I attended an art gallery opening today, for community artists, who had taken the initiative of hanging some of their locally-relevant work in the public toilets as well.
So when I sat down on the porcelain expecting to read my usual public education literature about STDs and domestic violence, instead I was affronted by slightly surreal salmon-pink oysters and split pomegranates.
A few hours later, at the event dinner, when I asked the art coordinator if she was having a lend she looked at me with a surprisingly innocent & bemused expression for a mother of two - but her husband spat his red wine all over the tablecloth.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
New skills...
I recently joined a certain alliterative weight loss program with a friend (and that’s the last time we’ll talk about it).
This involves the military-style planning of every meal and snack, every day, and the obsessive counting of calories.
In the words of my friend YummyMummy:
'I don't know if I'm losing weight but my maths is getting a whole lot better.'
This involves the military-style planning of every meal and snack, every day, and the obsessive counting of calories.
In the words of my friend YummyMummy:
'I don't know if I'm losing weight but my maths is getting a whole lot better.'
Bottom of the chocolate box...
I was discussing with Geek_Girl how I haven't slept with anyone in a long time and I can honestly say it's because I'm not interested in anyone I know – not because I've run out of options.
She suggested that that's like saying you've stopped eating chocolates because the box is empty...or because there's only the crusty pralines and turkish delight left on the bottom tier.
She suggested that that's like saying you've stopped eating chocolates because the box is empty...or because there's only the crusty pralines and turkish delight left on the bottom tier.
Read between the lines...
Suddenly here is another ex-lover chatting away to me on email.
Don't they get it? When I say 'I understand, let's be friends'...after they DUMP me…what I really mean is 'your ongoing presence is a constant reminder of my perceived inadequacies and I wish you'd disappear or at least be publicly and completely unhappy without me'.
Duh!
Don't they get it? When I say 'I understand, let's be friends'...after they DUMP me…what I really mean is 'your ongoing presence is a constant reminder of my perceived inadequacies and I wish you'd disappear or at least be publicly and completely unhappy without me'.
Duh!
It's all over now...
I recently realized that I've had my quota of good sex and there is no more good sex out there in the world for me to have any more.
So sad…
I can't believe that a grown man can get to this age and not know what goes where under the covers?
Don't you guys grow up reading porn and watching movies - shouldn't that count as instructional material?
I never knew that there was such a thing as bad sex until after I split up with my husband - if I'd know about this quota thing I would have saved it up for the NEXT 10 years not the last 10.
Why do bad boys fuck like tigers and good men kiss like serial killers?
So sad…
I can't believe that a grown man can get to this age and not know what goes where under the covers?
Don't you guys grow up reading porn and watching movies - shouldn't that count as instructional material?
I never knew that there was such a thing as bad sex until after I split up with my husband - if I'd know about this quota thing I would have saved it up for the NEXT 10 years not the last 10.
Why do bad boys fuck like tigers and good men kiss like serial killers?
Blogging...
This blog has become the inside of my brain, on the outside.
Whims, opinions, funny moments caught in time like insects in amber - and almost as bizarre at times.
I remember reading on a teacher's wall once, things that children had said, including one little gem that came in answer to the adult sobriet 'think before you talk"...the child had replied "but I don't know what I'm thinking until I say it'.
That's how I feel with this blog.
Without it I wouldn't know how far I've come, or how much lies ahead of me.
So welcome to my blog...and to the inside of my head. It's a fun place to be.
Whims, opinions, funny moments caught in time like insects in amber - and almost as bizarre at times.
I remember reading on a teacher's wall once, things that children had said, including one little gem that came in answer to the adult sobriet 'think before you talk"...the child had replied "but I don't know what I'm thinking until I say it'.
That's how I feel with this blog.
Without it I wouldn't know how far I've come, or how much lies ahead of me.
So welcome to my blog...and to the inside of my head. It's a fun place to be.
Generation gap...
For a while there I was talking to my boss on email and kept saying LOL.
It took us about five emails before he worked up the guts to ask me what LOL means.
He thought I was writing Lots Of Love at the end of each missive.
I don't use chat-speak when I write to him anymore...
It took us about five emails before he worked up the guts to ask me what LOL means.
He thought I was writing Lots Of Love at the end of each missive.
I don't use chat-speak when I write to him anymore...
Media wars...
I have my own opinions on Fairfax's cost-cutting and what mistakes may have been made over the past 12 months but I'm surprised at the way other papers feel free to comment on Fairfax financial decisions.
The one that struck me most is a comment in The Australian about the FFX CEO's decision to get rid of his chauffeur and use taxis or drive himself.
The Australian slagged FFX for putting a man out of work.
I wonder what they would have written if the company continued to put people out of work in all other sites but the Big Man continued to get driven around in chauffered style?
You can't win can you? At least not when you're up against News Ltd.
The one that struck me most is a comment in The Australian about the FFX CEO's decision to get rid of his chauffeur and use taxis or drive himself.
The Australian slagged FFX for putting a man out of work.
I wonder what they would have written if the company continued to put people out of work in all other sites but the Big Man continued to get driven around in chauffered style?
You can't win can you? At least not when you're up against News Ltd.
Nature v nurture...
Flinders University has proven that parents of children under 11 are solely responsible for their children being overweight.
Well duh!
I am a big fatty and, while they have MrX’s genetics on their side, to be sure, my kids don't eat the crap I eat and they are heaps healthier and have much better habits than I do.
I still remember a study that told us how children of skinny parents were inclined to be skinny, children of one fat & one skinny parent had a halfway chance of being either, & children of two fat (yes, I know, but ‘overweight’ takes a lot of typing) parents are more likely to have fat kids.
BUT…the pets of fat couples are something like 90 per cent more likely to be overweight as well.
Nature…or nurture? You decide.
Well duh!
I am a big fatty and, while they have MrX’s genetics on their side, to be sure, my kids don't eat the crap I eat and they are heaps healthier and have much better habits than I do.
