Friday, 3 August 2012

15 - 20 Minutes

I recently got given the “Sims 3” and while I wait for them to slowly die (I locked ‘em all in one big room) I was thinking - why do different measures of time worry us more than others? Have you ever realised the difference between fifteen and twenty minutes? Other than five. Duh. I didn’t start a blog to write about numbers.
Why is it that if we are waiting for take-away food or a prescription or a table at a restaurant and the person working there says “about 20 minutes?” we tend to get a little bit outraged. Twenty minutes? Did she just say TWENTY minutes? This place wants an extra twenty minutes of my valuable time? I’m upset! I could do any number of things in 20 minutes – fall in love, see France, write a novel – WHY ARE YOU TAKING THESE THINGS FROM ME!?
The difference is if they say “fifteen minutes”. Fifteen minutes? Sure. That’s manageable. Fifteen minutes doesn’t seem like much time... only three intervals of five minutes which flit by all the time – twenty, however, forget it.
Why is that?
Like if I’m late. I’m running through the house furiously grabbing most things on the way out in the hope that it’s the item I need only stopping to check the time and noticing – oh... I’ve got twenty whole minutes – that’s loads of time. I don’t need to worry about hurrying. In fact, I could paint my toenails or knit a scarf in that time! Bah!
If I look and it’s fifteen minutes – just five less – holy crap! I’ve only got fifteen flipping minutes to get to work! I’ll never make it! Even if I just close my eyes and just keep driving through red traffic lights, cyclists and wildlife I’ll never get there in time! Eeeeeeee!!
It seems weird that twenty minutes seems like a long time but fifteen minutes seems like no time.

Small Sad Girl

Here's a cartoon I drew...

Tuesday, 15 May 2012

The Festi-Girl

I went to a music festival this weekend.

I enjoyed it.
The only problem was once I walked through the festival gates all I saw was this.

I then realised I had discovered a new species – the festival girl. Also known as the Festi-Girl.
Given their attire and the temperature at this particular festival I can only hope that they will soon become endangered. More on that in a minute.
The festival girl is a young woman (most likely a teen) who attends a music festival in the hopes of ensnaring a partner by wearing little clothing and racing about the place. The fact that the purpose of the very festival is to listen to music is irrelevant. They call to one another in high pitched squeals and often embrace by throwing their arms and legs around the other person and spinning around. For example “SaaaaaarrrrrrrraaaaaAAAHHAHHHHHH!!!” Imagine that the capitalised letters are in a higher tone. And by “higher tone” I mean blood will gently cascade from your ears.
These girls attend music festivals in little packs so as to attract as much attention as possible from moronic young males who can be seen wearing hats with little propellers on them and tight, tight pants. When the two sexes meet they interact with a dialogue consisting of monosyllabic responses punctuated with giggling and hair flicking.
Before their targets have been sucked in they need to prune themselves into an appropriate state of skankiness. This involves each girl in the group choosing a complete outfit which makes them looks like they’ve stumbled out of a forest having been lost for at least three days without shelter.
Let me explain. Starting from the top. The festival girl likes their hair to be long, messed up and often badly dyed. They believe that festivals are a time to reunite with 70s era (not that they are aware as anything that happened less than a year prior is not worth knowing) by wearing a band around their heads which often pulls their raggy hair up in an odd bun. This is to make them seem bigger and more of a threat to other festival girls that may be “snakin’ [their] man”.
Then there’s the make-up. In the words of every great consumer “more is more” and these festival girls certainly provide. Under their layers of foundation, which are only a colour match to the rest of their bodies in the dark, are several million layers of fake tan. This fake tan covers their entire bodies and they feel that looking orange, brown and speckled in most areas is the best way to achieve a state of true beauty.
Now if the messy hair and dirty looking skin doesn’t make you think they’ve emerged from a hedge then just check out their “clothes”. Festival girls prefer to wear clothing that leaves very little to the imagination. After all they have to be quick about their advances to the opposite sex after all any minute they might grow up and be taken seriously. First, I assume there is basic underwear – often their brassieres, which hold nothing but scrunched up tissues and a lot of hoping, are on display for everyone to see. In the world outside the festival it is more appropriate to cover this up but as it is a festival the illusion of covering it up is all that is necessary which is why festival girls where a singlet that looks like it has been through a lawnmower. Next come the shorts. A festival girl must show off as much leg as possible. It is a double bonus if they can get away with their bottoms hanging out the back. Usually they take regular pants and cut them to within an inch of their life, leaving the now exposed pockets to dangle limply against their orange thighs. It is not in a festival girls’ knowledge to check the back of their thighs for cellulite and cover up as festival girls are not designed to look backwards – always forwards. Possibly upwards. Add some oversized lace-up boots and we’re done.
Over the course of the day I noticed every festival girl I saw looked a) exactly like the one before her and b) miserable. I was confused. Why would they attend a music festival – which is meant to be fun – only to look sour? Then I realised. A festival girl’s life is filled with drama. If they have no drama going on then they die. Festival girls live in a state of anger, shame, guilt, confusion and lust. These emotions usually culminate in a series of episodes which they act out during the day such as: cheating on someone, being cheated on, actually speaking your mind, getting insulted, losing your friends in a crowd and being unbelievably unprepared for the weather.
Which leads me to my final point... when you think of a music festival you think of sunny skies, green grass, heat, snow cones and laughter. The music festival I was attending was in a climate where my car was covered in ice by the time I went home. Needless to say that an anorexic pair of shorts wouldn’t cut in this weather. I would look pretty miserable too if I had dressed entirely for the opposite sex and under the pressure of my festival girl group – mostly because I would be cold. I was wearing a snow jacket and ear muffs and I was having a great time! I can only assume since the festival ended at a temperature of -2 degrees that they perished.
One can only hope.     

