Tossing

 Shoe Tossing 

What the hell is this about? I see it all the time…a pair of sneakers (generally) over the power lines in suburbs around the place. The weird thing is, although I have seen a million of them I have never ever seen anybody actually standing underneath throwing them up there. Is it a night time thing? Do people drop them out of helicopters?…does it mean there is a crack house nearby? (one of the explanations I’ve been told) and it’s not like you can get them back and how expensive if it becomes a habit? One day I saw a row of Connies of assorted colours suspended along a power line like bats on a line…what a waste of good Connies…Anyway apparently this shoe flinging manoeuvre has a proper name…”Shoefiti”. I have heard in urban areas the sneaker is used and in rural areas its work boots but it doesn’t matter, as long as they have laces and can be heaved up as a sort of bolas. I have also heard that it is a bullying turf war thing and done in the old days for the dead…whatever it is…it’s weird…and who gets them all down? It’s like upside down littering.

Planking   

Fad…the thing I love about the “fad” is they pass. And wasn’t this one fucking insane not to mention potentially deadly. I get that the fun part is to find the most bizarre and atypical place to lie stiffly face down but on the thin balcony rail of an apartment 14 stories high on the Gold coast is ludicrous. I’m so blaming social media for it going viral. It’s perfect for showing off but can encourage death and disaster…thanks Mr Tom Green for this innovative creation. I will admit though that some planking photos were pretty funny but happy those days are over. I’m glad we moved on to variations like Owling and tea potting and also Gangnam style…now there’s a groovy fad from neologist Psy! Nothing like a bit of viral K pop thats best claim to fame is beating Justin Biebers You tube video for “Baby”. Still I find it a little outlandish and decidedly odd ball. 

Anal much?

This one is about me because I’m an anal mother fucker. I do my head in, frequently. That doesn’t make me wrong. It just makes me annoying if you live with me and are messy, not forward thinking, not interested in matching things …or not me.

It could be me or it could be having a partner who is my polar opposite making me feel like an anaI motherfucker. Often I hear myself babbling along irritatingly and on a daily basis because I am fractious at the lack of insight my partner has in terms of putting things away, not ‘seeing’ that something is out of place and not doing things…the right way. The toilet roll being upside down on its hanger, long black hair on the white tiled floor, hair on soap, razor stuck in the soap dish so all those tiny short stubborn bristles stick to the soap is not acceptable…neither is squeezing the fuck out of the toothpaste from the top of the tube leaving a bulging mass sitting in the rest. Not rinsing a shared razor, leaving toothbrush and toothpaste on its side on the basin and never flushing a toilet, leaves me feeling somewhat incensed.

And how can someone who has lived in a house for 6.3 years not know where things belong in the kitchen. For starters the other paraphernalia, is already sitting there waiting for their counter parts so it’s not complicated at all to work out.

“Oh there’s 4 dinner plates in that cupboard right there with the glass door, now could it be that the others go there on top?” Nahhhhh just put them in with the saucepans…glasses can go with plastic shit and if the other plastic shit doesn’t fit in there anymore put them on the wine rack…What the fuck? Is it laziness? Is it not thinking? Is it stupid? What??????????

In fact my 5 year old when unpacking the dishwasher knows exactly where things belong and does it without thought.  She even lines up alike coffee cups without suggestion and never puts a thing in a wrong place.…I like the girl. The frustrating thing is, when my partner does it there is just no rhyme or reason and it’s not a one off. It happens every single day and has for the 11 years since I’ve been around, anyway. If there is a stack of clean dishes on top of the sink, I never, ever, ever (not never) expect my partner to put them away because they never will be. That is a no go zone. Plastics if not chucked on the wine rack will be left on top of the dishwasher because putting them away seems repugnant. The bins however go out promptly the minute the rubbish reaches the surface.

Now I am anal as I’ve said and I line up cushions on a couch, tidy every day before I leave for work or to go out and even do it before I go to bed. The bed has to be made…and not just pulled up…tucked in…if there are any cushions on top they are placed on strategically…to look their best. Clothes are put away in appropriate draws and there is a shelf for every group of pantry type in the food cupboard. All canned stuff…top shelf. Anything to do with beverages, Milo, coffee tea, straws are on shelf two, herbs and spices on another…easy to find yet is a constant battle ground between my partner and I as I yell like a banshee nutter that “the Peanut Paste goes with the fucking condiments not the cereals…motherfucker!!!”….”Huh?”

Cause I am an anal motherfucker and to not have it in some sort of order simply discombobulates me. 

What the?

Planes

What is it about the bastard blinds having to be up during take off and landing? Will having them down on either be causing a pilots blind spot? And the cabin lights have to be dimmed? Again how will this impair the pilots’ ability to fly without crashing into a large mountain? How? But I always enjoy the safety demonstration before take off because as if any of it’s ever going to save our bacon. When flying across the guts of a nation without any ocean or large bodies of water whatsoever...why bother talking about life vests with whistle and light? Will it inflate enough to bounce us right up off of the ground and onto a softer landing? There is no water unless you happen to crash into a large lake, which I guess is possible, and survive, which I guess is possible and then it’s daylight so the light option is fucked and everyone else is dead around you so there goes the whistle...except for boredom while waiting for emergency services and then its entertainment much as a prisoner uses a harmonica. What the? The brace position seems quite frivolous. Who cares about whiplash at the end of the day when your plane is heading south in a downward spiral at 1 million miles an hour? I get the seat-belt thing because turbulence can be a bitch. 

Work Jargon

How many have us have sat in work meetings needing a work jargon dictionary? We all know it, have heard it and have used it I guess too. ‘Buzzwords’. The work dialect that is distinct to particular types of employment that reminds me of being in a huge wank fest frankly.

·        My pet hate is, “Talk to it”. It sounds ridiculous. “Who can talk to the policy in front of us?” What’s wrong with “Who can outline, discuss or summarise the policy in front of us?” or “Who’s familiar with it for fucks sake?”  

