Yep, you read it right. Last week I drove to work in my thongs and it ended in disaster.
For those of you from the USA who read my blog, I know, I know… and yes, I was driving to work in my thongs – two of them – and when I got there I realized I had no shoes on!
Confused? Don’t worry, so was I!
As everyone in my life knows all too well – I am a complete shambles at the best of times. I fall over, run into things, accidentally tell strangers that I love them, forget how to get home and vomit regularly. However, in recent months, I had been reaching all new levels of coordination and things were going swimmingly.
No longer was I the bitter, sarcastic blogger who dated psychopaths and had an unreasonable fear of fake hair… As I said to another blogger several months ago, it’s hard to blog sarcastically when you’re happy with life… (and yes, contrary to popular belief, I had been getting out of the house at that point in time!)
Alas, it all came unraveled when I wore my thongs on the drive to work on Thursday. I had stayed at my boyfriend’s house, which sends me on a total different route to work and it was one of the first really warm days of the year, so I had just thrown my thongs on at the last minute as I ran out the door, not thinking much of it. I’m someone who avoids shoes at all costs, so I always keep a pair of work flats on the car floor for everyday use.
Unfortunately I didn’t think much of the fact that I had sent my car in to be serviced either, and the car that I had borrowed (strangely) did not come with a pair of emergency shoes on the passenger side floor. So, to cut a long, dramatic morning short, I turned up to work with no shoes, frantically yelling out to a colleague across the carpark something along the lines of ‘My shoes! My shoes! No shoes! No shoes! OMG! Shambles! HELP! HELP!’ while waving both arms frantically in the air…
Ah, you know that look of panic people get as they desperately think of a way they can pretend they don’t know? Yep, that look is ALLLL too familiar for me!
So half an hour and one trip to Kmart later, I had a pair of $8 shoes making my feet sweat and I was back on track. Or so I thought…
This morning, I took the same route to work. I was back in my own car (spare shoes and all) and for a Monday, the day was looking fine. About half way through my drive, I switched my handsfree thingemy on in case I got a call, as I’d thrown my bag somewhere in the back of the car and had no chance of reaching my phone if I needed it.
Beep… Beeep… attempting to connect… no phone found… attempting to connect… no phone found…
After a small panic, I ran into the office, waving my arms in the air like a madwoman. My colleagues have come to await the daily drama that tends to signify my arrival, so there was an air of anticipation as I ran into the office yelling ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got my shoes! I DON’T have my mobile phone but it’s going to be OKAY!’
Being a Gen Y girl and lacking the ability to memorise a single phone number since about 1999, I had no idea what my boyfriends phone number is. So I called myself. No answer. Redial…
Yep, oh shizz indeed! But we had a plan, boyfriend would drop phone to my office at lunchtime and I would buy him lunch, which I did. I was all ‘sit down, get comfortable, let me buy your lunch and drink and prove my gratitude for you driving halfway across Melbourne for me…’
And then it fell apart…
In an effort to be super helpful and after I was clearly told the squeezy ketchup sachet wasn’t opening, I insisted on having a crack at it and with all my strength, attempted to outsmart what was, I swear, the most complicated condiment packaging ever made.
Unfortunately… the ketchup won…
We were both covered. As was our table, my bag, the entire pile of napkins on the table, the chair next to me… and the random stranger sitting no less than two metres away from me.
I spent the entire afternoon pulling pieces of dry, crusty ketchup from my ponytail and fringe while randomly bursting out in fits of giggles.
I took it as a sign I had been neglecting my blog.
The universe has spoken. I will blog more.
I will also stop wearing thongs in the car… Except on weekends and public holidays.
And possibly also eating ketchup.
Also – I’m still scared of fake hair.
I have always been told that when you receive flowers from a man for no apparent reason, it’s a sign that he is cheating on you. I don’t exactly agree with this theory, but I do find the whole flower-giving thing fascinating.
I remember being younger and always wanting a nice boy to give me flowers. Not some crummy bunch of roses or, even worse, a single rose, but a pretty, well-planned and thoughtful bunch of flowers, which may or may not feature lilies or something similar.
But the flowers I envisaged and the flowers I actually got back then were vastly different. The lilies were replaced by god-awful weed-like flowers and the beautiful, ribbon-bound box was replaced by clear and white flowery glad-wrap that screamed of having been bought in a hospital foyer or stolen from a cemetery.
As I got a bit older, I completely lost interest in flowers. I never expected them and never really got them, but when I was about 25, I started to notice that they were making a comeback. Gone were the days, however, of flowers bringing joy and happiness.
First, there was the bunch that arrived with the statement ‘I might have an STD…’ (please note that the might turned out to be a definitely did not) and then there were the ones that came shriveled up after being hidden behind the heater in the lounge room for an indeterminate period of time, resulting in me arriving late for work after being ordered to go to the florist to exchange them…
Yep, flowers weren’t so glamorous anymore. They brought disease scares, anger and embarrassing encounters with florists. But I am a girl and don’t we all, deep down, dream of one day receiving flowers from a secret admirer declaring their undying love for us?
What we don’t realise though, is that this is actually the behavior of sociopaths and serial killers… and holiday crashers… yep, holiday crashers!
I mean, if you really think about it, if a person has the ability to interact with people, hold a conversation and enter into a real-life relationship, why wouldn’t they just mosey on over and ask you out? Alas, hindsight is a wonderful thing…
Back in 2009, I was a few months into my current (recently resigned from) job. Part of my role back then was to do presentations to young people about living and working overseas. Me being me, this involved lots of goofiness, many bad jokes and technical disasters.
My main problem with these presentations was that if I told a joke or a story that should get a laugh didn’t, I would just keep on pushing… bad joke after bad joke… higher pitch… faster talking… and it would start getting just plain awkward.
