I'm not Korean...(not that there's anything wrong with that)

Not quite Hong Kong, but I wasn't complaining in Port Douglas

2007-07-17T20:08:00.000+10:00

Am I just being....an idiot?

2007-07-11T16:23:00.000+10:00

So Spidey recently added an 18 yo pretty blonde girl to his payroll. She started on Monday as an 'administrative assistant'. Did I mention she also has a set of ginormous mammary glands? I went over to his office to check her out, piss on my turf, fart in my air space and shit in my backyard. You know, the things a 28 year old woman does when a surge of jealousy washes over her. When I walked in, I was immediately accosted by a very excitable mutt. Gawd, she makes me proud.

Me: "Herrrrrowwww baaaybeeee....herrrrowwwwww, gooooooood girl. Herrroooow bayyybeeeee. Mummy missed you...!!!"

Mammary glands (MG): "Wow, this is the most excited she's been today!!"

Me: Yeah. Did I give you permission to talk? Hi, you must be Alicia. Extend hand. Did I also mention I am wearing a damn fine custom-made Armani imitation suit courtesy of Tony's Tailor in Bangkok?

Alicia: Yeah, and you are Swee-eee. Ooooooh, you so lucky you got that right, but just barely, biatch.

Me: And how has your first day been? Have the boys been treating you well?

Alicia: It's been great. They've been really great to me!!! Said with a little too much enthusiasm which really. really. really. shits. me.

And so it went.

Okay, so she's actually quite a nice girl and if she was deadset ugly I could probably deal with that. But she's not. And because she's a country girl, she's super friendly in a too-much-in-your-face kinda way which makes me want to puke-my-guts-out-in-a-comet-style kinda way. Suffering succotash, what's wrong with me? She's EIGHTEEN for crying out loud. She's probably got posters of Daniel Radcliffe all over her wall and sleeps on single bed with flowery pink prints. (Sorry Laura, with all the HP talk, I couldn't think of anything else). Maybe she hasn't even begun menstruating yet!? Then again, she did used to work at Slutsville (aka Supre) before this, and she does like dancing and animals. So maybe she's a stripper by night in a bestiality club!! God help Eva!

I don't know. I think it's because Spidey has no friends who are girls and I've been in this safe and comfortable coccoon where his mother, Eva and I are the only women in his life. The only IMPORTANT women. And then here comes Little Miss Pretty Thang to jolt me back into reality. 5 days a week. 8 hours a day. I hate it. And I don't even know why I am like this because I KNOW that it would be absolutely crazy to think that he'd ever do anything. Fcuk, he's twice her age but. then. again. Does A Current Affair/Today Tonight mean anything to you!? It's me. I know it's just me. In a professional working environment, this is more common that people think. How many partners/CEOs/CFOs/blah blah blah sleep with their secretaries. Secretaries who adore their boss because he's rich, smart, handsome and powerful. How many men love this shit? How many men are horny enough to take it further. Maybe I've just heard too many horror stories or seen it with my own eyes. The fact of the matter is, this should mean nothing to me and to my relationship with Spidey.

I know what I am to him.

Yet.

Why isn't that enough?

This is what happens when you nag, and nag, and nag

2007-06-15T12:06:00.000+10:00

I'm on a 7am flight out to somewhere tomorrow for 4 nights, 5 days! I complained to Spidey that he had no imagination at all when it came to planning something for us to do. He couldn't understand why I didn't regard quality time as sitting in front of the TV arms and legs entwined with each other.

Unlike Spidey, I'm a firm believer in spontaneity so I'm not really used to being on the receiving end this time round. So I am completely busting out of my mind with curiosity as to where we're going. I haven't even been told what to pack or whether or not I need to bring my French/English phrase book. Okay, so I may end up having mud hut grub as opposed to croissants but quite frankly I don't flipping care!

Today I am like a child locked in a room with ten different kinds of ice creams! YIIPEEEEEE

(NB. This post is so unlike me. I mean, I haven't even talked about reproduction.)

I should stop smokin da 'erbs

2007-06-07T14:51:00.000+10:00

Some weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night sobbing because I dreamt that Spidey had died from a drowning accident. It only took a moment to realise that he was still very much alive, sleeping soundly next to me, deliciously warm and completely unawares of my hysterics. Just to be sure though, I pinched, poked and prodded at him like a pork chop at market. This caused him to stir, which then caused me to deliriously vomit out a scene-by-scene narrative of my nightmare.

When it occurred to me that he wasn't paying any attention, and that I had probably roused the neighbourhood horses, I found a warm nook against his body and ensconced myself there till the wee hours of the morn.

I am writing this now because I couldn't bring myself to do it the day after it happened. I thought I would jinx myself or him. Dammit, I don't even believe in that bubblefuck!

On a much lighter note, I dreamt a few days later that I got in a funky bunch with Marky Mark. Mmmmm....it really is that big!

Going Going Gone

2007-05-11T16:07:00.000+10:00

As some of you know, two weeks ago I spent my very last night at 34 Hayberry Street, Crows Nest. When the house was finally stripped bare and I walked through it for the very last time, I was completely overcome with a feeling of melancholy. I choked back the tears while Spidey mulled over what to do with the box of fireworks he had secretly stored away for six years.

Hayberry, which I affectionately liked to call it, was where I eventually called home for 15 months. But for some time, it was nothing more to me than Spidey's abode; your typical bachelor pad decked out in dark wood furnishings, the latest surround sound system and a shaven mutt. Over time and numerous behind-closed-doors action, 'his place' became 'our place' .

Now it is for sale. For some other family, or worse still, some couple with a shaven mutt to occupy it and fill it with their memories and their stories.

And I don't like it one bit.

Also, if I still have a spare key, is it still considered trespassing?

I give you Laura, who really should be a writer.

2007-05-11T08:43:00.000+10:00

Have been asked to do a celebrity post, as Ms Lokes is out of action aka not feeling creative. I have agreed to help her out due solely to celebrity tag. Am pathetically flattered. So here goes:

I am lucky enough to *work* (** these will be explained hereafter) with a man from the mother country, a fellow to whom this post is dedicated, and one who almost did not survive to welcome 4pm today. The cause? Call it what you will - insufferable know-it-all-ness, severe case of verbal vomit, unfortunate misunderstanding of one's own importance in the cosmos, but this gentleman is living on borrowed time. And I am here to collect.

I relay to you the topics explained to me by him in the last 10 minutes.