·        Following a close second is, let’s “unpack” this information. It usually involves a white board or power point display or maybe just verbal bullshit to describe an issue...but no let’s unpack the mother fucker...

·        “Cascading down” is a level by level phrase referring to the passing of or dissemination of information, top down approach to people working at the coal face or front line staff...whoops that might have been one ;-)....possibly better to say, actually works to deliver products and interact with clients. . It’s all about the pictures in our heads of a waterfall flowing down to the bottom I guess. “How about, pass this shit on will ya?”

·        “Push the envelope” is apparently aviation jargon. What the? I have no idea how it crept into the minds of some government employees. Its meaning is about the known limits of performing safely. I don’t think we have any real danger of being unsafe in our employ as such. We are not crossing into a different atmosphere or in control of a scram jet.

·        “Thinking outside the box”. Beautiful. Why can’t we just say let’s think differently or unconventionally? What’s the box? Are we in it? I’m getting out.

·        “Wheels in motion”. How about, “Let’s move this fucker and stop chatting and having senseless time consuming meetings about it”. Yes, better already!

All this does not make you a better manager. It doesn't make you more intelligent. Use real words motherfucker! It simply inflates plain sounding rhetoric. Simply put, in my opinion (because that’s all this ever is) it’s padding language with unnecessary and often meaningless words and phrases. Stop it.

Real Est-haters

Can I just say…real estate agents are phenomenally determined. It must do their heads in. It’s doing my head in. They’re like spies. They know when you’ve looked at a house photo on a webpage, they know when you’re thinking about selling or looking, even the most fleeting thought, and when parked across the street of a house for sale…there they are, rapping on your tinted window and scaring the bejesus out of you.

A really stupid thing to do is post a photo of your house for sale on Gumtree, just to see what happens. You know what happens? Every seedy little real estate bastard crawls out of every orifice in the world and is banging down your door, posting in your letter box and ringing on your phone. It’s madness. It’s an Edvard Munch iconic portrait. It's that little kid on "Home alone". It's Jaws. They all of course are doing ‘me’ a favour. It’s not about them, at all. I guess they have nothing better to do. 

Stuff I Don't Get ?

Balls on Cars

Seriously I want to know what this is about? I’m talking about coloured testicle looking things handing from the backs of cars towbars…predominately men’s cars, predominantly utes, predominantly blue (although I have seen silver and yellow….why would you get yellow?? Why would you get them at all???). Is it about the car or the man? Does the owner purchase them or should they be a gift from ‘mates’ to add grunt or give it a bit? Is it giving a possibly pathetic looking car “balls” to show off to other males like some iconic caveman dragging some poor bitch by hair from cave to cave or is it confirming that the driver is a fucking tool? Is the car a dick? Or is the driver a dick? Tow Nutz they are referred to as...there’s even a twist on the spelling ‘NUTZ’…oozing testosterone. 

Exes Off Limit

What the fuck is up with your exes not returning your texts or calls when the new partner is around…seriously…if we were not over, we’d be together…get over yourself.

I even had a conversation with one of my exes mother about it after I asked her for his new mobile number. She wouldn’t give it to me. He and I have been friends since 1980, only dated 5 years, friends ever since, then he gets married and there’s a ban???

“He’s a married man you know, Kirstie”…

”Uh huh…AND?”

He has only phoned me on the day of the birth of each of his 3 children.

Also happened with another person I had a fling with, he got with a new person and suddenly didn’t answer my texts or calls if the new partner was there…what do these new partners say to them? Why do they feel it is unreasonable? We are supposed to be adults. I don’t get it.  

Tea Drinkers

What in gods name is up with tea drinkers. Fucking messy and lazy. I’m a coffee drinker and no I do not want to expand my horizons…at all. Tea is for hangovers and Poms. I also don’t like when partner, mother in law (especially mother in law) or friends have a ‘cuppa’ at my place and leave a whole filthy stinking tea bag in the sink or on it…do tea drinkers have something against a bin?…put it in there mother fucker. It is not okay to leave it in the tea cup either…I do not leave my tampons in your toilet without flushing or in your sink. And tea talk is annoying, “Oooh I’m gonna have a nice cup of tea”…as opposed to a foul one? “Oooh  I fancy a nice mug (moog) of tea with some hot chips”…fuck off, yuk. 

Routines

                                

Routines are funny things. We all mostly follow them in some form or another and I get that they serve a purpose and certainly enjoy my routines and hate when they are thrown out for any reason…in saying that I can be flexible and spontaneous but I use routines daily and with my daughter and have since she was born because it calms her, organises me and reduces chaos.  Routines are funny when they become rituals and in some way we all do this too, traditions including birthdays, Christmas, Easter and Sunday mornings can all become ritualistic. Saturday mornings for me is watching rage on TV and having two coffees. Birthdays start on my bed with presents, cards first though and it has been that way my whole life. I think rituals help strengthen shared beliefs and values, and build a sense of belonging and cohesion but I wonder about some of the rituals that some people have and they amuse me to watch them. A woman at my work has, every single morning without fail, an English muffin with butter and tomato. When I work, I take my lunch in the kitchen first thing to put in the fridge and there she is making it. Every day. Another woman at work parks her car in the car park and before she leaves she walks around to the other side of the car, seems to inspect it, tries the passenger door to see if its locked, walks back around to her side of the door, tries her door and then steps away, takes a long look at her car then leaves to come upstairs. It amuses me and makes me wonder as I watch her do it every day through the kitchen window (which is now my ritual). Car park inspector, there’s an important routine to know. Having a chat to work friends today, it was confirmed that nearly all of them followed some sort of fairly rigid routine, particularly in the mornings. A lot of their ritualistic behaviour included daily tasks at home and particularly the way they hung out washing. One used only white pegs, one only yellow and red pegs one blue and pink pegs only. The person who used yellow and  red pegs also hung out her washing one piece female, the next male and so on. They stated that they are creatures of habit and liked it that way. My pod mate follows no routine of any sort. "Kill me now" she kept mumbling throughout our conversation...

