What does the early worm get?

My life is a series of moments. Some of which are easily classified. Some of which are not. This is an easily classified one...

There was a grasshopper in my kitchen this morning. What he was doing there was an absolute mystery to me. I live 5 floors up. I spotted the bug before my kitties. Which is a good thing, because if the cats had seen it before me I can guarantee it would have shown up half masticated in my bed before I even had my coffee.

I decided to remove said hopper to a safer place. Namely, anywhere outside. So after my coffee (cuz I attempt nothing without it) I chased the critter around the dishes, through the sink, over the stove and finally into my left hand. I cupped my right hand over it to keep it concealed from the cats. And promptly realised that I had a choice of doors to let it out of. I could go through two locked doors and throw it off the balcony, or I could go through one door that required two hands to open, and take it down the elevator with me on the way to work and drop in the the front garden.

Humm.

I opted to throw it off the balcony, managed to free one hand and open both sliding doors. I threw the little bug off the balcony and watched him fly off to a safe haven, a tree about 30 metres away. I really had to go to work, but I decided to watch the bug for a few moments and enjoy the warm glow of having saved a creatures life.

Only to have it utterly shattered as a Currawong lazily flew up and had little bug for breakfast.

Damn.

Dear Sir...

Andrew,

You were my first crush. We used to spit at each other at recess and I cut my hair one day flirting with you. I always thought you were hot. Still do, though I haven't seen you in years. I have a soft spot for you. Your best mate is a cunt.

Warm smiles forever,

Phish

Leigh,

You were my best mate and I liked you just as much as you liked me. I chickened out and set you up with your first girlfriend instead. You were still a great mate, and I'd do anything for you. But I haven't spoken to you in ages and I do miss you.

Call me sometime

Phish

Clint.

You were a mistake, but an important one at that. I wanted you, you wanted my best mate. I was drunk and horny, by your device. It was cold and you had a small penis. You could barely get it in. Just how every girl dreams of losing her virginity. NOT!

I set my standards by you these days. And every time I think of dropping them, I remember that night, and my resolve is strengthened to keep them so damned high.

BTW, you have a perpetual look on your face like you've just been hit across the back of the head with a frypan. Do something about it please.

Matt.

You were my counsellor during my parents divorce. I opened up, but was too screwed up to let you in. Thankyou forever.

Phish

J-Man

You are my best mate. I love you. I should have stayed and married you instead. I went to Sydney, you went to the Territory to muster cattle. We are world apart.

I'm sorry that you were the only person I could turn to when I was betrayed by my best mate. I'm sorry that someone else got me pregnant. Its not right. You can't have kids and I can. You want them and I don't. Why did it happen? I would have kept him. You would have loved him even though he wasn't yours. I'm sorry that you got hurt out of it. Before you knew of that, you were planning to move to NSW. Instead you went the other way, as far as you could, and I'll never have you.

You hold a piece of my heart and I don't really want it back. Look after it.

Part of me will always love you. I still dream of going back to Brisbane to be with you some day, but you're not there anymore. If you came to Sydney I'd be yours in a heartbeat.

Phish

SR,

Cunt. You hurt me more than I thought possible. I'll never trust you again.

Green Eyes

I was infatuated. I'm comfortable with you. We are so different. But you don't care about what anyone thinks of you, you are who you are. How can I not be comfortable around that?

I still think of you as a friend. I'd love to catch up sometime, see you in person rather than emails etc.

Movie sometime?

Overflow,

I did like you. I did want more. But it ended before it got there. I thought of you as a friend. After it was over you didn't even want to know my name. I thought you were a nice guy. Thanks for proving to me that even nice guys are assholes. It was a hard lesson to learn. Cruel to be kind and all.

You had the nicest penis I've ever known.

Phish

Adventures of Retardogirl

Damn. Friday mornings suck sometimes. A long, grinding week and you have no brain function left. And I'm no exception.

This morning I was asked to do a simple task - roll up a floor mat and take it up to reception. Easy right? Not for Retardogirl its not!

I dragged said matt up to reception. Greeted the security guard, swiped my ID card and tugged at the door. When it didn't open, I put my weight behind it, pulling with my full 85kg. And nearly fell arse over tit when it didn't open.

Realising I had to push the door, I proceeded to do so. Leaning up against the door to try to open it. The security guard was almost pissing himself laughing as he offered to get the door for me. Retardogirl didn't realise she needed to swipe again.

So I swiped and opened the door, dragging the matt through behind me. Red faced, I dumped it under the desk and turned to run away in shame. Only to get two steps and be yanked backwards as my ID card and lanyard got tangled in the drawstring of the bag. As I bent down to untangle it I managed to make a semi redeeming pun about needing a weekend, before I turned and fled.

Nearly knocking myself out on the door that was closing behind me...

The Reason.

For quite a long time I've disliked mushrooms. More than disliked. The thought of adding them to any food was absolutely nauseating to me. I couldn't even stand to add them to spaghetti sauce! It has only been very recently that I can eat them.

This traced back to a very, very vague memory that I had as a child. Indeed, the memory was so vague, that I thought it to be a dream. It has recently been referred to in conversation, and confirmed that it was an actual occurrence.

I must have been 5 or 6. And my father cooked mushrooms for dinner. Now, all he did was braise them in butter. Did I say braise? That indicates that it might be something nice. He took it a bit far though, always 'braised' his mushrooms in butter, until they resembled some kind of lumpy volcanic mud, dolloped onto your plate. And it stunk to high heavens. He never added anything to it, except maybe some salt and pepper. I'm sure it could be made quite nice, but Dad just massacred it!

Anyway, he served this goo to us one night for dinner. We were given an ultimatum, I think, eat it or no dessert. I don't remember eating it. But my brother did. The whole damn lot. And he sat there and looked uncomfortable after it. And then he did the grossest thing imaginable. He threw up. The whole lot. On.His.Plate! And it looked exactly the fucking same as it did before he ate it.

And that's why I don't like mushrooms!