1. Why the sky is blue.
2. Why the sea is blue.
3. Why green water is green.

There followed an exposition re.

4. Yankees, the Unions and the Confederate Army
5. COT being a ridiculous prefix for Cootamundra.
6. John someone or other who was a philosopher 'that no one likes'.
7. Australian's being the new yanks, and how he has called us the 'south pacific yanks' for years.

Now may I interject. Was I talking to this cretin? I was not. Did I ask anything remotely related to any of the above topics? I did not. Was I, strange as it may seem, actually attempting to do that for which I am paid fortnightly on a Wednesday, only to be distracted by his pompous, self indulgent posturing.

Indeed.

And so my rage is such that I am typing with sufficient ferocity to merit my boss coming over and making a stale little joke about wishing his anatomy was my keyboard. It is such that my eyes keep being drawn to my scissors, metallic and sharp, sitting in a little pot, ready to be hurled at a moments notice. I want to cut off all his hair (foppish in the most unappealing Hugh Grant sense of the word), force him to eat it and then remove whatever part of his brain it is that feels the need to wax lyrical about every topic that pops into it. Why when one mentions a carrot, he feels the need to tell you why the Indians first grew them way back in the 18th Century when the Salem witch trials helped pioneer the invention of the first man made rollercoaster.

Did you know the work 'poppycock' comes from the Dutch word meaning 'soft'? Did you care? How about that Sydney is called such because it was named after Lord Sydney, and Brisbane because it was named after the governor of NSW? I don't know the factual veracity of these comments, only that I DON'T BLOODY CARE!!

Which raises an interesting point. How does he know? He wasn't even born here, was never subject to pathetic Australian History lessons, filled with meaningless tat. So he has learned it? All these stupid facts, to what, impress women at the French class he attends? The French class he attends because he is the only male to do so, and at which he excels because he knows what the teacher is going to say before she speaks?

I know too much about this man! I am screaming inside (and almost out) with a rage I cannot express with the written word. Malice aforethought? You better believe it. Lokes, I caution you that I may be needing your professional services, real soon.

No not THOSE services...

When imitation isn't the sincerest form of flattery

2007-04-01T21:11:00.000+10:00

Plagiarism: "the unauthorised use or close imitation of the language and thoughts of another author and the representation of them as one's own original work."

- Dictionary.com

"Dear Fellow Blogger,

If you haven't already tuned into the fact that this is about you, let me take this opportunity to refresh your memory:

Goodbye My Lover

I miss you already. I regret the terrible cursing I've ever said to you. There were signs that things were not going well, but why was I so careless about your well-being? When it did happen, I was frantic and frightened, afraid of what my life would be without you, desperate to salvage whatever I could of our relationship and to tell you how much you meant to me.

The loss is so hard to bear, we've spent so many hours together, shared so many memories. The emails, photos, the music... the music, I want to lock myself in the bathroom and listen to Toni Braxton's "Unbreak My Heart" on repeat mode.

In the end, you left me with no choice but to give up. To start afresh. But this time I've learnt my lesson.

From now on, I will promptly back up all important data onto disk. (26 March 2007)

Now sit back, take a deep breath and listen hard.

I know there is probably not one sentence in any language that has not been previously published, not one bar of music that has not been composed before. But suffering succotash, you've bootlegged off the wrong biatch.

One could give you the benefit of the doubt and put it all down to a freaky concidence but having considered that theory for a whole two and a half seconds, I think it is safe to assume that at the time of committing this flagrant breach of copyright, your brain was about as logical and creative as a blunt garden gnome.

So out of the goodness of my heart, here are some pointers in case you want to rip off someone else's work in future:

1. If you're going to take the 'copy, edit and paste' angle, at the very least change the freaking title. Cutting out a few words is fairly tardy and shows a lack of imagination.

2. If you're going to select a piece of literature to pass off as your own, try searching for older entries so it's not obvious to readers (refer to tardiness point above). I've written better posts so I'm a bit peeved that you've fabricated one of the more boring ones. Who knows, you could have achieved literary stardom had you done your thieving the right way.

3. Be careful who you fleece. I have a team of highly qualified investigators out there whose one and only purpose is to sieve out people like you. The world wide web is smaller than you think, sunshine.

Consider this a strike. I won't hesitate to name and shame you the next time.

Now go and have your heart palpitations elsewhere.

Forever watching,
Lokes

P.S I will credit you for firing up the Lokemotion. Writing has never been more fun."

Goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend

2007-03-05T10:53:00.000+11:00

I can only bring myself to write about this now, three days after the event that catapulted my life into a fuzzy blubbering mess.

Breaking up is hard to do. I want to lock myself in a cupboard and listen to Al Green's "I'm still in love with you" on repeat, in slow motion, in reverse, in karaoke style. Anything to prolong my memories of you and of being with you. It feels like our journey ended before it began.

I miss you already. I regret the terrible things I ever said about you and did to you. Why was I so careless, so cavelier about your well-being? The worst thing is, I can't even isolate our split to an exact moment. I only know that you left me standing there in David Jones, like a stunned mullet, and I tried to come after you, chase you down. I was frantic and frightened, afraid of what others would think of my crazy behaviour but I was desperate to find you and tell you how much I needed you in my life. After a while, you left me with no choice but to give up.

It was time to let you go.

Rest in peace Chanel. Hello Vivienne Westwood.

Fodder

2007-02-05T15:25:00.000+11:00

I've noticed that whenever I write in my blog it's either about Spidey or my obssession with a certain four-legged bearded German girl. I know it can be boring but somehow you all keep coming back like maggots to a zebra carcass.

A few weeks ago, I went to the David Jones Food Hall and bought some snacky cakes for Spidey. This was my way of saying I-can't-control-my-mood-swings-when-I-have-PMS-but-I-want-you-to-also-know-how-sorry-I-am-for-being-a-real-haemorrhoid-lately. We had had a bit of an argument one morning and the night before had been tense. I had displayed verbal pyrotechnics only a multi-lingual psychopath could comprehend.

We had talked earlier in the day and resolved our quarrels. I talked myself into being nice and sweet again. The cakes would guarantee me pyrotechnics of another kind (I had hoped).

So with snacky cakes in hand, I arrived home before Spidey and was greeted by Eva who could not have been happier if I had tossed her a string of chicken necks marinated in pig's blood. We sat down, conferred over a skinny latte and devised a plan to wait for "daddy" at a strategic location so that the moment he turned the corner into the street he would be accosted by a chinese refugee and her hairy mut.

