Me, Myself and I

Sunday, October 30th, 2011 - An introspective random rant


I used to think maybe I was a bit odd, however, lately I've revised my over critical analysis to read, "Veg is the epitome of normal and it is the rest of the world that is out of sync".  Because the biggest barometer a person has for what constitutes "normal" is themselves, no?  Everything else you decide is based on that assumption and is rated by comparison.  I may not think like you, but that's okay.  I may be exceptionally compassionate, I may be nice, or have moments of insanity, or fuck things up spectacularly, or be an evil monster, or just be all of the above.  Every one of us is a composite of ideas.  It's really okay.

I read a lot of blogs.  Theoretically, at least.  In actuality, I read a lot of blogs when time permits or general apathy hasn't rendered me a totally useless dullard.  I read all sorts of blogs too.  Some of you I've known a long time and I consider you actual friends.  I enjoy keeping up with your doings because your doings have a place in my life, they amuse or interest me or keep me sane when things are far from it and they complement a good cup of coffee well.

Some of you are interesting because you're not like me at all.  For example, you might be a corporate executive or gay or religious or a Republican or a serial killer or a mom or a nun or the anti-Christ or someone who embraces push-ups like an old friend.  It makes you interesting, your not being like me.  Because if you were all like me, well holy hell that would be boring.  I'm boring.  I see me every day.  I know how I operate.  You?  Not so much.  I don't mind difference.  I only mind intolerance.

I'm a very liberal person.  I'm not fond of rules.  Now, I didn't say I don't follow them - hell I've lived long enough to know that in these first world lands of the free, you are anything BUT.  But I'm liberal IN MY THINKING to a great degree. If I want to build a liveable tree house in the woods and exist there, I should be able to without anyone's PERMISSION.  I think the tax system is fucked up and that we all pay far too much of it, but it doesn't mean I don't do it.  I think gay marriage should be legal everywhere.  I think prostitution should also be legal.  I don't think I should have to pay taxes for things like schools when I don't have kids.  I think all people should be entitled to health care they can afford.  I should never have to account for myself to anyone unless I've committed a heinous crime.  Other than that, leave me alone to do my thing and I won't get in your way.

I don't like kids either.  I tolerate them. I have severe indifference towards them. They don't make me gooey with adoration or concerned or happy in any way, at least until they get to a respectable age.  They just exist much like I do.  You can't have a decent philosophical discussion with them about the meaning of life or the zombie apocalypse or why we seem so damn afraid of letting them see anything sexual, yet will happily allow them to watch car chases and madmen and bloody gun battles on screen.  Plus you can't send a kid to the store to buy you gin or tequila. They just seem like expensive, hard work.  I like sleeping late when time permits and drinking coffee in a leisurely manner and drinking wine on Friday nights and not driving small people all over the city to sports events.

But I will happily read about you doing it.  Because I don't mind if YOU like kids an awful lot.  I respect that.  Kind of like gratuitous body piercing.  It's not for me, but I certainly support your right to stick a pin through whichever orifice or fleshy part you want in order for you to be "you".

So basically you can be whoever you are and I will most likely approve, regardless of your beliefs.  Unless you are intolerant of people who are not like yourself, then I probably have no time for you, or, for that matter, you for me. If you hate people who are different from you purely because they ARE different from you, then we have a problem.

Them's The Rules

Monday, October 24th, 2011 - What is this early darkness and late lightness thing?  

Quick question:  What does it mean when you wake up singing a Nolan Sisters song from the 1970s, inside your head, in a really exuberant manner?  Because that's happening to me altogether too much lately.  If it's not them it's goddamn Tony Orlando.  I sort of get that though.  I actually LISTEN to Tony Orlando.  Tony Orlando is a smooth, '70s' Casanova of a dude, with muchas body hair and who croons unbelievably cheesy ditties that I like to pretend I'm singing on a giant, velvetty stage in a dark, questionably sleazy lounge bar in Tijuana, surrounded by people with non-ironic moustaches and a glint of deviance in their eyes, instead of in a sweaty heap on the treadmill as I continuously rearrange my bra and make attractive sweat rings on my t-shirt while trying not to die of exhaustion.

