Passwords

I read about how people have simplistic passwords and that it is a problem with hackers. In this time, some people even still use password as a password. Or their DOB. Or people use the same password for every application, apparently that is a bad one.

I don’t get it? 

I love my passwords. When I have to make up a password, I make up sentences easily, it’s fun.

Here's just a few straight off the top of my head.

Jacks on crack so he gets a smack.

Auntie Lucy loves Lotus flowers.

Helena had hair cream on her hat.

Leroy lost his language in transit.

Bip Bop Diddly Dop

Passwords. Let you imagination run free.

If you have to add a number, just decide on a methodology. I usually add 39, that’s just my arbitrary number.

I employ certain mechanisms for remembering passwords, it’s not that hard.

It all just needs a little thought given to it, which I think we can ascertain from the recent reports people aren’t giving it.

And it's kind of important. People are funny, in the odd sense, not the humorous way.

Hump Day

I dreamt last night I was with David, in a big dimly lit warehouse/show room, and we were inside a new luxury Toyota Crown which David was enthusing about. It was dark blue with a lighter blue interior. 

I told him that I wanted to see it in black and he said, 

“That’s okay, they can change the colour of the car from the office computer.”

The black sales guy came out to the driver’s window and David had trouble telling him we wanted to see it in black.

Then we were signing up to sell the Toyota Crown, the Toyota Supra and the Toyota Corolla in the business that the two of us had, that sold crushed velvet.

(We sold crimson, royal blue, emerald green and gold crushed velvet)

I was wondering where we would put the cars

I woke up. 6.20am.

I wondered what that meant? I drive a Honda, David drives an Audi, what was with the Toyotas?

I made coffee.

The security system for my work only works because it uses all of the employee’s private phones. And we all think this is okay? Really, is it okay? When companies renege on pay rises for their staff. And particularly, because my rich law firm reneges on giving its employees, for instance, the increase in super every time it happens. My rich law firm doesn’t give us increased super because it says we’re on total package contracts rather than salary plus super contracts, and that’s how they get away with not giving us increases in super. And yet they use all of our private phones to keep the company safe.

They make something like $1 billion per year.

That's what was going through my mind as I signed into work at 6.45am this morning.

Funny the things you think, hey? As the coffee was waking up my taste buds first thing. (Have I ever mentioned I make myself two coffee at once in the mornings) As the stupid security code was coming up on my phone. As my own laptop was firing into action in my peripheral vision.

It was an easy day, really, despite the whinge first thing. End of my working week, and you have to love that. 

The dogs slept at my feet all day. 

The postie is pretty used to the bulldogs running to greet him at the door when he delivers Sam & Charlie's parcels, practically, on a daily basis. IT guys? Sheesh!

That is so much how Buddy and Brun used to lie together

 

Tuesday

Back to a much more sensible work arrangement, at home. Lovely.

I made coffee and signed into work at 7am. I'd answered all my emails by 8.30am.

I made porridge and a second coffee. I read the online news about Trump. he really is like that proverbial car crash that never stops giving.

When I was done, I checked my work emails, I'd received no more.

So, it was a gorgeous morning, so I headed outside and trimmed the creeper on my side wall. The two bulldogs lay on the dog bed near by and share chewed a big stick.

Now I am back at my work computer with more coffee and Brun and Otto are lying side by side on the carpet next to me in my study.

Sam has been upstairs working since 9am.

You've just got to love working from home.

I re-wrote some of my poetry lately, I should do more of that, while I wait for all of my, what is the modern corporate terminology, internal customers to cough up their data. Waiting, waiting, waiting... 

I had all my work done by lunch time. 

We ate curry chicken Laksa for lunch.

It was a gorgeous, sunny day. I mean really gorgeous, crips and bright and warm. Sparkling, it was sparkling.

I decided to write more of my story Sam & Cameron two straight boys who have a fascination with a couple of gay guys at a dance party. 

It doesn't matter what I write as long as I'm not staring at YouTube mindlessly.

Monday Morning

5:55am. I leave the house. It’s still kind of dark, even if the sky is just starting to turn blue. It’s crisp, nice, I like it. I’m daring to wear a T-shirt today for the first time, but I’ve seen Jason Jones and the Irish guy wear T-shirts too, so fuck it why not. It’s comfortable.

I’m walking up Gertrude Street, the only people around are gym boys going to the 24 hour gym and Indian cleaners cleaning all the businesses this time of morning.

