Monday, 30 September 2013
Many moons ago, when I was in high school, I had two thoughts –
1. What am I doing here?
2. Fuck, I don’t know the answer.
I never saw the point of high school. I never knew anything and most of my time there was trying to bunk off sport and go work at McDonalds so I could get money to travel to the UK - or keeping a low profile so no one could ask me things like math or science questions. Religious education? Ah no, Mum agreed I could be removed from that because I considered it a load of bollocks and there was that incidence where I may have expressed an opinion to a religious type who took it badly. Phys Ed? How is running around a school sports oval going to do anything but piss me off? Actually, I was only thinking on my morning run, this morning, that when I was 12, and playing netball at school, we had this Nazi as a coach. She was an uncaring jockette who made us run and run and frigging run. I enjoyed being last on each of her runs because I’d already worked out a shortcut and never, ever, did that bitch work out I never ran the full way. But I digress…the main point of this ramble is today someone asked me a general knowledge question about the kings and queens of the
UK and I rattled them off one after
the other in succession. They were amazed. How did I know this stuff? By reading books – and not
history books – Jean Plaidy. Really? Yes. Remember her? By reading her stories
based on the lives of the Tudors and Plantagenets etc, I learned to love history
and accept textbooks.
My point? Wanna be a smarty pants? Sometimes the road less travelled when it comes to education is the best.
Sunday, 29 September 2013
I was looking for some pictures from my last High School – no Liz, I haven’t found them yet – but I did stumble across pictures in several albums of me and my younger brother and my ex-brother as kids. The kid, back row, third from the left as you look at the picture, is me. I would have been 8, I guess. I’m standing next to the blonde kid who was the world’s most popular girl at that school and could do no wrong. As I recall I did a lot wrong but there it is. Start as you mean to go on. I wonder what happened to Miss Popular? Anyway I was looking a mini me and thinking, boy oh boy, kid nothing turned out like you expected it to did it? But that’s okay. In my own way, I’ve done okay and I’m good with that.
Saturday, 28 September 2013
I don’t watch a lot of TV but I do watch, when I remember,
Top Model. Why? It fascinates me what is considered beautiful. If you have never
seen it – click here - http://www.ctv.ca/AmericasNextTopModel.aspx.
Yep, in many ways it’s pretty superficial and that interests me because that world is so far removed from my own that it has the train wreck quality to it that’s interesting. The current season on TV in Oz has a plus-size model called Whitney on it. I checked – she goes on to win. I also read the back page of books. Ah - it’s what I do. Anyway I look at this supposed plus sized woman and think are you mad? There is no way she is and if she’s plus sized what does that make women who are bigger than her? What are they called? Super sized? Gigantic? If their self esteem is low, how are they made to feel?
No wonder there are so many women beaten down by how society views their look or body type if someone like Whitney is considered plus sized and designers agonize over how to dress her.
Funny old world with some crazy arsed thoughts out there…
Beauty – form your own opinion. The “experts” know zip.
Friday, 27 September 2013
So, I attended this job interview today, even though I’m starting another one Monday, because…well, because it’s complicated and I do complicated very well. Anyway I went in and did my thing. I’m very good in interviews. I can look really normal and say all the correct things. It’s about confidence. They liked me. I could tell. They reminded me of cut out figures sprouting corporate ideology. I didn’t warm to them at all. I’m always wary around corporate types. I emailed a friend later saying that I felt bad ju-ju coming from them. We all know you can’t mess with ju-ju – unless you're hormonal and then you’re on the same evil level as bad ju-ju.
At the conclusion of the interview they said that I would fit in because I was the sort of “bubbly person” they were looking for. I was aghast and agog. What!!!! Bubbly? Me? Have you been paying attention? The only time I’m bubbly is when I’m retaining fluid and then it’s more the Michelin woman look. Bubbly? I always equate “bubbly” with airheads. Bubbly is only acceptable when it’s champagne in a glass. I was quite horrified. Did I mention bad ju-ju? Next I’ll be called chipper or perky…god help me.