I still remember a study that told us how children of skinny parents were inclined to be skinny, children of one fat & one skinny parent had a halfway chance of being either, & children of two fat (yes, I know, but ‘overweight’ takes a lot of typing) parents are more likely to have fat kids.
BUT…the pets of fat couples are something like 90 per cent more likely to be overweight as well.
Nature…or nurture? You decide.
Night manouvres...
Apparently snoring affects the brain.
So does being thumped in the head while u snore by a partner who hasn't slept a whole night in 15 years.
So does being thumped in the head while u snore by a partner who hasn't slept a whole night in 15 years.
State v family...
A while back I read about an American couple ordered to get chemotherapy for their teenaged son after they chose to forego a second round of chemo and instead try alternative medicines.
Is it right for the State to be able to order invasive, intrusive health treatments? I can't say how I'd react to the idea of chemo if I found out I had cancer. I think I'd be more frightened of the treatment than of the illness - but then I have a lot of people I have to live for.
This issue is right up there with the vaccination issue and the family who skipped town to avoid their child being given vaccinations after welfare had already been called in (I'm assuming there's more to that story than it seems, as welfare seems very keen to leave neglected, beaten, underfed children at home in other cases).
I believe in vaccinations, I believe in taking the medicine if it'll help you stay alive to be with your family for as long as possible, but I'm not sure where to draw the line on the State making me make 'good' choices.
I remember having an out and out blue with a nurse lecturing me about HepC vaccinations for my newborn. I remember feeling very violated when I was given a vitamin injection after my daughter’s birth, but was too out of it to realise it was happening.
And if a doctor took a syringe near my kids without me knowing you better believe he better be carrying a metal bar in the other hand because I'd be flying over the counter faster than you could say 'Spanish influenza'.
We put a lot of faith in our governments knowing better than we do...and yet very few of the politicians I know can find their bums with both hands, let alone their moral centres.
Is it right for the State to be able to order invasive, intrusive health treatments? I can't say how I'd react to the idea of chemo if I found out I had cancer. I think I'd be more frightened of the treatment than of the illness - but then I have a lot of people I have to live for.
This issue is right up there with the vaccination issue and the family who skipped town to avoid their child being given vaccinations after welfare had already been called in (I'm assuming there's more to that story than it seems, as welfare seems very keen to leave neglected, beaten, underfed children at home in other cases).
I believe in vaccinations, I believe in taking the medicine if it'll help you stay alive to be with your family for as long as possible, but I'm not sure where to draw the line on the State making me make 'good' choices.
I remember having an out and out blue with a nurse lecturing me about HepC vaccinations for my newborn. I remember feeling very violated when I was given a vitamin injection after my daughter’s birth, but was too out of it to realise it was happening.
And if a doctor took a syringe near my kids without me knowing you better believe he better be carrying a metal bar in the other hand because I'd be flying over the counter faster than you could say 'Spanish influenza'.
We put a lot of faith in our governments knowing better than we do...and yet very few of the politicians I know can find their bums with both hands, let alone their moral centres.
Cutting ties...
Today, I got a bit sick of having one-sided relationships/friendships/acquaintances with my 'friends' (all of this while recognising that I'm the most demanding woman on earth).
I decided the best way to deal with my OCD need to constant contact people who don't have the time or the inclination to contact me back was to delete all those contacts from my phone, email, facebook etc and not reinstate anyone who doesn't contact me first.
It was very freeing...until I had to start reinstating people who suddenly had time to catch up all over again.
I swear, I'm just a walking irony magnet.
Hey - 'irony magnet' - that's its own kind of funny!
I decided the best way to deal with my OCD need to constant contact people who don't have the time or the inclination to contact me back was to delete all those contacts from my phone, email, facebook etc and not reinstate anyone who doesn't contact me first.
It was very freeing...until I had to start reinstating people who suddenly had time to catch up all over again.
I swear, I'm just a walking irony magnet.
Hey - 'irony magnet' - that's its own kind of funny!
Emotional flotsam and jetsam...
Sometimes I feel like my kids are salvage.
Like here was something that was originally wonderful and important and then there was this disaster and it's been my job to take that original work of art, or craft, and rebuild it and polish it up to its original shine.
Sometimes, when I see them being perfectly beautiful and generous and loving, I feel this righteous pride because I made that possible.
Not their original glory, they're responsible for that I'm sure, but this slightly dented but still quality future they glow with - I made that possible through my choices.
That's egocentric, I know, but it's part of why I feel so protective of them.
I had to scrape and claw and hold my own falling-apart pieces together to make it possible for them to be this great.
It's my achievement as much as theirs...and my failure, as much as theirs, when it falls apart.
No wonder I take it all a little bit too much to heart.
Like here was something that was originally wonderful and important and then there was this disaster and it's been my job to take that original work of art, or craft, and rebuild it and polish it up to its original shine.
Sometimes, when I see them being perfectly beautiful and generous and loving, I feel this righteous pride because I made that possible.
Not their original glory, they're responsible for that I'm sure, but this slightly dented but still quality future they glow with - I made that possible through my choices.
That's egocentric, I know, but it's part of why I feel so protective of them.
I had to scrape and claw and hold my own falling-apart pieces together to make it possible for them to be this great.
It's my achievement as much as theirs...and my failure, as much as theirs, when it falls apart.
No wonder I take it all a little bit too much to heart.
The place where plants come to die...
After a rainless summer of hot winds and neglect, my front yard looks like Wharminda.
In fact, it's a perfect study of deforestation.
I'm starting to suspect some kind of acid rain (except there's been no rain)or napalm because when it did rain last week even the weeds didn't come back up.
I refuse to buy anymore plants and condemn them to dry and dusty death until the landscaper comes and puts in a watering system.
In fact, it's a perfect study of deforestation.
I'm starting to suspect some kind of acid rain (except there's been no rain)or napalm because when it did rain last week even the weeds didn't come back up.
I refuse to buy anymore plants and condemn them to dry and dusty death until the landscaper comes and puts in a watering system.