Collective Noun for Celebrities = a Hot Mess

I was recently held down and forced to watch films such as "Valentine's Day", "New Year's Eve" and "He's Just Not that into You".

In the midst of hysteria I came to this conclusion...

Friday, 11 May 2012

You Need to Literally Sing Your Guts Out, Preferably on the Judges

Okay. We’ve all seen those singing reality shows where any jo-schmo is forced onto the stage and therefore into the homes of thousands of unwilling families. You could argue that it is all our choice about whether we participate or watch or don’t watch but I’m sure each of you has seen at least one episode and understands that people go on, sing, and are harshly judged in a variety of ways until there is only one person left standing. From what I can gather you need to be well dressed – and by that I mean fitting into one genre of dress – basically you need to make your own brand and stick to it without the help of a marketing manager. These can include – skanky, rocky, alternative... and old... and that’s about it. That aside what I’m really getting at is that whenever there is an ad for these shows they always show the judges looking flabbergasted (obviously) and then a series of contestants who proceed to open their mouths as wide as they possibly can. It seems to me if you want to go far in the music/reality business you need to be able to fit the whole microphone in your mouth in one go or else you will be eliminated for not “feeling it” or having enough “passion”.
Passion directly equates with the width of your mouth.
And the only real way you can legitimately open your mouth that wide is if you are singing out one really long, continuous note with your eyes closed as if you are lost in that one moment. Here is a picture I drew to illustrate.

As you can see – this cartoon would clearly win as their eyes are closed and they could easily deep throat the microphone whilst singing some stupid ballad like “You are the Wind Beneath my Wings”.

Once their song is all over then everyone will jump around and start clapping and honking like sea lions and the contestant will say something lame mushy like “I’ve wanted to be a singer since I was a foetus” or “I just want to make someone in my extended family proud who may or may not be dead” and all that contrived nonsense. Meanwhile I just feel very, very tired.

Sunday, 6 May 2012

Just a Thought: Showering

Here’s a topic I have been grappling with for a while—


And when people take them.

People who are hygienic tend to have at least one occasion of cleaning themselves per day. I understand that there are those who come from much colder climates and don’t tend to perspire as much and thereby shower less - please note that still freaks me right out. Then there are those, like me, who live in ridiculous heat and humidity. If you’ve ever been in a sauna then you’ve been in my country. There’s nothing quite like walking through what feels like someone else’s heat waves 24/7. Clearly this means that you tend to be a lot sweatier than the average bear and must bathe to avoid social ostracism.

