You will find an outlet for your creative genius and accomplish a great deal.

As it so happens, I am a creative genius. I’m so clever that I created a personal museum in our second bedroom. I think it’s fantastic that I can display my history of uncontrolled spending and past fancies in a stationary pile of shoes, handbags and clothes.

My partner on the other hand, doesn’t think this is so special. The kibosh was laid down on any new additions to my collection and I’m forced to either salvage or sell what lies behind the ever closed door of the first room on the right. So, since much of the anthology is displayed still with descriptive labelling (yea that’s right, price tags) to eBay I shall go!

I got myself all sorted, created a new file folder on the pc to house my e-commerce venture, learned about postage costs and how to exclude types of buyers (ie, how to be overtly discriminatory in my selling a la Pretty Woman) and got cracking.

I set up a mini photo studio in the kitchen consisting of some old sheet I found and a chair and completely ignored everything my partner said to me for about 24 hours straight while I became absolutely obsessed with writing the lengthiest, possibly most inconsequential descriptions for each item. Then I told him I was going to sell his car and his wallet.

The most fun is in writing verbose descriptions. Without being false, I can title a fake crocodile skin handbag,  faux dinosaur. And I can describe an external pocket as handy for blackmail opportunities because its so easy to access without being obvious. Or that in inside pocket has unsurpassed loyalty, the zip is so good it will never kiss and tell.

Furthermore I can bring personality to inanimate objects by telling potential buyers that a clutch purse is really keen on spending a night or two with the buyer and that it won’t hesitate to take her out for breakfast in the morning. That a particular handbag is ideal for the girl who likes to carry a voodoo doll with her, because this one is big enough to also hold a spare.

Considering the popularity of this blog, I’m sure my eBay descriptions will do little to bring me extra pocket money. At least I’ve discovered a new outlet for my heralded creative genius (yes italicised, the cookie said it was so). At the very least if none of it sells, the local Salvos store gets dibs on it and the spare room gets emptied for what ever diabolical plans my partner has for it.

Lucky Numbers:
2, 11, 32, 35, 36, 40

2 – rooms in our house

11 – nice gams, dollface

32 – times I’ve been asked to sort out my accumulation

Don’t race to your destination – appreciate the scenery.

As a fairly relaxed sort of person, I’d normally champion this  cookie fortune. However, and there’s always a however, today was Oz Comic Con day and I’ve never been in a bigger rush to leave a place like I experienced today. Well maybe once when I was at the destitute Olympic village in Heidelberg here in Melbourne. Ever been there? Depressing isn’t it?

Arrived at about 9.45am ticket in hand ready for a day of hugging people in costumes and spending more money than I should on comics. I saw lots of people lining up and thought these must be the ill prepared, lucky I bought ahead! Wrong, so wrong it was three different kinds of wrong.

The line for ticket holders stretched from outside the convention centre at around the marker for door three, snaked toward the Yarra (yup, the opposite direction of the entrance), wound back around along Clarendon St, up the only visible ramp to the entrance of the centre (not Comic Con) and then continued inside.

As with most of these kinds of events, you line up to get in and that’s part of the fun. That’s where I start picking out who gets hugged first, what’s going to feel better to squeeze (didn’t see any wookies so it wasn’t looking promising). The line is the scenery on the way to my destination. I don’t like to rush it, but I like for it to at least move. And movement didn’t figure in this line.

At 10.10am after finally getting inside the centre and feeling like we might be getting somewhere, I glanced to my left and realised that it was not longer straight to the gate. We had a quadruple bended zigzag to pass though before the final straight. My glance turned to a stare because, well, I had enough time. No one was moving. And it was at this point when I realised three things, three kinds of wrong;

1. the map for the event listed only a few comic stands,

2. they’d filled the venue to capacity and weren’t letting anyone else in until people left, and

3. I’m going to need a toilet, a coffee, and a cigarette in that order over the next half hour.

Assessing the situation I estimated at least a further one and half hours before we got a look in so I turned to my ever patient partner, shook my head and said the most honest words to pass my lips since saying ‘I hope I can find issue one of Scratch 9 inside, I lost my last one.‘ Those words were “I’d gladly see this $20 ticket as my paying to not stand in this line another minute.” And with that, we left. And I cried from my left eye a little.

You know what pisses me off the most about it? No, I don’t either there’s too much to pick out just one thing.

Essentially my destination probably wouldn’t have been worth racing for given the lack of comic stands at a comic convention. With that in mind, I couldn’t even make the most of the scenery. It was saddening to me knowing I wasn’t alone in my growing ire at the queue.

Comic expos are really exciting to line up for, there’s a shared buzz and a real sense of community and belonging. But today Oz Comic Con destroyed it by being as well organised as a nappyless six month old with gastroenteritis.

Well done you idiotic wankers. I’m sure the guy outside in the wheelchair was really heartened by the fact that you chose to clog the ramp with disgruntled ticket holders when there are plentiful other entrances to the centre. And Melbourne Convention Centre, you’re a pack of fools for giving these kids the keys to the car.

Sometimes racing to your destination (ie, the car upon leaving) yields the sweetest scenery – Oz Comic Con disappearing into the background.

Lucky Numbers: 1, 6, 33, 34, 38, 45

1;  finger up to you Oz Comic Con

A smile will gain you ten more years of life.

This is excellent news. Immortality is within reach! But if I smile too much, this think could soon get out of hand.There must be a control mechanism to this facial expression life extension.

So a smile will award me ten more years life. I take it that a frown will cost me ten years and a blank face will give me nothing. I might have to keep a log of remarkable interactions throughout each day so that of an evening I can do the maths.

Smiled three times, frowned once, spent the rest of the day in blank stare out window. 30 – 10 = 20 years gained.

There’s the very basic demonstration of what I might have to track, what a depressing day if I only smiled three times. And how unrealistic to only frown once.

But what kind of smile really gains ten years? It is the genuine smiles? Is it a polite, neighbourly type smile which means nothing more than I’m not a threat. And what of laughter? I must also consider that I’m a frowny thinker, I could actually cease to exist on a particularly thoughtful day.

Good grief, is this cookie fortune, this gift of potential everlasting life really a curse?

On the positive side, it affords me many many years to figure out what it is I’d actually like to do. Given my chronic procrastination and fear of commitment I’ll either never decide and the gift of time will be wasted on me, or I’ll try doing anything that spends five minutes in my head as a great idea with a reduced fear of confinement.

Immortality, gift or curse? Both options allow for compelling arguments. Ultimately, I don’t have to live forever, I could chose the life of the curmudgeon once I’d had enough, withdraw all those deposited smiles. But damn it’s nice know I have the entry ticket to a life everlasting!

Lucky (equation) Numbers: 32(s), 25(f), 11(b), 9(s), 6(f), 26(b)

(32 + 9) – (25 + 6) = 10 years gained