Online v print...
GeekGirl and I are discussing the future of online vs hard copy (yes I know, not an original discussion these days, but one that's still interesting).
I lluurrve books.
I am a complete bibliophile.
I love the way they look sitting on shelves.
I love the well-fingered ones with pages falling loose.
My bedroom is a fire hazard and I can't BEAR to give away books, or borrow them because I HAVE TO OWN THEM ALL!
All of them I tell you! Muah ha ha ah HAH!
I even keep library books longer than I should.
Ok, done now.
It's a very interesting discussion, especially in the newspaper business where we're being told get online or kiss it all goodbye.
For print to survive into the online age we must promote ourselves as a integrated service - we want people to want more!
The big nationals are telling us that the people who read daily newspapers online still buy a paper.
They check their news twice, three times a day for updates.
I love blogs - I have to admit it, but anything on the computer is just one more job pulling me away from my work. (must WORK at work)
I love the real-time human nature of blogs, and the allowance to be opinionated and biased or just plain silly - I like my papers to be hard, respectable news and my blogs to be fun, magazine-style sound-bitey jobs.
But isn't it funny that the internet is so 'magaziney' and yet we're still so addicted to magazines.
GeekGirl and I think it is the glossy paper (shiny!) and that lovely smell of ink.
I had to break my magazine habit though when my daughter yelled out from the toilet (where my pile of Cleos was) "Mum, what's an Oh, Rrr, Gh, Ah, Ss...?"
I lluurrve books.
I am a complete bibliophile.
I love the way they look sitting on shelves.
I love the well-fingered ones with pages falling loose.
My bedroom is a fire hazard and I can't BEAR to give away books, or borrow them because I HAVE TO OWN THEM ALL!
All of them I tell you! Muah ha ha ah HAH!
I even keep library books longer than I should.
Ok, done now.
It's a very interesting discussion, especially in the newspaper business where we're being told get online or kiss it all goodbye.
For print to survive into the online age we must promote ourselves as a integrated service - we want people to want more!
The big nationals are telling us that the people who read daily newspapers online still buy a paper.
They check their news twice, three times a day for updates.
I love blogs - I have to admit it, but anything on the computer is just one more job pulling me away from my work. (must WORK at work)
I love the real-time human nature of blogs, and the allowance to be opinionated and biased or just plain silly - I like my papers to be hard, respectable news and my blogs to be fun, magazine-style sound-bitey jobs.
But isn't it funny that the internet is so 'magaziney' and yet we're still so addicted to magazines.
GeekGirl and I think it is the glossy paper (shiny!) and that lovely smell of ink.
I had to break my magazine habit though when my daughter yelled out from the toilet (where my pile of Cleos was) "Mum, what's an Oh, Rrr, Gh, Ah, Ss...?"
Naval gazing...
Today is my favourite day of the year.
Today is the day the naval oranges show up in the shops.
I have so many physical memories of being a little kid on hot days eating cold, juicy oranges.
The smell of the peel on your skin and face afterwards.
I love the 'belly button' and eating it like a separate fruit.
I love peeling the oranges with my fingers and tearing through the pith with my teeth to the sweet flesh.
I am so easily pleased...who knew?
Today is the day the naval oranges show up in the shops.
I have so many physical memories of being a little kid on hot days eating cold, juicy oranges.
The smell of the peel on your skin and face afterwards.
I love the 'belly button' and eating it like a separate fruit.
I love peeling the oranges with my fingers and tearing through the pith with my teeth to the sweet flesh.
I am so easily pleased...who knew?
In with the old, out with the new...
I HATE allen keys.
Seriously. Having to put together my own new furniture, squeezed in around my old furniture, because the guy who wants my old stuff and was going to move it for me has split his finger like a banana between two boats and is busy having microsurgery is not fun.
BoyChild is so sick of me yelling ‘get your feet off the new couch’ that the last time I looked he had stormed to his room, slamming the door, and muttering something about putting his feet all over his furniture if he wanted to.
I may have to invest in plastic couch covers.
I am officially old now.
Seriously. Having to put together my own new furniture, squeezed in around my old furniture, because the guy who wants my old stuff and was going to move it for me has split his finger like a banana between two boats and is busy having microsurgery is not fun.
BoyChild is so sick of me yelling ‘get your feet off the new couch’ that the last time I looked he had stormed to his room, slamming the door, and muttering something about putting his feet all over his furniture if he wanted to.
I may have to invest in plastic couch covers.
I am officially old now.
North v South...
I have a theory that European people are grumpier than southern hemisphere people because they get less sunshine.
That's probably why they started so many wars, historically, before they discovered ‘conquest by Kontiki’.
That's probably why they started so many wars, historically, before they discovered ‘conquest by Kontiki’.
Gals with guns...
WISH (women in shooting and hunting) are my favourite press release issuers. I love getting their stuff.
This week they're holding a press conference to protest the rising rate of violence against women.
Now we know why they want the guns.
This week they're holding a press conference to protest the rising rate of violence against women.
Now we know why they want the guns.
The uniform does not maketh the man...
I made the mistake of dating a cop once.
I knew, from trying to get police reports out of him over the phone that he was dumber than a box of hammers but when he walked into my office, all Dwayne Johnson arms and khaki’d pecs I was already living my own NYPD Blues fantasy in my head about cops and reporters.
I swear I knew better but I just kept talking to his chest and hoping the rest of him would keep quiet. At some stage my eyes glazed over and I just ignored what he was saying and imagined stripping him down to his gunbelt on the desk and eating him from the crewcut to his steel caps.
I tried to be discreet but he was so keen to piss all over his territory - kissing me goodbye in front of my staff, picking me up from my pub in the paddy wagon.
The first time he offered me a ride in his police wagon I said ‘wow, that’ll be the first time I’ve been in the FRONT of a paddy wagon’ and he didn’t laugh. Just raised a speculative eyebrow at me and went back to his office and did a licence check on me.