 I take one shower a day – at night. Unless I’ve been intermittently mud wrestling in manure, in which I may bathe more, I will have one showering experience every twenty-four hours. Some people take two. This doesn’t make sense. Why have a shower before bed and then when you wake up again in the morning? Some say it wakes them up for work. I say it is odd considering the act of showering is to cleanse oneself and unless you are practising extreme zumba in your sleep and sweating profusely then it is just a waste of water. Then there are those who only take one shower – in the morning. This also doesn’t make sense. Why drag the sweat of your day into bed with you at night? Who wants to sleep in the germs they have accumulated throughout a day? You may have rubbed up against all kind of nasties and now they are invading your boudoir (oo-err).

In the summer you don’t have to be an obese teen jumping around in an enclosed Justin Beiber concert for five hours to rack up a righteous stink. In fact it only takes pulling off the sheet and sitting up in the morning to be covered in a layer of perspiration.

All in all if you don’t have at least one shower at night time then I’m not going anywhere near your bed without a disposal chemical protection jumpsuit.

Monday, 16 April 2012

I Want a Disney Sidekick

I’ve grown up with Disney princesses. Anyone who hasn’t – hasn’t had a real childhood in my opinion. After all – what’s a childhood without idealised expectations of men, the world and everything turning out alright in the end which you carry throughout your entire adult life? Sure this gets a bit tricky when you’ve been repeatedly cheated on by a less-than-princely ass and no one will hire you and your car breaks down AGAIN and your favourite boots are officially dead. We all have our crosses to bear but the way the princesses in the films deal with it is by confiding in their sidekicks. Having watched each film about a billion times I decided that I, too, need a Disney sidekick. Given how many there are it takes a bit of thought as to what meets your criteria.
First, I don’t feel much attachment to the really old Disney films so I’m immediately eliminating these kinds of characters.

Sure they if they could talk they might come out with old timey phrases like “Spiffing outfit Miss” or “Golly that is tough!” but then I assume they would also have a set of moral codes and values from that era who wouldn’t come in handy when I ask them “so... it’s cool to go to third base on the first date, right?”. Their little cute animated eyes would probably turn dark and then they’d burst out with “GET BACK TO THE KITCHEN YOU VILE WHORE!” So that’s a no.
 Then you’ve got the tough toss-up between characters that can talk and characters that can’t. Sure I’d want someone feisty now and then that would come out with hilarious quips at the right moment – like Iago.

But maybe not a character that is voiced by Gilbert Gottfried as that could get really annoying after a while.  Sorry Gilbert, but how do people tolerate you? Also if you are going to choose a talking character make sure they don’t sound like complete morons.

Sure it may be cute for a while but I don’t think anyone could handle this lot for more than fifteen minutes without jamming them in a blender and then wedging that inside a microwave.

Then there’s Sebastian from “The Little Mermaid” sure he has a hilarious Jamaican accent and would add “mun” at the end of every sentence but he’s so sensible and boring. If you choose him he’d be just like another parent only stricter and more pinchy. Even Flounder is a pain

– poor Ariel – no wonder she wanted to be on dry land where these conscience-bound sea critters couldn’t bother her anymore.  
 But then I’d also want a character that could just give me adorable looks that say it all and make me forget about my woes and melt at their pure cuteness – like a kitten or something. Like Pascal.

Then there are other non-talking creatures like Abu from “Aladdin” who could steal me things but may give me diseases like Milhouse in “The Simpsons”.
That and he gets on my nerves with his incoherent screeching.

I guess I’d rather go with the non-talking character. So that rules out the other awesome ones like the genie from “Aladdin”, Phil from “Hercules” and Kronk from “Emperor’s New Groove”. Shame but you have to be ruthless.

