Author Archives: Kitta

Kitta: Ooo Escada Rockin’ Rio is out cheap at Perfume Empire!
Matt: *Nods and smiles*
Kitta: It’s $100 is department stores!
Matt: *Nods and smiles some more*
Kitta: Bah… I so need, like, a female friend that knows what I’m crapping on about, even Candy doesn’t know Sass and Bide from Lisa Ho.
Matt: Well… I’m sorry, but I can’t be your female friend sweetie.
Kitta: Yes I know.
Kitta: *Sighs*
Matt: Wouldn’t you think it was a bit odd if I was?
Kitta: Yes.
Matt: I would be like “OH MY GOD! Did you see the sale Lisa Ho is having! I mean, I’m going to get myself so many Ho’s its not funny!”
Kitta: You know, even though I know you were joking, when you said Lisa Ho and sale in the same sentance I got kind of excited.
Matt: I am never letting you have my credit card.
Kitta: Oh come on!

As I sit typing this Camp lies at my feet, waiting for me to get up so she can try to play a prank on me, which seems to have become her one goal in life.

Normally she lays in the sun, legs in the air and exposing her naked belly for all the neighbours to see while soaking up the suns rays so she will have a killer tan to show off the next time she goes for a walk at the beach. Not a care in the world. We joke that she is a dog of leisure at heart, due to the fact she was found on the Whitsunday islands as a pup, lost and wondering around a Camp site, she probably belonged to a rich couple holidaying on their yacht.

But lately the sun bathing beauty must have become bored with the resort lifestyle and has started following me around all day long, strategically placing her chew toys in my path while I’m not looking in the hopes of making me trip and thus having a fantastic story to bark to the dogs about later in the day. As I turn my back on her I say “no one thought it was cute when Ashton Kutcher did it, and no one thinks it’s cute now dog”.

I’ve warned her that the treats will cease if I am decapitated after tripping over her tire shaped bull, in return she gives my a cute look and wags her tail as if to say “there are other humans who know where the treat jar resides.”

I’ve been low in B-12 this past week (I have B-12 injections every month or two because I have Pernicious Anaemia), so today I got jabbed with a syringe full of the red liquid that they like to call Hydroxocobalamin but I always refer to as the injectable version of the red pill, by the confused looks on the doctors and nurses faces I take it they are not Matrix fans. I also got jabbed with the annual Influenza vaccine (I had Influenza a few years back and I’ve been given the vaccine ever since.)

After being jabbed I was sitting outside of the shopping centre while my mother was inside buying food for dinner, as I sat there I started to feel dizzy (due to the heat and low B-12) and I noticed people were giving me concerned looks as they passed me, I put my head between my knee’s to stop the world from spinning. After a minute or two a middle aged lady stopped and asked me if I was ok, I managed a smile and say “I’m fine thanks, just the heat getting to me”, she said “ok, just wanted to check, you don’t look too well”, and then she smiled and went on her way.

It’s nice to know people care.

On Sunday the LRMF Perthian crew had a BBQ at Point Walter to catch up and meet some new faces (Tim, Justin, and some random James fellow who didn’t say very much apart from “I’m not a member of the forum”). The afternoon was filled with fun, sun and Tiffy getting high on sugar (as all LRMF BBQ’s are). Here are a few photos and conversations from the event…

While driving to pick up Candy Tiffy enquired “Kitta, are you wearing two bra’s?”, I was confused by her question, “no I’m wearing a bra and a singlet” I said and then asked “Why would I wear two bra’s?”, she seemed just as confused by the question as I was and replied “oh ok, I umm, I don’t know.” Ahh the mind of Tiffy, so complex.

On the way home Tiffy was informing us about the sound effects of sex (information which she of course gained from her teenage friends), specifically what it sounds like when a guy has an orgasm. She told us “my friend said it makes a ‘gizzzz’ sound”, everyone in the car exclaimed “WTF!” and then Candy clarified things, “it’s not a tomato sauce bottle Tiffy” she said “there’s no pressure in there for it to sound like a sauce bottle, it has no sound.” After the laughter from Candy’s tomato sauce bottle theory had died down I confessed “I am so never going to be able to use a tomato sauce bottle again.”