Now, every time he stops me on the highway to breathtest me and asks ‘would you blow in this’ I want to answer ‘haven’t we been here before’.
I’ve blown 0.00 so many times now he just leans in the window and says ‘oh, it’s you – move along’.
I knew, from trying to get police reports out of him over the phone that he was dumber than a box of hammers but when he walked into my office, all Dwayne Johnson arms and khaki’d pecs I was already living my own NYPD Blues fantasy in my head about cops and reporters.
I swear I knew better but I just kept talking to his chest and hoping the rest of him would keep quiet. At some stage my eyes glazed over and I just ignored what he was saying and imagined stripping him down to his gunbelt on the desk and eating him from the crewcut to his steel caps.
I tried to be discreet but he was so keen to piss all over his territory - kissing me goodbye in front of my staff, picking me up from my pub in the paddy wagon.
The first time he offered me a ride in his police wagon I said ‘wow, that’ll be the first time I’ve been in the FRONT of a paddy wagon’ and he didn’t laugh. Just raised a speculative eyebrow at me and went back to his office and did a licence check on me.
Now, every time he stops me on the highway to breathtest me and asks ‘would you blow in this’ I want to answer ‘haven’t we been here before’.
I’ve blown 0.00 so many times now he just leans in the window and says ‘oh, it’s you – move along’.
A divine visitor...
I still remember having to take photos at an outdoor church service for 'the blessing of the animals' after a long discussion with the kids on what church was all about in the car on the way.
The discussion may possibly have involved the terminology: House of God.
So GirlChild, half way through the sermon, announces in her rock-concert whisper: ‘Mummy - when is Jesus getting here?’
The discussion may possibly have involved the terminology: House of God.
So GirlChild, half way through the sermon, announces in her rock-concert whisper: ‘Mummy - when is Jesus getting here?’
Re-gifting...
I was extolling on all the benefits of my country living - fetes and fairs and cake stalls - and bewailing what will happen when there's no more old quilters and cake-bakers.
It was then that my workmate told me about one local lady who was supposed to supply a cake for her netball club's trading table so she went around the corner, bought a cake from the church stall, and passed it off as her own on the netball stall.
PMSL I just wouldn't have the balls to do it.
I'd giggle at the idea and then go donate them $10.
It was then that my workmate told me about one local lady who was supposed to supply a cake for her netball club's trading table so she went around the corner, bought a cake from the church stall, and passed it off as her own on the netball stall.
PMSL I just wouldn't have the balls to do it.
I'd giggle at the idea and then go donate them $10.
Not exactly Oleander tea...
I was standing alongside a friend at the supermarket while she was buying a Coke and crisps (which I found myself immediately lusting for).
‘They're for my husband,’ she told me with a real huff in her tone.
‘He's whinging about having a multigrain sandwich with alfalfa and he wanted a Coke. I added the chips because hopefully it'll put him that little bit closer to heart disease and I won't have to put up with his moaning for as long.’
And on the other side of me another woman said...
‘I don't see anything wrong with that. Occasionally I slip an extra spoonful of sugar in my husband's coffee and think 'just you wait'.’
‘They're for my husband,’ she told me with a real huff in her tone.
‘He's whinging about having a multigrain sandwich with alfalfa and he wanted a Coke. I added the chips because hopefully it'll put him that little bit closer to heart disease and I won't have to put up with his moaning for as long.’
And on the other side of me another woman said...
‘I don't see anything wrong with that. Occasionally I slip an extra spoonful of sugar in my husband's coffee and think 'just you wait'.’
New reading material...
The GeekBrainsTrust has put me onto a handful of demographic/social anthropology books that sound very interesting.
I loved Faith Popcorn's trend mapping and I fell in love with a book called Body Bazaar, as well as Victoria Finlay's 'journeys'.
These sound good - Jared Diamond and Bernard Salt, very apocalyptic - but, discussing them (and remember, I have yet to read them) we got talking about one in particular called 'man drought' about the perceived lack of 'prime males' as partners.
I wonder...can you be redefined as prime male just by being with a prime female?
Think about it. By definition, you've won!
You've taken up the spear and hunted down the ultimate prize (I guess the caveman hunter metaphor goes a bit astray here because they get to go out hunting at least three times a week and, you know, you wouldn't want to be eating the same bison every day...)
Can a beta man with an alpha female lobby for an upgrade?
I told my Wednesday Band about the 'man drought' and 'prime male' designations and every one of them went ‘shit, that leaves us out then’.
The Penisist has an interesting theory that all married women see themselves as prime females, that the process of having a partner is the definition of success (again, I'm fucked) but he's also feeling a bit sore because his friend was talking about someone getting divorced for the second time as 'damaged goods' and he's onto his third divorce.
I loved Faith Popcorn's trend mapping and I fell in love with a book called Body Bazaar, as well as Victoria Finlay's 'journeys'.
These sound good - Jared Diamond and Bernard Salt, very apocalyptic - but, discussing them (and remember, I have yet to read them) we got talking about one in particular called 'man drought' about the perceived lack of 'prime males' as partners.
I wonder...can you be redefined as prime male just by being with a prime female?
Think about it. By definition, you've won!
You've taken up the spear and hunted down the ultimate prize (I guess the caveman hunter metaphor goes a bit astray here because they get to go out hunting at least three times a week and, you know, you wouldn't want to be eating the same bison every day...)
Can a beta man with an alpha female lobby for an upgrade?
I told my Wednesday Band about the 'man drought' and 'prime male' designations and every one of them went ‘shit, that leaves us out then’.
The Penisist has an interesting theory that all married women see themselves as prime females, that the process of having a partner is the definition of success (again, I'm fucked) but he's also feeling a bit sore because his friend was talking about someone getting divorced for the second time as 'damaged goods' and he's onto his third divorce.
How to get fired...
My office smells of sex and beer, I'm running late on my paper and I have a dirty great bruise the size of Alaska with teeth marks in it on my neck.
