Weird thing the universe…

That past year has been bloody hard. It’s been all about endings, stopping, starting, fighting, standing up for honour and another’s reputation regardless of personal cost – and it’s been about Karma. I’ve found every time I inch forward I’ve been shunted hard backwards or slammed to a stop and directed on another path to blunder along with no map to follow. Jobs have fallen through but then I’ve been so busy fighting for someone else that I realize I wouldn’t have had time to work at a job. Information has dropped into my lap just when I thought my research had run dry. Lies and half truths have been put forward and the universe has shoved them into my face to investigate and realize the fabrications put before me can be defeated and that I will win for the right reasons.

I don’t mind dealing with Karma. I understand the universe – but I swear, once all this is over I just want a couple of weeks without drama. Do you hear me universe? And Karma? Love ya, but back off.      

Arizona? Quit bullying people.

Years ago, when I was a young girl, I was continually told by my brother that I was fat and ugly and all his friends said I was the ‘ugliest girl they knew’. This went on for years. I won’t lie. Those words crushed me as a child. But I never showed it because I wouldn’t allow a bully to see that I was crushed or that I feared his words. I endured to spite him. It was a relief when he left home. Why do I bring this up? I believe my strong beliefs and views on human rights and equality were born from this bullying. It made me who I am – an individual with definite beliefs and opinions who will not stand quietly and let things slide. Anyone who has ever been bullied will not stand and allow others to be treated the same way.

When I read headlines like this, I instantly arc up...

"Arizona Gov. Jan Brewer must decide if she will sign a bill allowing business owners to deny service to gay and lesbian customers."

http://edition.cnn.com/2014/02/25/politics/arizona-brewer-anti-gay-bill/

This essentially reads as ‘someone’ must decide if other human beings with certain defined sexual and romantic preferences can be allowed to go into some places of business and purchase good and services.  What. The. Fuck. How is this right? How is this having respect for other human beings regardless of what they think, believe or act? How can you slam one group of people and deny them rights? And to wrap it up in some talk about “as long as they (the shop owners) assert their religious beliefs" while they’re denying someone else their own particular beliefs to me is bullying in its worst form. It’s saying ‘well, you can’t be normal like us so I’m not going to interact with you and I’m going to make you feel ostracized because I can wave a moralistic banner saying my god allows me to do it.’ Bollocks. Remember when people were fervently denied human rights because of the colour of their skin? Remember how much we look upon those days as appalling and wrong? How is it okay to cite God to smite down people who just want to love who they love because it’s their right to do so as a human being?

If you have ever faced a bully, you know and I know, you bear scars that will never allow you to let another person feel the same way you did. Arizona? Quit bullying people. 

Damn! No magic decoder ring....

So, I got this ornate, whiz bang Diploma from the US of A announcing in impressive gold letters that I was now qualified to do the job I had just stepped away from. What it means is I could do the practical part of the job without any problems – hence the Diploma, the membership card, the sleeve patches, car stickers – alas, there was no magic decoder ring - bummer. It also means I can use that Diploma anywhere in the world to do that particular job.  Why did I leave the job if I passed the practical? Because I suck at the theory. I’m a doer. I act. I move. I sort. I fix. I don’t stuff around analyzing the theoretical prospects of something. It’s not me. If you want the problem fixed fast – come see me. Just don’t expect me to write the medical specifics utilizing Latin words while saying the politically correct thing every time as I pick from a multitude of codes to label the problem. That ain’t me.

I looked at the whiz bang Diploma one last time and shoved it back into the large envelope, along with all the other whizz-bangery and I put it on the shelf in my office, never to probably see the light of day again and I move on ever practical in my approach to life.

I am an abomination…

Dictionary definition of abomination – “A cause of abhorrence or disgust.”

So, apparently I’m an abomination. Yep. You probably didn’t know that. Me? I’ve faced this accusation before by close minded, jealous people who cannot fathom how a single woman should be allowed to own property, speak her mind, live her life by her own dictates, be alone, stand up and be counted, travel, work, vote and for god sake be heterosexual yet feel no need to marry a man. Abomination!