I walk up the middle of Gertrude Street nonchalantly. Not a care. It’s clear in each direction.

5.58am. A tram comes up Brunswick Street. I have to run a bit to make sure I catch it. It is one of the latest trams with 3 articulations. It’s all bright and yellow inside. It stretches out like a long corridor into the distance. I walk down to the far end. I get my Myki card out just in case there are inspectors for the two stops before the free tram zones starts for which I am not going to pay. Inspectors at 6am? I don’t think so. 

I’m sweating from the small amount of exertion I’ve just applied. Grrrr. How fit am I? It’s a bit humid, so I was just naturally a little sweaty anyway. I hate it that I sweat with such ease. I get out my trusty Barack and Michelle Obama postcard I keep in the pocket of my satchel and fan myself, like a menopausal woman. I don’t care what people think. Fuck them. 

There is a handsome guy with a backpack the straps for which across his chest look like a bulletproof vest. It makes him look hot.

There is a little mouse of a woman sitting right up the front in the front seat. I imagine she does everything at exactly the same time every day, in her beige jacket and her brown shoes.

Four strapping blokes get on in hiviz who are clearly off to some worksite.

There is a small assortment of, clearly, conscientious office workers scattered about.

There is a handsome young professional type in shorty shorts, with muscular hairy legs, and a hoodie, carrying his suit in a suit bag. I’d say he was hitting the gym before work

6.09am. In no time we’re at William Street.

I’m going to be at work even earlier than last fortnight.

I’m still sweating, although now I am out in the fresh air it feels better. The air on my sweaty body is kind of evaporative.

6:10 am. Oh thank God, do you like how I use that ironically, I’m out in the fresh air of the morning and it feels good. Some loon comes across Collins Street, rapping loudly as I cross William Street. Don’t give up your day job, buddy, I think. Chuckle, like he’s got a day job.

What am I doing here so early? I’m an idiot. Is it because I’m getting up at 5am instead of 5:30am? I guess it has to be. I should review that change. I could have got up an hour later.

6:13am. I’m in the lift.

I make coffee.

I’m listening to Adele’s 30.

7am. I make more coffee. The day is light outside.

Ourboybaz from IT is always in after me. He lives a long way out. He’s always in the kitchen with his muscles, and his tight black jeans. We chat morning talk. He’s nice

Then I’m back at my desk with my second coffee. I’m listening to Adele, she makes me feel melancholy, alone there in the quiet. Suddenly, I’m thinking about Mark dying, oh I don’t know why? I had been thinking about him. It’s the quiet of the morning, perhaps. The isolation, here, alone, your mind wanders. That Adele she’s a witch. Those spoken word pieces of 30. Who can say. Then me dying, and all of what we are coming to an end, disappearing, no longer. And Sam living on his own, lonely, struggling without me. Suddenly, I can’t see to work with the tears in my eyes, welling up and running down my cheeks. 

Who thought I’d end up here? I think to myself. I get a tissue and wipe my eyes. 

Not that I mind crying, quit the opposite really. It’s kind of cleansing, I think. 

Ah, that Adele, what a trip. Her voice is gorgeous, as are her lyrics.  That stuff with her kid, just kind of catches me. 

Monday morning.

Eventually, everyone came in, of course.

Big Ange is in next. Funny the person who lives the closest, and the person who lives the farthest away, are in first and second. Ange says hello. She walks around the office in that stiff way she has of walking.

The Big Poo is in next. 8am. He is always up, always cheerful, always seemingly on a high.

Chip Swell is always in at 8.20am. He’s nice. Tall. Conservative, clueless to how good looking he is.

Jason Jones comes in. He so looks like Sam. I still want to frisk him down for five minutes to see if he feels the same as well.

The Midget comes in. Quick. Efficient. You’ve never heard good morning said with so few syllables.

Boris is never in before 9am, always with a coffee in hand.

And I had to share my morning with them.

It was kind of a shame.

In Bunnings With The Bulldogs

It's a gorgeous Sunday, the sun is shining, the sky is blue. We walk to the shops, bulldogs on leads, recycle shopping bags over our shoulders.

I’m in Bunnings with the two Bulldogs. 

Sam goes to look at shower screens, to update his rental bathroom. 

Brun, Otto and I go and look at plant pots, I’ve got two Japanese Maples I have been keeping alive in pots for quite a few years. After we’d looked at the pots, Brun and Otto and I head to the plant section just to browse and pass time until Sam is done. 

