"Playing the blame game" may not be fun to do, but it's oh so fun to say.
a fault inside the space module turned the routine exploration mission into a test for survival for the ill-fated crew #apolloFriday
Cut into bite-size pieces, fry until light brown, saute garlic and mushrooms, add broth and simmer, serve over cooked pasta. #conPolloFriday
Now tweeting about tweeting about tweeting: http://url.omnia.za.net/...
Skype conference call with the SF office - coworker didn't begin with the traditional VoIP greeting "Can you hear me?" - Isn't that illegal?
Best thing about tequila is, it takes all the blame while you keep mum about the beer, wine, whiskey and shooters foisted on you last night.
The Cape Town GeekDinner only just moved from smoke signals to a mailing list (http://is.gd/F2An) - should be on twitter by 2012 sometime.
The idea that only a union between a man and a woman is valid... if Proposition 8 supports love it so much, why don't they just MARRY it?
Yeah, trying to clean smudges off walls when your clothes are now basically 80% paint... Not so much. Also, new idea: protective smocks!
Drinking champagne and painting the office. The former explains why the latter degenerated into tic-tac-toe on the boardroom wall.
Oh! A one-week belated hat-tip to the sterling fellow wearing the "Fly Emirates" shirt on my Qatar Airways flight to Cape Town. Attaboy.
Now that I'm far away from the dearth of public toilets in the UK, maybe I should stop deliberately chronically dehydrating myself.
I so do not use humour as a defence mechanism. It's more like my primary mode of attack.
I have no use for "before" and "after" photos. I can't remember starting, and I've certainly never finished anything.
You know how you smell someone's coffee and go "man I'd love some of that"? That just happened to me, only, it was my own coffee. #firstcup
Personal goals for yesterday: fly home to Cape Town. Status: achieved. Personal goals for today: leave the house. Status: doubtful.
Been travelling for 27 hours. Missed connecting flight. Can't tell the difference between the swine flu symptoms they describe and jetlag.
Well, I've worked it out. My exhaustive research is conclusive: Doha International Airport *is* the most boring place in the world.
Still in Rugby, home of Rupert Brooke ("a corner of some foreign field"). But seriously, where are his shoes? http://twitpic.com/51jde
In Rugby town, where this little nancy boy picked up the ball and ran. I'd like to see him up against Springboks: http://twitpic.com/4zkoy
You'd think I could trust the first meal my mother cooked me while I'm staying with her, eh? You also thought it was chicken, eh? TOFU? PAH!
I should come clean and admit that this wedding has my sister marrying a New Zealander. Yes, folks, I'm stuck in Flight of the Conchords.
Oh, that was another one.
Sister's wedding (cont). Finished ushing. Speeches gushing (while babies' mothers are shushing). Run out of words that rhyme with "rushing".
Sister's wedding. This suit actually makes me look dashing, when I'm supposed to be ushing. *strut*
Only upside to having to wear a suit to the wedding: find three friends with suits and sunglasses and you can play Reservoir Dogs.
In the kitchen, icing a cake for my sister's wedding, while the bridesmaids try on dresses. This is not how I saw my life panning out.
Thanks to whoever delayed the train to Oxford for me, but it was unnecessary. Would've been tight, but I'd have made it. I'm good like that.
This wedding is clearly not going to be quite what I had expected, then.
"Usher's velvety voice complements his pimping and preening to produce some Bone Thugs-esque rapping with a meticulously groomed veneer."
Now I have to psyche myself up to be an usher at my sister's wedding. Do they ush differently in the UK? I haven't done much ushing before.
I realise my last tweet was four days ago and said I was lost. I'm not lost any more. (Well, not in any banal geographical sense.)
Putting the "vent" back into "Lost in Covent Garden. WHERE THE HELL IS HOLBORN? Stupid London. Stupid signs. Stupid map. Stupid.