Attitude…

So, I was terribly busy at work chatting on the phone to the local printer who I have become good mates with. She thinks like me, says what she likes as I do and even has the same name.  Doppelganger…almost. Anyway we were talking about chooks. She has some. I want some. So we wasted work time and discussed the care and maintenance of said chooks. Other than the odd snake to deal with, the worst thing about chooks? They have attitude. Excellent. “They can be absolute bloody terrors,” she said. “Contrary little buggers who do what they want.” Perfect. I refuse to have wimpy pets.

Coupledom...

I was at a friends place the other day.  They’re a couple. I find coupledom somewhat of a cult and frankly weird. Have you noticed couples always seem to be together and they go out with other couples or they actively search for couple friends and they often tell you that which makes you, as a single, person query the weirdness of couples telling you this and you start thinking cult and whether you should contemplate an intervention. And if you’re at a function where there are only couples? It’s weird. My father has a saying ‘it’s like being a spare dick at a wedding.’ I didn’t say it was a poetic saying or one of deep spiritual meaning but it basically indicates you’re on your own because couples speak in a couple language that omits every third and fourth word to confuse the single. No really. You listen to a gaggle of couples and they say things like “We went ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­______   ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­______ with Binky ________   ________ and Bonky said _________  ­­­­­­­­ ___________ and we _______ __________ blue umbre­llas." It’s like that sound only dogs can hear. It’s weird man.   ­

But the freakiest thing is when faced by a gaggle of couples at a party and they listen to what you’re doing, as a single person, and their eyes glaze over because you’re not in a couple, you don’t have a precocious, snotty kid and you don’t even have a family dog called Jemima to redeem you as you tell cute remember when flea ridden Jemima ate the postman and how we laughed stories. Essentially Dr Seuss was correct. If you find someone weird you fall in love and become a couple. Ipso facto – couples are weird and single people are normal.   

Thought for today...

So, I was at the Docs waiting to get a flu shot and test results and I was skimming through a magazine as you do.  I came across this article about how easy it now was to have fat sucked out of your arse and put into your face to plump it up and get rid of wrinkles. I don’t know that I would put butt fat in my face because I cover my arse for a reason. I don’t want to look at my arse and frankly, it’s not often I have to contemplate it so having it literally in my face would be extremely confronting. And have parts of your arse on your face? Does that make you a butt head?  I believe that’s a no to being arsed-face.

Start message…

Yes, yes, yes, every writer writes a unique story that isn’t like any else’s and of course no writer would dream of cashing in on a trend – and yes absolutely anyone who gives an opinion against your genre has to be wrong or misguided or unable to understand the angst ridden moments you've had writing about whatever you’re writing about because you are very deep and meaningful. Just like me…sorta…kinda…blah, blah, blah.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Anyone can write. Look at self publishing – and no, don’t roll your eyes. Some people are kicking arse when it comes to doing it by themselves and I say kudos to them. I wonder about the mindset of writers who cling to established epub sites, disrespecting others for what they do, yet at the same time being too scared that if they’re cut off from XYZ publishing they’re doomed. You’re only doomed if you allow yourself to be.

So in essence, as I recently wrote on another blog, opinions are like arses. They’re prevalent, they’re everywhere and those who own them will still function regardless what anyone else thinks.

Opinions = arses.

End message.

The bod...

So I was standing naked in the bathroom, brushing my teeth, at oh-god-it’s-frigging-5am-in-the morning. I looked at myself in the mirror and laughed. A lot. And that was a good thing. Why? Because I’m over body issues and the perception of what may or may not be attractive when it comes to me. My body is just that. A body. I can do the best to exercise it and keep it healthy but the outer layers? They’re just there. I could have stuff lifted, tucked and sucked out but the ‘stuff ‘ I have is functional and it’s got me to the point I am in my life so far so what the hell, it’s better to have a laugh at yourself than worry about what you’re not. A couple of years ago I learnt a very valuable lesson from a wise friend about bodies and nudity and using the ‘stuff’ you have to the best of your ability be it pleasure or the pain of boot camp. So go on. Strip down. Stand in front of the mirror – toothbrush or not - and have a good laugh. Body shape is not worth getting upset over.