I also have a hand-shaped camel bite on my glowing white arse cheek.
It's all fun and games until someone loses their job!
Just incidentally, last night while christening my desk, my ‘friend’ demonstrated how to tie a 'handcuff knot' with my network cord.
Intriguing...
I also have a hand-shaped camel bite on my glowing white arse cheek.
It's all fun and games until someone loses their job!
Just incidentally, last night while christening my desk, my ‘friend’ demonstrated how to tie a 'handcuff knot' with my network cord.
Intriguing...
Dreaming...
One day, when I'm rich and infamous I will have a chef to create perfectly calorie-controlled but delicious meals in the morning, noon and night; a cleaner; a gardener; a personal trainer and a gym at home with my favourite TV programs on the wall where I can watch them while I run in airconditioned privacy.
I will also have a pony.
I will also have a pony.
Kids these days...
My daughter just told me about this story she's heard about that's "a big take off of Scooby Doo".
Apparently it's got 'four crime-fighting teenagers and a loveable dog'...her words not mine.
She was talking about the Famous Five!
Apparently it's got 'four crime-fighting teenagers and a loveable dog'...her words not mine.
She was talking about the Famous Five!
Definition of a dag...
I am such a dag...
Today I looked up from my computer and realised that I was 'popping and locking' at my desk and singing along to 'Billy Jean' on my MP3 player...in front of four staff members, including one who was only on her first day.
Way to impress the newbies with my professionalism.
Oh, hold on! It's the Jackson 5 and 'ABC'...I've gotta dance man!
Oh, & warning...never call an international friend a 'dag' without explaining that it doesn't mean literally that they are the poo that hangs to a sheep's bum.
Today I looked up from my computer and realised that I was 'popping and locking' at my desk and singing along to 'Billy Jean' on my MP3 player...in front of four staff members, including one who was only on her first day.
Way to impress the newbies with my professionalism.
Oh, hold on! It's the Jackson 5 and 'ABC'...I've gotta dance man!
Oh, & warning...never call an international friend a 'dag' without explaining that it doesn't mean literally that they are the poo that hangs to a sheep's bum.
On a roll...
Words are weird sometimes.
I had a blank today about how to spell electoral roll/role and looked up the word.
A roll - a list or database, comes from the days when a long list would be written on a long, rolled-up scroll.
I love words and their meanings.
I had a blank today about how to spell electoral roll/role and looked up the word.
A roll - a list or database, comes from the days when a long list would be written on a long, rolled-up scroll.
I love words and their meanings.
Snooping...
Australia is a nation full of sticky beaks, apparently.
Here are some facts from a release I received recently:
10% of young Australians have been involved in a break-up as a result of text-checking (that's when you snoop through your partner's phone messages).
59% of text checkers check their partner’s phone when they’re in the shower.
Women (38%) are more likely than men (28%) to check their partner’s texts. (I wonder, these days, are men still more likely to cheat than women - and does the stat correlate?)
In fact, 900,000 Australians have admitted to checking their partner’s phones according to new research conducted by Virgin Mobile.
The research has revealed that Australia is a nation of paranoid text checkers with over one in three young Australians admitting to checking their partner’s text messages, and more than 280,000 having been being involved in a text-checking related break-up.
The research also reveals:
Author, relationship expert and text-checking guru, Samantha Brett says that text checking is rampant in relationships across the world;
"With so many modes of communication available these days, it's difficult to keep track of your partner's whereabouts or who they're chatting to and when, and what it all means. No wonder so many of us are checking our partner's texts! But there’s reason to take note as Virgin Mobile's research proves that thousands of relationships are breaking down as a result of our text checking behaviour."
Now that's all lovely, except we need to point out that those 10% of break-ups as a result of texting MUST HAVE FOUND SOMETHING!
That it is RIDICULOUS to be upset about someone checking your texts after they've CAUGHT YOU CHEATING!
I think that once you get to the snooping stage you already know you're being fucked around on. And, let's face it, if your partner is leaving the room to take messages in the toilet at 2am in the morning, the alarm bells should already be ringing!
And shame on Virgin for defending 'every Australian's right to flirt'.
Greedy money-grabbing vice-exploiting twats. They should be called Slut not Virgin!
At the same time - I need to point out, as someone who knows:
There should be no need to check a partner's pockets, texts, phone bills, credit card statements.
If you suspect there is, if that person can't show you for themselves that they're trustworthy, life already sucks for you.
I know I don't ever want to find myself going through a man's drawers for anything other than when I'm scrabbling for the condoms one-handed and panting.
Here are some facts from a release I received recently:
The research also reveals:
- 76% of text checkers do so in secret
- 73% of secret text checkers have found out things they later wished they hadn’t
- 44% of sneaky text checkers have discovered flirtatious or sexual texts, ranging from harmless flirtation (32%) to full blown sexual texts from someone else (19%)
- The most common places text checkers operate is while their partner is in the shower (59%), whilst in the same room (41%) or on the toilet (35%)
With the aim of squashing the nation’s obsession with text checking, Virgin Mobile introduces a new service for those customers concerned about their partner’s snoopy tendencies. Customers can simply text the word ‘snoop’ to 1978 99 99 to have a text from ‘SEXY’ sent to their phone. When the text message is opened by a paranoid partner, the message will remind the checker to have trust in their loved one.
"With so many modes of communication available these days, it's difficult to keep track of your partner's whereabouts or who they're chatting to and when, and what it all means. No wonder so many of us are checking our partner's texts! But there’s reason to take note as Virgin Mobile's research proves that thousands of relationships are breaking down as a result of our text checking behaviour."
That it is RIDICULOUS to be upset about someone checking your texts after they've CAUGHT YOU CHEATING!
Greedy money-grabbing vice-exploiting twats. They should be called Slut not Virgin!
There should be no need to check a partner's pockets, texts, phone bills, credit card statements.
If you suspect there is, if that person can't show you for themselves that they're trustworthy, life already sucks for you.