What am I talking about?  Who the hell knows?

Anyway, it's almost Halloween and believe me when I say, I like Halloween!  I do.  It's fun in a "I don't do anything particularly for Halloween but I light candles and carve a pumpkin and maybe drink some extra wine" type of way. I like the IDEA of Halloween, I guess you could say.

Also, on the subject of Halloween, I just have to say here, that I enjoy the dress up aspect.  HOWEVER, please people, if you are going to a Halloween party where you're supposed to go in costume, please go as a gnarly old witch or a grim reaper or some chainsaw wielding, in-bred, red-eyed idiot dripping blood or a dark, terrifying demon.  I love that kind of stuff. That's what Halloween is about. Scaring the shit out of people in a controlled manner.  Grossness.  Unease.

Do NOT (if you do not want a kick in the ging gang goolies from me) - and I'm aiming this at the ladies here, in particular - do NOT, go as a sexy school girl, or something "scary" that involves wearing an eye-covering cat mask and an ultra short skirt because I am sick to death of this nonsense. That's NOT Halloween. Here's an easy key for you to remember:

Halloween is about gross and scary.
Halloween is NOT about dressing like a slut

See?  There are no tits on Halloween unless they are zombie tits, all decomposing and nasty.  Dressing as a porn star nurse?  Sexy? Maybe. Scary? NO, NO, NO.  So please stop that.  No matter what boys tell you.

There, those are the rules, now follow them.

Wow, turns out I'm a bit grouchy today, who knew?

Blogging While Intoxicated–Don’t Do It Kids

Friday night – September 30th 2011 – there is a Gnome in my head


I always say, “People, even if you may think it is the awesomest © of all awesome ideas, do not blog while under the influence of narcotics or alcohol!” and I totally stand by that 100%, even though I don’t really always say that, in fact I’ve maybe only said that twice before and both times I TOTALLY lied. 

Like now.  Because…I’m doing it anyway.  And I have faith in my “blogging while a touch smashed” abilities, thank you very much.

Hi!  Several strong gin and tonics and some fizzy white wine and I feel a little like someone disconnected my tongue and my toes and maybe my fingers a little bit and they’re all now working independently of each other, in some sort of global conspiracy against the rest of me and it’s a big old MAYHEM of chaos right here, right now.  But that’s okay.  I’m entirely on top of matters.  Entirely.

Besides.  What’s a little intoxication among friends?  Huh?  Nothing, that’s what.  Even though I’ve already corrected about 529 typos, I persevere.  Because I can do this.  I can do THIS.  And if I gave up now what sort of message does that send?  That I’m a quitter?  That I have perhaps drunk myself blind?  That I really need to pee?  NO!

So yes, it’s true I’m a little drunk.  I have the distinct feeling if you pinched my cheeks really hard right now I wouldn’t even feel it.  My face cheeks that is, not my bum cheeks.  I’d feel my bum cheeks, if you pinched those.  That hurts, damn it, I don’t give a fuck how inebriated you might be. 

I can also taste garlic in quantities probably only legal in NASA experiments.  Oh boy.  Ick. 

Is this the wrong time to tell you how sexy you are all looking this evening?  Because you do.  I would absolutely feel you up in the cab on the way home!

Smooches!

Zehn…

Wednesday, September 28th, 2011 – Indian summer happening, blisters, demons, french fried potaters, mmhmm.
Ten random, not very interesting thoughts to share with the world:

1) Setting the treadmill on the big, “fuck-off incline” setting (I may be paraphrasing) when the weather is over 20 degrees C. out, is not conducive to preserving my delicate calm (thanks a BUNCH Cora for making me feel inferior enough to do it!)   Did you even KNOW that ears can sweat?  Me either!  On the upside it’s a great time to invent some new swearwords.