Thursday, 26 September 2013
…and you’re probably wondering why you’re still single and Sleepless in
– not that I could get into your website to read about all the amazing virtues
of Larry, The Man. The Legend. The Dude
among Dudes. Prince Charming…ydah, ydah, ydah.
In short, Larry has decided now is the time to marry and he requires a white, thin, virtuous housefrau to be at his back and call. I expect someone will marry him and be his first wife for a couple of years. After that? Maybe he won't be so picky.
I believe this comment on facebook sums it up nicely...
Good luck with your search, Larry.
Wednesday, 25 September 2013
I was talking to this job agency woman. She had read my resume and was telling me how great my work experience is and how few people had a solid, varied working past like mine. If only she knew she got the cleaned up, homogenised and abridged resume version…but I digress. Then she said the problem is I’ve had too much life experience too fast. Well, fuck it, remind me next life to slow down.
This is how I see life. It comes at you fast and you have to move with it or get hit by it. If you do get hit you get up and remember that fall and vow to rebound faster. The agency chick? She’s a safe and steady kinda gal. There’s nothing wrong with that but we’re never going to speak the same lingo. Anyway, I thanked her for her time. Later, she rang me about a job to consider. Who me? The crazy woman with all the life experience?
But the thing is I’ve already picked up my next temp job. I like temping. You never get bored, you learn lots of stuff and you meet amazing people. The only small, weeny problem is I may have picked up another temp job at the same time. Oops. A tad problematic but I expect life experience will kick in and give me the solution. That or I feel a lot of creative wordage (lying) coming up as I tap dance around the issue of two jobs.
Life – what fun it is. Go, get out there – experience it.
Tuesday, 24 September 2013
So, I had to do this online cognitive evaluation test for this job thing. What a load of crap it was. I believe Einstein would have declared it bollocks. The word association stuff was fine. The “which shape out of 57 different shapes match the 6 at the bottom and the two on the left side test” was stupid but okay. The math questions? Oh for god sake I don’t care how many miles or oranges or people it takes to fill a balloon or swim backstroke balancing a pen on one’s nose or who out of Johnny and Billy eats faster and therefore will be able to go to football practice one day a week, please guess that day.
The math teacher is going to buy a box of chocolates to hand out to her students for good behaviour. She has 15 students. Six are exceptionally good and always do what they’re told. Three are bad students who smoke joints. Three regularly fall asleep in on their desk. Four lack any aptitude for algebra. The last student speaks little English.
My answer –
First of all, the math teacher has 15 students not the 17 in the problem. I’m not sure on the health and safety legislative requirements of her handing out food in light of food tampering, peanut allergies and why is she trying to tempt them? The six good ones are suck ups and would, given the right amount of pressure from the three bad students, hand over their chocolates so buying for them is moot. The ones asleep on the desk? Problem solved, they get nothing in the you-snooze-you-lose-scheme of life. The four who suck at math will undoubtedly be the most interesting people to come out of the school and would view chocolate as a bribe and would use that information against the teacher later if she pissed them off. The kid who can’t speak English? He’s in the wrong classroom so feeding him chocolate will only make him want to come back.
Total number of chocolates to hand out without violating any laws is just a box for the teacher to have with her after class vodka.
So, I gave my answer. It came back I was above the average, intelligent and a leader. See? The kids who suck at algebra always rule.
Monday, 23 September 2013
Well, didn’t I piss off some people on facebook on the weekend? And the emails I got? Why? Two reasons. The first? Weight. I posted this link on facebook –
My exact words were – “Interesting concept...nope, not about to do it myself but I admire her.”