Missionary musings...
The missionary position - pfaw!
The only reason for the missionary position is to keep my sagging boobs facing the right direction.
Of course, there are bonuses, especially when you land on your back because you've been picked up and thrown on the bed and then you can grab him by the hair and push his face...
OK, got to stop now.
Celibacy and I are NOT getting along...
The only reason for the missionary position is to keep my sagging boobs facing the right direction.
Of course, there are bonuses, especially when you land on your back because you've been picked up and thrown on the bed and then you can grab him by the hair and push his face...
OK, got to stop now.
Celibacy and I are NOT getting along...
Round-heeled woman...
What a strange concept - a woman with 'round heels'. My first reaction was 'does that mean she falls on her back more easily when you push her over - like Mr Plod?'
I'm reading a blurb about an incredibly interesting looking book called A Round-Heeled Woman: My Late-Life Adventures in Sex and Romance by Jane Juska.
It reads like I speak...I'm intrigued!
I love that style of unpretentious writing - like someone's letting you into their diary. It must be why I love blogs.
A round-heeled woman is one who sleeps with a lot of different men. The term 'round-heeled' comes from the image of being on your back in the missionary position of lovemaking and the view of your heels from the bottom, on the bed.
Round-heeled - is used to suggest that the girl in question tips backwards easily and is ready for sexual intercourse in the missionary position.
In Chinese the phrase 'broken shoes' has much the same meaning: one takes off her shoes too much - for sex - until they break.
Ha ha - I still like the Mr Plod imagery best...but stuff being restricted to missionary. If you are going to be judged as 'round-heeled' shouldn't there at least be some variety.
And I do actually remember a few nights of flinging shoes off and breaking them, or dancing till they broke and ending up with them not being the only thing with broken straps at the end of the night.
I'm reading a blurb about an incredibly interesting looking book called A Round-Heeled Woman: My Late-Life Adventures in Sex and Romance by Jane Juska.
It reads like I speak...I'm intrigued!
I love that style of unpretentious writing - like someone's letting you into their diary. It must be why I love blogs.
A round-heeled woman is one who sleeps with a lot of different men. The term 'round-heeled' comes from the image of being on your back in the missionary position of lovemaking and the view of your heels from the bottom, on the bed.
Round-heeled - is used to suggest that the girl in question tips backwards easily and is ready for sexual intercourse in the missionary position.
In Chinese the phrase 'broken shoes' has much the same meaning: one takes off her shoes too much - for sex - until they break.
Ha ha - I still like the Mr Plod imagery best...but stuff being restricted to missionary. If you are going to be judged as 'round-heeled' shouldn't there at least be some variety.
And I do actually remember a few nights of flinging shoes off and breaking them, or dancing till they broke and ending up with them not being the only thing with broken straps at the end of the night.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Every engineer knows...
The use of powerful tools by untrained people can be both dangerous and devastating.
The internet is just such a tool.
& speaking of tools? Why does anyone need four email addresses?
Are they spies? Do they need an email address to give their latest identity credibility?
Are they superheroes protecting an alter ego?
How many 'readers' or 'blogs' or 'feeds' or 'domains' does anyone need?
Just how efficient are these internet users being if, like me, they really don't know what the best medium is - just the latest or easiest.
An email is a gateway for someone to reach you.
You don't have four doorways at your home do you? You use just the one - the obvious one (unless the kids or the tradies have dirty feet).
What happened to one-stop shopping on the internet?
We collect identities on the internet like other old ladies collect novelty spoons, when they should be like cars - bought for functionality. Pretty colours and racy accessories should be a secondary considerations, surely.
I was warned to never trust a man with two phones.
I suspect that someone with several email addresses is equally duplicitous...or a great big sucker for 'the latest and greatest (and shinyiest) social networking site'.
It's cyber-schizoprenia for goodness' sake!
Of course I could be wrong and I welcome your comments...which can be emailed to sasha'ssoapbox@hotmail.com, sasha'ssoapbox@yahoo.com, or sasha'ssoapbox@gmail.com
The internet is just such a tool.
& speaking of tools? Why does anyone need four email addresses?
Are they spies? Do they need an email address to give their latest identity credibility?
Are they superheroes protecting an alter ego?
How many 'readers' or 'blogs' or 'feeds' or 'domains' does anyone need?
Just how efficient are these internet users being if, like me, they really don't know what the best medium is - just the latest or easiest.
An email is a gateway for someone to reach you.
You don't have four doorways at your home do you? You use just the one - the obvious one (unless the kids or the tradies have dirty feet).
What happened to one-stop shopping on the internet?
We collect identities on the internet like other old ladies collect novelty spoons, when they should be like cars - bought for functionality. Pretty colours and racy accessories should be a secondary considerations, surely.
I was warned to never trust a man with two phones.
I suspect that someone with several email addresses is equally duplicitous...or a great big sucker for 'the latest and greatest (and shinyiest) social networking site'.
It's cyber-schizoprenia for goodness' sake!
Of course I could be wrong and I welcome your comments...which can be emailed to sasha'ssoapbox@hotmail.com, sasha'ssoapbox@yahoo.com, or sasha'ssoapbox@gmail.com
Intellectual in-breeding...
There was a time when we all thought the internet would open up a wide, world of new learning for its users.
But instead, I think we are simply filling our lives with bigger volumes of the same ol' same ol'.
My BrainsTrust of IT-savvy friends are busy teaching me about feeds and readers and alerts to help me read more of what I already know or like.
But where's the reader that feeds me things I should be interested in, stuff I might like if I stepped outside the perimeters of my own head?
Where's the cyber-librarian catching me at the counter and saying 'you know, you might really like to give this one a go'?
We moan and moan about the consequences of specialisation of skills - but now we have specialised thinking!
Social commentator Faith Popcorn talks about clicking, clanning and cocooning that occurs as people ‘chat’ with their virtual clan, cocooned from the rest of the world, isolated in cyber-space with a handful of people with like interests.