For example, I was once talking about San Francisco and started telling the story about riding a bike over the Golden Gate Bridge, taking a wrong turn (can you even take a wrong turn?) and ending up going overland to Sausalito all the while turning right involuntarily because I get balance issues when riding in the wind…
Alas, after being met by dead silence, this story led to the one about getting lost on a ‘quick drive’ before returning the hire car, the one about accidentally offending a group of dutch backpackers after telling one that his friend smelt like cabbage and finally wrapping it up with a declaration that I love San Fran because the hills made me feel like I was in Full House…
You know, FULL HOUSE?
It must be my lisp, audience does not comprehend… Cue terrible attempt at singing the Full House theme song:
Everywhere you look… everywhere you go (there’s a heart)… There’s a heart, a hand to hold onto.
Silence… crickets chirping… tumble weeds rolling through the room… you get the idea.
To this day I tell myself the crowd were just too young. They clearly didn’t know Mary-Kate and Ashley when they were knee-high to a grasshopper!
But back to my story, I was having one of these HORRIBLE evenings where the crowd was giving me absolutely nothing. No number of cheesy jokes, funny stories or even crowd interaction was saving it and besides one over enthusiastic guy in the second row, whose fake laugh was way too elaborate to be genuine, the audience were having none of it.
So you can imagine my complete shock when a massive bunch of roses turned up at my office two days later with a card that read:
I saw your presentation the other night and have been thinking about you ever since. Do you want to go for a drink sometime?
My colleagues and I tried to think of who it could be, with one suggesting it was ‘probably that one person who was laughing at your jokes!’ and after some crafty investigation, I had a full name and an email address.
Looking back, I should have read between the lines, seen the unwritten references to kidney stealing and paid attention to the music that started repeating in my head.
But really, the guy had made a pretty big effort and as someone who cannot even remember having asked anyone on a date before, who was I to reject someone without even meeting them?
So, I went on a date with him and despite there being no chemistry whatsoever and him judging me for liking Simon and Garfunkel while saying his favourite type of music was ‘anything they play on Triple J’… I didn’t regret it. I told him I wasn’t interested, we agreed we would be friends, added each other on Facebook and caught up a few more times before he went overseas.
Fast-forward to early 2011 when I was planning a work trip to Canada, followed by a week of Tennizzlle-time in New York City on the way home. I was contacting a few business partners and customers who were over there to catch up, one of whom was this guy. He wasn’t going to be in the cities I was visiting in Canada, but was going to NY with some friends around that time. I sent him my dates and said we’d have a drink if we crossed paths.
A week before I left, he emailed saying he had great news, it turns out we were going to be in NYC at the same time, so we agreed to have a drink. It all seemed so normal…
We met at a bar downtown before dinner and had a quick beer. We had the quick catch up, how’s life, blah blah blah, and then I asked him ‘So, what are you even doing in New York?’
His response: ‘I came to New York to spend the week with you’
This guy had driven from Montreal to New York to holiday with me… without me knowing.
After a few deep breathes, I talked myself into it. I’m the queen of miscommunication and I probably misunderstood something along the way. I’m sure it’s fine, when he says SPEND the week with me, he doesn’t mean SPEND the week with me. Nervous laugh, nervous laugh…
That was Thursday night.
By Friday, it was clear that he did actually mean spend the entire week with me…. Every single second of it…
‘Oh, you want to go to Forever 21 and try on seventy dresses? I’ll come!’
‘Oh, you want to purchase outfits for your dogs? That sounds like great fun!’
‘Should we plan out all our evenings in advance and buy tickets to everything?’
‘Let’s go to the farmers market and buy some food to cook in the luxury Soho apartment I have rented for us to hang out in’
By Saturday, I had lost my shit. Somewhere between Canal Street and Union Square, after being dragged around by his know-it-all self all afternoon trying to find ‘the best coffee in New York’, I had had enough. I hadn’t spoken to him for at least an hour when I made my escape, yelling something along the lines of ‘Space! Tennizzlle time! Forever 21!’ before throwing myself into the midst of a crowd of fast moving locals and running for my life.
A few months later, I was at work one afternoon and received a text message from a US number.
‘Hey, are you free to catch up?’
Assuming it was someone from our US office, I responded ‘Yeah, sure, but I have no idea who this is!’
‘Oh, sorry, it’s Michelangelo*, I’m in Melbourne but still using my Canadian number’
These days, if I want flowers, I just go buy myself some damn flowers. They’ll always be tasteful, they won’t be on the verge of death, they won’t die overnight and I will be able to sleep soundly in the knowledge that my kidneys will still be attached when I wake up in the morning.
NB – In doing a little Google research for this post, I typed ‘Flowers from a man’ into the search bar. I love the predictions Google comes up with and where they lead you. This time, I got ‘flowers from a man who shot your cousin’… as you do!
Also, if you were thinking about sending me flowers, feel free! I like lilies (just in case you didn’t get that) and I will accept them graciously. Just don’t be expecting me to go on a date with you afterwards!
*names and numbers have been changed, though not very well
People often ask me stupid questions and accuse me of doing ridiculous things. I have no idea why.
I admit, I have been known to sticky tape my colleagues chairs to their desks in moments of extreme boredom while in the office out of hours… and put Christmas decorations all over someone’s computer screen in April… I might have also stuck a photo of a random person on another colleague’s backpack right before he got on the train home (I thought it’d be nice for him to have some company)… however I absolutely hate practical jokes and have no interest of hiding something that belongs to someone else, jumping out at someone or ruining someone’s food (I’ve had salt in my beer and it is not fun, and yes, I count beer as food, sheesh)!