When we get close to the back door leading out to the outside section, there is a fat Asian kid (Oh, all twelve'ish, thirteen'ish year olds are shapeless rectangular blobs of flesh, before you get all squeamish about my characterisation) in a yellow smiley face t-shirt, his equally blobbish younger brother was in a matching shirt, with a frog clicker. He realises that he gets Brun’s attention when he clicks the frog noise, so he keeps clicking it. 

He stands at the end of the isle with a smug look on his face.

I’m trying to get Brun out the back door into the gardening section and the kid keeps clicking the damn frog noise making Brun turn around repeatedly and head in the wrong direction. Remember, I have two bulldogs on leads. As soon as I get Brun to do what I want, the kid clicks the clicker again.

There is a dog-leg in the aisle right there, and people just naturally gather and bank up, and with Brun blocking the isle they bank up even more, as I’m trying to get Brun to move. The kid continually clicks the frog noise, Brun continually resists going out the door, more and more people bank up, and I really want to slap this kid's smug face so badly.

But, then, I can't be wanting-to-slap-his-face too much because I have two beautiful dogs and I can help but admire, just a little, him wanting to play with one of them, have fun with one of them, you know, once I got the two of them out of that bottle-neck of people in that isle of Bunnings.

I like playing with them too. What can I say? In a calmer moment, it's funny. Chuckle.

We bought groceries and walked home with multiple reusable shopping bags over each shoulder in the sun shining down.

Saturday

We did more house things today, of course we did. If you put stuff on Market Place for free, it saves you having to haul it to the tip, not to mention paying for the privilege. We've got rid of a bed, a mattress and a (huge) barbecue that way. 

I'm sick of doing house things now. And, of course, Sam doesn't drive. But what can you do? I haven't written anything for weeks because of it.

I stay up late watching car shows on YouTube. Late Brake Show with Johnny Smith and an Audi AU Quattro, a MG Maestro Turbo, and (handsome) Greg James M5 BMW.

Sam and Brun went to bed some time ago. Those two are nanas alike when it comes to going to bed early. Brun gets up at practically the same time at the end of each day with his time-for-bed look on his face. And Sam gets up and goes to bed with him.

Otto is a great little sleeper, my 3/4 bulldog (6 months old tomorrow) still fits width ways on the couch seat, snoring like a bull dog, his tongue hanging out as he sleeps just like a bulldog. He's recovered. from his illness, I think, so far so good these last few days.

Saturday night on the couch.

And now I'm watching Andrew Scott and Paul Mescal, they are both kind of perfect. I want to see their new movie, All Us Strangers. It opened yesterday.

Australia Day

Woolworths stops stocking the Australia Day landfill because the sales for which has been in steady decline over recent years. It was an economic decision.

Peter Dutton feigns moral outrage to get his ugly face in the news publicly shitting his pants calling on people to boycott Woolworths for this outrage. 

Funny how the conservatives are all for a market economy unless they see votes in it.

Dodgy Angus comments, but who listens to him? Mate, you were wiped out at the last election, pretty boy, I think. Who cares what you think. 

And Susan Ley squawks like a parrot but won’t confirm that the Liberal party will reverse Labor’s extended tax cuts to a far greater percentage of the population than those earning $200 thousand a year if they were elected.

I don't care about Australia Day. Nyr, whatever. I think the people who care about Australia Day, or at least, those people who are belligerently stuck to the existing date, are the people who have probably never left the country. Travelling overseas teaches you what it is to be Australian. 

No matter where you go, or who you see, or what you do, you know the great southern land is waiting to take you back into its embrace. And that is what it means to be Australian.

Walking The Dogs

Mid morning, I go have a shower. I look a fright, I haven’t had a shower for a few days, one of the delights of working from home. Dirty undies, scratch your arse, no one cares.

I take the dogs for a walk, like I did yesterday morning, when I don’t have to work, and Sam does.

We met Apollo the Groodle as soon as we leave our gate who rolls over prostrate for the Bulldogs. The owner, with her two daughters, exclaims, “What does that mean?”

“I guess it means he’s not afraid.”

“He’s going to be big,” she says when I say Otto is 6 months old.

“I hope not, I say. “Just the same size as Brun, please.”

We met Bronski the French bulldog before we get to George Street. He’s a live wire, as French Bulldogs often are.

“He’s going to be big,” she says when I say Otto is 6 months old.