I also think it is important to have an animal or creature as your sidekick. If you had chosen Kronk people might wonder why this huge guy was following you around everywhere – sure he’d make delicious dinners but your significant other might get a little confused  and suspicious. Plus if you went on holidays you would have to buy him his own seat – which leads me to my next point.
 You also have to think practically. Whilst Rajah the tiger from “Aladdin” was my absolute favourite as a child and has made me want my own tiger as a pet for eons (except not so much after I found out that tigers, in real life, mark their territory by spraying stink out of their butts) but tigers are quite large. Given that I don’t live in a fuck off huge palace I doubt I could handle a tiger in my apartment without everything getting broken at once. Therefore size is important. You need to choose a small creature – preferably pocket size to avoid suspicion. After all you don’t want everyone pawing at your little creature – or locking you in a crazy house for an undisclosed period of time.

Which brings me to my next point. Don’t pick something that is actually imaginary. As much as the “Hunchback of Notre Dame” was a trippy and confronting film (check out Quasi’s face) I’m pretty sure that weird statue trio were just statues. I mean if you tried to explain that they just happened to “come to life” when no one else was around I think you would be put away. Though Quasi kind of already was put away... Hmm...

Next point – you should only have one. Loads of Disney ladies have two or more but this is just being greedy. Besides you don’t want your creatures having little off to the side shenanigans without you. The main point of this companion is to heed to your every thought and action. Okay sure maybe if you had more they could rally together and surprise you with a bottle of wine every now and then – or a necklace that was once your mother’s that got broken when a white guy shot Coco-um and he accidently ripped it to shreds as he fell slow motion into a puddle. That could come in handy. It sure helped Pocahontas. But Meeko, to me, whilst being smallish and mute is kind of a pain in the ass. He seems to have ADD and never stops breaking things and getting into mischief. Mischief exhausts me which is why I would rather have Disney characters running around my home than children.   

I think my final choice is just going to have to be the chameleon from “Tangled”. I know that goes against all the classic characters that Disney has made in the past but... I watched “Tangled” last night and now that’s all I can think about. HE’S SO DAMN CUTE! ARRRRGGGGHHH!!

Who would you choose?

Thursday, 12 April 2012

Actual Stories from my Actual Life

As my days now consist of sleeping, eating all the things, watching useless television, applying for jobs and trawling the internet I've now realised that my internet time is now translating itself into my everyday life.
I told you earlier that I have discovered memes. Specifically this one...

Which makes me laugh - A LOT.

So I dabbled in making my own.

Then an incident happened. Boyfriend, dearest, was making a toasted sandwich and instead of waiting for it to cool down this happened.

I actually imagined myself with this face when saying "You don't say?" Is that worrying? Maybe only if I wake up and have actually turned into a cartoon of Nicholas Cage. At least I'd get a laugh!

Friday, 30 March 2012

Common Courtesy, Where Art Thou?

Is etiquette dead?
Sure there are occasions when someone says “thank you” or “please” or holds a door open for you but I’ve noticed recently that there is no etiquette in cultural places.
The other week I went to the art gallery in a sudden show of cultural interest. It was very interesting and in this case I wanted to read all the little plaques that went alongside the images. That wasn’t going to happen. Not only was the place fit to bursting with middle – to old age people gawping, narrowing their eyes and taking off their glasses to get a better look at stuff but they managed to hog every damn article in the joint. If they weren’t practically pressing their faces up against the glass then they were discussing loudly about how this relates to last night’s episode of “The Bill” and how “My Wesley could’ve painted that.”

By the time I managed to elbow other people out of the way to stand directly in front of a piece then a fat older woman would barge right in front of me and bend over. I was literally staring at ass against my will. Excuse me? If I wanted to see sweat pants working that hard I’d go to a McDonald’s. I didn’t come here to be nauseated – not by the other patrons at least.
Have these people reached their older years and gone “You know what? I’ve been polite long enough. Fuck the youth. They can stare at my fat ass all day long.” That doesn’t seem very fair. (Flash forward into the future where I am MC Hammer dancing in front the Mona Lisa whilst knitting) – HA that would never happen. I can’t knit.