When we stopped for petrol I leaned out the window and said to Matt “yeah pump that petrol, harder, yeah baby”, Tiffy joined in on the fun and said “do it for me Daddy”, he gave us a repulsed look and then left to go pay for the petrol. When he returned we all said at once “Daddy can we have some ice cream, we want ice cream Daddy, pleaseeeeeee!” he replied in a stern fatherly voice “no, now shut the fuck up” followed shortly after by “I am so never having kids.”

Candy asked me to pass her a sausage in a bun, I went to grab one and she said “no, not that one, the big black one”, Anne asked “do you like big black sausages?” and Candy replied “no, Adam (her boyfriend) and I have had a talk about how I don’t go for black wang.”

I got sunburnt on my left should and arm because I had the window open while we were driving. I’ve applied about 10 layers of aloe vera, so hopefully it won’t peel.

More photos on Flickr under the ‘lrmf omgwtfbbq point walter’ tag.

When I was a smaller version of myself – say Kitta Beta 6.4, before I was bought by Google and made users log in with their Gmail details – I would spend my days baking cookies, muffins and other yummy treats. Whenever I baked I always had a trusting friend there to help me, his name was Mr Bowl. Mr Bowl was very old, he belonged to my fathers mother and came to Australia on a ship with her. He had a chip on his side and a slight crack on his bottom, but I still loved him.

One day I was getting ready to make some cupcakes when I noticed Mr Bowl wasn’t in his normal resting place, I looked all over the kitchen for him, he was no where to be found. I asked my mother if she had seen him and that was when she told me the news.

She had killed Mr Bowl.

My own mother had killed my baking friend. Ok, so she didn’t really kill him, but she did chuck him in the bin, which I’m sure crushed his little bowl heart.

My mother then introduced me to a new family of bowls, they were plastic, came in various sizes and they had absolutely no character what so ever. I wanted nothing to do with them, I wanted Mr Bowl back. But it was too late, Mr Bowl was gone and I was left with the new emotionless plastic family. I tried to get to know them to even accept them, but the loss of Mr Bowl was too harsh. There was a hole in my heart that no other bowl could replace.

My baking has never been the same since, and I blame it all on my mother.

My mother gave our dog Camp a bath today and left her flea shampoo sitting next to my shampoo, about an hour later I was having a shower and I grabbed what I thought was my PPS shampoo and put it on my hair. I was lathering up thinking “hmm, something smells like Camp”, I kept lathering and then I suddenly realised that I had used the bloody dog’s flea shampoo on my hair.

It took four long washes with my shampoo to get the dog smell out of it. I told Mother about it and she thought it was hilarious, so funny in fact that she feels the story must be re-told to all her co-workers, little does she know I will fill her shampoo with the dogs shampoo and then we will see who is laughing! I will also inflict the same treatment on my boyfriend if he makes one more “your coat is so shiny now” or “sit… stay… good girl” jokes.

Good news is that my hair is now flea free. 🙂

Some things that have been happening lately presented in bullet point format, so I do not have to think about making shit flow and thus use more brain power than I can sustain at the present time…

• Succumbed to yet another throat/chest infection, spent a few days in bed trying to keep my temperature under 40 and eating far too much pudding, at one point I thought the cat was a tiger that was going to eat me. Fevers are fun kids.
• The boyfriend is trying to convince me to help him in his quest to make cheese flavoured water available to the public. I simply sigh, remind him that no one would want cheese flavoured water, and call him a dork (in the most loving way of course) for even contemplating it. He then retorts by ranting about how rich cheese flavoured water will make us.
• Have yet to order a copy of Company (it’s author Max Barry emailed me last year to say he enjoyed reading my blog so much that he felt it would interfere with Company’s deadline) due to having to pay medical bills, at one point tried to convince self that Company was a much more important investment because said book would cause laughter and then all would be good in Kittaville, then came to senses and re-read Fight Club while mumbling something incoherent about shipping costs.
• Am terribly behind in email due to two parts illness and one part can’t be fuckedness.
• Still working on re-design, should be done soon (said the girl who started the re-design a year ago.)
• Contemplating dying hair blonde (well, more like light brown with an array of blonde highlights), it may be the fever talking or the fact that three days of day time TV has bored me to the core of my soul, but I think I would look cute as a blonde. I’ve been everything else.
• Never watch Dawn of the Dead with a fever, it will fuck you up for life.