We waited, and waited. Waited and again waited. The look on his face when he saw us was priceless. I was so gonna get me some afternoon delights!

When we got back to the house Spidey pulled out a brand spanking new Nokia phone for me. He said he thought of me when it came out. My three little snacky cakes paled into comparison. How embarrassment.

On an entirely unrelated note, Travis should definitely win So You Think You Can Dance. He is so cute I could gobble him up in one jungle pop sitting.

Big Pain in the Ass

2007-02-04T19:44:00.000+11:00

When I'm not shopping at Chanel and Bvlgari, I go to places like Macquarie Centre.

Like today for example, when my mum needed black thread and then the next thing I know we were in the Haberdashery section of Big W(arehouse of General Shite).

My gripe is not with the fact that they don't provide each customer with a detailed map of the friggin megastore. It's with the fact that they now have these self-serve checkout counters which I can only postulate is supposed to fast track the whole purchasing transaction.

It doesn't.

Do not use these vile counterproductive decrepit contraptions if you have anger management issues.

That's all I have to say.

I crumble and die each time I see this....

2007-01-25T13:31:00.000+11:00

Eva, as a puppy......

Truly Asia - Part 2

2007-01-20T20:08:00.001+11:00

After 3 nights in Bangkok, we left for Phuket. When I initially planned this trip, I thought it'd be more economical for us to spend the first four nights in a 4 star so-so hotel. So....after some research I ended up booking the Merlin Beach Hotel. I don't know how to describe my reaction when we first arrived at the MBH. I knew NOT to expect the high standards that had already been set up by our stay in Bangers BUT at the same time I did not expect to walk into an Ibiza-style resort favoured by the world's most ugliest tattoed skinheads. But not only that. These ugly tattoed skinheads also had kids. Nuff said. (Actually the place wasn't that bad and it would have been great by normal standards, it's just that you can't help feeling pissed off after a 6 star experience.)

The only good thing about our room was that it had a pool access from the balcony.

Fortunately, we spent a lot of time out of the hotel. We hired a bike and rode along the coast of Phuket exploring all the beaches, markets and topless rippled-stomach men.

Patong was like Patpong on steroids. I loved it. We drank lots of beer on the strip. I stood on a corner and tried to pick up men but it seemed I wasn't dark enough and my red eye was kinda freaking the tourists off.

Well said and of course blogworthy.

I love elephants, so aside from kipnapping and smuggling one back to Sydney I decided the next best thing was to sit on one. And get proposed to. Well, that was what was supposed to happen after this kiss but the elephant stopped to do a shit and the ring was accidentally dropped into it. That kinda ruined the moment.

We spent the last four nights in Phuket at the Le Meridien. It was a huge sigh of relief to find it was remarkably better than the Merlin Beach Hotel. We loved it and never left the hotel for those 4 days. It helped that they had a myriad of activities, big beautiful pools and its own beautiful private beach.

Another boring hotel pic.

It's pretty obvious this is the private beach I was referring to. The water was warm, clear and green. I have a feeling a lot of couples make love in it. I have this feeling because I think I saw it happen.

The beach bbq by the beach was pretty special. Check out the $400 Chanels.

Phi Phi Island tours are sooooo over-rated but it had to be done. The jet boat trip out was horrendous, not because I was sea sick but because we were grouped with an Israeli family of five, two of whom (father and son) I wanted to slay with my flippers. Why? Because the son didn't know courtesy from a limestone rock and the father wouldn't have known respect if Aretha Franklin shouted at him in song.

Other than that the water was pretty noice.

Cooling off.

We are really happy.

Complimenary boob/fat shot (depending on which angle you take)

---

-
--This may look like a normal shot to you but it is actually my sole attempt at creative photography.

Every morning at the Le Meridien a baby elephant would come to visit. This is me giving it a banana that I stole from the breakfast buffet.

It is only appropriate that I should end off with the iconic Petronas Twin Towers. Call me a recalcitrant but even though I love Australia, Malaysia will always be my heart.

Truly Asia

2007-01-20T19:12:00.000+11:00

Due to the overwhelming demand of my beloved fans, "Imnotkorean" has decided to sign on for another enthralling season of meaningless hogwash. Thanks especially to my devotees in Puerto Rico - those petitions were great but enough killing of trees already!!

In case you were wondering, I was MIA because I was over the seas, not because I prematurely gave birth to twins all by myself. For four and a half weeks, Asia welcomed back its golden child and Sydney losts its sparkle.

There's so much to say but the upshot is I had an amazing time both in my homeland (that would be MALAYSIA and not the land of kimchi and scrunchies) and its neighbour (that would be THAILAND and not the land of ex-Malaysians and no bubblegum). Of course, it goes without saying that this was all made the better with Spidey as my companion for two and a half of those weeks. But the absolute highlight would have been seeing my dad, my half-sister, my grandparents, my aunts, uncles and cousins. The worst part was having to say goodbye, not knowing for certain when I would see them again.

Oh, and did I mention the chow? Glorious, glorious food. My gastronomic adventures included nasi lemak, roti canai, char kuay teow, nonya, popiah, satays, chilli crabs, rojak, wan ton mee, Ipoh sar ho fun...the list goes on and on and on. Anyway, I know most of you won't be able to appreciate aforementioned delicacies and are only interested in one thing and one thing only.....pictorials.

So without further ado, I present to you snapshots of my holiday. Oh, and of course there's the commentary too.

Spidey looks like he's about to upchuck but he's actually enjoying his first ever nasi lemak. Little does he know he'll have another 24 of these before he returns to Sydney.

I think I was having a star fruit juice. If you look close enough my right eye is slightly red. I have no idea why. To this day I still have this problem. I've seen two doctors and one optometrist about it but they cannot tell me what is wrong. If anyone can give me an online consultation/diagnosis that would be great.

A local hawker stall selling Yong Dau Fu, another roaring favourite of mine.

Our Deluxe bedroom at The Peninsula, Bangkok. This photo actually does little justice to what the room was really like. The hotel itself is wonderful. Definitely 6 star. Will definitely return. Spa was glorious.

Every girl's dream bathroom.

I am told that the pool at The Peninsula is the most impressive in all of Bangkok. I would not doubt that for a second.