Men’s Sandals

No. Just no……Okay?

Come on People

I know I tend to view things a bit negatively, sardonically and dryly...but really while I’m kind of an upbeat person, at times, things shit me and I just want to say 'Come on, people'.  For example language used incorrectly does my head in. Hence already means why, mother fuckers. Stop saying why as well as hence. It drives me nuts. 'Hence' and 'why' serve the same function. Seriously, people tell me a story and say “hence why“ such and such and I want to say...'hence' arsehole, that’s all you need to say, fuck off the why! Or use 'which is why'…. 'I have long grass hence why I bought the lawn mower'…NO, no, no…'I have long grass; hence I bought the lawn mower.' 

Another gripe, cause you know how I love ‘em….Where the hell has 'ly' gone. “They are driving dangerous”...actually it’s “dangerously”...remember the ‘ly’ now motherfuckers?...”Drive safe”,  na utt...”drive safely, play nicely, ” Put it in, it belongs there.

Don’t ever discuss fabric patterns or dress styles to me I will shut down quicker than a drug deal in a police station, I swear to God. I hear a wedding dress discussion and I turn and bolt away. Don’t discuss cheongsam with me or mention sheaths. An A line to me is an underground train route. I know cargo pants, boy briefs and legwarmers. I have no idea what a basque waist is. A friend at work was discussing bridesmaids dresses and I wanted to say ‘kill me now biatch’…she was discussing McCall Patterns and had actual swatches of material…”what do you think girls?” she was asking, I was shaking my head…”I don’t think you’ve got enough material there” I said. “Colours ladies..what are the preferences?” she demanded, and as I glanced around me I saw every chick in the pod was mesmerised and seriously considering her questions…there were discussion on skin tones of the bridesmaids, hair colour and actual earnest analysis of the fabric feel and hue. “I’ve always liked a viscose jersey” says one, “or what about a silk print, for something different.” The bride to be looks at me. “Did you want a consultation with me?” I ask, “Of course”, “I like blue…but if you start talking quilting I am so outa here”. Feeling I missed the point. 

Never give me directions ever. I can’t stand it because I don’t listen because it never makes sense. I am a visual person although I hate people drawing me maps too. What’s that about? I get lost so easily so it really isn’t going to work for me.

As a field officer I need to go out a lot in the car, city mainly but some rural areas too.

“It’s Okay I have a nav man” I say politely.

But he keeps going, “then you take the left just after the footbridge, you’ll notice a small pebble on the right next to the white post…,”

“I also have a refidex.”

“Then when you get to the third cyclone fence on the left, turn right, go straight for about oooh I’d say point seven five of a kilometre and then go down the dip,”

“Maybe you know it as a Street Directory….that’s what I meant to say, not refidex.”

“Over the crest at the top and you’ll come to a stop sign”

“Melways...I’ve heard they are called…are you from Melbourne?”

“Here I’ll draw it for you…make ya a mud map. That’ll sort you out.

“Ever heard of whereis…it’s great. You can even print it out. Excellent resource.”

“Won’t take me but a minute this mud map.”

“Lovely, thanks so *fucking* much.”                                     

Aaahh I need a place of zen

Stick it up your arse

First it was the frangipani stickers on cars, now it’s the ‘My Family’ stick figure, cutesy, encourage bulimic eating stickers. Seriously, does anyone care about the fact that you want to ‘show off’ your (stick figure thin) family? Is it cruel for infertile couples or people sitting on shelves like spinsters and bachelors, not that bachelors get labelled as sitting on a shelf as such, they are more often celebrated with ‘bachelor of the year’ stories in popular women’s magazines with gorgeous photos and stuff. Bachelors are more like superheros poised on a mantel piece rather than squashed to the back of a dusty shelf in an old fashioned kitchen or lounge room such as a spinster would endure. Spinster? What is that word even about? Dictionary says an unmarried female regarded as being beyond the age of marriage. I mean what is the conventional age of marriage these days? Might as well just say loser biatch...that’s how it feels. But getting back to the ‘My Family’ stickers,....I saw another (sarcastic) version of the stick figure family sticker and it read ‘Who cares about your stupid stick figure family’ and had a few little awkward looking stick figures in discomfited positions and I want one of those. My Family stickers...stick ‘em up your arse!

Fruit that goes up seconds after a cyclone has decimated fruit trees elsewhere is extremely annoying. I’m sure just as Yasi was warming up to spin across the Queensland coast, the fresh food people were squatting in front of banana bins with thick black markers coming up with some inflated figure to commence the enormous ‘fuck you’ to its customers. Just as quick they came up with excuses about raising prices immediately to ‘back pay’ farmers to assist them to recover quicker and survive the short-term financial impact of crop shortages. Bullshit and stick it up your arse.

-Charlie Sheen. Is there a bigger loser on the planet? I love his quick witted quotes though of late, particularly these three;

“I’m on a drug. It’s called Charlie Sheen”. - Charlie Sheen

“I don't have time for their judgement and their stupidity and you know they lay down with their ugly wives in front of their ugly children and look at their loser lives and then they look at me and they say, 'I can't process it' well, no, you never will stop trying, just sit back and enjoy the show. You know? “- Charlie Sheen

And, “From my big beautiful warlock brain, welcome to 'Sheen's Korner' ... You're either in my corner, or you're with the trolls” -Charlie Sheen

What the? Stick him up his own arse.

