rantings, ravings & daily chocolate cravings: musings of a simple mind...

What are you trying to say???

Addiction: Dependence on a substance that is harmful to physical or mental health, social well-being, or economic functioning.

Hmmmm... can shoes be classified as a "substance"?

Newest additions:

    

    

   

Ooooh, and let's not forget these...

Apparently...

... the photo of the super sexy Mr S's scarred butt was a little too much for the wussier of my friends... that means YOU, delicious Ms C!

Therefore, in the name of friendship (and not wanting to cause any more vomitting amongst my nearest and dearest), I'm creating more space between the top of my blog and the photo of the super sexy Mr S's butt.

So, here's your final warning... if you're faint of heart, weak of stomach or fragile of nerves, then DO NOT, under ANY circumstances, scroll down to take a look at the piccie below.

DANGER.

GO BACK.

NO ENTRY BEYOND THIS POINT.

Now, that's it. Stop your damn whinning.

Are you squeamish?

Cos if you are, I'd look away NOW...

This means YOU, glorious Ms K...

OK. This is it. The point of no return.

Turn.

Away.

NOW!

Guess who had his staples removed this week? The super sexy Mr S! All 30 of them, to be exact. He's recovering at home now... slowly but surely. Everyday he gets a bit more movement, and the pain... well, the pain is still pretty bad, but he seems to be coping well enough.

He'll be on crutches for the next 6 weeks, at least, so he won't be going bungee jumping any time soon. But still, at least the surgery is complete and he's relieved to finally have it done.

Now, the countdown is on for the next surgery, to have the other hip done.

Poor baby...

You can judge a book by it's cover...

Don't you hate it when you hang out, I mean HANG OUT, for your favourite author (or one of them, at least) to release their next novel after you've spent months trawling the bookshelves at A&R, just waiting -- WAITING -- for for said next novel to miraculously appear just so you could hand over your battered, ever trusty piece of gold plastic, rush home, settle down on the beanbag with a packet of tim tams and a milo, crack the cover; hoping... anticipating... looooonging to absorb, to relate, to revel, to read each and every word with the same joy you experienced when you read each previous opus (or is it opuses? opi? whatever)...

... only to find this new one is a bunch of hooey?

This happened to me recently. Love Struck by Melanie La'Brooy is one of my favourite books of recent years. It's funny. It's engaging. It's entertaining. Did I mention that it's funny? I really loved it when I read it the first time in 2003, and I've loved it each of the four times I've read it since then.

Of course, when Melanie released The Wish List in 2005, I'm pretty sure I was one of the first people in Melbourne to snaffle up a copy and devour each and every word on each and every page. It wasn't quite as good as Love Struck. The voice wasn't quite as unique and the characters not quite as likable, but still, I enjoyed reading it -- although I haven't read it half as many times as I've read Love Struck.

So, you can imagine when, after yet another two-year hiatus, Melanie released her third novel, Serendipity (nothing to do with the John Cusack movie of the same name), I was more than pleased to get my hot little hands on a copy of it (many thanks to the delightful Ms J for loaning me hers... before even she'd had the chance to read it!) and set about reading it cover-to-cover in one sitting, as I'd done with it's two predecessors. That was, of course, until I turned to the first page and realised that the two main female characters were named Sunday and Hero... WTF???

Now, being a writer (or at least a wanna-be writer), I understand the almost desperate desire to create unusual, memorable characters that will stick in a reader's mind and appeal to them on a level that is beyond the superficial joy of simply reading fiction. But not even I am willing to believe in a character called Hero. I mean, what in the hell was Mel thinking? Hero? HERO????

With my nose severly out of joint, I decided to continue reading, because afterall, it was Melanie La'Brooy's work, so it had to be at least passable, right?

Errr... not so much. So far, I'm about 75 pages in, and reading each of those pages has been like pulling teeth. Both Sunday and Hero are feeble, two dimensional and ANNOYING beyond all reckoning; the premise is tired and predictable; and the hero (as in the male lead, not the stupidly named female character) is about as appealing as... mildew.

Oh, woe is me. How very bloody disappointing.

And now, I have a decision to make. You see, I have a reading rule: If I'm not hooked within the first 50 pages, I ditch the book. Now, so far, I've already bent this rule by 25 odd pages... and the decision is this: do I continue to read Serendipity on the basis that previous books by the same author were great, or do I ditch it in favour of something that's actually, oh I don't know, interesting????

I'm inclined to ditch, but believe me when I tell you, it gives me no pleasure to do so (although perserving would give me no pleasure either, so I guess it's a damned if I do/damned if I don't situation).