I thought the older generation were the ones who were meant to tell us off for being rude? I thought it was meant to be the younger generation that weren’t taught proper manners or discipline and were then brought up by poor defenceless teachers. Apparently not. Or apparently yes and I just got a particularly rowdy bunch of elderly persons. One of the ladies was wearing a sun visor – INSIDE. Is this a rebellious fashion choice? Like wearing sunglasses at night? Take it from me – do not mess with a woman wearing a sun visor indoors. She might eat you and assimilate your youth as her own. For that matter if you see a young person wearing a sun visor indoors – RUN!

Tuesday, 20 March 2012

Why Going on a Job Interview is a lot like a Blind Date

-        You wish you didn’t have to go. You feel sick and regret ever making any move towards this moment but still have some slight glimmer of hope and possibility that this could all end well

-        You have no idea what you’re in for – it could be really relaxed, it could be uptight, you might have to do an unexpected test the minute you’ve walked in the door

-        You always overdress

-        You get asked stupid questions that seem like the other person is generally interested but actually it is just a ploy to silently judge all that you choose to say like “tell us a bit about yourself”. Where do you go with that? I doubt they want to hear about my chronic disorder that makes me want to stab people in the neck with a pencil. Is it a question about my personal values? Favourite Colour? WHAT?

-        You feign interest at everything the other person says often laughing really loudly to try and hide the fact that you didn't find it funny at all

-        You feel the need to escape to the bathroom every five minutes

-        The questions they ask force you to talk for an extended period of time as if a silence will kill both of you

-        You desperately want to check the time and how long this charade has gone on for but you manage to use all your willpower to avoid revealing how bored you actually are

-        You end up with a sore jaw after forcing yourself to constantly smile for so long in order to seem friendly

-        You lie A LOT

-        You always leave feeling that the whole event was terrible

-        You sigh a huge breath of relief when it’s all over and you can take of your stockings

Sunday, 18 March 2012

Dub Step: Sounds of Sci-Fi and Pingers

Recently, I had the most unfortunate experience of accidently lending my ears to the new genre of music which is labelled “dub step”. Good ol’ reliable Wikipedia had a definition ready for me which states that dub step consists of ‘“tightly coiled productions with overwhelming bass lines and reverberant drum patterns, clipped samples, and occasional vocals”’. In layman’s terms this means a lot of jangly noise you could do without, but if tied to a chair and forced to listen then the intake of many, many multicoloured illicit drugs are a must-have.
This “genre” seemed to gently slip its way into the music scene, if you ask me. One minute I was listening to the new Britney Spears’ song (don’t judge – and, yes, it sucked), bopping away at her stupid lyrics and girlish yet skanky tones when suddenly a transformer with a booming voice and a stutter must have crashed through the walls of the recording studio and had at it with the microphone. Meanwhile Britney must have been crushed in the frenzy as she only returns in the song to reiterate what has already been said and therefore already been recorded.
Basically dub step sounds like this:
“BOOOOOOO BA BA… MMMmmm T-T-T-T-T-T VVVVVVVWWWWWAAAAAA… Brrrrr Dun zz zz zz zz zz. Woooooooooooooooooooooooo. WA WA WA WA WA Wa Wa wa wa wa… boom boom tsk tsk tsk”
And repeat for what feels like hours.  

Sorry, how is this music? These are just sounds. Noises.
If I wanted to know what a washing machine and a waffle ironing wooing one another with sounds would be like – this is it.
Sure listen to it at the clubs where everyone’s main goal is to get with someone without seeming like they went to the club in the first place to get some as this becomes obnoxious back noise that doesn’t make people feel awkward. I would feel awkward though – how do you dance to that? There’s no poppy lyrics telling you to “put your hands up” or “jump, jump, jump” so what is there to do when you are being told, in song, by Optimus Prime to… … who knows? Seems like you need to be able to manipulate time in order to dance in slow motion with – at least – an expression on your face which makes you look as if you are stuck in a vacuum cleaner yet really nonchalant about the whole affair.   
In summary – and in case you hadn’t already guessed – not a fan.

