Friday, 30 December 2011

The Faker the Better... Apparently.

Why do so many women have fake nails? As in acrylic, glued-on, tackily coloured false finger nails. It seems an odd thing to spend money and time on when they appear to be nothing more than an unattractive hindrance on everyday activities.
Obviously, as indicated by this blog, I have never had and never will have plastic attachments glued to me – unless they can come up with some brilliant fake wings they can join into my shoulder blades and then I wouldn’t have to face the greatest trial of life which is the airport. But until science catches up with my imagination (not likely) I shall not be upgraded.
The main problem I have with them is that they look really stupid. Sure, you can get small barely noticeable ones which are fine as they just make it look like you have nails unlike some of us who chew them right down to the knuckle, like myself. Those make sense. Anything longer than your nail should be (and I’m talking anywhere from 1cm past your fingertip) and it is just ridiculous. You end up looking like a technicolour Edward Scissorhands. Have you ever had to listen to someone fumbling using a keyboard with those things on? It sounds like a bunch of cats and possums tapping out their adaptation of “Singin’ in the Rain” on a tin roof. It gets extremely annoying after about thirty seconds when the realisation sets in that you will be listening to this for an undisclosed period of time. I’m pretty sure it would be self-defence if the typing extravaganza ended with murder.

The other thing with them is that no matter how intelligent you may be the minute you get these adhesive nightmares attached everyone will think you are a total dumbass. You can witness a person make a slight error and forgive them, laugh it off but if that person has fake nails you will immediately categorise them as a frivolous and vain moron. That’s all there is to it.
I guess they can’t be too stupid in having these falsies given that they can:

a)      Manage to use a toilet
b)      Pick their own noses
c)       Attend to infants
d)      Use balloons
...all without injuring themselves and the other party. It is rather impressive I must admit. I mean it’s not like I’ve ever seen anyone with garishly painted nails sporting a constant bloody nose or skewered newborn.

Friday, 23 December 2011

Deck the Malls: It's Consumerism Season Again

As the festive season has unsuspectingly sprung us all with our pants down – again – I figured it was time to give a few tips before the big day arrived. These tips are not only important around this time but any holiday, event or gathering of more than just yourself. Of course I assume that you, dear reader, are annually bombarded by various friends and relatives. If not, then get some.
It has become imperative in life now to photograph and document every miserable moment of your dull, dull existence but as this is now the age of technology and we don’t have to rely on the town crier and the single literate person in the village to document ourselves we use cameras and social networking.  
Let’s get the ball rolling and begin.
Drinking at any event is a tricky decision. If you are sandwiched between two people who you would have been better off never knowing but forced together due to some apparently similar genes, getting pretty darn wasted seems the only way to escape. We’ve all been there. The down side is that you might get on one of these social media type dealies and let loose. Whilst it is entertaining for everyone who isn’t involved it looks really trashy. But then again so does just turning to them and shouting/slurring “WELL YOOO ARRRA STOOPID SHLLLLAAAAG!!! HAHAHAHAHA!!”. Let your senses guide you.
I don’t know if you’ve ever seen an example of the duck face? It’s a new trend amongst younger women that when a photo is taken they tend to tilt their peace symbols to the side and pout out their lips in a desperate attempt to look gangsta. In reality you just look like a total twat and, as the label infers, a duck. I would hope everyone has got past this but now there is a new trend that every girl seems to be a bit guilty of – myself included – and that is sticking your tongue right behind your teeth when you give a big toothy smile. Some fool must have invented this dumb rule and through the vines of female discussion it has taken over the world! Apparently pressing your tongue against your teeth when you give a toothy smile makes it look more... I don’t know sexy or something but in reality you just notice there is an awful lot of pink fleshy stuff almost protruding from between each chopper. Note to self – don’t do it. Don’t have any holiday photos marked with these to facial afflictions. Other than your own personal facial affliction but there’s nothing I can do about that.
I don’t think people have realised the different standards of dress required to different types of occasions. It seems to me there are way too many guys getting around in board shorts in lieu of real pants. Are they that keen that if they saw any form of liquid they would just dive right in? I’ll let you know if any distant relatives attempt to paddle in my sparkling white wine this year. Also girls are gadding around in thongs (flip-flops – and don’t even get me started I can’t muster enough hatred for these wretched shoes so let’s leave it at that) and big baggy singlets that do nothing but emphasise the fact that they can now wear a brassiere. It ain’t a classy Christmas without seeing some cans.
Usually food is a big deal. Anywhere. At any time. Given that we humans rely on the intake of sustenance thrice daily it makes sense that occasionally we go all out. Because there will inevitably be one item that everyone wants to eat please don’t be that person who swoops in, takes as much as possibly, eats at a ridiculously fast pace and goes back for more all before you’ve even decided to have some. World, let’s make a pact. If you get the greediest person alive at your dinner table feel free to stab them with any implement provided by the host. After all – what are forks for?
All I can say is when it involves distant relatives who are just trying to clean out their garage learn to put on a happy face and then throw it over your shoulder when no one is looking.  

Happy Holidays!

Wednesday, 7 December 2011

Honk if you Hate Bumper Stickers!