Patpong was typically crazy and dirty. But the Singha was cheap and I was with an alcoholic white boy after all. After this drink we ended up having dinner at the end of a dark alley at a place called The Sphinx. Halfway through our thai beef salad we realised something disturbing. We had in fact stumbled into a restaurant frequented by one type - well-dressed older white men and their much younger thai boyfriends. I wondered if I looked like a boy in there.

This was the view from The Peninsula lobby looking out onto the river. Every morning we ate breakfast by the river and pretended we were rich like the American couple who often sat next to us.

Okay, I'm going to see if I can publish this mother of a post. More pics to come.

Warning - The Sop Returns

2006-11-24T16:30:00.000+11:00

Four months before I met Spidey I dated Miguel De Cruz*, a senior associate at a relatively well-known law firm.

I met him at a bar, literally, because I had just ordered a glass of some Fogarty Heart's riesling when he asked: "Is that any good?"

"I wouldn't really know - I just need a drink." Fecked if I know, do I look like Mrs Dom Perignon to you?

Then the dude proceeds to order the same. Goodbye, have a nice one I say and I go to meet my girlfriend Soong Hae Lee*. 45 minutes into the conversation Soong receives a call from nature and heads to the ladies. I whip out the mobes because suddenly I have no one to talk to. I pretend to send an urgent text to the Commissioner of Fisheries regarding the establishment of a central marine biological laboratory.

35 minutes later, it dawns on me that Soong has either done a runner or accidentally flushed herself down the waste receptacles. I hatch a search and rescue plan but on the way to the point of desination, I run into Mr "I'll Have What She's Having".

"Are you off?"

"I think my friend's in critical danger and I have to look for her." Then out of the corner of my eye I see her. She's standing with a group of guys. She's laughing. She looks like she's having a blast. She hasn't been kidnapped, stabbed or bitten by malaria-riddled mosquitoes. BIATCH.

"Actually, I think I've found her." And I'm going to break her legs.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"Sure." I'll break them later.

Miguel and I hit it off like Ike and Tina minus the domestic violence. On paper he was appealing. To this day I still consider him the funniest person I know. And that's what got me. Unfortunately that was the only thing that got me. Two months of dating and I confessed I wasn't feeling it, "could we be friends?". He was devastated. Truly he was, I'm not a bad catch if you get to know me. Anyway, turns out we could.

I had lunch with Migs today and it was fabulous. He's dating a Korean. I tell him there's still a way out, has he ever tried Malaysian - we're a good sort. He asked me about my life, whether I'm happy, is Spidey the one?

"I think he's the one." Shit what if I go home tonight and he's in bed with a circus midget, worse still, a male circus midget.

"So what can I do to intercept?"

"Own a dog." For starters.

"Might be tricky."

"Work less hours." Get a tan.

"That can be arranged."

The conversation goes on in jest but the more it carries on the more I realise how much he is nothing like Spidey.

How do you describe to someone that your mate is irreplaceable? You can't....it's in a look. All I had to do was show him the look. And it wasn't long before he got it.

*Names have been changed to protect the individual's privacy and privates.

Don't push my buttons

2006-11-23T16:25:00.000+11:00

Last night on Fox 8 they aired the American Music Awards or some shite like that. Beyonce opened with that "to the left, to the left" song. Some B-grade television comedian hosted. P-Diddy was once again surrounded by his entourage of $2000 an hour skanks.

The moment the Pussycat Dolls start performing "Buttons" I leap up off the couch and start giving Jennifer Beal's performance in Flashdance a run for her money. Two and a half seconds into what could've, would've, should've been the best recital of my life Spidey waves his finger at me austerely and tells me to turn the 'bloody thing off'.

I am fed up.

Fed up of his utter lack of appreciation for:

1. my rockin' body shaking; and
2. Nicole Schwarzfinger's hot body and voice.

I throw the remote control at him with every intention of disfiguring his schnoz and stomp off to the bedroom, utterly pissed off.

Maybe I should have prefaced this post with "Rags - Day Two".

Shaven....

2006-11-22T19:40:00.000+11:00

Mutley Crew

2006-11-16T18:25:00.000+11:00

I think it's nearing THAT TIME....

2006-11-16T16:48:00.000+11:00

Last night we had dinner at Arax; touted as one of the best Lebanese restaurants in the North Shore, right on Willoughby Road.

The food was sensational but let's be fair, I'm not here to talk about the babaganoush.

Spidey and I were having another one of those conversations. The one where I tell him how much I contribute to the marital household in exchange for a free ride on the rental trail. I brought up the fact that ever since we started dating he has not once, ever, bathed Eva. When we were still in our honeymoon phase and sipping each other's pina colada, he told me that Eva and him used to take showers together and that was pretty much the extent of her cleaning regime. That is NOT an opportunity for all you sick mofos out there to respond with a lame-ass dig either. I'll shit all over you if you so much as piss in my garden, a'ight.

Anyway. I tell Spidey what he already knows. I bath Eva about once a fortnight with special eucalyptus shampoo and then I dry her off in front of the heater and then I brush her out so she looks like the canine version of Zsa Zsa Gabor. Spidey says it's because I love her, at which point I burst into tears. If I had just swallowed a red savina habanero (read: hottest chilli in the world) this would seem normal, in fact foolish because why on earth would I want to swallow the farker. But I cry because I DO love Eva and I am thinking about how psychotic I am for crying because I love her so much.

She is my baby, and with that, more pics to come shortly!

If you like cats stay away from ma blog.

Bicuriosity kills the cat

2006-11-16T11:32:00.000+11:00

I happen to really enjoy the company of my friend Laura, who couldn't be more white if she fell into a bucket of Tipp-Ex.

She's 21 and certainly no whigga but she'll bust a cap in your ass if you so much as step on her mojo.

Laura owes her big beautiful blue eyes to her mother Mrjinana, Marijuana, Mrjiuana or something Crotian/Serbian/Yugoslav sounding. Those eyes can mesmerize you or they can shoot a twelve-bore glare. At the best of times, she is also a redhead depending on how many washes she's had since the last Loreal application. Make no mistake though, she does not require an oxidizing agent to be fiery.

Laura and I have the best times together. And the best conversations. I attribute this to the fact that we both possess a ferocious appetite for tomfoolery. When we are in our element, we are card-carrying biatches who have no qualms about voicing our disdain with the general public pool of idiots that may just happen to brush us up the wrong way in Priceline. The rest of the time, we are making each other snort with laughter; a product of our warped and perverted sense of humour.