Friday, 9 March 2012

Life Aids (oo-err)

I find life can be quite challenging. And by life I don't mean rocket science or something deviously tricky but rather the day-to-day activities that everyone seems to have mastered. Everyone except me. First, I find travelling in a car rather difficult. Mostly because I find driving is an unnecessary stress that we should all avoid but given the place where I live has really bad public transport then that is out. Driving stinks but driving when you don't know the roads or where they are taking you is much, much worse. If you have a decent navigator that gives you adequate warning as opposed to"You need to turn NOW! NOOOOW!! NOOOOO!! THAT'S TOO FAR - YOU MISSED IT!! AHHHHHHHHHHH!!" then you might be okay. When you are flying solo, however, signs and directions increase in complexity tenfold. Therefore, I need this...
Then, once I've made it to my destination (most likely the supermarket - I mean, come on, who doesn't always want delicious chocolatey snacks every waking minute of the day? -- What's that? Huh? -- Oh sorry, I think I can hear my oncoming diabetes calling). The supermarket is a challenge in of itself. I'm always trying to save money here or there so I tend to fall for the advertisers' trap of buying what's on special. Damn those little brightly coloured tabs. Having said that they aren't always the best buy. So instead of taking the time and effort to work it out I need this...
I somehow manage to get home and decide to read a book - but which book? I don't want to waste precious time reading something that won't move me to a higher level of being. Or at least provide mild entertainment. So then there's this...
And finally the one we are all in need of...
NOTE: If you blame any of the previous issues on the fact that I am of the female sex then I will reach through your screen and squish your little monkey face between my claws.

Tuesday, 28 February 2012

In Da Howwwwwwwse!!!

Recently I’ve been watching a lot of “House”... And by “a lot” I mean all day and by “recently” I mean the last few days... each episode is about 40 minutes or so and I have access to seven seasons...

Because I’ve been watching so much I’ve pretty much broken down the formula of the show. Each episode begins with a random patient in their everyday life and they either have a seizure, faint or blood pours from some orifice. In some of the later episodes, however, the writers are desperately trying to trick the audience by having one person in pain only to have the helper fall down and need House’s help. Very clever.
The episode then goes on with all three co-doctors (who have kind of lame sub-plots which boil down to who is sleeping with whom and why do I care) scurrying about in a snappy attempt to get this patient better. In the first twenty minutes they think they’ve got this disease licked and the patient will go home skipping in glee the whole way in a matter of seconds. Oh no but wait now they are a) seizing or b) bleeding/vomiting blood. Cue more diagnoses and House throwing in mean quips the whole way through and eventually we reach the end of the episode with a dramatic curing of the almost dead patient.
Well done, Monsieur Maison.
It seems to me the writers just find the most random and rare breeds of disease they can and go from there... I don’t get why there isn’t a medical database that you can just tap in the symptoms and Bob’s your uncle/medical practioner... I guess there wouldn’t be much witty banter that way.
Now as I’ve been sitting around the house watching “House” (huh huh) I’ve taken on the shows language and behaviour. My man friend will come home and as he is an ambulance operator he returns from a case only to be badgered with questions from me like “Was this patient’s liver shutting down? Were the kidneys shutting down? Did all the vital organs begin shutting down?”.
Noticing a pattern? In the show the characters will always refer to the organs in a constant state of “shutting down” – seriously get a phrase thesaurus or something... the organs couldn’t be decreasing in function? Worsening? Conking out? Backfiring? Taking a one-way train to fail town?
Then it got weirder (for my man friend anyway) as I got a splinter in my foot and began limping around the house barking out acronyms as if they meant something. “Quick! I need an AKR on the FT stat! We need to get a LMD or this sucker will be deader than a road kill weasel.”
Aside from this I write the contents of the fridge on the windows as a homemade white board and discuss what can be made with aforementioned ingredients only to reject every idea that is given eventually making a strange concoction of my own at the risk of everyone involved.
Now I may sound like I’m coming off all cool and totally adapted to the show but at the same time any needle, body fluid or surgery comes on screen I get chills down my spine and need to cover my eyes. I guess I’m only fit to act as a doctor not be one. Just like House! And to ALWAYS jump the conclusion that it’s lupus.