Bumper stickers and the people that use them are getting out of control. Sure, we’ve all been use to seeing a small number of stickers motoring by. Maybe a “give peace a chance” here or a “honk if you’re horny” there but nowhere near the number you see these days – I say “these days” as if I were elderly. It’s part of my charm.
I’ve been feeling that if you have to have more than two stickers preaching the same similar message then you are an idiot. You are an idiot for treating your reader as an idiot. If you have a bunch stickers saying “save the whales”, “love is all you need”, “I heart trees” and so on – I GET IT. You throw your vote away come every election time – I UNDERSTAND. For some reason when it comes to car messages we really feel the need to drive the main message home. The main message may only contain a handful of words and colours but they do have a certain sub-text – see the image below…

The sub text of these stickers reads – “I AM A DOUCHE”.
Not only that but if have them all over your back wind shield – as most do – then how the heck do you see? Which brings me to my next point. I have created a formula that helps me manage the days when I see several sticker riddled cars. For every sticker you see on a car deduct ten IQ points. That oughta’ make it a bit easier for you.  Try it with your friends. Now you will understand the cars with all the stickers driving terribly and crushing all those that come into contact with their blind spot as they can’t check any of their windows or mirrors due to sticker overload.
Why do people get them anyway? They are so garish and moronic. Look at this.
Best bumper stickers of 2011? What part of 2011 was really marked with the phrase “Too old to care”? I guess with all the rapture nonsense that was flying around that might do it… but really. Doesn’t the population have any intelligence or dignity anymore?
Oh wait. That’s the other thing – My Family stickers. I’m sure you’ve seen these. Everybody is being really cute with their personalised illustrations of each family member plastered to their car. Wow the little girl likes – what’s that? – oh skipping. Yee-haw. They say that they are individual yet EVERYONE HAS THEM. They’ve also become a great beacon for non-nuclear families. Like ones that just have a mum and two kids – you ain’t got no daddy! Haw haw! Maybe single mums are using them as dating ice-breakers. In their minds Prince Charming will help her get her groceries to the car and notice the sticker and then they will fall in love and blah blah blah. I doubt that very much. I saw one the other day that was two older guys, an older woman and then some kids – is that some sort of messed up ménage a trois situation?
I’ve gone on long enough – my blood is beginning to boil so to ease you out here is an image I found rather amusing.

Monday, 5 December 2011

I emerged from underneath a pile of magnum wrappers to write this for you

Here’s the thing about unemployment – you feel that now you suddenly have all this time to get things done that you never had time for when you were working. Like changing the address on your licence, contacting that person you had meant to eons ago, finally getting out and finding the perfect nail polish colour you have been dreaming about, playing on that new swing set down at the park, trying out the new bubble-tastic bubblegum flavoured toothpaste, collecting all the different types of those little stickers that come on apples and finally watching the entire film of career of Samuel Jackson in one sitting.

As you may have noticed, the useful and important things that you needed to get done gradually evolve into a whole lot of time-wasting activities of which the working population would scorn. The other day I found myself watching the entire series of “16 and Pregnant” and actually feeling proud once I had successfully gawped at every knocked-up teenage girl that was given their own one hour television show. How sad is that? – The fact that I was proud, I mean—I’m aware that the whole teenage mother thing is sad on its own but that is another barrel of pudding reserved for another rant.
Suddenly I find myself yearning to alphabetise the condiments in my pantry or write reviews of everything I own and submitting them into the voids of the internet – needless to say my priorities become largely skewed as well. Labelling the contents of every drawer in the house with colour coded post-it notes is far more important than applying for jobs. After all, opening a word document is far more effort than dusting the shelf displaying my newly discovered beanie baby collection and giving them all hilarious yet sexual poses. Making a single phone call regarding work? Forget it. Watching re-runs of “Pokemon”? Hellz yeah.

You’ve probably deduced that writing a blog is another form of procrastination. At least it makes me sound like I’ve accomplished something remotely productive in a day than just filling my head with reality television nonsense. Again those who live in the working world don’t particularly enjoy hearing the difference in possum mating noises that you learnt on some random Albanian documentary that came on when the remote happened to be miles away.
There are time limits on the processes of unemployment and they look a bit like this:

1 – 2 days – wow I’m out of work – this is so new to me – I’m going to talk a relaxing stroll, maybe see a film and enjoy the day.   
7 days – I think that the house is clean enough now and the fridge sufficiently stocked with the items in which to make delicious and nutritious meals for the coming week. It is, after all, time I learnt how to make a decent roast.

2 weeks – Might be time to start looking for jobs. I’ll just open an internet browser and happen to find myself on ebay... hmm... the possibilities.
A month – What jobs are—Hey! I can see a coin stuck between the floorboards!

Two months – Oh no, wait it’s just a button.
3 months – Jelly beans = meal of the day

6 months – I can now recite most episodes of “Desperate Housewives” by heart.
1 year – Let’s face it I’m never going to get another job as I can no longer communicate with people without them thinking I am homeless – even when they are in standing in my home given the hygienic state of both and the my lacking in eye contact and social norms such as not growling when they get too close to the half eaten packet of Doritos stuck behind a pile of dirty clothes.

2 years -  Cn’t rite – 2 bzy wtchin’ zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...