I’m also incredibly bad at keeping a straight face in funny situations, am always the first to crack when trying to go along with a joke and am a terrible liar.
The other day, I was in the kitchen at work, making my lunch and a colleague came in to check on his sandwich, which he’d left in the sandwich press. He walked up to it, stopped, turned to me suspiciously and said ‘Did you turn the sandwich maker off while my sandwich was cooking?!?’
I started laughing, which I don’t think helped the situation, but denied any involvement. He eyed me suspiciously, switched the press on and watched me as he walked away, hesitant to leave his sandwich unsupervised in the kitchen with me.
This got me thinking about how often these wild accusations are thrown my way and why. The next time I saw him, I asked why I am always the suspect when something happens… his response: ’It’s probably because you’re small’… fair enough.
So, to share a few of the highlights with you, these situations have occurred with family, friends, colleagues, boyfriends and randoms. I’m convinced it’s because of my openness and warmth that people feel comfortable saying these things to me… that, or I’m just plain sneaky-looking…
Q: Did you hide my ipod? (Work colleague)
A: Huh? You have an ipod?
Q: Did you hide my wallet? (Work colleague)
A: No. Has it been stolen or did you leave it at home? (turns out he left it at home, although this question was asked at least five more times that day!)
Q: Did you pay for that jug of Sangria? (girl working at a bar)
A: No, I stole a whole jug of sangria without you noticing, you fool (sarcastic). Did you LOSE a jug of sangria?
Q: Did you just suggest that my boyfriend is autistic? (a friend)
A: Ok, maybe… It was a miscommunication. But it was very, very funny.
Q: Did you delete the company’s entire website? (IT guy at work)
A: Erm… nope, can’t say that I did. If I had any urge to delete the whole site, resulting in massive problems for no one but myself, I’d probably suggest I should be committed.
Q: Did you intentionally lock me out of the house? (an ex-boyfriend)
A: No, the door locks itself, you moron. I’ll bet you’re feeling bad about punching the glass door in now, aren’t you?
Q: Did you just put the dog on the barbeque? (my mother)
Q: Did you break the front door? (My mother)
A: I TOLD you when I opened it that it was broken and you said it had been like that for months!
Q: Are you arranging for me to meet up with the guy I like when I visit you and not telling me? (A friend)
A: Huh? I am too confused to even try to answer that question.
Q: Did you pick up my friend The Albino?
A: No comment.
Q: Where’s my plate? Did you take it? (Work Colleague)
A: Of course I did, I put it in the fridge. That’s what you get for suggesting I sabotaged your sandwich!
Okay, so there’s been some crazy shizz going on with WordPress lately.
When I logged in on Sunday morning I was shocked to realise that somehow, in my sleep my blog had doubled its daily view record (whatever it’s called). After some slight confusion and a bit of investigation, I realised that not only one or two but FIVE of the blogs I actively follow have been Freshly Pressed in the last week! Yay for y’all, I’ve been clicking like wherever possible and hope you’ve all enjoyed the fame and fortune that I imagine it brings!
But – this was not where my joy ended! The lovely Lyndon of The Dissemination of Thought had nominated me for The Awesome Blog Content (ABC) Award! YAY! I am thrilled to pieces, even though it’s taken me ages to find all those words!
So, as the rules of the award go, I am to:
- Thank the person who gave me the award
- Choose one word that describes me for every letter of the alphabet (for some I just chose words I like)
- Pass it on and nominate blogs which I think deserve fame and notoriety
So, first up, many, many thanks to Mr Keane and The Dissemination of Thought for nominating me! One of my favourite bloggers so far, Lyndon is flipping hilarious and his posts never fail to make me laugh. He’s also kind of a big deal, so I’d recommend you become his friend and WordPress stalk him before he hits it big and forgets us little people!
And for the alphabet of ME:
*I don’t actually think I’m a cat, but how good is that word?
**I’m also not a pug, but I love them!
***I can’t actually yodel, but I had no other Y. I’ll give it a shot if you pay me!
****I also wouldn’t describe myself as plump or full-figured, but it sure beat zany
And for the blogs I would like to nominate:
www.pithypants.com – I just discovered this one today, very funny and clearly an Arrested Development fan! I can’t wait to read more from her!
www.imnotfamousandneitherareyou.com – I nominated Emily last time, but she’s still hilarious, and still reminds me of me.
www.dampsquid.wordpress.com – Another one I nominated last time, every time I visit this blog I end up giggling at something on there!
www.sarahpalma.wordpress.com – This bloggers name is Sarah Palma, which reminds of both Twin Peaks and Chicken Parma, what more can you ask for?
Sorry for only nominating four, it’s bedtime and I’m starting to type crazy things as I doze off in front of my computer screen!
Thanks for reading my blog and for all the wonderful new followers I have gained over the past few days! Yay!
I was reading a crock of sh*t article a few weeks ago about the dating ‘rules’ and the growing trend amongst women to revert back to strategies of old to snag a husband.
You know, the standard stuff like a woman should always ignore three phone calls before answering one, she should practice kissing on a mirror to avoid disappointment and she should always wear pantyhose, or some other equally ridiculous crap.
This is all well and good and if you’ve had success following this rubbish, good for you! However, there seems to be a lack of quality advice aimed at men.
Honestly, I suspect one or two of my previous flings might have been attempting to follow the female-oriented rules… I’ve had the experience of someone feigning being busy just to inconvenience my schedule, I also suspect I may have dated one or two who learnt to kiss (and god knows what else) with a mirror… then there was the guy with the pantyhose… I joke, I JOKE!
Alas, when I looked back on the various men I have dated over the past few years, I had a shocking realisation… I am actually sitting on a goldmine of dating advice. So, good blog readers, I have decided to share this with you. Based on my own dating experience, I feel that I can assist all of you semi-psychotic bachelors out there, by providing some great advice that I have learnt from the men who have come and gone in my life.