Monday, 27 February 2012

Not Dead... Yet...

Ahoy thar loyal readers!
 Or just any readers.
If you've been wondering "what the heck happened to that weird 'Irony and Pie' blog chick who seems to despise all the things - well here I am! I ran out of inspirational steam and then all this life got in the way. Therefore this entry will merely consist of what I've been up to of late - and it does contain more than watching Hardcore Pawn (please note the spelling).
Well. First. I got rather unwell. My skin began to feel very painful and every touch was like a dagger. Not very people-friendly when your significant other is trying to pat your head to make you feel better and you just scream out "OWWW!! YOU'RE KILLING ME, DAMMIT!". Then I suffered a particularly bad fever which made me rather delusional so I ended up much like this kid...
To make matters worse (or better/more entertaining) I began to invent some new products that I thought - in my crazed state - would help mankind and make me millions upon squillions of monies. I'm not even joking - I was sitting on the floor of the shower garbling nonsense about these "great and new ideas" apparently.
The first was for those who happen to have fake legs. Instead of an almost flesh coloured, really obvious detachable limb that you were too shy to wear shorts with then try this - The amputee fishtank!

Now you too can enjoy the breezy benefits of shorts, skirts and skorts with the knowledge that people aren't staring at your fake leg because it seems alien and unfamiliar but because there are wildlife in there! Forget platform shoes with a few lifeless goldfish in them - try a whole school of tropical and aquatic life! If you are a larger individual why not try to fit a shark in there? Get a work-out all the time hoisting this bad boy around the town - you will get thigh muscles that resemble tree trunks.
Naturally, I had worked out the kinks such as self-cleaning walls and a light and heating system depending on your location.  

Then I came up with detachable hands. Why bother clumsily holding different things, never quite getting the full use of mastery out of certain objects? You only need to have a short, sharp dose of back alley surgery and you're on your way! Then simply pop off your current hands and clip on new ones!

Also available - blending tool hands, knife hands, mobile phone hands and so on and so forth.
I now realise that I was just coming up with odd attachments in lieu of actual body parts. I'm like Quentin Tarantino and that film about the girl with the gun for a leg. I wonder if he came up with that in a similar state as I did?
In this ill time I also had a bunch of job interviews (at last!) but still haven't heard anything (typical). Though I'm not completely surprised at that response as, despite my excellent performance, I did resemble a drug addict attempting to go cold turkey given my sweaty and extremely pale appearance and my struggle to remain sitting upright.

Other then being ill I got the worst sunburn I've had in the last ten years all across my back and shoulders. This made putting on a shirt everyday like this...

I also discovered memes. As you may have guessed. The internet and its jokes are now ruling my being.

And finally I became a bridesmaid.

And that mes amis is what I have been doing.

Hopefully I'll have more material for ya reeeeaaal soon!

Tuesday, 14 February 2012

Respond to this *grabs crotch*

So, I’ve been applying for jobs. I have lost count of how many I have applied for in the last couple of months and I can’t believe how many damn applications I have written. It really frustrates me that these different organisations have the nerve to write something on the “careers section” of their website that basically says “if you don’t put many, many hours into your application then you can just forget it”. It drives me crazy. Why the hell should I spend over three hours writing specific answers to your ridiculously vague and redundant selection criteria questions? Or rather, why the hell should I spend that time, make it as good as it can be, only to not hear from you – ever?! No wonder people get depressed when they’re out of work. I mean, they spend so much time writing, getting their hopes up and trying their best only to be knocked down for reasons that will NEVER be explained.
I’m ranting. I KNOW. Anyway here are my REAL responses to selection criteria questions. The answers you would love to send in but know that if you did you would probably get black listed forever more. Here we go.
1.       Applicant must have excellent written and communication skills

Well let’s see. I was born, learnt to talk and then went to school and learnt to read and write. You can see so far that I have not misspelled anything and the sentences seem coherent. If you would then read these lines aloud – that’s how I talk. Okay? Why do I need to spend the time to write down how good I am at communicating? Can’t you see that it is ironic that I am writing about how good I am at writing? This is the first question and I’m already bored to tears. What’s next?