Laura loves shoes. She loves shoes the way mosquitoes love pondscum. Sometimes, I try to bring her shoe habit to heel (pun intended!) but mostly I egg on the purchases because they're usually so hot they beggar belief. Meanwhile I walk around in haviannas and weather-beaten mules because I only know how to do lazy and comfortable.

Sometimes I think we have been separated at birth, for we know each other so well. Other times I want to pelt her with a bag of stones. A typical Arien; she can be as stubborn as a mud fence and as subtle as a double hernia.

Mostly though, I find her incredible. If she played her cards right, I'd give her one.

Sod that. I'd give her one anyway.

The men in my life - Part 1

2006-10-31T10:13:00.000+11:00

After what felt like 6 months of fluid retention, I am now back dancing the cha-cha.

Today is Spidey's birthday. For all my American fans out there, Happy Halloween!!!

I was gonna turn some tricks to fund some treats for Spidey but I've realised that it will take several months of ass pimping to afford that voyage to Monte Carlo. That's Grand Prix for all you mofos out there.

Instead, I settled for 3 gifts; one practical, one sentimental, one experience. (Don't ask, they're pretty lame and very "been there, done that" but he thought it was pretty spesh and I might just get some lovin' for it so FCUK OFF)

Okay, so it was a sandwich press (maxi cafe style thankyouverymuch), a photo of Spidey and I done up on canvas, and a climb up the friggin bridge where I intend to ask him for his hand in marriage.

Which suddenly reminds me of a scene in Paint Your Wagon (circa 1963 starring Lee Marvin and Clint Eastwood)

"Yankee doodle did a dandee riding on a pony
Went to town and bought a wife and called it matrimony"

I did say this was random spouting.

Riding the roughest wave

2006-10-24T10:07:00.000+10:00

Right this moment I am so bloody fcuking shitty I could choke the next passerby to death.

By this I mean I have THE MOST intense period pains I could choke the next passerby to death.

Although I am, or what appears to be, sitting at my desk, I am actually so hunched forward that my head is nearly touching the keyboard. wjierocfeo;wjfofjocjoerasiuroserwp. Oops, you see there? That's my head touching the keyboard.

I am miserable and snappy and on the brink of a major episode of psychosis.

Eva - Take 482

2006-10-14T20:45:00.000+10:00

Scraps of Info

2006-10-12T14:47:00.000+10:00

I had a "low" day yesterday despite selling a bird cage on Ebay for $237.50. Sadly, happiness is not getting 34 people to outbid each other for a huge muthafunken aviary.

I think I even took it out on Spidey. The first thing he said was not "What's wrong baby? Are you okay? Do you want a sweedish massage?".

But.

"Are your boobs hurting?" (implying "Do I need to organise a weekend away cause you're PMSing?")

Strangely, this is a fair call. My boobs aren't hurting yet but they will start to soon.

Today however, I'm on the up. It's Thursday and one day left before the weekend. I'm going out tonight with the girls for dinner at my favourite Japanese hole-in-the-wall haven. I already know this will be the pinnacle of my week - a night out biatching and cussing, eating and drinking.

Meanwhile, I have found another new reality show to love: America's Next Top Model.

Sunday Night Fever

2006-10-10T09:47:00.000+10:00

As we all know, I'm quite partial to reality TV shows (except I hate Big Brother, The Biggest Loser, Survivor, and that stupid show where they show Australian Customs giving shit to Asians who bring in dried shrooms and pickled sea bass).

BUT, I do love Aussie Idol. Or did.

Sunday night's DISCO theme produced the following mixed bag of observations/reactions:

1. I hate disco music. I was born to bump 'n grind, not boogie.

2. I fancy a pair of technicoloured flares.

3. Bobby Flynn is.....starting to grow on me. From the start, it was actually my mission to despise the ogre but somehow Bobbers has managed to pull off some pretty neat performances two weeks in a row IN SPITE of the fact that he closely resembles our distant primate cousins! And did he sing "Superfreak" cause he was trying to take the mick out of himself?!!

4. I actually screamed and drooled like a 16 year old school girl when Dean Geyer performed amazing acrobatics on stage. Spidey rolled his eyes but I knew he was thinking about how he could woo me again with his disjointed breakdancing routine.

5. I can't believe Lavina got voted out....instead of "I've had too many cheeseburgers" Chris!! And what's with the public and keeping in time-wasters like Lisa Mitchell?! The girl thinks she's the next Missy Higgins....and uh, where is Missy now?!?! Anyway, ya'll know I was rooting for the token islander with the hardcore street cred but now that she's gone there's no point continuing.

I'm totally off Idol now.

When does Temptation Island start up again?

A day at Chinamen's....

2006-10-02T18:13:00.000+10:00

Things that make me go mmm....

2006-09-29T15:14:00.001+10:00

Lately I've been questioning what makes Spidey and I click. Theoretically, there are a lot of reasons why we shouldn't.

He's a Scorpio and I'm a Sagittarius. According to the laws of astronomy, this partnership is about as compatible as cauliflower on toast.

We don't know which date we officially started "going out". It's somewhere between the 27th April to 15th May 2005. And yes, it matters.

We have completely different taste in music. I once saw a Casey Chambers CD in his collection and had to convince myself it was left there by an ex-girlfriend who clearly had spent too much time out in the sun on the Nullabor Plain.

We don't have a song. This irks me.

He doesn't like going to the movies. This means I spend a lot of time watching new releases on DVD by myself.

He doesn't read. Unless you count Motor, Vintage Cars, and the Trading Post literary works of art.

He would rather undergo a kidney transplant without the general anestetic than spend a night out at the theatre, a musical or a concert.

He's not Chinese. He'll never understand my mother tongue, he'll never get used to tofu, and he'll always balk at how tightarse we can be.

But we fit. Somehow we fit.

His idea of a good Friday night in is a fridge stocked with Coopers Green, a roomful of his mates, a random cricket/rugby/motorsport show on the box and a delivery order with the local pizza shop. My idea is a night out on the town with my peeps, dinner at a random Japanese restaurant, engaging in wicked banter followed by a taxi ride back to his. And we're always so ecstatic to see each other.

We know we met on 17 April 2005. We've agreed this was an extraordinary day. I knew, he knew, from the very moment we saw each other and without yet having spoken a word, we would be seeing each other again.