So here are my top ten rules for dating women:
1. If your mobile phone is running out of battery in the hours leading up to your first date, sending a text to the person you’re meeting is a great idea. Turning up to a busy meeting place and sitting at the bar waiting to be discovered is not. If you asked her out, there’s a good chance she can’t remember what you look like!
2. If you forget your wallet or don’t have enough money to cover your half of dinner, do not wait until the bill arrives to advise your date of this. If you’ve managed to scrape your gold coins together and split the bill, do not invite your date back to your place to ‘hang out’ if your next request is going to be that she cover the cab (or bus) fare for both of you.
3. If you have an aversion to washing your clothes, try to at least remove the obvious marks from them before your date. If your date notices them or questions whether you are, in fact, wearing the exact same pants for the fourth time, try lying. Do not admit that you don’t EVER actually wash your pants because they’re dry clean only and you only have one pair.
4. Despite how awesome you think you are, try to avoid telling your date (repeatedly) of how certain you are that she really likes you. Similarly, comments such as ‘I knew you liked me the second I walked into that bar’ and ‘I know you’ve already thought about having kids with me’ do not lead to the assumption that you are boyfriend material.
5. Even if it is prefaced with ‘Don’t take this personally, but…’ the comment ‘can you just stop asking me questions?’ is not the way to impress a girl and is always going to kill the conversation.
6. If you end up dating someone to the point where you’re sharing a bed, try to avoid sleep talking as much as possible. Sure, talking about breakfast or your job while deep asleep can seem funny enough, but talking about how you are ‘going to have lots of sex and beat the sh*t out of them all’ is only going to scare the crap out of your date.
7. If you ride a bike, try to avoid bringing it on a date. If you must, do not then proceed to talk on your phone for the first 5 or so minutes after meeting, while your date walks beside you… Sure, you’re giving off the impression that you’re cool and that you want to make a speedy exit, but you’re also confusing the crap out of your date, who will spend the rest of the evening wishing that she took that 5 minute window of opportunity to get the hell out of there.
8. Emotional stories such as how your parents divorced when you were seventeen, resulting in you still hating them for humiliating you, may seem like a big deal to you, but sharing them on your first date, or any date for that matter, should be avoided. It was TEN YEARS AGO, for God’s sake, get over it!
9. As much as you may love them, eating two salad sandwiches a day does not make you a foodie by any measure. The people you work with may find it hard to believe that you eat TWO salad sandwiches every day without fail, but for your date who was talking about her passion for food, you just became really freaking boring.
10. Whatever you do, and no matter how emotional you get while out with a girl – DO NOT CRY. Do not cry when discussing your failed relationship, do not cry when talking about sport and no matter how extreme the circumstances, do not cry over dinner!
In writing this post, I’ve not only revisited and cleansed my soul of some of the more negative dating experiences I’ve had, but I’ve also decided that in the vein of He’s Just Not That Into You and The Rules, I’m going to write a book. It will be titled She Thinks You’re a Raving Lunatic.
Just a quick post this week as I figure no one is reading courtesy of the Australia Day public holiday… Also because I don’t have much time… I’m too busy watching the tennis and drinking beer in the 30+ degree sunshine!
So I started writing a blog entry the other week about the last date I went on, which I would classify as one of the worst of my life. In all fairness, the guy was nice, just a really bad match for me and it was a complete disaster. The post I started was about the many signs and opportunities I had to escape the date, yet I stuck it out to the very awkward end, so as to not seem rude.
I hadn’t finished the post, as with most of my half baked ideas, it was sitting in my drafts waiting to be finished, polished and published. But then, I was walking back to my office the other day, my mind swirling with blogging ideas for the week ahead, when I actually bothered to look up at the exact moment that the bad date guy flew past me on a skateboard (yes, I dated someone who travels by skateboard – stop judging me). For some reason, my heart raced, not in any lovey way, but just in a moment of utter shock.
I’m a firm believer that everything happens for a reason and that you are reminded of people from your past as necessary. I would never have stopped him or spoken to him, mainly because I was totally not interested and had a bit of difficulty expressing this at the time, but I am convinced I saw him for a reason - I’m very conscious of my blog not personally attacking anyone or being negative and I think I saw him to bring me back to earth. He was a nice boy, it was a bad date, but no harm was done. So I came back to my desk and deleted the draft.
I figured this was as good a time as any to do a bit of a draft-cleansing and started going through some of the random crap I have been writing over the past few weeks. So, in no particular order I would like to share a few of the little gems that have been lurking in my drafts list – but which I have decided will never see the light of day.
1. What’s the easy let down? As mentioned above, how long should you stick out a bad date? Maybe at the point where you find yourself wondering if your date has the mental capacity of a seven year old? Just an idea.
2. All the things I want to say to your face but never will - Pretty self explanatory. When I realised I was listing an abundance of items directed at one person in my life, I decided this wasn’t helping my mission to become a more positive person.
3. Graduating from Slut High - A reflection on the truly awful high school I attended and how it made me a better person.
4. Crazy dog lady - I realised any exploration into whether I am or am not a crazy dog lady was not going to end well.
5. My iPhone is trying to tell me something - When your iPhone auto-corrects ‘love’ to ‘live’ or ‘lie’… it’s time for a bit of self reflection.
6. My jumper ate my underwear - I’m not even going to try to explain this one, but it was a very difficult time in my life.
7. Horses scare the shizz out of me - Actually one of my first drafts, but I later realised that it could be misinterpreted as a dig at someone… and really, horse people aren’t THAT weird, right? But just fyi – horses do actually scare the shizz out of me.