“I hope not, I say. “Just the same size as Brun, please.”

I hear the magpies call at Napier Street.

It’s warm enough for shorts and T-shirts. Even if the sky is grey, the Sun is trying to shine.

There’s a line of girls lined up down Young Street to Gertrude Street, like I imagine Taylor Swift fans to be, fat and plain with nothing much else in their lives. I have no idea what they’re doing. I'm guessing there must be some sort of pop up clothes shop, but I'm not interested enough to work out where.

Brunswick Street > Johnson Street. We cross the road and walk on the north side of Johnson Street so we don’t have to keep saying hello to [name] every time we walk past her shop. I like [name] and all, I do, but we don’t have to do the hello thing on every walk.

I like tuning out on dog walks, I like clearing my mind, it is sort of meditative just me and my dogs. I don't even take headphones and listen to music any more, just clear the mind and hear the sounds of the day.

We meet up with the small curly-haired dog that comes out his front door barking and hangs out in his front yard sticking its head through its front fence to say hello. He’s quiet as we sniff noses, but barks as soon as we walk away. His owner comes out. She apologises for his barking.

“That’s okay,” I say, “I quite like seeming him every day.” And I do, on Brun and Otto's walks.

I chat to Jackson Wag, my next door neighbour, at my gate. He’s off to the pool for a swim.

11:41am. We’re home.

In the afternoon, we head over to Sam’s rental so the guy can measure up for new carpet before he gets new tenants.

So, we worked on the house all day. Our day for working on the house consists of about 2 hours, 1pm. to 3pm, usually, maybe a little longer.

Sam had bought some venetian blinds which were the wrong size, which we took back to the store nearest home, but Sam had forgotten a part of the packaging so we had to drive all the way back across the northern suburbs to get it, and then back again.

Two thumbs up, Sam. “Good job,” I said.

I've Never Had Trouble Sleeping

I stayed up late, after Sam went to bed, falling asleep on the couch.

When I finally woke up and went to bed, I lay in bed for some time, the last thing I remember was my watch on my bedside table saying 2am. It kept lighting up in the dark as if to tell me how long I hadn’t slept for. Taking an hour to fall asleep for me is unheard of. (Of course, I had slept for a few hours on the couch in the lounge room, before this)

I was worried about losing friends, because I am good on my own and I don’t need constant contact, which, I have found, friends don’t like. And I find that I’m not really interested in friends just for the sake of it. I think about conversations with friends and I think who cares, you know, I'm not really interested in discussing Married At First Sight, or the latest gossip about whoever. I’m sure that’s not going to do me any good in future, whatever future there is.

(But then I lay on the couch and watch When Karen’s Attack, we’re a contradictory bunch, now aren’t we)

I miss Tom, and I miss Simon and I miss Anthony and I even miss Fergus, all those smart, interesting guys, I've lost. It’s like I lost the A team and now I’m left with the B team. It hardly seems fair. Is that terrible?

I regret the fact I haven’t really done anything for 20 years, you know, nothing really fabulous, nothing amazing. I've just worked like everyone else. Oh, if only I could go back to living in the first house I bought when I moved out of home and change my uni course to the Arts. Oh, if only I could go back to having just left school and take singing lessons. Oh, if only I could go back to my school days and change to learning piano.

I worry about the future and that it is only going to get shittier from here, that the best bits are probably behind me. I worry about not having very much motivation in life . People have left me because I just don’t do anything (amazing). Mark did, if the truth was known.

I wish I'd done amazing things.

It’s all negative thoughts now a days as I lay in bed. It’s not the happy, joyous thoughts I used to have as I lay in bed when I was younger. I used to look forward to going to bed because of the things I’d think about when I pulled the doona over me. And then I worried about that.

Obviously, eventually, I fell asleep.

I Dreamed

I dreamed I was in a hotel, or maybe it was an apartment, and we’re all heading to Luna Park and Oprah Winfrey was with us dressed in white and I was the last one down to meet everyone out the front of the building. Everybody else was waiting in the street for me.

I came downstairs and the stairs stopped on the first floor and to get from the first floor of the ground floor you had to get in the lift to do the last floor, so I get in the lift and two other people get the lift with me and push buttons, and the lift goes up instead of down. I can see everyone waiting for me at the front from the balcony of the first floor out of the lift.

I go to a floor above where I get put in truck, or car and I’m a part of a tour that goes up Canterbury Road near to where we used to live.