Everyone – apparently – knows women should be married, pregnant, subservient, quiet, controllable, have sex only on Sunday after church in the missionary position, bear children, iron her husband’s clothes and I’m sure a bunch of other stuff but I’m an abomination so I can only speculate so far on what women should do. It destroys the natural order when women are not docile and under a man’s control and there should be laws against it apparently. My thoughts on this? Chances of me shutting up and being controlled? Er – no.

As for being called an abomination due to my rebellious nature to be free? Yeah, I’m okay with that as generally those who are the most overly pious and live in the proverbial glass houses cast stones at others. Batter up!

Out of the slums...

I’ve been doing the family history when I have time on Ancestry.com. My mother had boxes of records and I’m bit by bit going through them – scanning, inputting and reading. Every so often I get messages from people, who are related in some far off way to me and who have stumbled onto me and my part of the family. It’s interesting. I’ve learnt that tracing back one branch of my family to 1025 to the Throckmortons – or the Throckers as I like to call them – once a titled noble destiny in the UK – that a huge spin off of people come from this family and that six degrees of separation does really exist.

I got a comment this morning from a woman related to the Anthes side of the family. It was in relation to a newspaper cutting dating back to 1905. It was a child neglect case in which a child was found in squalid/filthy circumstances living in the middle of a slum. No child then or now should have to live like that but having talked to Dad about his side of the family history and hearing about some of the rough as guts people who struggled at the turn of the last century to make their way in a world where there was no social welfare benefits and the slums were only for the strongest and the most rat cunning, I’m wasn’t surprised to read this 1905 article.

People were different back then. What appals us now, was part of struggling to survive in a bloody hard world back then. If you think you have it tough now, then I suggest you meander on back to the past and see how tough it really was. I know there were a lot of light fingered people in my family. I don’t have to read the police gazettes report of the time to believe it.  I know some of the women earned extra dollars ‘servicing’ Yanks who came to Sydney during the war. People did stuff to get by. I can’t condemn them. I look at the greedy and selfish around me and I wonder – firstly – how they would feel being descended from people who did what they had to do because there was no one to try and sponge money off of. And secondly – would those people have survived back then? I doubt it.

You are who you are. The truth is always just below the surface and it defines who we are as human beings.

              

Not quite yet...

So, I got offered this job in Cape York. Where is that? See the map. It’s at the pointy end of Australia. It’s the real outback. The Never Never. Remote? Only hell would be more remote. And I did think about taking the job. But, it occurred to me that I wanted more the adventure of going bush, into the unknown and throwing caution to the wind than a job I would leave in search of something more adventurous. I love a good adventure. The idea of hitting the road and getting lost appeals greatly to me. Those who know me well know that when I’m retired from work, I’m going to take the road like a grey nomad, in some sort of vehicle and just go and adventure some. I see the sign saying Cairns to Broome the Great Savannah Highway and I know I’ll take the trek one day. 

But for now? I can wait. I'll be a grown up. I declined the job because karmically it’s not where I’m at right at this moment. But I will hit the road and I expect the road will hit back but I wouldn’t want it any other way.     

Wherefore art thou undies?

I went to the doctor today to have a test done…okay, a pap smear. You know, it’s one of those things that women don’t like having done but we do it because death is a really bad alternative. It also makes me think not having sex would have been better as no pap smear test to be done but then you remember what having sex is like and you realise that sex is worth it. I then contemplated, as I do, why people want sex toys stuffed inside various orifices when I have this test done. Some things just aren't natural. Actually, I contemplate all sorts of stuff on a regular basis and not just at pap smear tests.