We love to cook. Our best conversations often occur in the kitchen. He looks damn sexy with a pair of tongs in his hands.

We love the outdoors, the travelling, the sun, the markets, the lazy Sunday afternoon picnics sprawled on a blanket.

He makes me laugh till my sides split. This is actually an accomplished feat when you consider my standards of comical genius.

He's mood barometer never falls below neutral. Mine is volatile and flamboyant. But he puts up with it, or at least ignores it, even when my shit has hit the fan and he's innocently at the receiving end. Other times he'll even ask me to "pull my head in".

His random gifts are always so thoughtful. A pilates mat. A guitar tuner. Gingerbread men from Jones the Grocer.

We trust each other. He could be surrounded by, and chatting to a harem of barenaked ladies and I wouldn't bat an eyelid. In my younger insufferable days I would have bitch-slapped the ho and then slaughtered the sausage.

He's an 'ideas' man and he's earned every bit of his success. I like the fact that I can look up to him.

We converse in "relationship" language riddled with private jokes, codes and colourful accents. His seeth africaan is my favourite.

In Yoda-speak - connect, we do. Fun, we have. Boring, it is not.

But ask me again in 6 months. Things could change. But for the moment, I'm pretty happy.

Eddie McExclusives

2006-09-28T10:45:00.000+10:00

I know I said I wouldn't go there. You know, the love stuff and all that dry retching baloney. But before ya'll jump all over me like LAPD on Rodney King, I just want to point out that sometimes you just need to throw a red herring out there, just to make life that little bit more interesting. The fact is, I can be a sentimental sonofabiatch at times.

Anyways.

It goes without saying that last night's interview with Terri Irwin brought on a severe case of waterworks for me. I had to employ a meticulous dabbing technique with the tissues in order to prevent the inevitable onset of puffiness around the eyes. Naturally, it did not work. To my dismay, I'm no Mona Lisa this morning.

Nevertheless.

How bloody beautiful is Terri Irwin.

She has such an incredible soul and I really felt for her and the little guppies. The whole time I was thinking about how I would cope if, God forbid, something happened to Spidey, or anyone else that I truly loved and cared about. Could I survive? Terri said she didn't have a choice. She had to, and she would, but it would take one day at a time. She would continue to keep Steve's dreams alive and she was grateful for the last decade she had with him. She still felt his presence around her and felt most peaceful in the evenings, where he spent cooking for the family. There was absolute conviction in her love and passion for Steve and their story rekindled my faith in soulmates. I have yet to firsthand witness a love and bond still so strong and resilient after 14 years of marriage but what's even more amazing is that this seemed to only multiply when Bindi and "Bob Bob" came along. Am I just being cynical? Isn't this what love and committment is really all about? Fraid not. I've seen too many couples and marriages fall apart because the connection was no longer there. A communication breakdown. An affair. Words like 'separation', 'divorce', 'custody' too often spoken.

So as drippy as this might sound, the Irwins make me want to cherish and appreciate what I have with Spidey. They make me want to tell my parents and my sister "I love you" more often. And I will - I'll do it starting today.

Wassup

2006-09-27T14:18:00.000+10:00

Ya'll know I'm going to be to glued to the TV set tonight.

8.30pm.

Channel 9.

Don't blow it Ray Ray.

I learnt a new word today - "ballyhoo"

2006-09-26T09:24:00.000+10:00

"Spinksgate" was fun. But now that the hoo hah has died down and I am back to my normal two person fan base, I can say that I'm feeling rather uninspired.

On that note, my dad has returned to KL and I have returned to the humdrum of city life.

In other news:

1. I have no more books to read. This is an SOS call. To you. Lau x 2.

2. Over the past week I have received two complaints about regarding my manner of driving. Apparently, I am incapable of slow and smooth acceleration and sitting in my car is akin to watching an Imax film, without the goggles.

3. Today is my one year anniversary at work. I love my boss. He congratulated me, and he sincerely meant it.

4. Eva is getting a schnauzer cut this morning at the salubrious "Secret Dog's Business". The gay furdresser is a nuisance to deal and can make a hullabaloo out of the tiniest fur ball not being combed out enough but he's been touted the best in the area so that leaves us at his mercy. Photos DEFINITELY to come.

5. This post is getting so ridiculously boring I'm going to have to stop.

LATERS!!!!

To borrow an expression from Rove.....WHAT THE!!?

2006-09-22T16:22:00.000+10:00

I was always taught to treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen, but crikey, this has gone beyond the sphere of normality for me.

Dear Bradley,

I'm taken aback by your bold and public displays of affection but feel the burning need to address by way of bullet point, some areas of concern arising out of your most recent correspondence:

You and I do not know each other. The chances of us ever meeting are about as remote as me winning the next Fields Medal for excellence in algebraic combinatorics and analytical number theory. Therefore, I suggest you dismiss any wistful delusions of a fairytale ending as I have already found my Prince Charming. I will however again encourage you to divert your attention to Lau Lau, or even perhaps Teeko the dingo. Trust me, he is lovely and will not maim you.
Um, as for all the Irwin-related posts. I. WAS. BEING. SARCASTIC. This is an art form. Quickly enrol in a class.
I do not know anyone famous. I never have and I never will. This is just one of those unfortunate things in my life, like never having won a door prize from a raffle ticket draw, or scratching enough arrows to win $250,000 on the Lord of The Rings scratchie. On that note, it is safe to assume that because you and I will never meet, you will never win more than a dollar in your life.
Although I appreciate your offer, I don't think I could handle seeing your photo (even though Spidey has kindly requested same). This could cause me to have severe heart palpitations and result in me effectively selling my house, quitting my job and having your babies. THIS. IS. A. JOKE.

Once again I thank you for your patronage to I'm Not Korean.

yours sui'tly,

Lokes

To Bradley Spinks

2006-09-22T09:58:00.000+10:00

Greetings Blogging Universe.

As it turns out, I apparently have more than one fan afterall.

Hi Bradley,

I'm really new to the whole blogging bandwagon so forgive me if, at certain moments in my response, I sound a little curt. It's not deliberate, it's just in my DNA.

Firstly, if this is some lame ass prank, I will personally hunt you down and burn your eyelids off with a laser beam powerful enough to destroy whole countries.

If this is not and you are able to produce a valid passport bearing your full name, nationality, residence and birth date, then I say this: I'm flattered but why not try RSVP.com?