Why do I admire her? Because people make a decision for themselves and take action based on how they feel and what is important to them. You may not like it. I may not like it. But it’s their decision. We don’t have to understand it. People choose to act as their conscience dictates and what’s important to them. This lady made a stand because she wanted to. She wasn’t asking people to like it or agree with it. What she did was for herself. If she did this to make herself feel better about who she is then good luck to her. It is not for me or other people to point out the possible flaws in her plan. Yeah, ‘her plan.’ You don’t want to look at her? Don’t look. You declare she needs to lose weight? Look at what you need to change in your life before you judge another. You think she eats indiscriminately, like a self obsessed pig and deserves to be fat? We have no idea of what she eats or her metabolism or what exercise she does. I don’t know what’s going on in her head. No one but she does. And the criticism that really got me was from two people indicating their disgust in that she was trying to make a place in society to be accepted as a human being around other human beings. Well, fuck me, what a bitch she is to want to find her place in the world and be at peace with who she is.
Now onto the other thing. I’m a white woman. I’m me. I’m average. I have strange, crazy beliefs that everyone should be treated equally regardless of how they look, the colour of their skin and regardless of gender. I know, call me crazy. What I object to is being blamed as a 'white woman' for all the ills in the world. Bollocks! Yeah, shitty things happen to good people regardless of their skin colour. I'm not about to apologize for my skin colour or who I am. You want to hate me for that? Grow up. Blame one type of person over another and point to them as evil? Oh for fuck sake. Haven't we got enough war in the world
Yeah – you can email me – email@example.com
Sunday, 22 September 2013
I was sitting on the wall of the Cairns Esplanade, as I do every Sunday morning après run and swim, drinking coffee and watching the tide come in. I was also listening in, quite unashamedly, on a conversation between two French tourists. From what I could work out, from my high school French, it was all about another woman and a man and they were pretty pissed off at her because he shouldn’t be seeing her. I suspect he was supposed to be with one of the other woman. The thing that fascinated me about their convo was the word ‘whatever’ was sprinkled liberally among the flying French words.
Elle est moche. Je ne vois pas pourquoi il aime sa mais whatever.
Il peut avoir. Whatever.
Sacre Blue. Eiffel Tower
Whatever! Il est un cochon! Me donner gateau! Whatever. Croissant! Éclair! Merde!
J'espère que sa balle tomber! Whatever. Poisson!
Whatever! J'ai besoin de café avec mon gâteau!
Me donner vin! Patisserie!!! Arc de Triomphe!
Merde! Whatever! Pompadour!
Friday, 20 September 2013
- Do warthogs ever consider themselves unattractive?
- Are snails smart?
- Are oranges, despite their lack of longevity, quite pleased that there is no rhyme for them?
- Is it just me or is it a waste of time putting on make up before going to the gym?
- Awesome has to be the most overrated word at the moment. I think its bollocks.
- A good word is bollocks.
- Do chooks swear?
- Are beetles as cute as they look? Do they have the heart of an assassin cloaked in a cute form?
- I suggest, in war, we all throw sherbet bombs instead of real bombs, then no one would die and we’d all by happy – fatter – but happier.
- If your foot is the same size as the inside of your forearm, does that make buying shoes easier?
- Are pigeons discriminated against by the use of the phrase pigeon-toed? Maybe some aren’t.
- If all the boys lived over the sea…okay.
- A kiss is just a kiss? Maybe if you’re a crap kisser.
- I would not let anyone into the country based on their passport photo.
- In a pickle? Does that mean we're wet, green and slimy? Really, no thought went into the phrase at all.
- Time is on our side. Maybe that’s why we weigh more ‘cause we’re carrying time.
Thursday, 19 September 2013
I was grocery shopping after work and I went up this aisle and I came across this married couple arguing about rice cakes. Yeah. Rice cakes. Anyway, they were having one of those terse yet deadly cool battles that had the air crackling around them as they fought in tight, small words over which flavour of rice cake to get or ‘do you want, crackers again, Harry.’ How do I know they were married? Rings on their fingers and also married people have that look about them. I can only describe it as a scary, settled look. Single people have that ‘I’ll buy whatever I damn well like look.’ Anyway this pair had me wondering. Do people living in sin have less arguments? Are rice crackers a deal breaker or a compromise? Saint or sinner? Rice cakes or ordinary crackers? Hmmmm…..