People who have avatars - not real-life wrinkles, fat-rolls and guinea pig laughs.
It’s a filtered, airbrushed, abbreviated world that teaches us nothing about inclusivity or tolerance.
Now, all of you busy, educated, involved people out there who are just enjoying a little peace at home with the convenience of your varied, RSS-filled personal libraries – I congratulate you on your smart use of an amazing technology.
For the rest of you who are sitting at a laptop ignoring the child or partner sitting beside you (like I am) in favour of yet another article on improving relationships, at the risk of sounding like my Mum I say…get up, get out & get some fresh air in you!
But instead, I think we are simply filling our lives with bigger volumes of the same ol' same ol'.
My BrainsTrust of IT-savvy friends are busy teaching me about feeds and readers and alerts to help me read more of what I already know or like.
But where's the reader that feeds me things I should be interested in, stuff I might like if I stepped outside the perimeters of my own head?
Where's the cyber-librarian catching me at the counter and saying 'you know, you might really like to give this one a go'?
We moan and moan about the consequences of specialisation of skills - but now we have specialised thinking!
Social commentator Faith Popcorn talks about clicking, clanning and cocooning that occurs as people ‘chat’ with their virtual clan, cocooned from the rest of the world, isolated in cyber-space with a handful of people with like interests.
People who have avatars - not real-life wrinkles, fat-rolls and guinea pig laughs.
It’s a filtered, airbrushed, abbreviated world that teaches us nothing about inclusivity or tolerance.
Now, all of you busy, educated, involved people out there who are just enjoying a little peace at home with the convenience of your varied, RSS-filled personal libraries – I congratulate you on your smart use of an amazing technology.
For the rest of you who are sitting at a laptop ignoring the child or partner sitting beside you (like I am) in favour of yet another article on improving relationships, at the risk of sounding like my Mum I say…get up, get out & get some fresh air in you!
Sooks and censorship...
A while back, an Indonesian newspaper published a satirical cartoon depicting John Howard and Alexander Downer as slavering dingoes 'mounting each other'.
Now, to be fair, Howard basically replied to the media's hysteria with the very Aussie 'get over it'.
Up my way, however, local news stations were appalled at the evil Indonesian media's bad taste and political shortsightedness in depicting our national treasures in such an unflattering light.
Now I can’t say Howard is my favourite former politician and don't even ask me about Downer - but I was impress by their responses.
According to ABC online, Howard said...
'In relation to the cartoons, well I've been in this game a long time, if I got offended about cartoons golly, heavens above, give us a break.'
Mr Downer said the cartoon was tasteless.
He says people can choose to publish tasteless and grotesque cartoons in a free society
Now, don't quote me on this, but isn't one of the Western world's biggest complaints about Indonesia the continued evidence of empire building, a trend towards dictatorships and...ohmigod...even CENSORSHIP!?
And here we are condemning a newspaper for printing (gasp gasp) distasteful political commentary in the form of a cartoon!
What would Larry Flynt say, really?
And let's remember, there are no actual laws to protect free speech in Australia - just conventions, which many heretofore unnamed media barons have done their best to circumvent.
(Long live the Goanna?)
My least-favourite lecturer at Uni taught me, what I now believe is, the most valuable journalistic lesson I ever learned.
Free speech means even the wankers get a say...and let's face it, they're always the first ones to pull up the soapbox.
(And yes, I am not unaware of the irony of me writing this - but, please, let's move on)
So, what's the world coming to if Aussies are upset at someone taking a poke at the pollies?
The Indonesians aren't saying anything we haven't said a million times, about our own politicians - not to mention theirs, and the rulers of every other nation on Earth - so, in my eyes, this is really a wonderful step towards multicultural understanding.
(Ask me about Indonesia's role as the world's last empire-builders and you'll hear much worse language than dingo-rooter).
The upside of this whole issue is that Australia and Indonesia now, agree on something.
The avenues of communication are now, finally, open...
Let's reopen trade, we can bitch about the Yanks together, it's all good.
But what I really want is to find a site with the damn cartoon on it. Someone send me a link! It appears to have been expunged from cyberspace.
And where are the Chinese cartoons, the Bosnian commentaries, the Haiti satires?
And note to the media, rom one journalist to another, what the hell is all the fuss about?
Or to quote a short man – “golly, heavens above, give us a break!”
Now, to be fair, Howard basically replied to the media's hysteria with the very Aussie 'get over it'.
Up my way, however, local news stations were appalled at the evil Indonesian media's bad taste and political shortsightedness in depicting our national treasures in such an unflattering light.
Now I can’t say Howard is my favourite former politician and don't even ask me about Downer - but I was impress by their responses.
According to ABC online, Howard said...
'In relation to the cartoons, well I've been in this game a long time, if I got offended about cartoons golly, heavens above, give us a break.'
Mr Downer said the cartoon was tasteless.
He says people can choose to publish tasteless and grotesque cartoons in a free society
Now, don't quote me on this, but isn't one of the Western world's biggest complaints about Indonesia the continued evidence of empire building, a trend towards dictatorships and...ohmigod...even CENSORSHIP!?
And here we are condemning a newspaper for printing (gasp gasp) distasteful political commentary in the form of a cartoon!
What would Larry Flynt say, really?
And let's remember, there are no actual laws to protect free speech in Australia - just conventions, which many heretofore unnamed media barons have done their best to circumvent.
(Long live the Goanna?)
My least-favourite lecturer at Uni taught me, what I now believe is, the most valuable journalistic lesson I ever learned.
Free speech means even the wankers get a say...and let's face it, they're always the first ones to pull up the soapbox.
(And yes, I am not unaware of the irony of me writing this - but, please, let's move on)
So, what's the world coming to if Aussies are upset at someone taking a poke at the pollies?
The Indonesians aren't saying anything we haven't said a million times, about our own politicians - not to mention theirs, and the rulers of every other nation on Earth - so, in my eyes, this is really a wonderful step towards multicultural understanding.