Secondly, it is clear my literary brilliance has been wasted on a random stranger, albeit one with exceptional taste!!! Nevertheless, I have no choice but to lambast you Spinkster. Has it not occurred to you (from my blog) that:

1. Lau Lau and I are NOT lovers. One inter-racial relationship is enough for me, let alone one same sex inter-racial relationship. Though I might add that she is single, smart and sexy and perhaps you could focus your courting energies on her?

2. Spidey is my other half, my boo, my homeboy, the father of my unborn children.

3. I'm not related to the Irwins. Unless Steve's ancestral line was headed by the Ming dynasty. Though it begs the 64 million dollar question, where on earth did you get the idea that I was?

It's raw fish, not brain surgery

2006-09-20T15:51:00.000+10:00

Today Spidey said that I seem to be a very angry person. Am I really? I actually think I'm just a normal human being with standard levels of tolerance and forbearance, but with absolutely no tact whatsoever. Anyway. Where is all this going? I'll let Lau Lau, celebrity guest blogger elucidate:

"The David Jones Food Hall is usually a treasure. They have mouth watering chocolate covered strawberries and aisles of 'snacky cakes' as far as the eye can see. They also have sushi. Rather good sushi. This was my and Sui's destination for lunch.

It began innocently enough. We were served by a (in hindsight probably Korean) girl who took our order for 2 spider rolls with soft shell crab and avocado, and then informed us it would be a 20 minute wait. No problem.

We bought a strawberry each and drooled over caviar and olives. We priced foreign tea and searched for sugar free chocolate (don't ask). We airily discussed the benefits of deli shopping in Europe, as opposed to Coles, flaunting our style. We returned just within 20 minutes and claimed our seats.

Insert caramel suited uber bitch who moved her bag from the empty seat beside her in the world weary manner of a worn out hooker. Insert three 'buy a suit from cue and cinch it at the waist with a belt from sportsgirl' power lunchers, discussing topics ranging form how skinny they imagine they will be after giving birth, to why they weren't allowed in the gym the night before. And so we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Eventually Sui, her Kyoto nose severely out of joint, went to complain while I sat meekly out of ear shot contenting myself with some venomous tut tutting. The solution? Sorry madam but we are making them now. So she returns. And we wait.

And wait some more.

All up, 50 minutes lapsed between when the order was placed and when we were served. Let me remind you we were in a FOOD HALL not Jamie's latest rescue mission cum 5 star restaurant. Eventually our sushi arrived. 4 tiny pieces with ginger, wasabi and splashes of soy.

It was divine.

It was not however, enough to calm the raging storms of injustice and fury welling in our hearts. 'Thankyou for the wait' said our waitress. You should be thanking us for not punching you in the face we muttered as we descended upon our lunch like ravenous wolves."

Something beginning with D and ending in RHEA

2006-09-20T10:18:00.000+10:00

In chronological order, I present to you my life for the past 4 days:

1. Saturday morning. My dad arrived from KL bearing durian cakes, traditional biscuits, Darlie toothpaste, a thick Malaysian accent and an extra 10kgs around his waist. I immediately told him he needed to lost weight because its unhealthy but also because it makes him look older and I cannot bear the thought of my dad ageing even though it is a natural fact of life.

While dad spent some time with his brother on Saturday, I spent some time with twenty kids at Waratah Park. I was on GF duties at Spidey's niece and nephew's joint birthday bonanza and I was in fact looking forward to this. Not the part about the kids, but because Waratah Park, in case you did not know, was the location where they filmed the iconic (read: naff) television series of Skippy. Incidentally, its website also boasts that it remains today as a home and sanctuary for many of the areas native inhabitants, ergo, I was expecting to see a whole lotta wildlife out there but in truth there's a whole lotta nuttin. Unless you count a bunch of wallabies and a lone koala "wildlife". Suffice to say, it did not the slightest bit phase me. I was in my element. I patted a wallaby and cooked snags. Bindi would've been proud.

Then.

Warren.

Only Lionel Shriver fans can relate. If you thought "Kevin" was the embodiment of Beelzebub, I present to you Wazza, a 10 year old mini Bee.

I know I'm missing a maternal chromosome or something, but I promise you I'm not embellishing. This kid enraged me so much Spidey was a phone call away from calling the cops. On me. Meanwhile, I was a phone call away from calling backup. This kid needed to be hauled over the coals and I was right and ready to deliver a smackdown. What's the fuss you ask? Let me tell you what's the fuss! This kid made fun of a kangaroo's BALLS. According to Wazza, it's balls were so whopping big that the only way he was capable of illustrating this to the rest of the party was to gather 6 other boys, make them join hands and form a circle, then shout at the top of his big fat trap that this was how big its balls were!!

Mind you, this is only one example. I know he's "just a kid" but seriously, by the end of it I didn't know who to murder - him or his parents, or both.

Also, I was at a birthday party with kids who's FIRST names were Madison, Saxon, Cale and Mackenzie. Am I missing something here? Although I better stamp a disclaimer here and say that Mad and Sax are Spidey's neice and nephew and they are gorgeous.

3. Sunday. I woke up with the most excruciating pain around my abdomen. I had it for one whole day and was in total agony but still managed to spend the day with dad visiting relos and going to the beach with my beloved mut.

4. Monday. Took the day off sick as pain in abdomen turned into 'rhea and riding the crimson wave. Yeah, you can't find a better combo at Hungry Jacks I assure you.

5. Tuesday. Work. Still riding the waves, less rough though. Forecast for the next 4 days looking good.

There are some people who are and there are some people who aren't....

2006-09-14T15:20:00.000+10:00

I don't have an ambitious go-getter sort of personality and I'll readily admit that in a nanosecond.

Here's an unintelligent analogy for you folks out there: I'm happy not being at the top of the tree, just as long as I'm not the monkey on the ground picking up the shit.

BUT.

WHAT.

ANNOYS.

ME.

IS

THIS.

People who outrightly and unashamedly pilfer work from others in order to make themselves look important and busy. This is my grievance.

Case in point: Next to me sits a gentleman in his mid 50s. For privacy reasons I cannot disclose his name however if you possess a TAFE Certificate IV in Pig Latin you are at liberty to solve it for yourself. Arry-Hay Arris-Hay. That is his name I kid you not.