Crushes

Crushes make you 15 again. If you are 15, I guess its normal behaviour, but when you are older it can make you display silly and even giggly behaviour and feel obsessive and ridiculous, particularly if they are fierce crushes and particularly if you are in a relationship. I think some of us believe it is biologically unsound to develop crushes after the age of 25. I don’t think it’s a question of a lack of emotional intelligence I think it’s normal. I think to get crushes regardless of the fact that you may or may not be single and the other person may or may not be single is just an indication that we are in fact very normal. I don’t think it means you are not in love anymore with the one you’re with if you get a crush and you are hitched. It keeps us alive. It makes us think again about our appearance and hair do’s. It makes us put ourselves out for them like carrying their groceries for them if we accidentally run into them at the supermarket one day.

Crushes do not end at a certain age like baby teeth dropping out of our heads at 7; they pop up and down through life for short periods and sometimes for longer. They’re fun and harmless unless they destroy faith and trust of course but then that is when maturity and good sense hopefully kicks in. Is it love though?...probably not. Lust? Oh yeah.

• The worst way to miss someone is when they are right beside you and yet you know you can never have them.

• I get the best feeling in the world when you say hi to me, or even smile, because I know even if just for a second, I crossed your mind.

• Should I smile cause were friends, or should I cry cause that's all well ever gonna be.

• I look at him as a friend, then I realised I loved him.

• We are afraid to care too much, for fear that the other person does not care at all.

• Sometimes I wonder what you think of me or if you do at all.

• It's not telling you how I feel that scares me it's what you'll say back.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R-I86eGJh-M

Pet Peeves 2 – Just my opinion!

Gotcha Calls


How unbelievably unfunny are these? How lame, bourgeois, unoriginal and low brow? But not only that, they actively make me wince with embarrassment whenever I am forced to listen to them, cause as if I’d ever voluntarily put myself through an auditory nightmare such as this. But if, for example, someone else is driving and I can’t ask them to turn it off (my boss), or I have been kidnapped for a huge ransom and am tied up and trapped in the boot of the car yet can still hear the radio or am waiting to pay at a service station, they have the radio on and I can’t escape without being arrested for stealing petrol forever carrying the title of criminal,…then I gag, push my fingers in my ears and go ‘la la la la’ like babe the pig on ecstasy until it is over. Ridiculous, and can you believe that if just hearing one as a once off isn’t enough for some idiots, that you can look up the station on the net and re play them all again...Oh My God. By the way if you’re not sure what Gotcha calls are, they are a series of crank calls like we made when we were 11 and a ½ and used to indiscriminately call people and ask if there are any Walls there? Except longer and less imaginative.

Fussy People

I have absolutely no patience for people who are overly fussy. I think its okay that people have preferences and general likes and dislikes of course, that’s normal and not at all annoying, for example I would send a steak back if it was bleeding like a slaughter yard or burnt to a crisp and I don’t like fried eggs with runny white. I’ll eat an apple no matter what type it is as long as it isn’t flowery or harbouring a worm. But these fucking fussy people give me the shits, especially when I dine out with them. I don’t find it embarrassing at all, although I used to as a kid when my nana would demand the rolls be heated, the butter be soft and that a doggy bag be crafted into an alfoil swan and brought out the instant after the removal of a plate with remaining food still sitting on it. Then, I was embarrassed but I was 12, what the heck doesn’t embarrass you then? No, I just feel for the waiter who runs back and forwards, back and forwards as if this person is the only diner in the place and I feel like saying, ‘Just eat it the fuck up and be grateful’ who the hell are you and where’s your date palm frond fanner person? What runs a close second is people with food allergies or intolerances and tell you continually and when they come to your place grill you about every ingredient in a dish. Bring your own dish of boiled grass mother fucker. I always make sure I have a vegetarian dish and a gluten free dish when the friends of mine come over who are vegetarian and/or have celiac disease. I think that is reasonable. But the other fussy buggers can pack a lunch. I made small quiches at a ‘bring a plate’ function a while ago and a couple of people were eating them and making nice comments and one woman bit into one and stopped as if she found a wad of packaged cyanide in the middle. “Is there bacon in here?”


“Yep.”


She spat it out like a two year old trying a bowl of mashed brussel sprouts.


“Don’t eat pig then?”


“No, I wish you told me. I’m a vegetarian.”


“Yeah, well I’m not. Eat a cucumber lovie.”

Fake Allergies and Hypochondria

This kinda follows on from the last peeve of mine. I know there are real food allergies and this is in no way a swipe at them but it’s the people who one minute have an ‘allergy’ to something so we all cater to their allergy by using non dairy or non wheat and visit them in a plastic bubble at their house, then the next time you see them they are hoeing into that very thing (and sitting next to the exhaust pipe in the gutter taking in that good old carbon monoxide). What is up with that? You can either eat it or you can’t.

I have no patience at all for hypochondriacs. That can make me seem unsympathetic but I will sympathize with the best of them when it is warranted. Hypochondria simply does not fall under that empathy deserving banner (to me). They spend 40 hours a fortnight at the doctors looking for some made up disease they have researched on the net, take up precious time in ED departments and then do it to their children when they come along. These are the pains in the arses that will whinge their whole lives and never get anything but a cold and flu and eventually die at 103 because they over dosed on Tylenol. I know that Hypochondrias is now a diagnosis in the DSM as a somatoform disorder (mental disorder) and that is altogether a different matter entirely but fess up 'fake' hypochondriacs, it's sad and get a life, stop being melodramatic and stop reading the internet incurable disease page based on a small pimple on your left knee cap...and if you don’t, this middle finger is for you!

