Ripped...

So, I’m looking around for a new pair of jeans. I came across ripped ones. I thought ripped jeans went out with acid washing and carefully manicured five o’clock designer stubble and men with waaay too much hair gel. Yes, yes, I know there’s nothing new in fashion and everything is cyclic but I have never been able to work out, despite what age I am, why ripped jeans are deemed fashionable. Please explain…

Bunny boilers...

So, last week at work this guy told me he was nervous because his newest girlfriend was arriving to spend the Easter weekend with him. Why nervous? He said he wasn’t sure. He just was. She arrived at the office and when introduced to me I summed her up in two seconds. Needy and a bunny boiler. No really, women can do that. We have an inbuilt radar for seeing bunny boiler-ism in other women. When she, a foreign national, explained that she was only on a short visa but was hoping to stay in Australia for a very long time and looked over adoringly at him, I nearly yelled at him, ‘Run Dopey! Flee Dipstick!’ But I didn’t because people in love are dumb and stupidly blind and he wouldn't have listened because she was dazzlingly pretty and stroking his arm to deactivate his brain. Anyway, he turned up to work today and announced she was weird and that ‘she was really needy about getting married and how weird was that?’ Poor sap. Men just don’t have that radar do they? I did point out to him that the prettiest girls are normally the most insane. Well, they are…

It just is, baby...

I’ve been thinking of late about what I’m doing, where I want to be, how to get there and who I want in my life. You know, the deep meaningful where-am-I-going-and-will-the-shops-be-open-when-I-get-there-stuff. So does it really matter if I don’t have the arse of a supermodel, the brain of an Einstein and if I have the beginnings of crow’s feet at my eyes? Is the fact that I’m less than perfect but amazingly flawed, plain, average and fallible an issue in the scheme of life? I could be prettier, faster, slimmer and smarter but would it make the journey easier? Do I want easy? I’ve come to believe that I don’t. I like the weird, the difficult, the intense, the bold, the stupid and the painful. I like to feel life – the pain, the passion, the what-the-fuck-moments and know I’ve lived it and said to ‘hell with you’ to the people have said ‘you can’t do that.’ Life…it just is, baby…

Whatever you believe...

...be it religion, the resurrection, insurrection, erections, chocolate, eggs, alcohol, a long weekend or the belief that one day you WILL lick your elbow...have a peaceful, safe Easter.

So there we all were. Ten of us. On the Cairns Esplanade. Dressed in exercise clothes. Lying on our backs, legs up in the air – wide open - and our hands on the inside of our thighs pulling them further apart, laughing hysterically as we did it. Those who passed us looked at least three times to make sure they were seeing what they were seeing. I heard a dim echo of my mother’s voice from years ago when I was just a little girl of 4 or 5. ‘Sit with your legs closed. You’re a lady.’ Of course Mum was right. You have to learn stuff like that so when you get older you can lie on your back with your legs wide open, laughing your arse off and thinking ‘damn it’s good to be a lady.’

We're perfect...

A male friend said to me ‘men don’t discuss their feelings’ Really? What a shocker…

This is why women should rule the world. We say stuff that has to be said. If we waited for a man to articulate something we’d be 89, in support hose and slugging gin out of a botte and trying not to trip over the cat on the way out of the house to buy chocolate.

Women – say, do, act. Damn…we’re perfect.

Well, there you go....

So, I had this woman come up to me at work and say ‘I know nothing at all personal about you.’ She then stopped and looked at me as if she was waiting for me to divulge all my secrets to her. I just said ‘Well, there you go.’ That’s Aussie speak for 'ok, so what?' Don’t you think if you don’t know anything about someone that there is the very good probability that the person you don’t know anything about isn’t inclined to share anything with you? And why is that? Because they don’t want to. Why not? Because in the scheme of that person’s life you may mean stuff all to them. Not everyone is going to share every intimate detail of their life with someone they work with. Work is work. You’re forced together with others for financial reasons. Fact - 99% of people wouldn’t show up at work if they didn’t have to. 1% will because they’re insane and generally have no life. Occasionally at work you’ll meet someone simpatico who you enjoy talking to but the reality is most of the time work is doing what you have to and waiting for the hands of the clock to move to that appointed time when you can get the hell out of there. I don’t want to hold hands and sing Kumbaya with you. It’s work. It’s not personal. It just is.

I believe anyone can do whatever they like….

…as long as they do not willingly hurt another by their actions…this brings me to smokers. I do not understand why people who smoke feel that because they have this habit we all have to cut them slack and that it’s apparently unfair that they’re barred from smoking in certain areas. Boo frigging hoo. Take your second hand smoke somewhere else.