8. I’m not being cute, I just don’t like you - When your lack of tone starts working against you.
9. The owl addiction - Yep, this one was also briefly titled Crazy Owl Lady.
10. That moment when you find your favourite canned tomatoes on sale - and other moments of pure joy and happiness. Inspired by a recent trip to the supermarket when I found Easy Off BAM for $3! $3! I’m not even joking!
I could keep going… there were a fair few that were too embarrassing to include… and you never know, I might return to finish them off one day!
And on that note, I’m off to enjoy the sunshine. Yay! Happy Australia Day!
In the past, I have had a habit of setting criteria for what kind of guy I would date. My original list was written after escaping my first psycho boyfriend and consisted of about 20 criteria that a potential date had to meet before I would even consider them.
As a result, I was single for 3 years.
I eventually decided that I was restricting myself with the criteria and got rid of them (no doubt in some dramatic fashion such as lighting a candle and setting them on fire, as you do), but as the years rolled on and I started to encounter more than my fair share of crazy men, I introduced, revised and deleted numerous criteria for who I would and wouldn’t date, always with good reason.
The criteria have, at various times, included (I assure you there is a true story behind every one!): No facial hair – no smoking – must have stable job – must have any job – must be a tradie (followed quickly by) – must not be a tradie – must not hate women – must wear pyjamas to bed – must have siblings – must have good grammar – must be able to differentiate between there, their and they’re – must have a degree – must have a passion – must make more money than me – must make a grand gesture – must be good at fixing things… Needless to say, I’ve gotten a little carried away with it at various times and I’ve occasionally needed a friend to remind me of who I should and should not actually be dating.
For the past few years I have been living an almost criteria-free life and it is actually working out well for me. I enjoy dating, and although I’m still a disaster, I’ve come to appreciate the random experiences and life lessons that it can bring. And really, as long as you still have both your kidneys at the end of the evening, it can’t have been too bad.
Alas, my criteria-free life came crashing down the other day when I realised that there are still some things that are not negotiable, for example – I will not date a boy who wears flood pants.
I was walking through Flinders Street station over the Christmas break when I got stuck behind a guy wearing a pair of beige flood pants. It wasn’t particularly warm and it was most definitely not flooding and the sight totally threw me.
I am definitely not someone who judges men for how they dress, I actually wouldn’t know what is fashionable for the opposite sex if it hit me on the head, however until last week I thought we had been freed from the clutches of such a horrendous clothing item in the late 1990′s.
Now, let me reiterate that I am not talking about rolled up jeans, they are a whole different kettle of fish, but straight leg, chino-looking material man-pants that finish above the ankle.
Being short, I’ve always had a slight fear of this ridiculous excuse for clothing. Flood pants on me are simply pants that don’t need to have 3 metres cut off the bottom of them to fit, but they never look quite right and I don’t condone flood pants on anyone, let alone a potential date.
I did a little Googling on the flood pants phenomenon and was shocked to discover that there are actually two different types of flood pants, short pants and long shorts, according to Urban Dictionary:
|Pants that fall around the ankle. Often called high-waters/ high waters as well. This refers to the fact that you can wear them when there is a flood, or “high waters.”Wow, those flood pants are so cute, but your ankles must get cold during the winter…|
|Shorts so baggy, they look like short pants, the kind you would wear if a flood ever came to town. Usually sported by cholos/gangsters/white boys living in the hills.*Yawns and wipes out eye-boogers* Today, I feeel extra cholo. Besides my XXXXXXXXLLL plain white tee, bandanda, and new tatoo of my name placed on the back of my neck, I think I’m going to show off my new flood pants to the homies and hynas.|
So which am I against? If I’m against both, does that equal two new criteria as opposed to one?
Further Googling led to a realisation that flood pants are actually favoured by cyclists as they don’t get caught in their bike pedals and that Hipsters, backpackers, tennis players and even Pirates are also quite fond of them…
Having realised that I might just have unintentionally set criteria eliminating half the male population of Melbourne, I decided to stop. I felt like my criteria-free life was being challenged and I needed to re-assess the situation.
Maybe flood pants have a time and a place in society… I mean, I can’t judge a flood pant-wearing Hipster when I’m still confused as to what exactly a Hipster is, right? And would I really say no to the chance to go on a date with a pirate just because his ankles were showing? Or not accept that I am, in fact, destined to marry Marat Safin just because he might like the odd pair of floods?
I considered changing my criteria to ‘I will never date a boy who wears flood pants without good reason’ but I think this is only going to cause me further confusion. So, I guess I’m staying true to my criteria-free life.
I accept that I may one day date someone who wears flood pants…
Having said that, I may also date a pirate and/or Marat Safin… and just like that, the future is already looking brighter!
Just don’t get me started on Meggings… I would NEVER date someone who wears meggings!
So I’m not counting this as a REAL post and will post some usual ranting mid-next week, however I did have to share the highlights of my Friday.
I woke up yesterday and undertook my usual weekday morning ritual: Hit snooze – fall asleep – hit snooze – fall asleep – hit snooze – roll over – have a silent whinge to myself about how evil any hour prior to 9am is – fall asleep – hit snooze – check Facebook – check gmail – check work emails – roll out of bed.
On Facebook, I had been sent this little treasure:
Considering the last similarly themed linked I got from this particular FB friend, which was something along the lines of ‘I’ve found you a husband: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2071127/Bankers-1-615-word-email-woman-didnt-back.html’, I wasn’t expecting much. But this had me giggling out loud to myself.