 

Anyway, I stripped off from the waist down and had it done and was left to put on my undies and shorts behind the curtain. The shorts I could find but not the undies. Huh? I looked everywhere in the cubicle I was in. Where had they gone? They weren’t in the bed or on the floor. It was quite the conundrum and had me wondering had I actually worn undies in? Hmmm, yes, I had. Okay, was I then losing my mind? I looked at where the bed was attached to the wall. No undies there. I then noticed a small space between the bed and the wall. As I peered over I could just see my undies at over an arms length down at the bottom of that space. I tried pulling the bed out. It was solidly attached. I tried to put my arm down the slight gap to reach them. It was a tight fit and bloody hard to get my arm out once in. I pondered what it would look like if the curtains had opened at that stage with me bare arsed and wiggling to pull my arm out. Not a good look. Once I had pulled my arm out I thought about the undies I had worn. They were nothing special – navy blue with pink lace. As I pulled on my shorts over my bare arse, I decided in years from now when they renovate someone will find the navy blue and pink lace undies and wonder what went on -  especially if there is more than one set of underwear found. Orgy in the Doc’s office? Ah, let ‘em wonder I say…   

So, dear reader, the men were hugely well hung...

So, I’ve been trying to get through reading a series that started off really, really well with this kick arse, heroine Vampire Hunter. I really enjoyed the first 6 books. But now, with only just barely finishing number 12 in the series? All I can say is I don’t care how well endowed the multiple men she has sex with are. Really I don’t. I don’t care if it’s because they’re shape shifters or vampires that makes them so big. And actually, if I understand the heroine correctly who feels the need to discuss size, all the men are enormous and bound to make a woman faint with one glance at said meaty appendages. Did I mention all the men are written as well hung?  I don’t care the heroine appears to be screwing men with big dicks without any reason at all other than somewhere I think the books are trying, in a hazy way, to make out her taking on all well endowed comers is all about finding her authentic self or enhancing her powers or saving the world one supernatural penis after another or the author just decided to weaken the character dramatically by making her into a slut with chapter after chapter focused on penises. Don’t get me wrong. Sluts have their place in literature and penises are fun – well endowed or not. But when a strong, independent heroine becomes a trollop due to a hazy story premise spent discussing how well hung a man is and whether he ‘hurts’ or frightens the woman into an attack of the vapours inadvertently with this well hung-ness and I’m skimming pages to work out what the story was about and is this the same heroine as in Book 4, I say enough of her and the men and their HUGE appendages. I get it. They’re GIGANTIC. I get it. She’s been turned into a weak ninny. I get that and that sex sells. But holy hell enough already! Bring back the character and zip up those pants!  

Shovelling it...

 

So, I’ve been digging up part of the backyard and laying pavers basically because Laverne, Dulcie and Ursula – my chooks – have a fondness for digging up the area directly where I walk. They’re bad buggers. Anyway, I decided to thwart them and pave the area in question hence the digging. They’ve been scratching around and clucking in derision at this because it’s their backyard and they’re the only ones who like to dig. I have explained to them the too bad, so sad principle and they need to suck it up.  

Back to digging. I am a very good digger. No really. It’s one of my major talents. I inherited it from my mother. She would look at a patch of land, a gleam in her eye, as rapid paver calculations ran through her mind and the next thing I knew I was digging along beside her. I love people who have plans – even mad crazy, back breaking plans where you question your own sanity for jumping aboard their wild scheme. I still have the family shovel. It's a beauty and must be at least 50 years old. Out of my cold, dead hands I say...  

Digging – it’s about stamina – nothing else. I think that’s why I am good at it. I have stamina to burn. And, if you’re ever imprisoned ala The Great Escape and need to dig your way out. Call me. Have shovel will travel.  

 

 

Alpha, Bravo, Cheesecake, Donut...that's a Code 1C with rainbow sprinkles on top...

So, after 5 weeks of trying to learning ambulance codes and not getting them quite right, I said to myself "Self, what the fuck are you doing here? It’s time to move on to something else, girlie." I took my advice because I know what I’m talking about when it comes to me. I’ve had a long association with myself and while it has often been a trying one, on the whole I believe I’m sensible. And codes? They're like algebra to me and getting them 90% right is not good enough when you’re dealing with people’s lives.