Wednesday, 18 September 2013
I was shopping this arvo and I went into this store and a young woman served me. She was 20 years old and oh-my-god she had such attitude. She knew exactly who she was, what she wanted and she explained to me that there was no way in hell she would take crap from anyone and she was ‘very aware’ of her rights. All this over the purchase of a marked down shirt. I listened to her and thought ‘that is me 25 years ago and I haven't changed a whit.' As the sale concluded I said to her ‘Listening to you is like listening to myself. You go girl.’
Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference ~Winston Churchill
Tuesday, 17 September 2013
So, today I said to a friend that there was no way he would say ‘nipples’ in a serious, structured and formal conversation that was important. How did this come up? Well, you know, friends talk weird, random stuff about nothing sometimes.
Anyway, I walked into the office later. He was doing a phone referee check on me – you know – saying how amazing, sweet, adorable, conscientious etc that I am and he used the nipple word very skilfully in the middle of a sentence without missing a beat. I doubt the person on the other end of the phone even noticed. That takes skill and a healthy dose of competitive madness. It also indicates that people often don’t listen to what others say and we could all be talking nipplese.
Monday, 16 September 2013
So, I wrote Take Me Make Me yonks ago. The rights have recently been reverted back to me due a publisher going down the tubes. No surprise there. Anyway, the story about Millicent prompted readers who bought it to ask when The Captain would have his own story. Ipso facto and voila! He does....
The Captain had been watching Millicent for a while. Her unapologetic lust for sex intrigued him. She was sexy, beautiful and would soon be his. That others shared her body was irrelevant. In the end she would belong to him alone.
Millicent is unaware that the man who has haunted her dreams is about to step back into her life and make them a reality. Will she be up to the hot, demanding challenge of the Captain?
Millicent Bradley stopped at the mailbox out front of her apartment. She had endured a horrible day dealing with idiots at the restaurant she worked in. The staff was stupid. The customers were stupid. “And I’m probably stupid,” she muttered to herself as she pulled out the letters crammed into the box. They all were window faced. She did a quick count. Seven. “Fucking bills.” She shoved them back into the box. If she was lucky someone would steal them. They stole everything else in the suburb she lived in. “I’ll think about bills later.” And later would come soon enough when her power was turned off and the landlord banged on her door. She shuddered. He was a creepy, middle aged man, who lived with his equally creepy mother, who always rubbed his crotch when he was standing before her. Millicent knew what he wanted. Sex in lieu of paying the rent. Not in this lifetime, asshole.
“’Not ever going to happen.” She sold herself once, six weeks ago, and the memory of it still haunted her. Not because it was degrading to have strange men shove their dicks into very orifice of her body. It was the fact the she had actually enjoyed it which confused the hell out of her. Normal women didn’t do that but then what was normal? “Damned if I know.”
And then there was the mysterious Captain. He was known by no other name and it suited him. The darkly, sexy man had a commanding presence that, even after six weeks, was unforgettable. She blew out a breath. They had only kissed and yet she couldn’t get him out of her thoughts. Millicent had toyed with the idea of going back to the house on
Street. “God knows I need the money,” she muttered
as she trudged toward the stairwell of the apartment block. The elevator had
been broken for months. As much as that annoyed her, she knew that was why the
rent was cheap. Beggars could not be choosers.
Her thoughts turned once more to the Captain. Imposing, strong and mysterious. Millicent shrugged her shoulders. “He probably doesn’t even remember me.” Undoubtedly hundreds of women had been entranced by him. Wanted him. Lusted after him. That was his cache. The sexy man that no woman could have.
Millicent sighed. “What are we going to do, girl?” It was the question that was constantly in her mind. She needed money. She craved sex. She had nothing and no one. The Captain was the last person she should be thinking about.
Millicent needs money fast. There is a certain house on
where she can earn it catering to the sexual fetishes of the clients. The
mysterious 'Captain' owns the house and there is no boundary he will not cross
to please his guests.