I’m trying to send a message to Sam and Mark and Luke (Mark and Luke seem to often be in my dreams lately) and Oprah Winfrey, but my phone won’t work and all my messages turn into pictures and photographs and I can’t get my phone to work.

I go on this tour with all these other people and it takes forever, but finally, I’m delivered back to the foyer of the building, and I jump out of the truck and I run to go out the front fully knowing that no one‘s gonna be waiting for me any longer and then I realise I’ve dropped my phone and I have to go back to the tables in the lobby of the building and asked the people I was on the tour with if my phone was there and they all say no, and as I start to walk away, finally defeated, knowing I can't contact my friends, one of the girls picks it up and says, “Unless this is it?” And she hands it to me. And I wake up as I take the phone in my hand, but I can't feel it.

6:26 am, I’m awake. 

Monday

Monday? What can I say? Rye bread with Vegemite and coffee.

White supremacists attack a Slovakian gay bar chanting "they will not replace us." The gays won't replace you? No. But they might restyle your hair and help you with your wardrobe.

It was revealed the Queen tried to hide her wealth. Really? Doesn't everyone? But she got parliament to stop wills that would have otherwise been public being made public.

The Middle East is tearing itself apart. When isn't it?

Trump is in cognitive decline. The world may be saved from the orange monster yet.

I worked all day.

I took the dogs for a walk after work.

We ate spaghetti Bolognese for dinner.

That was it. Monday.

Everyone Is In It For The Money

We went to Jill's and ate home made pumpkin soup with pumpkin seed toast and lashings of butter.

The bulldogs played with the corgis in the back yard.

Jill had reflux tablets for me which I usually get on a script, but somehow I'd manage to run out of repeats and I can't get an appointment with my doctor untill 29th Jan. 

Oh, I know, I couldn't be bothered arguing with the doctor's receptionist, she is a nazi. It is like all those professionals now a days, it's all about money.

"You will have to make an appointment with the doctor to get your scripts renewed."

"But it is a script I get all the time."

"You'll still need an appointment."

For which I pay $80.

You know the vet said to me on the last appointment with Brun, after he had attended to a couple of the needs Brun had. 

"That's your time up, anything else and you'll have to make another appointment."

I was really taken a back. I'd never had that before. But that's what they do now.

That Fucken Hurt

10.18am. I message Jill for lunch, I hadn't seen her for some time.

Jill

       Love to, but already having lunch with a friend in Templestowe

10.19am. We’re in My Pet Warehouse getting tins of digestive care food for Otto, who has nearly recovered from his illness. There is a beautiful brown Border Collie in the shop at the same time as we are. The bulldogs and the Border Collie were all waggy tails and snif snif sniffing.

10.20am. Jill replies, Sunday?

10.34am. I’m in Faraday Cafe buying Rye sour dough loaf for breakfast. 10% surcharge for the weekend is really a bit much.

Christian Fletcher:

  I'm not sure about Sunday, so I message back, I have to go to church

Jill Willson:

Very funny

Christian Fletcher:

(I was dictating a message into my phone to send to Jill, I was looking down at my phone when I hit my head on a tree branch over hanging the footpath, and nearly knocked myself out)

With the rest of the delusional... shit fuck, I know, I know it’s bleeding, I can tell, it fucking hurt, really fucking hurt. Shit!… and my dictation was still dictating what I said to Sam.

(I decided just to send the whole message to Jill. Then an explanatory message)

I was dictating into my phone, and I hit my head on a low, hanging tree branch over the footpath, and my phone kept dictating

  Perhaps there is a God.

We were going for haircuts in the city after we'd got the dog food.

"Well, I guess that's my haircut done," I said.

"I guess," said Sam.

But I really wanted my hair cut, you know when it gets to that stage where it just needs to be done.

"I'm just going to ask straight up. I cut my head, but I still want a haircut, is that okay, do you still want to cut it?"

So, thats what we did. We walked Brun and Otto into the city. Sam had his hair cut first. Then it was my turn. I did my little speech. She replied, "Can I have a look."

I showed her. She said, "I can just cut around it, if that is alright with you?"

"Yeah, fine with me."

So, I got my hair cut, even with a wounded head. As I sat in the chair, I wondered what kinds of diseased heads hairdressers are exposed to?

Then we went and ate Thai for lunch.

Jill didn't reply till much later, as she'd already got into her car and was driving to her fiend's place for lunch.

"OMG! I just read your message. Are you okay."