“Oh BOY are you stoned, Paul thought, and giggled faintly. Three nights ago, when he was sure she was upstairs, he had sneaked one of the sample boxes out and had read everything on the label, although he supposed he had read everything he needed when he saw what Novril’s principal ingredient was. “All right! I think that just might be a little closer to the truth.” He looked up, startled out of the story’s deep dream Geoffrey — who had turned out to be very much the hero of this one — had just come face to face with the hideous queen bee, whom he would have to battle to the death for Misery’s life.”

Spam is so damn insightful; it’s like Drucilla from Buffy.

And yes, this is a lame attempt at a blog entry, but give me a break, I spent the last few days helping someone move, during which time I have been called ‘mental’ and ‘vague’, and had various things that belong to me taken from me against my will. I am a tad blah at the moment, with a bit of sweepy and sore thrown in for good measure. Now if you don’t mind I am going to go soak in a bath, rid my mind of any box related thoughts, and then sleep for a week or two.

Matt (the boyfriend): Holy crap! There was some really weird noise just then…
Kitta: What did it sound like?
Matt: Kinda like someone falling onto the driveway.
Kitta: Ok…
Matt: Hey, I said it was a weird noise.
Kitta: Did someone fall onto your drive way?
Matt: Not that I can see.
Kitta: Might be raining zombies outside.
Matt: Maybe… You will still loves me if I get mauled and become a zombie right?
Kitta: Sure, so long as you don’t try and eat my brains.

Happy valentines day everyone, let that special someone know you love them by promising not to eat their brains.

I am not the girl you give a present to and ask kindly not to open it until a certain day.

I am the girl that on a warm sunny day a week before Christmas 1998 sat under the tree contemplating what was inside each of my carefully wrapped presents. I measured them, shook them ever so gently, and then thought about the likelihood of each present matching up to something from my wish list. After all the results were tallied and the bar graphs were finalised I decided to open the presents – for statistical purposes of course – I carefully peeled the sticky tape off the delicate wrapping paper and then took a peak inside each present and wrote down the results. I then wrapped them back up with sticky tape of the same proportions and placed them back under the tree in correspondence to the present map I drew earlier to avoid being caught and sent to present openers jail. I would make a fantastic secret present agent.

So when my boyfriend gave me my Valentines Day gift yesterday with strict instructions not to open it or shake it, I was worried that the secret present agent in me would come out again. So far it hasn’t, but we still have a few days to go and I could crack at any time. He should have given me contract to sign, stating terms and conditions of the present opening and punishment if those terms and conditions were broken.

Here I sit, contemplating what it could be, driving myself nearly insane and wishing I had laser eye so I could burn the wrapping paper and then be all “It was on fire, I had to un-wrap it to save the present, I am a hero.” I dare not shake it. He’s the kid of guy to implement hidden sensors attached to the wrapping paper and a SWAT team ready to deploy if I shake it too violently. So I poke it. He didn’t mention anything about not poking it.

I even rang my sort of psychic aunt to ask her thoughts on the present. She just said “Oooerrr love is in the air” and gave me no clue as to what I could be. Then I asked my mother her thoughts, who said just to open it, she wouldn’t tell a soul, hell, she will even open it for me! Clearly she was once a secret present agent too. I can just see her with the Farrah Fawcett hair do and hip sticky tape dispenser at the ready.

My bar graphs tell me that there is a 73% chance it’s jewellery, and my psychic advisor will get back to me if she has a dream about it.