In all honesty, it wouldn’t surprise me if my dogs were running a similar operation of sabotage in my life. In the current absence of a boy in my life, they have free reign of the house, get unlimited attention and half of everything I cook (I suffer serious eyes-bigger-than-stomach issues). When I am dating someone, they become lounge-room sleepers, are made to sit on their own couch, get fewer walks and have to feign interest in a new person for at least a few hours every time they see them. It’s a hard life and they’re not exactly subtle about their disapproval when someone new comes into it.
Having worked myself into a slightly paranoid state and half expecting them to be watching the video over my shoulder while taking notes and giving each other knowing looks, I turned to see what the little darlings were actually up to. Ginger Dog was curled up at the end of the bed, like the perfect puppy that he is… while Midget Dog was sprawled out next to me on my bed, with her head ON my pillow, fast asleep. Note to self – this sleeping arrangement is not conducive to ever meeting a mentally sound husband.
I went to move her off… looked at her taking her little breaths, remembered the difficult night she’d had on Thursday, which involved an itchy leg and an unplanned haircut after I realized her overgrown fringe was impacting her ability to judge distances (only after she twice underestimated the jump from floor to couch and slammed head-first into the side of it) and decided to leave her where she was… I’ll train her off the pillow on the weekend.
So back to the ritual – next step was my emails and this is where the day really kicked off. I admit that I’ve become somewhat addicted to WordPress lately and after smashing my own visits-per-day record on Thursday, I was thrilled to see I had a new comment on my most recent post. Then it got even better… a lovely blogger called blondgirl008 had nominated my little, semi-psychotic blog for the Versatile Blog Award! Considering I have been blogging for less than a month, this has not only made my day, but my week, month AND 2012 so far! Woo hoo!
It has taken me a bit of researching to work out exactly what this is, but to be honest, I am so thrilled that anyone is even reading my blog that I would take any award you’re willing to give me… including the crazy dog lady of the year award. But alas, the Versatile Blogger Award is a way to show your support for blogs of all varieties. So, here goes my response to my much-appreciated nomination:
First up many thanks for the nomination, Blondgirl008. Everyone should check out your hilarious blog at:
Then, for seven things about me:
- I am very new to blogging. Yep, although I set up my account back in September 2010 (from memory), it wasn’t until December 2011 that I actually started blogging. Needless to say, I am addicted and commited to posting every week for the next 12 months.
- I have two dogs (mentioned above) who I am fairly obsessed with. Ginger dog is 11 and is a little ball of Pomeranian-Cross love. He enjoys food, cuddles, staring longingly into peoples eyes and once punctured my eyeball in a moment of cuddle grabbing desperation, which saw me end up in the Eye and Ear Hospital and him feel quite guilty for a few hours. Midget Dog is equally lovable and if she was a human, I’m fairly certain she would actually be me. She is only 3 and is strong-willed, bossy and squeals when she doesn’t get what she wants. However, at the end of the day she is a happy little girl who has a pretty sweet life and just wants to eat lots and curl up on the couch.
- I live in Melbourne, Australia and I love it! Although I travel a lot, and have lived overseas in the past, I don’t imagine I will live anywhere else for a prolonged period of time. I also hope to stay in the same local area I currently live in and am very grateful to have grown up in such a diverse, beautiful and fun city.
- I am a dating disaster. It’s true. I won’t go into too much detail here, I have a separate (anonymous) blog all about the many crazy dating experiences I have had in my life. Having said that, I am a firm believer in learning from your experiences and that the worst dates always make for the funniest stories!
- I am totally addicted to soda water and sparkling water and I really need to invest in a Soda Stream this year. This addiction has developed since I quit soft drink last year. I just can’t get enough of the bubbly goodness.
- I am attempting to be an owner-renovator. So far, it’s been challenging and my house is currently covered in about 3cms of plaster dust. However, I love my little house and get excited by the smallest things. Note – do not ever get me talking about blinds, light switches or any other house-related item. I guarantee I won’t stop talking, you’ll be confused and you will regret ever starting the conversation.
- I have an inability to keep things brief. Most of the posts on my blog (including these seven points) were intended to be short and sweet. Eek! I attribute this to having a lot to say and expect that as the weeks roll on, I might stop crapping on so much! Taking a moment to pause, I realize this post is already at 1137 Words… Sorry!
Finally, fifteen blogs that I would in-turn nominate (most of which I am already following and a few I have sourced for this purpose!):
NeverContrary - Funny, open hearted ponderings on life
36ixty5 - Every time these images pop up on my ‘Read Blogs’ page they make me happy
Fibromy-Awesome - A lovely blog
I’m Not Famous and Neither Are You - This girl reminds me of myself, haha! I think her name is Sarah (I joke, I joke!)
The Dissemination of Thought - Hilarious
The Insanity Aquarium - Also very funny
Viciously Sweet - Originally I wanted to illustrate my blog. I failed and admire anyone with such artistic flair!
Cramp My Style - Recently on Freshly Pressed
Brooke and Mckenzie - I just discovered this one yesterday
Blank Stares and Blank Pages - So, so funny
Damp Squid - I don’t really know how to explain this one
Hyperactive Inefficiency - I’ve only just started reading this one
The Waiting - A blog about pregnancy with a really cute ‘About’ page
The Middest Sister - Another funny one with pictures
Consider the Sauce - Omg, a blog dedicated to food in the Western suburbs! What more could a West-side Melbournian need?
Thanks again for the nomination, it was a great chance to discover even more awesome blogs!
I had a flashback the other day to when I was working at a large stationary/office supplier and a customer called me a ‘F*@#ing American’ as he took his purchases. Lovely guy.
I am probably as far as you can get from being American, but being a big fan of the US and of pretty much every single American I have ever met (except that crazy guy who took me to Ireland and cried over dinner), I was very confused as to what he was trying to achieve by calling me this.