Moodiness

It’s not that I don’t believe in it, I’m a female. I know what PMS is and have gone from Sybil to, well...Sybil. One minute, a joy to be around (of course) and the next looking for a large blunt object I can use to shut someone up. But I do loathe a sulker and I hate moodiness as a way to communicate. Tell me if you are pissed off or throw something at me. I can’t read what moodiness might mean always but I can have a good argument and sort it out. And when I ask “what's the matter?” and I get “fine” and I ask again an hour later and I get “fine”...I’m not asking again. It’s the silent punishment, moodiness for some and with some people it can happen at anytime. I used to work with someone about 15 years ago who was the moodiest bitch I have ever met. You honestly had no idea when you got to work that day what sort of person you were going to see. Would you be friends today or not? Would there be conversation or not? It just did my head in. I guess I just prefer consistency. I do however fully support a bit of bad mood should something terrible have happened...what I call warranted mood change but the yo yo moody bullshit which I find is often best buddies with moaning and pessimism and just simply irritates me extraordinarily. Build a bridge, take a pill...it is exhausting.

Work Toots and Pod Etiquette

“Shit, someone is in my toilet cubicle. Who the fuck is that?”

I almost stooped, both literally and figuratively speaking, to have a gander under the door to sight the shoes so that I could identify them somewhere in the office afterwards and say “Um excuse me intruder, the first loo on the right is mine, Okay Missus.” But how disturbing would that be?

I have just re-started work again after 3 years and five days off, on extended maternity leave. I only go a couple of days a week but I already own my loo and I did the first hour I was there. It’s a thing I do. I actually almost hate that I do it because it’s quite restrictive but I even do it at a pub, convention, restaurant or plane. I’ve always done it. I’m hoping I’m not the only one who does it. The first time I go to a toilet where there are a few to choose from I kind of very rapidly check them out first, almost subconsciously. I stop to think which one I am comfortable with because I know that for the duration of my working life in that office, longevity of my address in the vicinity of the local pub, session duration at a non local pub, or trip on a plane; that will be my loo. It just feels wrong to go into a different one when “mine” is being used. So on starting back at work a couple of weeks ago, I went into the toilets for the very first time and consciously stopped and thought, ‘now which loo feels right because baby this is going to be your loo for a while’. I chose and I haven’t looked back! Even scarier thought; Sometimes I want research on the psychology of people’s decisions in relation to picking a loo so that I go to the most infrequently used one...I have a feeling though that I am quite average and possibly the loo I choose is every other fuckers too...only no-one admits it!!!

The pod is an interesting concept as a work setting. I hate the pod for a variety of reasons. People sit too close, there is no privacy. You can hear everything. You can see everything. You can’t eat tuna in a pod. It’s true. It’s on the list of pod etiquette. Don’t eat tuna and other things that might disagree with peoples olfactory responses. It’s also an obvious example of substantive employee positions. The managers and other people have individual offices or pods but the plebs have to sit together. Look, don’t get me wrong I think people in management earn their roles (mostly) but I really feel lesser being in a pod. Maybe that’s my issue alone and maybe that’s because in the past I have had my own office as a manager but that’s how it feels. I do enjoy pod camaraderie of sorts but it makes you fat. To really belong to a pod you need to provide and consume tea, coffee and fattening comestibles regularly. Things like bun, croissants, cakes and sometimes even chips. It also makes you poor because you have to belong to coffee and milk groups and pay up often. It makes you late because when it’s your buy, you have to firstly drop your child at day care and then stop at a convenience store to purchase milk and coffee and other assorted items, (bun, twists, pull aparts) and then try to get a park. Fuck the pod I say.

Handkerchiefs and Talcum Powder

Its a snot sock

I had some old family friends stay for a weekend recently and I have no idea how it came up but somehow the father of the couple made some statement about having the ‘absolute shits’ that his son, a 40 year old, won’t use a hanky. Thank fuck for that is all I can say. I also recall my own father saying to my brother, “where’s your hanky?” My bothers unsuppressed cachinnation was followed by a look of complete bewilderment at the suggestion and seriously, who uses a hanky at our age? What the hell are tissues for? They even make man sized tissues now as well as aloe vera and eucalyptus ones that shit all over the small hemmed square pieces of thin fabric old blokes and ladies with purple hair call a hanky and seriously how can it be hygienic? Really, how? How are they still allowed to make and sell them. You blow snot into it and think it’s a fab idea to carry it around in pocket or purse for possibly weeks...there is snot in there!!! Come on people.

As a decoration in a pocket (at a stretch) then okay, we no longer need white hanky’s to indicate surrender, that’s what our friggin’ arms are for. Hold them straight up mother fuckers. No hanky needed. Children have purses and more truthfully mothers, who hold all their small shit now (normally in a Dora, Dorothy or Ben 10 back pack) so they no longer require the use of a small handkerchief. Status and class is now implied by the automobiles they drive to ‘show off’ their wealth and standing in society. They don’t need to display a monogrammed silk or linen handkerchief to say, ‘hey, I’m loaded, bend down and kiss my Hilfiger’s serf’....NO, Give them the flick I say. Old fashioned, out dated, ridiculous and filthy. Men like Arthur’s and George’s used hanky’s in the old days along with Great Aunt Gertie and Iris. You will never see a bloke named Ashton or Jett or even Steve use a hanky.

Talcum powder on the other hand is lovely stuff even if a little old fashioned. Controversial and hardly ever used anymore as far as I can tell but I like it. It smells great on babies and me. My mum was a huge advocate for the handy talcum powder of various fragrances. The downside though is that some suspicions have been raised about the possibility that its use promotes certain types of diseases, mainly cancers of the ovaries and lungs...Hmmm not good. Talcum powder exposure has also caused the progression of tumours in some laboratory rats. However, studies on human beings haven’t yet been able to confirm a positive link. Don’t know if that is actually good enough for me. What I couldn’t believe was that until the 1970s, it was perfectly legal to have asbestos in talcum powder. Obviously with the jury still out on its safety, I’ve gotta say, I can’t in all good faith pop it on my baby’s booty, regardless of the fact that I love it. Ladies called Agatha and Mildred used talc. Probably lavender. A chick named Eisha or Kyra will never hold in their bathroom cupboard, a small canister of talcum powder. Not ever.

