Approval for the blonde!

That was fast. I applied just today.

Remember how I have constantly raved about J-List and the really awesome products they have?

Well, now, I have a pretty banner.

And if you click on the banner, you can go to the site.

Easy stuff? Following me?

Now this is the interesting thing, the shirts. Go to the site and look at the shirts. Then tell me you do not want one.

Try.

I insist.

Plus, if you click on MY banner and buy stuff, I get a small cut. Yes, this is Fern's attempt to make her mark in the world of the internet. My small private internet business. Buy Pocky, shirts and porn. And, oh yes, how could I forget? Hello Kitty. For fuck's sake, Hello Kitty is the bomb. BUY!

And yoai.

Especially yoai. Once I understand the site a bit more and learn more html, I shall promote myself a lot more. But seriously, prices are reasonable and the products too cute for words.

Now, enough for shameless self promotion.

Look look look! It's my black doggy, Floppy, back home. Both him and me have a problem. Our roots occasionally show. His show more than my blonde roots.

I swear sometimes that I am a natural blonde. No offense to blondes out there, I'm just dumb. Most of the time anyway.

I have the gift of saying the most inappropiate thing at the worst possible time.

The gift of gab? Too common plus who can be bothered to kiss that stone?

The gift of tongues? Nah.

The gift of beauty? Depends who's giving and cutting.

The gift of song? Karaoke queen anyone? Not me.

The gift of having one's foot permenantly cemented in one's mouth? Hell yeah. In fact when God was giving that out, I was first in line and forget to line up for the rest of the gifts the good Lord was handing out.

In fact, my mother says the same about Floppy. As in, he was first in the handsome line but forgot to go to the brains department.

I don't know how I manage to say the things I say.

For example, I broke my atm card. But I can still swipe it cos it's broken on the other side. So I told the guy at Coles, while waving the card in his face that I could "just swipe it on machines but I can't stick it into stuff." He merely gave me a 'gimme the money and please leave' look on his poor confused face.

Quick recap, remember me telling the policeman who gave me a random breath test that that was the first time 'anyone has asked me to blow'.

And then, Milla and me were looking at a campervan on the road.

It's illegal for people to sit in the back while its moving in Norway. They have to be seated in the front with seatbelts.

I pondered my wife's words.

"So that means, in Norway you can't ever be in the back?"

Go ahead, laugh.

She did.

So, yes, I shall move on.

And do my assignment.

Joy, fun. How great it is to be in university.

Reading Material: Stupid White Men By Michael Moore