I have no idea why that memory popped into my mind, but I started recounting all the crazy experiences I had while working in customer service in my younger years. I realised after running through the numerous times I was yelled at, insulted and disgusted, that with the exception of the one experience mentioned above, they can all be attributed to one thing – I worked in a video store.
After dropping out of my first year of uni, I spent about 18 months working at a massive video store in the suburbs of Melbourne. I had been studying Media arts and working in a video store seemed like the ultimate job for a drop-out.
Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoyed my time there and met some awesome people but at the same time, I came up close and personal with some of the dregs of society.
The New Release Junkies
Probably the worst of all video store customers are the New Release Junkies – the ones who come in at least three times a day asking ‘any new movies? Any new movies?’ It’s like they have a radar and as soon as a delivery guy comes through the store, they magically appear, hovering, grabbing and pleading while you’re trying to establish exactly why you have ended up with 300 copies of The Man Who Sued God and why everything keeps scanning up as Shallow Hal.
The Games Junkies
As above, these people hover, but it’s PC games that they are after. They’re on edge and can literally spend hours in the store or waiting outside, ready to pounce at the first sign of a delivery guy. They know when the games are coming out, they know when they should have arrived and they sure as hell know when you’ve stashed them in the back room until the official release date and they’re going to do whatever necessary to get to them!
The Combination Junkies
So combine the top two, and you’ve got some seriously obsessed people who really need to get out of the house more (and going to the video store and back does not count as an outing)! They hover between the games and the videos, they know the release dates of not only the games, but the movies as well and they have also been known to come in repeatedly on a Saturday hoping that some miracle of miracles has occurred and the delivery driver has decided to bring new stock on the weekend – just for them!
The Porn Hirers
So, if you are someone who hasn’t quite mastered the art of using the internet and you still like to go to a video store and hire the same videos that have been… used… by other people with similar interests, may I suggest that you do not borrow from a video store where the only person working is a perky 19 year old female. In fairness, I was willing to let the odd filthy movie pass by without too much judgement, I totally get it, people have needs, blah blah blah, but when we get to the stage of five pornos for $10, you can rest assured that I am judging!
Our store had two regular borrowers of porn, both of whose faces are quite literally burnt into my memory, even 9 years later. The creepy one was a really old man who would always come in during the day, generally late morning and always take out five videos, all porn. He was sweaty and gross and I used to make every effort to minimise the contact I had with the actual videos while processing his rental, picking them up by the corner to scan them, before flinging them over to the door side of the counter. I had it down to a fine art. I wouldn’t make eye contact with him and he’d be out the door with no more than five words exchanged between us.
No more than forty minutes later, without fail, he’d be back. He’d shuffle in, drop his videos into the returns chute and be off. Luckily each video was only a few minutes in, so it wouldn’t take me long to rewind them all…
The Late Night Creeper
I wish I was in the habit of naming people here as this one had a totally suitable name for the creeper that he was. I was warned as soon as I started working that he would turn up late at night, hover around the store, changing his mind, hassling the staff and trying to stop you from closing… ‘You’ll smell him before you see him’ one of my collagues explained… and oh, smell him I most definitely did!
Our store had two entries and despite keeping us open 15 minutes past closing, he would always insist on departing through the back door (which he knew would be locked), before riding his bike back around to the front door and trying to get back in. This failing, he would proceed to the overnight chute, where he would lift the cover and scream into the store ‘I made a mistake! I meant to borrow the Wizard of Oz!’ Ah, creeper…
The Horrible Children
I absolutely love kids and I am fairly confident that if anything was going to put me off ever having them, it would be working in the video store. Although looking back, I suspect the parents had as much to do with it as the kids did.
There were several horrid children who would frequent our store, but one in particular stands out. She had pigtails and we shall call her ‘Annabella’. Granted, in the real world she would have been cute, however I now associate the name with the screeching of a mother desperate to get her unruly child under control.
The highlight would have to be the day Annabella broke into the ice-cream cabinet and insisted on having one bought for her, which she promptly ‘lost’ and left the store… At closing time (about five hours later), it was found under D in comedy… absorbed into the covers of at least three different movies.
The Vomiting Child
So I totally understand that children get sick and that when they are sick, taking them to borrow videos might seem like a nice idea. Hell, it might even BE a nice idea. However, if you’re one of those mothers who is concerned that they might throw up themselves if they try to clean the child’s vomit up from the entire counter area, I would not only suggest that you do not take your sick child out in public, but that maybe you reconsider motherhood altogether.
Trust me, I totally understand the feeling of ending up elbow deep in your child’s vomit and dry-reaching while trying to remember why I even left the house that morning.
P.s. I think you never coming back to our store was a really good idea.
There were so many more worth mentioning, the people who would ask me to fill in their Centrelink books pretending they’d applied for a job every month… the couples who would launch into an all-out argument in the new release aisle every Saturday night… the creepy guy who used to bring his kids in and stare at me while telling me I looked incredibly similar to Jodie Foster… All those people who kept stealing Eddie Murphy’s Raw and Delirious… That nutcase who accused me of stealing his money and having ‘an arrangement’ because his bank froze his credit card…
To this day, I cannot spend more than five minutes in a video store without getting nervous. I feel myself looking at the people surrounding me and categorising them in my head. Crazy parent. Unemployed with no intention to ever work. Couple who should stop renting movies and leave the house for a change…
If you fit into one of these categories, I apologise for any offense caused. You taught me many valuable lessons in life and for that I am grateful.
A psychic once told me that I was an associate of one certain moustached German dictator in a past life. True story.
To her, this realisation came as a relief as I had apparently been sitting in front of her with a light blazing out of my left shoulder the whole time, (which she insisted is a sign of having taken my own life before). To me, it seemed a little harsh.