Pet Peeves

Pet peeves, petty annoyances, irritating displeasures. We all know them, have them, whinge about them. I have a list of them, not that I dwell on them, they just kinda come up. It’s just the stuff that happens on a day-to-day basis and probably most people never even notice some of the things that annoy the hell out of me, just as I possibly never get bugged by stuff that annoys other people.


My top 7:




1.Probably one of the most aggravating peeves of mine is when driving and the person in the car in front of me brakes and then indicates. That shits me. It’s not only dangerous, it’s wrong. Every time someone does it a long list of swear words run out of my mouth while I slam my own brakes on in complete disbelief. “Youfuckingidioticmaniacalimbecile”...or something like that. Sometimes I vary it a bit particularly when driving with my toddler.

 2.Something I am affronted by is people who sit outside of Woolies with their long table and posters and are fundraising. The fundraising does not bother me at all, I know it is vitally necessary. Come around to my place and I’ll make a cup of tea and fork out some dosh or leave a canister on the til and I’ll deposit some coins in there, but when I have just spent $400 on lettuce, toilet paper and sandwich wrap and they are ducking and weaving trying to catch my eye as I attempt to keep my trolley on the straight and narrow and have a small child asking me over and over again, “why can’t I have a strawberry milk Mum, why?, why?”, then the last thing I want to deal with is someone from Surf Lifesavers Queensland, saying,

“Excuse me mam, fancy dropping off some more money for our cause?”

“Not right now”, I say smiling yet obviously flustered because the trolley (we now pay for because idiots knick them) has a mind of its own and is going south while my kid is pulling me north and my hair is in my eyes.

“Just a small donation?”

“Sorry, can’t do it right now,” forced grin.

“Perhaps you’d like to look at a brochure and see the statistics on the good work we do?”

“Not at the moment. I know you do good work.” Grimace.

And all this time my little girls wrist is being yanked behind me while I have one hand now crippled with carpel tunnel on a wild roller coaster trolley and am heading for the down escalator.

“Do you ever go to the beach mam?”

“No, I fucking well do not. Get the bloody tourists to pay up they’re the ones who can’t swim.”

Why can’t they just accept that it is not always possible to stop and do this?

Sometimes I simply take my credit card with me and $1 for the trolley and when they come at me I smile apologetically wave my card at them and say,

“Sorry I only have my credit card today.”

“Well perhaps when you’ve finished with your trolley coin?”

“Step away arsehole.”


3.When I see someone litter in front of me I literally feel my blood boil. It is insane and unnecessary. It is thoughtless and messy. I actually say to people who do this,
“Who is going to pick that up? The litter fairy?”

When I see people do it while I am driving, I want to drive right up to them and get them to roll their window down and shame them. I’m afraid I’m guilty of one of those nanas that says, “where are the cops when you need them?” even if no one else is in the car with me.


4.Jenny Schecter...say no more.


5.When Australian use Americanisms in their speech and spelling. It infuriates me. Why do we Aussies think we mesh if we follow suit? I don’t care if we change some of our words to Australianisms but why American? Flashlight when it is a torch, aluminium (al-yuh-min-ee-uh m) not aluminum (uh-loo-muh-nuh m), trashcan when its rubbish bin, attorney...guess what? We don’t have them here. Bathroom, we actually say loo. It’s a bloody biscuit not a cookie. It is not a hood, it’s a bonnet, peanut paste, not peanut butter, jam not jelly, porridge not oatmeal, dummy not pacifier. Never, ever get fanny mixed up! You could be in real trouble here.

6.Flies. Well there’s one that probably pisses most of us off.


7.The Alanis Morrisette song, ‘Isn’t it ironic?’ rankles me incredibly. What is ironic about it? Isn’t it all just pretty much bad fucking luck or coincidental.
An old man turned ninety-eight


He won the lottery and died the next day – such bad luck, maybe it would have been ironic if he had bought a lottery ticket every Saturday his whole life...


It's a black fly in your Chardonnay – wasn’t that an accident?


It's a death row pardon two minutes too late – again, really bad luck – or fate perhaps or just desserts.


A traffic jam when you're already late- only when there are never ever normally traffic jams maybe.


A no-smoking sign on your cigarette break- a sign from God? Whatever I think she got her adjectives wrong.
You’re singing it now aren’t you?

Adelaidean and Proud of It

Believe it or not, people from Adelaide, South Australia seem to be some of the most parochial people I have met. I think it’s because other states pick on us – a lot, so we crawl into our insular ‘put-out’ selves and stick up for ourselves come hell or high water.


We are often teased about a variety of subjects and seem to be the butt of many jokes. Not quite as rigorous as gags about Tasmania and I know there are referrals to wet weather with regards to Melbourne or being the Alabama of the America’s like Queensland, but after being named city of churches and then known as the murder capital (City of corpses), old age home, sterile, boring, no jobs...except for lawyers defending murderers of course..but plenty of churches, we kinda have our work cut out for us. An example of this is John Saffron’s (Australian documentary maker and media personality, well-known for pranks and indelicate handling of controversial issues) popular (except with South Australians (SA)), not the sunscreen song circa 1997 or so when he sang/said, “Travel as often as you can, live in New York City once, live in Northern California once, never live in Adelaide, It's a hole”. Bugger off bastard.

At least Adelaide has real seasons. I love the changing of the leaves, an actual spring, a definite summer and winter – not like Melbourne where you need to take small luggage on wheels everywhere you go just to cater for a gamut of seasons in one day and Brisbane where it is dry and sunny, wet and sunny with a little rain and windy one month of the year only...August.

