes in, takes one look at the tree, and attacks it. Plus, never have those fake icicle silver drapy things in a place where 'gale-force' is the usual wind speed.

All of this was brought on by the fact that yesterday Sadie (my partner in cleaning crime) and I had to move the college's small (and real) Christmas tree and redecorate it, since everything fell off in the process. She turned out to be hideously allergic to it, and only found this out after wrapping her arms around it in an effort to keep it upright. See, she declared, tree-hugging only leads to pain.

PS: I had a dream last night in which I met Row. A friend and I were on the run from something or other, and for some reason ended up taking shelter with Row at the place she worked, which was with three other guys, one of whom was absolutely gorgeous, and of course, the bad guy. There was an underground bunker. (What, you want my dreams to make sense? Don't you think that's a little unlikely?)

8:18 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Monday, December 10, 2001

Up at this hour, the Male safely away on his transport and feeling both melancholy and exhausted, I wanted to interact with someone. But there doesn't appear to be anyone, and I wonder briefly if the world outside my box of a room has ceased to exist. If I turn my head a fraction of a centimetre, I'll see stars and trees and lights out the window and maybe even a person - perhaps that naked guy in the kitchen again - but that would break the spell, so I'm just going to enjoy my universal solitude for a minute.

And then I'll hit Post and Publish.

12:22 AM - link to this - (0) comments

Sunday, December 09, 2001

Toto Coelo. I Eat Cannibal. This is what it's all about. (Or maybe it's all about Joy Division's "She's Lost Control". I'm so fickle.)

Flash of inspiration, and I was going to make an 'Apathy' webring. And then I just couldn't be arsed.

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Nipple enhancers? What the fuck? I mean... buh? I don't get it. Obviously, I mean, bloody obviously, I'm missing some vitally important part of modern fashion. I look at this product and I remember my mother telling me about putting bandaids over her nipples so that they wouldn't be seen when she couldn't wear a bra under a dress. My aunt, also on hand, and I looked at each other in horror, and said: "Didn't it hurt when you took them off?"

In any case, I think I have an attitude about nipples like society used to have about women's legs. Yes, I'm sure they have them, but I don't want to know about it and I certainly don't want to sodding see them. Put it away.

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And now the Male is leaving, for good, and I don't want him to go.

I really don't want him to go.

We went out last night to dinner, and along the way walked past the cinemas, to see if anything good was on. "Look," he said, "Trent Reznor's getting into movies." He pointed to the Harry Potter poster, to Alan Rickman's bad dye job (man: delicious, hair: nigh on a catastrophe) and I laughed. Later, after a good Italian meal and half a bottle of wine each, we returned to watch the movie itself, deciding that Harry Potter pissed would be an amusing venture.

In the foyer, queueing for tickets, we saw the Lord of the Rings trailer.

Meep!

Jaws hit the floor, and I was reduced to little whiny noises for a good ten minutes.

However, Harry Potter was fun. It misses, of course, all the beautiful subtly and detail of the books. But it was delightful. Mr Rez- ah, Rickman was simply lovely, and the kids were perfect, but one casting decision/acting performance that I'm amazed hasn't received more comment was that of the kid playing Draco Malfoy. How perfect was the little blond smirking snot? He was great!

Him and finally seeing Quidditch were the two absolutely best things about that movie.

12:13 PM - link to this - (0) comments