"Yes, fine. Just had some sense knocked into me finally."

It's Nonsense

Everything doesn't happen for a reason, that's just nonsense. It always makes me cringe when I hear people say it.

Where do people get this stuff from? I think it is from a want to be comforted, you know, lull them into some false sense of security that there is a reason for all of this.

So many things just happen randomly, it makes the 'for a reason' argument just laughable.

I guess, the fact that life is pointless – other than to reproduce – doesn't give people a lot of joy. People don’t like the fact that they are essentially pointless. 

It seems to me that people so easily believe bullshit rather than face reality.

People become delusional about somethings. Delusion seems to be a very human condition. It's how Trump and the Liberal Party get elected. It's how religion is sold.

Why Is Otto Sick

I was standing in the back yard enjoying the sun on my skin. First day of my weekend. Ha, ha.

I was gazing around the garden. My eyes casually landed on the Fortnight Lillies Otto, the little bugger, had been chewing and making a mess of. He'd got right down to the roots on some of the plants.

I pulled the broken plants out, cut them up and put them in the bin.

So then it was all cleaned up, so that was good. I went back to the sun on my face.

Don't you love the sun warming the skin on your face? I know I do. Just a bit, momentarily, like a short meditation. Just to take a moment, when the rest of the world fades away.

I casually gazed back at my handy work, it was then that I wondered if I should check if the Lillies Otto had been chewing are toxic, so I wandered inside and googled them.

Lillies are toxic to dogs and can cause gastrointestinal (GI) upset diarrhoea and vomiting. The most toxic part is the rhizome.

There you go.

I should have looked after him better. I've watched him chew the Lilly, thinking I should stop him. I'm usually onto such things, dog owner fail. Poor Otto. I went in and cuddled him.

Otto Goes To The Vet

Otto went to the doctor, the dog doctor, and it was decided he had gastro and he was prescribed probiotics and Hills Digestive Care canned dog food. That's it. He should get better in day, or so. As per usaul, if it persists, bring him back.

He is to stay home, so he dosn't give it to any other dogs.

Sam took him to the vet. I took Brun for a walk, just he and I, after I had finished for the day.

Otto Is Sick

Now Otto is sick. Explosive diarrhoea (I can never spell that work. It seems spell checkers struggle with it too) and vomiting.

I'm just waiting for the vet to open top make an appointment.

It's a weird one, an upset stomach, as there isn't all that much a vet can do, but what else do you do when your pup is sick but take him to the vet.

The vet will usually say, put him on a chicken and rice diet and bring him back if it hasn't cleared up by the end of the week. That will be $150.

Monday In The Office

My day in the office. I some how misjudge the time completely and end up getting to the office at 6am. The days get light so early in summer it's hard to tell the time.

"What am I doing here so early?" I say to myself across the empty office.

I plug my laptop in. I make coffee.

It's not a big misjudgement, in fact, I'm not even sure why I mentioned it, it was just when I looked at the clock it was so early, which made me start thinking about the morning, backwards, wondering where the time went, or didn't go. (I guess the Americans would say, or didn't went. Seriously, their English is appalling)

It was just surprising. You know when something isn't how you think it is.

I pig out at the barista breakfast provided for the staff, 3 hours later, so much so that I don't eat the lunch Sam prepared for me. I take it home.

Sam hurts his back stretching on the couch during the day. 

"Strenuous day?" I say to him.

"Ha ha," he replies.

Sunday

We take the dogs for a walk early, as its going to be hot. We see all our dog owning neighbours when we go walking early. Everyone is keen to get out and about before the tourists arrive in the suburb late morning.

Sam and I go and pick up our new glasses mid morning. We both go a new pair as soon as our health benefits were renewed for the year.

We buy new t-shirts and shorts in K-Mart, 100% cotton and on sale. 100% cotton, (you have to grab them when you see them)

After that we eat Hoi An food in Richmond. The place is full.

I sleep on the couch in the afternoon, lovely. What else is a Sunday for?

The bananas have gone black in the fruit bowl, so I make a banana cake later in the afternoon.

We watch Fool Me Once. Nyr? The plot has more holes in it than a brothel full of prossies. There are extraneous scenes that aren't connected to the story in the end.

Here's a review of it,

Fool Me Once might have been one of the worst things I've watched in years and I'm disappointed it took practically 8 hours of my weekend. Halfway in I already acknowledged it was pretty bad but I felt like I might as well finish it to the see the ending.