Adelaide to me seems to be the younger sibling of older sibling Melbourne who is the middle sibling where Sydney is the eldest and most experienced and knowledgeable of course....and doesn’t she know it swanking around in her frilly skirt and knickers showing, quite the slut. Brisbane swaggers along with a good white shirt, no tie and jeans and a pair of thongs. Perth, Hobart and Darwin are the cousins, a couple of which may share DNA with each other and I have no idea where they fit in. Adelaide people saunter through lovely gardens in twin sets and pearls while Melbourne’s attire is a rain coat, probably Burberry with something fancy underneath and a pair of Manolo Blahniks that people are constantly running in, to get out of the rain. Brisbane is attempting to be just like Sydney and Melbourne (Brisbane doesn’t give a rats about Adelaide-it’s all east coast) but are still falling short on some scales bar fantastic weather. Then there is Canberra...aahh nah can’t be bothered. Canberra is probably some ugly distant relative no one really cares about.

I was reading a travel page on SA recently. I was disturbed to see one of the most recommended places to visit was the Adelaide goal. Surely we can do better than that as a first? What about the Barossa, the Adelaide Hills, Victor Harbour, Kangaroo Island, Gawler (ok that might be pushing it), Glenelg, Rundle Mall, Popeye and what about the comestibles. Oh My God, after family and my best friends it’s why I go back to SA. I have to be honest!

I really think that a true South Australian will always return for the following (and bring as many as feasible back to where we are currently residing). Balfours frog cakes, pies pasties and sausage rolls...and YES they are better than Villies and better than anywhere else. Bung Fritz and sauce sandwiches...not devon, not luncheon...they just don’t cut it..ever. Fruchocs (now you’re talking), metwurst, trombone, Newmans horse raddish, a pie floater (ok never had one but it’s a true South Australian delectable apparently, especially after a skin full of booze and a loss at the casino). A Cornish pastie, a bush biscuit, Menz Yo Yo Biscuits and Haighs chocolate. Most places now offer Farmers Union Iced Coffee so the need to acquire this the minute after I collect my luggage from the conveyer belt once landed is not as desperate as it once was. A night out at the Mars bar, a look (around November Christmas pageant time) at Nimble, meeting your buddies at the Malls balls and a ride on Popeye on the Torrens completes the Adelaide experience. Satisfies the soul.

I also love to return to a place where intonatedly, I mesh. Adelaide or SA pronunciation is different. Leggo (laygo for SA), dance, chance, pool, plant, school. Words like texta (nikko), bathers (Togs), suitcase (port), fritz (devon), undies (knickers) and the rest of course..

At the end of the day...wherever we are from is home, it’s ours. It’s what we know, grew up with, miss, feel comfortable with, identify ourselves with even. So, though is the place we are currently in... it’s where we are hanging our hats and raising our children – by choice. You can have both!! You also have to cop it on the chin when they give you stick about it. It’s damn Australian after all. Whether you know it as Addy, Adders, city of churches, or even city of corpses...it still has the best Parmy EVER!!!

Ben Folds' Adelaide

Neon Vegas

‘Très magnifique’ was the one thought going through my mind as I wandered the cobbled streets beneath French wrought iron street lamps under a light dusky sky. The shop fronts beckoned me with French delights as I strolled past bubbling fountains and down the winding alleyways. In the background was the sound of the ching-ching of poker machines that brought me instantly back to reality...of a sort. I’m not sure if I would put ‘Las Vegas’ and ‘reality’ in the same sentence. Standing amid the 85,000-square-foot casino floor of the ‘Paris’ Casino I glanced up at the 40-foot ceiling which is painted to resemble the sky at day time. After spending an hour or two having a meal and another hour having a glass or two of wine at a bar I left feeling it was time for an afternoon nap. Stepping out onto the street from the casino I was immediately befuddled. I glanced at my watch quickly while my head raced to put it all together. It was 9.50pm, it was black out....well not really it was Las Vegas..it’s never really black out...if there was a blackout...it would be absolute chaos. Regardless, that was how Las Vegas worked. It was like following Alice willingly down the rabbit hole.


Las Vegas. I really enjoy writing about this city because it is implausible and that really is an understatement. You actually have to see it for yourself to comprehend. Neon is the word that comes to mind immediately when considering this place. Neon and slot machine noise. A location that appears to have been picked up from another place (planet) and dropped, certainly not gently, in the middle of nowhere. People come to Las Vegas to gamble, to get married in one of the hundreds of tiny chapels, kitsch and tacky, seedy, themed and certainly different. It’s a story to tell. “We got married in Vegas...by Elvis”. I did in fact and it was amusing, appealing, something celebrities do frequently and a little embarrassing too. Vegas is also a base from which to launch from easily to see the magnificent Grand Canyon, Lake Mead, Hoover Dam, Death Valley and the Valley of Fire. Monument Valley is also on offer from here. Historically, Las Vegas has been linked to the Mexican trader Rafael Rivera who discovered Las Vegas springs, Mormons, Railroad tycoons, the mafia, dinosaurs and finally the gambling masses.

The first time I visited I flew in during the day, stunned to fly over the snow covered mountains surrounding this remarkable metropolis lying like a jewel in the sand of the Mojave desert. I got off of the plane to a 42 degree arid day (105 f) that blew a hot wind. It is a very different place during the day. It really does wake up at night-time to show off its real core and easily recognisable regalia. The place dazzles at night with its trillions of lights and is an absolute neon Mecca. There is a plethora of casinos, motels, budget buffets and shows. An embarrassment of options. If it’s culture you are after, forget it. This is not the place. Gamblers will find this is their paradise. Kids have plenty to do in terms of Adventure domes and parks, museums, games arcades, theme parks and a shark reef and the backpacker can afford it easily with reasonably priced accommodation, meals, drinks and entertainment. $1 Coronas and an overabundance of show girls.

A few days however, in Vegas is enough for me. I love it while I am there and then by day 4 or 5 I feel a strong desire to get out as quickly as possible, a sentiment I have never felt anywhere else in the world. It does not stop me from returning though. The second time I visited Las Vegas I drove in at night by car from LA. The friend who was travelling with me was absolutely speechless while she took it all in. Doused herself in it. “I don’t know if I will ever be able to describe this place to anyone”, she mumbled.