In Australia we have very strict rules on where you can smoke. Today, at work, a bunch of people, not related to my workplace tried to challenge those rules. So there I am at my desk and I look up and it appears outside the building is on fire. It’s not. It’s smokers standing bang at the front of our office door inflicting their poison on our staff who are coming and going and too polite to tell the smokers to bugger off. This is where I come in. No, I’m not big on rules at all but people who believe they have a right to smoke where they want without regard for anyone else? Na-ah. Not on my watch. I went out and politely told them to bugger off. They did.

Smokers – you want to smoke? Do it away from everyone else. We’re trying to remain as healthy as we can. Whining about having to smoke in certain areas and not being allowed extra smoke breaks to compensate for a weakness? When we all get extra chocolate eating time off work then we’ll support you. Until then – suck it up and realize that we don’t have to be politically correct and support, condone, indulge, have it inflicted upon us or understand your habit.

Help...

So, I got stuck in a flash flood yesterday and Verity, my car, died on me. Later many, many people would tell me it never floods in that part of the city. It does. It did. Been there. Done that. Have a cranky car to prove it. Anyway, I got me and the car out of the flood water by phoning a friend when my half arsed girl efforts to start the car failed. My friend turned up and told me what to do. It worked.

You know, sometimes you can’t do everything yourself. Yeah, I know. Freaking amazing concept but it’s true. I’m not good at asking for help but I did and it wasn’t hard as I thought it would be.

Thank you friend.

Need help? Ask. We would willingly rush to the aid of another yet when it’s our turn? We’re dumb about raising our hand.

Another huge lesson learned.

Does my bum look big?

So I was pulling on my trackie daks (track pants) for boot camp this morning and I asked myself that age old female question – “does my bum look big in these?”

Why as women do we obsess about that size of ours arses? It’s because we can’t see them without being either a contortionist or using a mirror with a mirror to see said arse. That’s why women ask their partners. They hope their man will give them the right answer. And yes, that can indeed be a trap for a man. There is no right answer. What is the correct thing to say? No – could indicate that you’re not paying attention or you’re lying and a woman can always tell when it comes to bum issues. And if you say yes? Well, that’s never going to be the right answer because we really don’t want to know if our arse looks big and hey stop looking at it if it’s so horribly enormous. Really, no on can win when it comes to bums.

The answer to my question this morning? Yes it does look big but not as big as it used to. Drop a shirt down over to cover it and I can live with that.

Licking pointy bits...

So, I got an email response from a friend today that said something along the lines of it was ok not to be able to do a certain thing because like elbow licking some things aren’t possible. Naturally, I tried to lick my elbow. I couldn’t. Go on, try it. You know you want to. If you can’t and desperately want to have the ability to lick long range pointy bits then I have the instructions. Actually, there are heaps of instructions on the internet on the art of elbow licking.

"If you cannot see or feel if you are actually licking your elbow, put an edible substance, perhaps salt, sugar,lemon juice, etc. on your elbow -- if you taste the substance you know you're licking it. You can also ask someone to watch, unless you are afraid you might be embarrassed if your attempt fails. You can also take a picture or look in the mirror to see. Don't get frustrated if you can't do it, it's a very rare trick to do."

http://www.wikihow.com/Lick-Your-Elbow

Uh-huh...

I particularly like this bit –

“Your tongue is bound to feel overstretched after this exercise, this is normal, it will stop shortly after you do.”

Exactly…

See what happens when you question man’s inhumanity to man, the price of eggs, the wisdom of the ages and ask the universe where you’re going and what time you'll get there? It all comes down to elbow licking…

A bit wet...

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2012-03-19/torrential-rain-drenches-north-qld/3898710

Hoping you are not the same...

Wicked woman…

So, I blaspheme a lot. Yes, I expect to go directly to hell without much discussion. It was indicated to me that blaspheming – Jesus, Christ, God – etc is wicked and I should stop. My response back was ‘telling other people what to do is stupid and you should stop.’

Whether you like it or not, blasphemy is part of life. We’re no longer in the dark ages of the Inquisition or dodging issues like whether a King of England can change religion because he wants to get his rocks off with another woman. Life has changed. Language has changed. It always does. It’s meant to otherwise we would be theeing and thouing and forsoothing all over the place. Language is about fluidity and cultural identity. We change with the times. Vernacular changes. No one is wrong or right. And blaspheming is no different. If you don’t want to use particular words then don’t. But, by the same token don’t expect other people to adhere to what you set as your standards.