Sex is like breathing to Millicent. She loves it. She feels no guilt in what she does. The only problem is she has been warned to be out of there by midnight. But does the Captain have other plans for her?
Sex is like breathing to Millicent. She loves it. She feels no guilt in what she does. The only problem is she has been warned to be out of there by midnight. But does the Captain have other plans for her?
Sunday, 15 September 2013
I saw this on Facebook….
“One way or another, make him desire you.”
I find this scary because undoubtedly someone will believe you can make a person love you – and you probably can. I don’t know. Is that really the kind of love a person would want?
To me, it’s creepy, obsessive and bordering on stalking….
Love. It happens or not. That’s just life. You get what you need when you need it. Don't go buying advice to hunt down love. That always ends in tears.
Saturday, 14 September 2013
Apparently, I have a face that belongs to someone else. Possibly inconvenient for them…but the thing is I’ve been told, in the last week, "I’ve seen you before. But I don’t know where." So, I have this theory that someone is walking around Cairns looking exactly like me – that or I’m sleep walking and meeting people, leaving a lasting impression and then wandering on, forgetting all about my nocturnal travels. That or I have a face that’s as common as muck…naturally I like the sleep walking option or maybe, just maybe there is someone walking around Cairns who had their face surgically altered to look like mine to…er, um…well…maybe to do something amazing that people will accidently congratulate me for or to do something so fiendish and diabolical that old people with walking sticks will come up to me and hit me.
I like to think I’m a one off but a doppelganger could be fun. It’s wasn’t me – it was her…
Friday, 13 September 2013
So, I’m doing a bit of temping at the moment until I can find a full time job – but in saying that, I do kinda like temping. In the past I was a temping fiend jumping from job to job, learning stuff and then wandering off when the time was up. It’s a fantastic way to increase your job skills. Anyway, I am currently hanging out in a Steel factory despatch office. This woman, a permanent employee wandered in to the donga (Aussie for demountable building and no, nothing sexual at all) and we chatted about stuff and she said to me ‘It’s hard to get a job when you’re our age.’ I looked her up and down and thought, ‘You sound 103 with that attitude coming out of your mouth. There is no way in hell I’m your age.’ Added to that’s its a load of bollocks attitude and a cop out to use age as a reason for not having stuff. If there are not a plethora of jobs out there at the moment it’s not just directed at people over 40 and using that as an excuse is bullshit.
My personal opinion is people like this woman lack one basic thing – they have no determination. That’s the key to life. You want to blame your age or weight or gender for the fact that you have no gumption to put yourself out there? Well yeah, expect back what you send out to the universal. And oh shit yeah, you’re going to be shot down – probably lots of times – when it comes to job interviews but it’s the people who get up, dust themselves off and keep going, knowing in their hearts that there is something out there for them and every rejection is just karma saying ‘Listen stupid, be patient and give me another week and your dream job will land in your lap.’
Blame age? Blame yourself for your attitude.
Thursday, 12 September 2013
“Why marry the cow when the milk is free?” My mother - probably every one’s mum, way back when – said this to their daughters. As a teenager, I knew what she meant. But also as a teenager I was way too focussed/obsessed on earning enough money at McDonalds to get me travelling overseas. Cows? Milk? Pimply teenage boys? Oh please, I have a goal and ambition. Sex? I don’t have time for that. I need money!
I doubt that whole cow analogy is used today. Sex is sex and out there and teenagers are gonna do it despite cows and milk and ‘what the hell has a cow got to do with sex anyway?’ I can hear some kid ask. Well, exactly. Sex is demystified and in many ways that's good because as a society we’re open about it – ipso facto that Fifty Shades of Gray drivel – yes, I can say it’s drivel because as I reader I bought it and it’s my opinion. And, while it may be a best seller, the main characters are immature twats. Anyway, my point is, and I do have one, I kinda miss the anticipationary (yes, made up word) illusion of the shall we/can we/should we/gee its naughty sex.What is the point of this post? Cows? Milk? Sex? Sorta, but mainly I believe we’ve demystified sex to the point that it’s like drinking coffee.