(Ask me about Indonesia's role as the world's last empire-builders and you'll hear much worse language than dingo-rooter).
The upside of this whole issue is that Australia and Indonesia now, agree on something.
The avenues of communication are now, finally, open...
Let's reopen trade, we can bitch about the Yanks together, it's all good.
But what I really want is to find a site with the damn cartoon on it. Someone send me a link! It appears to have been expunged from cyberspace.
And where are the Chinese cartoons, the Bosnian commentaries, the Haiti satires?
And note to the media, rom one journalist to another, what the hell is all the fuss about?
Or to quote a short man – “golly, heavens above, give us a break!”
Winged ones...
Some days I look at my children and I feel all heavenly and divine, like the Madonna (the Christian maternal icon, not the pointy-boobed popster).
On those days my children are angels.
Today, in the car to my parent's home I felt like the Wicked Witch of the West (Coast) and they were my little flying monkeys.
And now, I have unleashed them on Nanna and Grumpy - 'fly my pretties, fly!'
Recounting this observation to my friend GeekGirl, she announced that she was WitchiePoo.
I'm still not sure whether that makes her husband Puff 'n' Stuff or the Magic Flute...and I'm not asking.
On those days my children are angels.
Today, in the car to my parent's home I felt like the Wicked Witch of the West (Coast) and they were my little flying monkeys.
And now, I have unleashed them on Nanna and Grumpy - 'fly my pretties, fly!'
Recounting this observation to my friend GeekGirl, she announced that she was WitchiePoo.
I'm still not sure whether that makes her husband Puff 'n' Stuff or the Magic Flute...and I'm not asking.
Legs and whiskers...
I have always been fascinated by spiders.
When other girls wanted ponies, I wanted a tarantula.
Not that I wouldn’t have settled for a pony…don’t get me wrong. I am still a girl.
When we were children my brother and I were given a pet mouse each, in a little plastic tank.
My mother was assured by the pet owner that they were both male but she got a very quick lesson in ‘buyer beware’ and we were delighted to end up with a dozen little pink mouslings each.
I obviously got over my affection for mice (as did my mother, who - right up until I was in my 20s - insisted that our cat Fluffy had, somehow, unlatched both mouse tanks without eating any of our little babies and they had all escaped into the back paddock – perhaps to join the Rats of NIMH).
But when the mice were gone I remember trapping a huge huntsman – a regular visitor in our rainforest home – and insisting that he was a ‘Tarantula’ and keeping him in the mouse tank.
This is what happens when you encourage your children to watch National Geographic specials instead of Saturday morning cartoons.
Apparently Fluffy set my ‘Tarantula’ free as well…she must have been a wily old Puss, that’s all I have to say.
When other girls wanted ponies, I wanted a tarantula.
Not that I wouldn’t have settled for a pony…don’t get me wrong. I am still a girl.
When we were children my brother and I were given a pet mouse each, in a little plastic tank.
My mother was assured by the pet owner that they were both male but she got a very quick lesson in ‘buyer beware’ and we were delighted to end up with a dozen little pink mouslings each.
I obviously got over my affection for mice (as did my mother, who - right up until I was in my 20s - insisted that our cat Fluffy had, somehow, unlatched both mouse tanks without eating any of our little babies and they had all escaped into the back paddock – perhaps to join the Rats of NIMH).
But when the mice were gone I remember trapping a huge huntsman – a regular visitor in our rainforest home – and insisting that he was a ‘Tarantula’ and keeping him in the mouse tank.
This is what happens when you encourage your children to watch National Geographic specials instead of Saturday morning cartoons.
Apparently Fluffy set my ‘Tarantula’ free as well…she must have been a wily old Puss, that’s all I have to say.
Idiot-proofing...
aIf germ-proofing has resulted in the rise of deadly super-germs, what will come of making things idiot-proof?
We're living in the age of anti-Darwinism where only the idiots are still breeding.
The people you love - the ones you think are great parents with fantastic kids - stop at two, or even one, or spend their life travelling the word childless.
Then you meet people with three kids to three different arseholes. (What happened to once bitten, twice shy?)
Or the woman I met a couple of years ago with 12 children, who found a new partner when her teenagers stopped being eligible for pension payments and maintenance - and then found herself in hospital, in labour, at the same time as her 17-year-old daughter.
It was a joy to see them down the street together with matching prams, sharing a cigarette.
We're living in the age of anti-Darwinism where only the idiots are still breeding.
The people you love - the ones you think are great parents with fantastic kids - stop at two, or even one, or spend their life travelling the word childless.
Then you meet people with three kids to three different arseholes. (What happened to once bitten, twice shy?)
Or the woman I met a couple of years ago with 12 children, who found a new partner when her teenagers stopped being eligible for pension payments and maintenance - and then found herself in hospital, in labour, at the same time as her 17-year-old daughter.
It was a joy to see them down the street together with matching prams, sharing a cigarette.
The people in your neighborhood...
Centrelink scares me…
I’ve only had to be in a Centrelink office a handful of times but I remember last time, that while I waited I sat next to a woman who, I thought, had burped – but when I turned to look at her she lifted her cheek off the seat to let another one rip.
Maybe she was part of a motivation program to get people back into work.
God knows I now never want to go back there.
I’ve only had to be in a Centrelink office a handful of times but I remember last time, that while I waited I sat next to a woman who, I thought, had burped – but when I turned to look at her she lifted her cheek off the seat to let another one rip.
Maybe she was part of a motivation program to get people back into work.
God knows I now never want to go back there.
Spiderwoman sans lycra
I was bitten by a spider once - a Redback the size of a grape.
Sadly, I haven't seen any signs of superpowers to date and I haven't miraculously developed the ability to squeeze into one of those lycra superheroine cat suits.
That's the superpower I really want.
Sadly, I haven't seen any signs of superpowers to date and I haven't miraculously developed the ability to squeeze into one of those lycra superheroine cat suits.
That's the superpower I really want.
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