Anyway. Subject offender's roman empire ancestry may explain his overbearing and despotic attitude towards colleagues but his trojan horse antics don't fool me. Obviously I cannot go into detail about this but it's become so annoying lately that I think he can actually sense my total dislike of him. So much so that he's now not talking to me. How else can I tell? Well, the 'lolly jar' containing Skittles that used to sit on top of the filing cabinet between his space and mine is no longer there. It was supposed to be a special treat to share in the afternoon when three-thirtyitis hit us. Mind you, he was the one who brought it to work but now it sits in his drawer locked up and occasionally I will hear him take it out and very slowly and carefully remove a skittle at a time so that I won't hear or know what he's doing!!

BOLLOCKS!!!!!

Do not blame this for the infant mortality rate...

2006-09-13T10:07:00.000+10:00

Since I've been known for my altruistic ways, I have allowed this one rant from Lau Lau, dingo lover extraordinaire....

"Here is teeko aka adopted son doing his best snoopy impersonation and then stealing what's left of your heart with a wide eyed 'who me - the possum was already drawn and quartered' expression."

Kanine Weekly

2006-09-12T20:38:00.000+10:00

This is what I wake up to every morning.....

Domestics

2006-09-12T16:40:00.000+10:00

I took a page out of Martha Stewart's book yesterday and did a spot of ironing. Ironing is actually quite therapeutic, although it is safe to say that I am terrible at it.

I start to have an open, good natured discussion about marriage with my boyfriend - whom from now on shall be referred to as Spidey. The reason for this pseudonym is because during the first few weeks of dating, he sent me a boxful of treats at work containing perfume, a tin of lollies and a sweet handwritten note.

And a big black plastic spider that had all the hallmarks of being purchased from the bargain bin of a two dollar shop.

The spider, as he later informed me, was supposed to make me jolt and send me halfway across the room in fright. Instead it made me think he was a 6 year old living in a 34 year old body. Still, the sentiment was there and since then he has spun a web of beautiful memories in my corner of the world.

EWWWW!!! SPEW!!!!!! THOU SHALT NOT SPEAKETH ABOUT LOVE!!!!

So.......we are having this discussion about marriage, like two seasoned examiners of the topic, when I open my mouth and the words "Don't you want to marry me?" come out. He looks at me as if I've just said "Don't you want to die of arsenic poisoning?". This makes me think I have to do something quick like shout "HAHA FOOLED YOU" and then have the crew of Candid Camera launch out from under the ironing board.

The rest of the conversation didn't actually turn out so bad. It will not be repeated here because I don't want to foil our surprise plans to get hitched in the Bahamas next week. Cash gifts only please.

What's in a name?

2006-09-11T11:12:00.000+10:00

Aside from dropping the kids off at the pool, one of the first things I do upon arriving at work is to have a gander at online SMH.

Keeping with the theme of the past week, I immediately clicked onto an article about the Croc Hunter.

At this point some would argue that I am just a pathetic loser, but to hell with that because my whole fascination with Steve can now be totally justified.

It turns out that back in 1991, Steve owned a Staffordshire bull terrier cross called Sui.

What the, I hear you say?

Crikey it's farking true!!!!

Here are some other facts that might astonish you:

1. Irwin's first child was Bindi Sui.
2. He named her after his favourite crocs Bindi and Sui.
3. His son Bob was born 1 December 2003.

HELLO!!!!!!

Okay...so Irwin's "Sui" was probably pronounced the way Aussies would order mongolian lamb and chop soooooeeeey, but somehow I'm connected. For crying out loud, there are no other Sui's in this world but me and little ol' Bindi. Maybe I'll end up running the Zoo with her one day and young Bob and I will celebrate our birthdays together in Bindi and Sui's croc enclosure.

Crikey, I'm devastated.

2006-09-10T18:24:00.000+10:00

For the last six days, my life has been occupied by Steve Irwin's death.

For the past two days, it has been occupied by his life.

The Animal Planet channel on Fox has been featuring a 24 hour weekend marathon of all of Steve's documentaries. And bloody oath I've been glued to it.

I can't explain why I've been so affected by his death, only to say that I found myself instinctively doing all of the following, in no particular order:

Refreshing the SMH website every 2 hours for reports or updates on the incident;
Tuning into all the corny media tributes and then spending the whole time crying as if Rob Thomas had just announced he was gay;
Making it loud and clear that anyone who utters a bad word against him would be slain like a pig on market day;
Crying whilst watching a re-run of his interview with Denton;
Crying whilst watching a re-run of his appearances on The Footy Show;
Crying whilst watching a re-run of his appearances on Jay Leno.

As you can see, there's a pattern here. I watch way too much bad TV.

Anyway, I don't care what anyone says. I was there when the Croc Hunter debut his docos and it was love at first sight....with the reptilians. But I was passionate about Steve too.

The real deal, the genuine article. If only I had that much passion for life, or even knew anyone remotely like him.

I don't care if....

2006-09-09T16:46:00.000+10:00

your heart is made of steel.

Tell me you don't want to just eat this up.

While my boyfriend is watching the 43rd minute....

2006-09-08T21:09:00.000+10:00

of the Knights and Sea Eagles game, I thought I'd dabble in a bit of blogging.

Now it's the 48th minute and I've just realised it's taken me five whole minutes to write one sentence.

I could say that it's because I'm so thoroughly engrossed in the game and that I can't take my eyes off Joey John's buns, but the reality is I'd rather choke on my own putrid vomit. I'm also perplexed by my boyfriend's interest in the game, only because it was he who declared I would damage my reputation if I continued to announce my predilection to the Tigers.

.....approximately one year ago.....

Me: "I like the Tigers because Balmain is kinda near Marsfield...." (Actually Parramatta is probably closer but the moment I think of this suburb I think of its partiality to crack addicts and a string of bad pizza joints.)

BF: "But they're now the Wests Tigers biatch, get with da program." (Ok, so he doesn't really talk like that but I thought I'd give him a rougher P-Diddy like edge.

Me: "You got me. It's coz of Scott Prince. And his buns." (It's fair to say at this point that buns are my "thang". Like how alcohol is to Robert Downey Jnr and crime is to Chopper Reed.)

So the conversation goes on about how league players are thugs and how the real rugby is the one where you have 345 rules and the players actually have real jobs. He tells me with so much gusto that I can actually see the veins on his temples flare up. He despises league like a tumour on your tongue. I tune out of course as buns are on my mind. But this time I'm thinking about whether to have it with the all beef pattie or the fillet-o-fish with extra mayo.