She then went on to inform me that in another life I was a butch woman living in the US who drove a wagon and that this current life was my life of being ‘pretty’. Erm… thanks?
This was one of many experiences I have had of psychics throughout my life. I’ve tried palm readers, tarot readers, clairvoyants and numerologists (if that’s a word!) and boy, have I heard some doozies and been given some great inspiration along the way.
The psychic called Kitty - My first psychic was a woman named Kitty, who I saw while at uni. In fairness, she was awesome and it was like sitting down with an aunt to discuss her opinion on my future. At the time, I was getting impatient with waiting for things to happen in life and it was a pretty therapeutic experience. She told me I’d fall in love, get married, have babies, travel and be rich (Score!). She also got my personality spot on.
It was a totally positive and non-weird experience. It was probably also where I should have stopped…
The psychic with kitties - The second psychic was recommended to me by a girl I was working with. It was just before I was heading off on my trip overseas and I was told that she refuses to take payment ‘but you should just leave a $10 donation or a can of cat food, to be nice’. So, who is going to pass up a free psychic reading…?
I made an appointment and rocked up to the dodgiest looking commission housing block I have ever passed. It took me about 10 minutes before realising this was actually the place I was meant to be. I parked my car, put my steering lock on and headed in, texting a friend on the way in case I didn’t make it out alive…
After an awkward start, in which she told me that because I was late that day, I was going to be late my whole life, she started my reading. She asked me to provide most of the information I would expect a psychic to predict – parents names, dates of birth, nationality and family history. As soon as I said we were italian she started saying ‘I’m seeing an M… an M… definitely an M… who died…?’ while I sat in silence, resisting every urge to roll my eyes at her.
The rest of the reading went the same way and let’s be honest, we didn’t click and she gave me nothing. When I stood to leave she stated, bluntly ‘I normally charge $10.’ Okay… I also pulled out my 2 tins of cat food and said ‘my friend told me you have cats?’ she eyed them suspiciously, told me her cats didn’t like the flavour, then took them hastily out of my hands anyway, along with my $10. I made a speedy exit, fearing she was going to put a curse on me if I hovered.
The psychic who saw my past lives - After travelling the world, I ended up living in London and one day decided to go and see a psychic with a friend. My friend was told all about her love life, when she’d return home, who she should be with, etc. This is when I was told about my apparent past lives. In all honesty, I do not remember anything else that this psychic told me, but maybe that’s her strategy, accuse customer of being evil and they won’t remember anything else…
The palm reader - Also in London, and situated not far from the above mentioned psychic, I visited the palm reader with two of my friends. I do believe there’s some truth in palm reading, that your palm records the story of your life and some people can get your personality spot on from looking at it.
That was the situation for all three of us. With one of my friends, he guessed that she had a good sense of rhythm, an appreciation of music and told her that she should be a writer. To the other friend, he said she travels a lot and worked in something to do with travel…
For me, as soon as I sat down he said ‘Erm… how do I say this… although you look really nice and sweet, you are not’. He then went on to explain in detail my tendency to cut people from my life when I feel they have crossed me… and that they most often have no idea what they did… Awkward…
The psychic with no pants on - Another recommendation from a friend, this one reiterated what the first psychic told me. I was still living in London and he told me my life was not there, that my boyfriend was so wrong for me that in my mind I didn’t even have one and that once i found my balance in life, everything would fall into place. He also told me that I would fall in love, get married, have babies, travel and be rich…
I told him that I had seen a psychic several years earlier who had told me the exact same information and his response was:
‘Then stop wasting your money and just listen to what she said!’
The psychic in Williamstown - Back in Melbourne about a year after the psychic above and feeling a bit lost in life, I decided it was time to revisit the whole psychic thing. I unintentionally went to see a psychic who combines tarot and numerology. I had a particular topic in mind which I won’t go into here, but her basic message was that I knew what I wanted and that I should just be open to new opportunities.
However, what she did do was gave me my numerology number and reading for the year. It turns out my birth date makes me an 11, which is the ‘Master Number’ and means I have a greater purpose in this life… I am still figuring out what that purpose is, but will no doubt blog about it once it becomes clear.
The psychic with a friend in the room - I’m not sure how long after the last psychic I saw this one, but she was recommended by a friend of a friend. She worked from home so I headed off to the eastern suburbs one Saturday morning to be enlightened. I was getting a cold at the time and started choking on the incense as soon as I entered the room, so although she recorded the session, it’s mainly a recording of the various stages of my brush with incense-induced death.
The set up seemed fairly normal, except that in addition to myself and the psychic in the room, there was a third person – a small woman sitting opposite me, who clearly didn’t speak english. I believe I was briefly introduced amid coughing fits, but that her presence was not actually explained. Throughout the reading, the psychic would keep saying ‘she is telling me… she has told me… she sees that…’ and I was quite confused as to whether the woman in the room was actually the psychic and was channeling her thoughts through the other woman, or if ‘she’ was someone completely different, and we were all just having some kind of seance, with me in fits of coughs the whole time.
In the reading, I was told that I was meant to work with the environment and that I (again) had a greater purpose in life. Apparently I was to going to return to uni to study environmental science before moving to Asia to volunteer, meeting my husband in the process. To put this in perspective: I struggle to remember what can and cannot go in the recycling bin, I cannot keep a plant alive longer than a month and a four minute shower is my worst nightmare.
I went home to think it over, listened to the recording again, had a giggle and swore I would never see a psychic again. And I haven’t.
So, a couple of lessons I have learnt from these experiences:
1. Do not trust a psychic who has cats
2. Do not judge a psychic who doesn’t wear pants, just keep a safe distance and don’t stare
3. The best psychics are the ones that tell you exactly what you want to hear
4. Everything in life is going to be fine and that $80 is better spent on a new dress