I should have known, you know. I should have known that it was going to be a dull read just by looking at the cover. The covers for Love Struck and Wish List were fantastic: colourful, funky, gorgeous. The cover for Serendipity? Not so much. Here, see for yourself:

Yawn-worthy by comparison, no?

So who says you can't judge a book by it's cover. All too often, it turns out that you can.... sighhh!

Differences between men and women...

1. Names:
If Lucy, Linda, Elizabeth and Rachel go out for lunch, they will call each other Lucy, Linda, Elizabeth and Rachel.

If Mark, Paul, Eric and James got out for lunch, they will call each other Fat Boy, Godzilla, Peanut-Head and Scrappy.

2. Eating out:
When the bill arrives, Mark, Paul, Eric and James will each throw in $20 eventhough the bill only comes to $32.50. None of them will have anything smaller, and none will actually admit they want change back.

When Lucy, Linda, Elizabeth and Rachel get the bill, out come the pocket calculators.

3. Money:
A man will pay $2 for a $1 item he needs.

A woman will pay $1 for a $2 item she doesn't need, but it's on sale.

4. Bathrooms:
A man has five items in his bathroom: a toothbrush, shaving cream, a razor, a bar of soap and a towel he stole from the Marriott.

A woman has 337 items in her bathroom. A man wouldn't be able to identify most of these.

5. Arguments:
A woman has the last word in an argument.

Anything a man has to say after that is considered the beginning of a new argument.

6. Cats
Women love cats.

Men say they love cats, but when the women aren't looking, men kick cats.

7. Future:
A woman worries about the future until she gets a husband.

A man never worries about the future until he gets a wife.

8. Success:
A successful man is one who makes more money than his wife can spend.

A successful woman is one who can find such a man.

9. Marriage:
A woman marries a man expecting he will change, but he doesn't.

A man marries a woman expecting she won't change, but she does.

10. Dressing up:
A woman will dress up to go shopping, water the plants, empty the rubbish, answer the phone, read a book and get the mail.

A man will dress up for weddings and funerals.

11. Natural:
Men wake up as good-looking as when they went to bed.

Women somehow deteriorate during the night.

12. Off-spring:
A woman knows all about her children: dentist appointments, romances, best friends, favourite foods, secret fears, hopes and dreams.

A man is vaguely aware of some short people living in the house.

Retail therapy...

... I may have bought some more shoes (blushes).

I'm a bad, bad woman...

   

   

FINALLY...

... the super sexy Mr S is having his surgery tomorrow!!!!!!!!!! YIPEE!!!

Wish him luck...xxx

Shoes glorious shoes...

Don't you just love a good pair of shoes?

Seriously, is there anything more satisfying than finding the perfect pair of patent leather, kitten heals -- in your size -- and knowing, just knowing, that they'll look perfect with that skirt/shirt/handbag/hot, young bartender you have at home?

Is there anything that makes you feel more like a woman than sliding on a pair of spiked stillettos and sashaying down a corridor knowing that all eyes are on you (the men's eyes on your butt and the women's eyes on your shoes)?

Shoes rock. Completely.

And men just don't get it. They just don't understand the bond between women and their feet; our love for the inconceivably high heel, agonisingly pointy toe or super-soft suede upper/all leather lower. Or our willingness to endure corns, calluses, blisters, throbbing soles, in-grown toe-nails and heels so rough you could file steel with them, just so we can look fabby 24/7. Men just can't see the logic.

Go figure.

Just as well, though. Cos if they did, it would mean I'd probably have to share some of these babies with my hubby... and that just wouldn't be conducive to a long, happy marriage.

   

     

 

   

   

 

 

   

 

   

   

   

Aren't they pretty? And definitely not on the "things-we-should-share" list.

Lazy days and Sundays...

You know you're having a totally relaxing, veg-out Sunday afternoon, when even the kids are joining in with the "doing-of-nothing":

Don't we just have the cutest babies?

SQUEEEEEE!

Oh, what a joyous night I had! What rapture. What bliss. What complete and utter ecstasy!

I'd like to say that my totally excellent evening was due to the scintillating company of the delicious Ms C... but I'm afraid it wasn't-- although I did lurve seeing you, doll :-)

Nope. My rapturous bliss had less to do with the delicious Ms C, and more to do with these fellas:

McDreamy...

McVet...

McSteamy... otherwise known as:

HOT! HOTTER! HOTTEST!

Ahhhh, Grey's Anatomy, oh how I love thee... it's like a big, sexy man-salad with spicy dressing. YUM-MY!