But there is hope. I can now see a weird turn around in the stories that writers, especially ebook writers, are penning when it comes to romance. Oh sure there are still the diehard ones writing about one woman getting shagged senseless by five ‘protective’ non condom wearing, shapeshifter cowboys but romance seems to be creeping back in without the race to thrust something into a hole in the first three pages. Maybe we can have a cow, the milk and later on an orgasm too…
Wednesday, 11 September 2013
“It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.” - Rose Kennedy
Tuesday, 10 September 2013
...driving home this afternoon was I'm going to become a Nun or a Stripper. I'm just not sure which.
Or maybe I'll just get a
Life...what a conundrum it is at the moment...
So, the TV set is focaccia’d and off being repaired, under warranty, at the repairer dude’s place. “Fixed at the end of the week, mate,” he said. I replied, “No worries.” We’re simple souls in Aussie-land. Anyway, I took my simple-soul-self home and went to turn on the TV to watch the news and – oh hey – no TV. I’m smart like that. A big empty space is dead giveaway something’s missing – and if not that, the fact there's no button to press is the second clue. Yep, intelligence plus R US.
Well then, I decided there’s only one solution. Read a book. I’ve got dozens and fortunately, if not for a lot of plane travel this year, I would have not read any. So, I settled into book 10 of the Anita Blake Vampire Hunter series. I don’t get her problem. If it was me I would pick Jean Claude, the dark, sexy vampire over the sensitive, soulful werewolf Richard. Seriously, get with the Vamp, Anita. Yeah, he’s technically dead but no one’s perfect.
Monday, 9 September 2013
I was on Facebook, on the lovely Abigail Madison Chase’s page – she’s always interesting reading – and Abby had this article on it –
“A 49-year-old underwear model has accused the fashion industry of ageism as she says she can no longer get any work because she looks too young.”
Essentially, this chick was having a hissy fit about no one wanting to employ her as an underwear model because she’s 49. I have a confession to make - no one wants to see me in my undies and I’m 49 too. I know, it’s a shocker right? Anyway back to the other woman. I call bullshit on the fact that she thinks it’s because she looks too young. She doesn’t. She looks her age and I think that’s what’s shitting her off and the fact the she knows agencies are passing her up for newer bodies. That’s business. It’s their choice. I’m a realist and an avid defender of the rights of women but that fact is as women we may not like it but as we get older, bodies change and not everyone is going to want your body. Only those living in airy-fairy-dairy land don’t get that. They have to blame someone. The realists among us think ‘Ok, so I’ll choose another path and be so damn amazing at that.’ Its about attitude – whiner or survivor.
Now I don’t give a crap what she looks like but when I read comments on Facebook like -
“The lady in the article needs to have work done too if she wants to stay in the game..."
-it annoys the hell out of me. Women are so frigging hard on other women. No one ‘needs’ to have work done unless it’s for medical reasons. The most virulent discrimination women face is from other women.
Sunday, 8 September 2013
The first thing I saw on the internet hit me so forcibly that I could only stare at the image for several long minutes thinking to myself, “Bloody hell. You have to snap out of this, girl.” What was it? Stuff. Painful, oh-for-god-sake stuff. But we all have stuff in our lives. Some stuff hits you harder than other stuff. Actually, it’s been a year of stuff that has hit hard – very fucking Chuck Norris hard. Luckily, I am made of tougher stuff and staring at this image on the internet made me realize that I’m pretty much unbreakable now. It also made me start writing again in a massive stream of words about this woman dealing with stuff and the very-possibly-stupid stuff she does to handle stuff in her life. I haven’t written for ages due to the stuff that had been going on. But I’m back to it. Will anyone be interested in my stuff filled epiphany? Who knows? The thing is with writing you put your stuff out there and if someone buys it great. If they don’t? Well, just move on, baby…there’s other stuff to deal with.
And hey, thanks to everyone who kept on reading or checking up on the blog even though I hadn’t written stuff for ages due to stuff. I appreciate your stuff.