Smarty pants...

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.  

        

'Got milk?

“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… 

Bottoms...

So, I was chatting to a male friend today and I mentioned this TV advert on at the moment , from McDonalds, showing one man handing another man a burger as a thank you for ‘introducing him to Pilates’. Basically it was two men watching an exercise class of women bending over. Yes, sexist twaddle but at least the women all had their collective arses well covered due to it being a prime time TV advert. I said to my friend something along the lines of ‘how does well covered butts bending over make one man thank another man for pointing out said butts?’ There was nothing sexual there and it was kinda dweeby thinking men were so desperate to look at arses be it on TV or otherwise and think sex. His response was along the lines of pointing out that women – I – would look at a man’s arse. Yes, I would but my thoughts aren’t sexual. What’s that you say? Lack of libido? No – hell no. I tend to look at the way a man carries himself and the confidence in his stride and stance before thinking of sex. And, I don’t believe normal women think about sex when they look at a male butt. But then we’re thoughtful creatures who expect and deserve a lot. Nice arse? Sure – but what else do you have for us?  

The Saturday waffle on...

Hint of the day -- don’t put furniture together at 4am in the morning because you can’t sleep. I ended up with 4 washers and 3 screws leftover. Probably just spares I guess…I hope…ah, who knows…

Well that’s just wrong…

Kevin Rudd, George W Bush have Oval Office talks on Iraq

Mr Rudd returned the favour by making the President an honorary Queenslander, but came close to overstepping the mark when he mentioned the sunshine state was bigger than the President's beloved home of Texas.
http://www.news.com.au/dailytelegraph/story/0,22049,23450291-5001021,00.html

An honorary Queenslander? As a Queenslander, I’m not happy with this proclamation declaring him as one of us. We have enough crazy people of our own without adding to count. And yes, Queensland is bigger than Texas. I have been to Texas. It’s an excellent part of the world but naturally, unlike Kev, I will overstep the mark.
http://www.queenslandholidays.com.au/

Speaking of overstepping…

…a moment to vent…what do you do when you tell someone something privately, but they then tell other people that private stuff that they have no right to say about you? The person in question may see it as a trivial thing to mention so they do. But the thing is it’s not up to them to make announcements on your behalf. You, as tit for tat, could do the same to them however you know that something told in private is just that – and that you hold more respect for the person than to do that. So, do you get annoyed, especially if they have done similar before? Have it out with the person? Or think before you tell them anything in future? Just how private should info between people, you view as friends, be do you reckon? And yeah…I’m mad but I’m a little wiser and more cautious.

Clean it up…

I was walking through the shopping centre car park last night and there was this woman and her kids getting into a car. Normally this would not have caught my attention. The thing that did was that the woman was swearing non stop at the kids. It was f&*$king do that and f&*$king do that you little f&*$kers. Yes, I do swear but I am careful when I do. I would never swear in front of kids. Yeah, I know they hear it on TV, at school etc - however I believe an adult should have more sense. Sure they’re her kids but how are these kids going to grow up? As trashy as her? Is their self esteem low because they called you little f&*$kers? Anyway, I slowed down with my shopping bags and gave her the death stare and she got embarrassed because clearly she knew I had heard her abusive language. I have no doubt she continued swearing after I passed by. To my mind, some people, like this woman, have absolutely no class whatsoever.

Fillet me…

I overheard this woman carrying on like a pork chop (going mad) that McDonalds Fillet o’ fish no longer has a full slice of cheese on it. And? How is this a Greek tragedy that needs to be wailed about? She was quite upset. The thing is I used to work at McDonalds as a teenager after school and on the weekend. I happen to know that even back then a Fillet o’ fish only ever had half a piece of cheese on it. I know this because I used to pick up mega shifts and extra dollars working the harder stations – ie.- not front counter – like the grill and the chicken and fish area. I made sooooo many fillet o’ fish that I stopped thinking of them as food. They were just things that had to be produced on a mass basis. So why am I waffling on about this you ask? I just wonder why you would actually care whether it was a full or a half slice of cheese? I don’t know why you would even look. I asked the woman that. “Someone told me, so I looked. I feel cheated.” Yes, we have world poverty, disease and greenhouse gas problems yet she feels cheated over cheese. She also said she would ‘never eat one again’…score one for the fish.

Rose Quartz – by Sandra Cox out now through Cerridwen Press – click and the cover and buy it. It’s a hell of a read.
The restroom was clean but had seen better days. There were two steel-gray partitioned stalls for privacy and a couple of sinks with a wide mirror over them. Water plopped from a leaky faucet, leaving a mineral buildup in the basin.
The young women stood at the washbasin, giggling. The blonde looked to be about five-four. Bella shrugged. She was five-five. Close enough.
Bella walked up and reached for a brown paper towel. “Hello, ladies.”
“’Lo,” the blonde muttered. The other young woman ignored her.
“How would you each like to make a quick fifty bucks?” Bella dry-washed her hands with the paper towel, wadded it up and tossed it in the trash.
“We aren’t pushers,” the blonde spoke up.
“Or hookers,” her companion added.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Resting her hip against the counter, Bella spoke to the blonde. “I just want to exchange clothes with you.”
The blonde looked at Bella’s expensive silk blouse and fitted beige skirt and rolled her eyes. “Sorry but that’s so not my style.” She turned back to her friend.
“Listen, girls, you’d be doing me a huge favor,” she improvised. “My ex is waiting for me outside the diner. I’ve broken it off but he won’t take no for an answer. I’ve got a date and I don’t want him showing up and ruining things for me.”
It worked like a charm. The girls were all sympathy, their eyes alight with adventure. The blonde nodded her head vigorously, her thin hair falling in her face. “Been there. Done that. They just can’t take no for an answer.” She slipped the long-sleeved, tie-dyed tee over her head.
“Men,” the brunette added.
The women swapped outfits. Bella stuffed herself into jeans she couldn’t quite zip up and a tie-dyed tee that fit her like a second skin. She’d be lucky if she didn’t get picked up for hooking.
Handing the girls each fifty dollars, she made a point to hold the young blonde’s hand for a moment as she placed the money in it and thanked her. Energy sizzled down her arm and out her fingertips. The transformation was instantaneous. The young blonde’s thin lank hair became full and shiny, her skin luminescent and her lips moist and ripe.
Her friend stared. “Wow. I’m going to have to start going for the middle-aged look. You look fabulous.”

Anny is talking about chatting on her blog and Kelly has an interview with a reader. Please make sure to check them out.

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?