Chookery...

When I went down south to visit my father at Easter, I met up with one of his carers who had a vast knowledge of chooks. That’s chickens to non-Aussies. I’ve always been interested in having some chooks as pets. So, we had a long discussion on chickens with the carer. My father listened in and added in interesting comments like ‘your mother always liked ants because they look busy’. I think that’s why I like chooks. They’re birds who look like they have things to do and places to go. Anyway, I now know exactly what I need when it comes to chookery – possibly a made up word. I do understand they only lay for a couple of years and then ‘it’s best to get rid of them.’ My father chimed in at this saying ‘Oh Amarinda can’t kill anything she names.’ I agreed that was indeed correct because I do give names to all sorts of things and once named I feel honour bound to animals, birds, insects, lizards and horny, misguided bandicoots called Neil, to make sure even if they are retired and wonky in the legs with age, they still will be able to hang out or wobble around my backyard without threat of the chop.

So, with all my new found knowledge in mind, I have started looking for a hen house. There are lots of abodes for chooks to live in. At present, I am undecided what housing requirements I want the chooks to have. I like a lot of room to do stuff in. I expect no less of any chooks who wander the grounds of XH, my home. I did check out some abodes in my lunch hour but none appealed to me. However I did buy several toys for the budgies, who are spoilt rotten for toys, while looking at chook housing. I wonder what chooks like to play with….hmmm…

Four pages...

So I’m working on a story that has a plot and no sex until at least page 21. Yeah, I know. That’s crazy talk in ebook land. It’s a well known fact that there has to be sex every four pages to sell erotica. And it has to be strange, submissive sex. Hardcore sex. Anal sex. Multiple men sex. In a weird place sex. This story has none of that. It has two people, love, romance and sex that involves feelings of lust and love without having a second, third and fourth man waiting to climb onto the heroine and have his go.

Do you think women want crazy, painful, multiple partner sex? I don’t think so. I do think they want to read about illicit sex. However, in the end, I believe most women just want one partner who understands them like no other. Not having to explain yourself is huge. It’s sexy to have someone who looks at you and knows where you’re coming from and who you are. It’s total freedom to throw away inhibitions and just be with him without wondering if four pages have passed and you can have sex again. Counting is so boring.

Sex. Just because you can sell it doesn’t mean it’s good and repetition isn't sexy. Let's face it, few working girls are millionaires...

A girl thing?

So, boy band One Direction is in Australia and masses of girls are screaming, fainting and generally hysterically trying to do dumb things to meet boys that they probably wouldn’t do more than giggle over and screech at if they met them face to face. Ah, I remember those days. Me and a couple of friends inadvertently stumbled upon a well know Aussie pop star a million years ago and for a week we were famous because we touched him. Yeah, I’ve felt fame, baby.

Anyway, I was thinking to myself, do teenage boys feel threatened by the intense adoration of girls for these boy bands? Some of them would have girlfriends screaming over these pimply demi-gods…have you noticed that said demi-gods all have hair that seems to be brushed the wrong way? What’s that about? If I do that my scalp hurts. But back to my question, do teenage boys suffer the same pain of unrequited love for the totally-never-going-to-happen-unattainable popstar? Do they secretly want to scream over whomever the hottest, hair bushed backwards, singing teenage girl sensation but they man up and keep it inside or are they too busy brushing their hair backwards?

Hmmm…

Ripped...

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

Bunny boilers...

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

It just is, baby...

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

Whatever you believe...

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

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

We're perfect...

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

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

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

Well, there you go....

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

I believe anyone can do whatever they like….

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

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

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

Help...

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

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

Thank you friend.

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

Another huge lesson learned.

Does my bum look big?

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

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

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

Licking pointy bits...

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

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

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

Uh-huh...

I particularly like this bit –

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

Exactly…

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

A bit wet...

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

Hoping you are not the same...