2) Fun with autocorrect.  My phone uses Swype which I love.  It’s truly awesome and every lazy texter’s dream.  However it keeps making me text people utter nonsense, particularly if you've partaken in a few beverages and aren’t paying proper attention.  For example, swearing loses its effect when you type things like, “Jesus Chrissy!”  Or I’m trying to snarkily call someone a “cocksmoker” but it keeps turning it into “childminder”. You lose your swear impact slightly when you say, “I hate that guy, he’s a total CHILDMINDER!” 

3) There is no better pizza than a supermarket-bought, stuffed crust, four cheese pizza topped at home with an added ton of smooshed garlic, chopped up veggie hotdogs, onions and sundried tomatoes.  NONE!  Try it.  You’ll be kissing my feet with gratitude.  Extra hint: seasoned potato wedges to accompany.  Oh yes!  You WILL swoon.

4) If you like red wine, please do try my favourite, “Banrock Station Reserve”, from southern Australia.  I love the stuff.  DELICIOUS.  Their regular wine is great too but the reserve is just beautiful.  It goes on sale for half price fairly regularly here and that’s when I pick it up!  No they’re not paying me.  Jesus Chrissy, I wish they would!

5) A great song to play while driving if you want to remain calm and unflustered by plebians, is Warren Zevon’s “The Hula Hula Boys”.  For no reason other than it’s relaxing and easy to sing along to in a silly voice.  I can’t find the recorded version for you so that’s a live one. 

6) While it would be nice if my reading glasses made me look like a hot librarian, they make me look more like a bedraggled halfwit at a physics fair.

7) I’ve been doing some research on E numbers and food additives and preservatives and it’s making me never want to eat or drink again.  That is some scary shit, people.  Plus it’s started a war in my body.  I love food.  I am now scared of food.  What to do?

8) I have just finished playing my own fancy version of “Edelweiss” on the ukulele.  Worship me.

9) I’m finally almost caught up with “Fringe” after missing half the last season due to moving etc.  That show is preposterous.  But it’s GOOD preposterous.   It’s like “Lost” and “The X-Files” had a messy one night stand and “Fringe” was the result.

10) There’s nothing wrong with doing things on your own.  Movies, meals, walks.  It’s all good!  Solo power!

I think that covers it.

Where Random Should Be Criminal

Friday, September 23rd, 2011 – feels like Saturday, slightly hungover, hair like rabid woolly mammoth, there is not enough cheese

It’s cold.  Technically it’s really not cold, it’s 15 degrees Celsius, which means it’s really bordering mildly warm, unless you’re a total pussy, which I freely admit, I absolutely am.  But last night I slept in some big, thick, nasty-old, cosy sweat pants because clearly my body has already gone into some sort of winter nesting mode, where it craves warmth all the time.   All of which reared up to bite me squarely on the ass when I woke up SWEATING, blankets all over the place and my bum hanging attractively out of my sweats, because they’re too big, revealing an alarming plumber’s crack type situation, which I’m sure the window cleaner, who showed up at 7:30am this morning REALLY enjoyed.  Note to self: curtains are there for a reason.

So yes, hi!  I’m a touch hungover, I can’t lie.  Long vodkas and wine will do that to a person.  I get the distinct impression vodka and red wine are probably not the best of friends, judging by the atmosphere inside my head this morning and the fact I downed about a gallon of water before I even properly woke up.  And last night I was up watching bizarre movies and being social with alcohol and some friends, as none of us had to be at work today and well…if that’s not a recipe for being belligerent on a week night, I don’t know what is.

It’s come to my attention my hair is reaching Defcon 1 status in terms of looking like it belongs on some feral animal.  When I accidentally (on purpose) forget to brush it, it’s starting to look less loose beachy waves and more “I spent the last week sleeping in the forest” therefore, pretty soon serious measures will need to be taken.  But you all know my luck with salons by now.  It’s an oil and water sort of thing.  I’m terrified of them and they enjoy humiliating me.  I go in all hopeful, clutching fantastical ideas of what I’d like them to do and they nod and concur and placate me then I come out looking as though I asked them to, “make me look like Helena Bonham Carter after a lost weekend in Amsterdam”.  It’s just safer for me to take care of business on my own. 