We are all of course, by means of a variety of movies and TV shows, able to recognise famous casino landmarks like the Golden Nugget, Caesars palace, The Flamingo, The Mint, MGM Grand, Excalibur (Oh MY), Circus Circus, Luxor, New York New York, Treasure Island, The Mirage, The Stratosphere tower equipped with roller coaster on the very top...and well the list is truly endless. You can choose extravagant, luxurious accommodation like the Bellagio or crash more cheaply at Wayne Newton’s Stardust. It’s all an eye opener where ever you stay and it is worth wandering the main strip or Las Vegas Boulevard and going inside many of these unbelievably flamboyant casinos just to really soak it all in. It will blow your socks off. Heading into a casino, keep in mind that it is a good idea to wear a watch because you lose track of time very easily. You really have no idea whether it is day or night.

Once inside the casinos they are gaudy, disorientating (I think to keep you in there), noisy and covered in mirrors, flashing lights, tables, machines, and cruising cocktail waitresses offering drinks and free cigarettes. If you want any class at all while in a casino, head for the tables of craps, blackjack, roulette and the like. The machines with their constant clinking and ringing and flashing lights while exciting at first, will do your head in after a while. They all have a million bars to have a drink at which have poker machine screens nestled into the tops of the bars themselves so you can push in yet more coins while waiting for your cheap beverage or while perched on a bar stool sipping on your Pimms cocktail or watermelon mai tai. Restaurants of all calibres are plentiful and bustling with breakfast, lunch and dinner at any time of the day or night (if you remain in a casino there really isn’t a clear day or night and you never really have to go out because they are mini towns themselves offering everything possible under their twinking ceilings dotted with tiny cameras) and the endless all you can eat buffets of course. The prices are spot on because they want you to spend on games, not food and drinks. If you are not a gambler but fancy a small flutter then Vegas is great for you. If you are a big gambler, then Vegas is your heaven...until your money runs out and then it’s your basic nightmare...and remember, house always wins. For cheaper accommodation, check out the older Las Vegas, go Downtown.

Watching the high rollers at the tables is an incredible sight. It blows you away seeing them place thousands and thousands of dollars worth of chips that would in all actuality feed a small third world nation, on one solitary number and you really hope they get it, not to encourage their absurd stupidity but because it’s entirely irksome watching the house win relentlessly.

Strolling past the Bellagio fountains at night, made famous by the Oceans 11 film is an awesome sight that see’s hordes of tourists pulling out their small camcorders to capture them in full flight as they (the fountains of water) dip and dance to classical music that blares over loud speakers you can possibly hear from space. I cannot believe the use in electricity though. Those casinos are huge and all air-conditioned and with the amount of sunlight (and drought) there are no solar panels...at all. None. I stayed at Luxor and there is a huge beam of light that shines from its point, apparently the light is composed of 39 Xenon bulbs that consume 7 kW each, that is 273 kW of electricity, over 100 times what an average home uses. Apparently, Las Vegas demands 5,600 megawatts on a summer day. By 2015 that’s expected to hit 8,000. The Casinos represent 20% of Nevada’s electricity demand! That’s huge. Consumption extravagance certainly in Vegas style.

Travel out to Arizona to see the Grand Canyon. I recommend doing a particular package on offer that suits your needs and wants and that you can purchase anywhere you are staying or though any casino tourist desk. They are reasonably inexpensive and you will never forget the experience. Ever. It is easy to see it all in a day if you want to without feeling as though you have rushed it or missed a thing. There are a stack of different tours you can do. My favourite is this one; Fly by small plane after being picked up from your hotel to the edge of the Grand Canyon. The plane has large windows and an aural description via your own personal headphones regarding what you are looking at. It takes you over stunning Lake Mead and the incredible Hoover Dam and lands at the south rim of the canyon. You get your first glimpse of the enormity of the canyon and it is both a breath taking and humbling experience. From there you take a helicopter flight through the canyon to the floor 4,000-6,000 feet down and then sail by boat up the Colorado river, a river responsible for sculpting this incredible wonder around 17 million years ago. 445 kilometres long and 29 kilometres wide, its depth is an incredible 6000 feet. Flying out again by helicopter you board a hummer and visit a variety of famous and incredibly appealing overlooks and have a light Indian lunch on the edge of the canyon with native Hualapai Indians selling their jewellery and telling you some fascinating historic facts. You return by hummer to the airport and fly back in a small plane to Las Vegas where a bus will take you back to your hotel. You then have the rest of your life to digest this chasm of impeccable beauty and constant changing from season to season and times of the day. The Grand Canyon was more than I’d bargained for in terms of the emotions I felt standing on the edge of something so big and spectacular and the trip was truly worth every cent, euro, peso and yen. Probably my favourite moment was eating an Indian lunch perched on a chair on the edge of the canyon with circling eagles over head and the best view in town or out of town...whatever, it was damn fine.

The trip to Vegas is a huge experience any way you look at it. The point is there is nothing else like it anywhere else in the world. It is famous, elaborate, over the top, corrupt and fascinating, it shares an interesting history, an interesting future and inspires people who visit, to love or hate it. It pulls celebrities and entertainers worldwide who believe they have made it when they score a show in Vegas. It brings in dreamers and high rollers, the curious and honeymooners and these days, families. It occupies all of your senses while you are there and when you finally leave, a part of it goes with you and a part of you is left there with everybody else’s ideals, hopes and money....in the casinos that made Las Vegas, Las Vegas or Sin City. I knew it was time to go as I ventured into yet one more casino to have a look because while they are all the same fundamentally they are also very different in terms of themes and vulgarity...well vulgarity is a word I use after spending a while there...wonder is a term I possibly used on arrival, and knew I had to get the f*ck out of there. That place is enough crazy for anybody.

Las Vegas...who would miss it? I think in your life time you should see this place at least once.

100 Things to do in Las Vegas