As for the presumption of being wicked? I consider it more as the freedom to be yourself and follow your own rules without fear or favour…swear to god…

It's not me...it's you...

Everyone but me and thee are mad and thou are somewhat suspect….

My mother used to say that. Words to live by…

Tin-pot gods...

I have been reading a thread on another blog about this woman who has never published a book yet slams other writers and readers for their books or reading choices – and to top it off she was been given some moderator powers to rule over what comments others make on a book site. Oh, and she writes but from what I gather it’s just for herself to read yet she’s a fantastic writer. Uh-huh. This fits into something I have been thinking about of late. Who are these people who set themselves up as tin-pot gods and why is it they always manage to weasel their way into positions of power without any of us realizing it before it’s too late? I’m thinking it’s because we’re all out living life and achieving real, substantial things and these tin-pot gods slowly manipulate power until we realize that they’re on the scene and we’re stuck with them. Politicians are a good indicator or this or people who run school boards or parent/teacher committees or PayPal.

So why do we let them do it? First up I believe we’re all too busy and they’re not so they use that to crawl up to whatever level of tin-pot goddery they can before we realize and by then they’re entrenched. Think of chewing gum on your shoe. There’s also the theory of the ‘the great man’ in history who comes along and changes/disrupts worlds, not necessarily for good, and we’re stuck with those changes. Essentially tin-pot gods are insidious. How do we fight them? It’s not easy because their usually arse kissers. It has to be on a combined level and that’s we’re the problem lies – we’re all too busy….it’s a vicious circle.

* Tin-pot god – lacking real substance. Think about those schlock
1950’s movies where villages in the jungle would worship a old battered tin pot because they had never seen one before so it must be good.

Determination…

On the Cairns Esplanade this evening, it was pouring down rain, I was sopping wet, my hair was plastered to my skull and neck, I was covered in sand from boot camp exercises and other people had given up and dropped into a walk because it was wet and hard to do. But I ran ‘til the end. Why? Because I could and four weeks ago I could only run a bit. But now? I run to the end and feel damn good within myself when I do. One woman asked how did I get so good? Determination baby. Never, ever give up. I like that about me. I like it a lot.

Go on - you can do whatever you want...

Sliding doors…

I was organizing accommodation for various people so they could leave the office thus leaving me in peace…no wait…that’s not it…they had to do business stuff far away out of the office, again leaving me in peace. Anyway I had to organize stuff in one town that I lived in for a short period as a kid. My father was in the army. Like most Army brats we travelled a lot. We saw a lot. We learnt a lot – fast. As I scrolled through the various internet sites for this town, lots of memories came back and I wondered what my life would have been like if we had settled in one place and never moved. No, it’s not realistic but it was interesting to ponder how I would have changed, who I would have missed out on meeting and would I, in essence, be any damn different to what I am now. As a friend and I often say ‘it’s just another sliding door moment….’

The brains trust...

At work there is a group of people that is considered the brains trust. They do deep, analytical stuff that I’m sure is probably going to be of some huge scientific merit that will change mankind but can they find a new container of coffee? No.

I get a call at my desk. There is no coffee. Yes there is. I’m the office manager. I mange everything from toilet paper to the D-Day landings to expenditure to cars almost running into the building…that’s another story. Anyway, I replied with those enigmatic words ‘look in the bloody cupboard.’ Which cupboard was the response? I walk to the kitchen and looked at them, then at the cupboard then back at them. They looked at me. I think to myself thank the cosmos I have average, street level, rat cunning intelligence and can manage things like finding coffee. I point to the cupboard. They look at the cupboard and ask ‘is the coffee in there?’ Yes, I respond but I make no move towards the cupboard as I want to see what they’ll do next. They continue to look at the cupboard as do I because I can almost see the cogs turning in their head as they analyse the cupboard. ‘Is there milk?’ I point then to the big white thing called the fridge. They nod and consider the fridge. I then say ‘all good now?’ They make no move to get either the coffee or the milk. How long they stood watching the cupboard and the fridge I don’t know but I expect the brilliant of mind were calculating the wind speed variables of their move to the fridge and whether the displacement of the air around them could indeed have some butterfly effect on the rest of the world.

Been thinking about…

…dating agencies and whether I should…

Where are all the good men?

Shudder...

I had a dream that made me wake up in a horrible fright. It was ghastly. Wrong. Frightening. I was having sex with someone I knew that I really don’t gel with at all in every day life. In fact they drive me nuts with their anality and frankly I try real hard to avoid them because I generally want to head butt them. Don’t you hate dreams like that? The 'what the fuck' feeling stays with you all day. Shudder…ick and puke...