I’m actually supposed to be doing some design stuff today but man, I don’t feel inclined.  Plus there’s a giant, treadmill-induced blister on the sole of my foot that needs some serious attention.  Ouch.  Send help.  Or cheese.

Mmmm, cheese…

RIP Summer

Monday, September 19th, 2011 – sunny, socks, coffee, dried cherries

Well, it seems that autumn has finally gotten its big, fat foot in the door and is taking up lodging.  The days are shortening, the nights are getting chilly and I’ve been frantically realizing I need to invest in some sweaters again before I wake up one morning and find I’ve turned into Jack Nicholson in “The Shining” when he freezes to death in that creepy assed maze. 

Only with a lot more hair and less psychotic tendencies.  Well, slightly less.  OK, that last one is debatable maybe.

I like autumn/fall a lot actually.  I like the blue skies, clear air and the chill.  I like the orange and red leaves and the creepy Halloween vibe.  I want to bash some conkers together like we used to do when I was a kid.  The only part of the autumn I don’t like is when it ends and that asshole winter shows its face again.  Could we not abolish winter?  Just have three seasons of awesomeness and no cold any more?  I’m going to absolutely instigate this as a law when I’m the ruler of some divine world force that everyone has to bow down to.  Send donations now, please, all those cocktails, wine, cheese and cupcakes needed for my “campaign” won’t be cheap!  I’ll make it worth your while.

Know what might fix things?  Some good coffee, a ukulele and a nice slice of carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.  You with me?

You’ll all be thrilled to know my toe, one month on, is still hurting and still fat as Octomom before she popped.  It is, however, no longer purple.  Just red.  And huge.  And less hurty than it was but still pretty achey and sorry for itself.  “Drink a Kopparberg and shut the hell up, Toe!” I keep telling it, but it never listens.

You guys, if you can find Kopparberg cider, particularly the pear one, anywhere near you, get it immediately, chill carefully and drink the shit out of it.  That’s my advice for the day.  It’s the best advice you’ll ever get. And cider’s made from apples and apples are autumny no?  See?  We’re topical.

I Just Don't Know, Man

Thursday, September 1st, 2011 - Ornery with toe throb, urge for mischief

Ha, you guys, welcome to September, which seems like a big old ball of excrement to me because for the most part, I had next to no summer with lots of rain and now it's almost over and I'm still white as a ghost and full of the crank. Pretty soon winter will be thundering into town again, about as welcome as a foul-mouthed, old, racist aunt who smells like rolling tobacco, lavender and Michael Bolton's jock-strap. Thanks a LOT, winter.

It's especially pout-inducing, as I had to hear, daily, about how most of you people spent this summer boiling in the centre of the Sun and were practically expiring from the oppression of surviving in the fiery pits of hell, with your, "GROAN, it's just TOOOOO hot to do anything!" and your, "Please send us some rain!" and BOO HOO HOO, you fuckers, man up and shut up.

No, I'm not bitter. What made you think that? Sniff. I LIKE rain.

Anyway, I'm getting a little sunshine this week at least, so I will turn into a sappy old hippy and scatter daisies in my wake and sing that "Age of Aquarius" song and be generally as happy as a sprinkle of ice cold unicorn sweat on a hot afternoon.

I heard unicorns sweat gin and tonic, is that true?

I also found the perfect merging of ingredients to make frozen strawberry margaritas that are restaurant quality. Seriously. They are that good. So they have been icing down my mood and icing down my toe, simultaneously. Isn't that nice? Even my giant, deformed sausage-toe agrees. In fact, it suggests it needs its medicine daily. I wouldn't argue with deformed sausage-toe, because it ALWAYS knows best. Pass the tequila.

Now if only it would fit back in a shoe...