So, I approached the powers that be and said, this is not working. They were nice about it in a surprised kinda way because most people don’t admit they don’t get it completely. But then, I’m not most people. If I don’t know, I say. I’m brave enough to speak my mind, cut my losses and walk away. And, can I say that walking away was like the last scene in The Nun Story. It's one of my all time fave movies. Have you seen it? No? Well, Audrey Hepburn packs  in the nunnery because it’s not for her – me neither – all those grand silences, rules and obedience would do my head in. I'm not good with rules. Anyway Audrey gets all her nun gear stripped from her and then she has to sign a bunch of documents and gets counselled etc. It was exactly like that but for the nun gear. As I signed for the eighth and final time, I said to the form person "This is like The Nun Story." She didn’t get it and that’s okay and pretty much life really. Sometimes we just don’t get things. 

Good thing is I have the story in mind to write, characters and the job experience for the next story. See? No experience is ever wasted.   

Twenty-somethings...as useful as a chocolate fireguard...

So, I’ve been doing this training with a random bunch of people. In this random bunch is a group of twenty-something year olds. Oh-my-god. They are the biggest whiners, worriers and old folk I have ever met. They act like 80 year olds – no wait – that’s not fair on 80 year olds who have more life, stamina and verve than this crotchety crew.  

First up food – twenty-somethings can’t have one food group touching another. They also don’t like anything steamed - steamed vegetables start them off on a long wail about how they can’t eat them because ‘they don’t taste right’ and potatotes are really the only vegetable they like as long as it’s fried – and spinach – don’t go there.  Entrees – they don’t want salad. They want something with meat in it – but not lamb and not beef unless it’s got tomato sauce on it. I did ask if they would prefer fricasseed buffalo, fried eye of newt or aardvark liver sautéed in butter. They looked at me blankly, with one stating ‘You just don’t get it.’ No, clearly not and thank god was my response. And mushrooms? They all hate them along with tomatoes and they sit there and pick them out. Ever been at a table of grown ups where they’re dividing their food up like lego blocks? And if you point out tomato sauce is made from tomatoes? It’s not the same thing apparently. Dessert? It has to be pastry with ice cream and fruit is not dessert in their closed twenty-something, spoilt little minds.  

Sleep? They'll whine that they don’t get enough. Why? They’re up all night drinking vodka and cannot function the next day. Well, yeah. Tiredness? An 80 year old could kick their arse when it comes to stamina. Walking up steps? They groan and moan all the way and tell you how much their twenty-something year old legs ache. Crotchety? Oh fuck yes. As for exercise? Apparently only people in their 40’s have to do that. 

Who grew and raised these twenty-somethings? They should be ashamed of themselves. We’re screwed if we have to rely on this piss weak, finicky bunch of vegetable hating vodka drinkers.

Me and Marx...

 

I have a confession to make. I’m a crammer.  I have been for years. My version of studying is trying to shove as much knowledge into my brain at the last second in the vain hope I’ll remember something. I recall one exam that was to do with Marxism –no, I’m not sure why I was studying that at University. I just was. Anyhow I stood outside the exam chanting to myself, over and over, these tenets of Marxism and wondering at the same time why I was doing it because I thought Marxism was bollocks. Have you noticed that anything with an ‘ism’ is used to sound important and but essentially, in the end, its bollocks? And yes, I did pass the exam on Marx but stuffed if I can remember what his tenets were. But that’s ok, he doesn’t known my tenets so were even. But I digress – so I’m a crammer. Currently I have 4 – yes 4 - pukeable exams next week and I’m cramming info for the first into my brain now. Tomorrow night I’ll cram the second lot and so on. As each exam passes I will instantly forget whatever I’ve learned. Let’s face it – some people are studiers and live by dried out, old theories. Then, there are others like me and you – the normal-ish people – who live life, not always the politically correct way but they do okay and remember important, obscure facts to sprout out over a glass of wine on a warm summer day. 

Life – cram it in then let it go.