2.       Applicant must work well within a small group. Give an example

Sure I do. I have got along with everyone I have ever met and/or worked with forever. I am like Jesus – everyone loves me.
Okay. So one time I was working at this place – I’m not saying where because you might actually check up on this and discover it didn’t actually happen – though it TOTALLY did. Believe it. Anyway a bunch of co-workers were standing around the water cooler (in a small group) discussing the latest celebrity gossip. I walked over there and smacked the little plastic cup out of one of the guy’s hands, kicked him in the shin and told him to “GET THE F*** BACK TO WORK, YOU SLACK, LAZY PRICKS”. And they did. Productivity was up tenfold thanks to yours truly.

3.       Applicant must maintain professionalism at all times. 100 –  300 word response.

What, that wasn’t professional enough for you?
F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU,
F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU,
F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU,
F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU,
F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU,
F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU,
F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU,
F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, F*** YOU, Screw Flanders!

4.       Applicant must be able to work well unsupervised. Give an example

In my previous occupation, I was often left alone and was able to complete all the tasks required without the need to frequently consult any superiors.
Here’s what really happened – at my last job, when I was left unattended I proceeded to put as many office supplies on my person as possible in order to create my own stationery supply store in my place of residence. I would also use the internet to its full extent – social networking, surfing the web, sending hate mail to customers and using Google to search inappropriate yet hilarious topics such as “how do I hide my crack habit from my boss?”. Meanwhile, I would be using the company phone to call relatives who live overseas and prank other co-workers by telling them I was their stalker who knew where they worked and was coming to kill them.
If I’ve actually got this far without throwing my laptop out the window then I’m doing well. I feel that I should get the job based on this fact. Chances are you, dear future employer have stopped reading, well then let’s get as creative as possible.
5.       Give examples of your computer literacy
Examples? Really? I mean, searching for your criteria online, finding your job application online, responding to crap criteria in a word document, typing, opening email, typing email, attaching crap criteria to email, sending email to you isn’t all example enough of what I’m clearly capable of doing? No? You want me to list the programs I used to do the previous? Internet Explorer, Microsoft Word, Microsoft Outlook ETC. What more do you want? Given that I am a product of this constantly advancing technological world and that I can use an iphone, I’m pretty sure I can handle anything you throw at me. Bitch, please.
6.       Explain your interest in this position
Duh. No one goes out thinking – boy I would really LOVE to be picked on and frustrated by other stupid individuals who happen to be working in close proximity to me at this moment. I’m interested in the salary side of things. Not undertaking mindless tasks for eight hours a day whilst trying to block out the smell of cat food on my co-workers breath as they tell me, for the fourth time today, about their divorce.
I also feel that this question requires me to gargle your company’s balls by saying that I have such a keen desire to work for you and how great the company is and blah blah blah.

7.       Tell us a bit about yourself. We want to get to know you!
First, your explanation mark at the end of that sentence angers me greatly which leads me to my second point. In my spare time I enjoy hunting down villains and hacking them into little pieces with a sharpened ladle and sprinkling their body parts on my neighbour’s lawn like confetti. Honestly, what do you want me to say to this question? You couldn’t give a flying stink bucket in terms of “what I’m all about”. I feel there is no “right” answer to this. I’m clearing telling you what I can do for you as an employee and I really feel that my personal interests and hobbies are in no way relevant to that fact. Sure if you really hate the elderly then applying for an aged care facility isn’t the way to go – or at least not telling them that fact anyway. Here’s all you need to know. I am unemployed. I need food to live. Food is often gathered via a monetary exchange. That is where you come in. Give me money and I will do stuff for you. Explanation mark.
And there you have it. Selection criteria complete and I didn’t even have to burn everything in sight. Just most things.

Monday, 30 January 2012

The Duck Face Through History

So I figured this blog needed some culture... to an extent. Therefore I have compiled a chronological list of different art works that happen to contain the well known duck face. If you don't know what the duck face is - somehow you managed to escape its pouty wrath - here is what urban dictionary has to say:
"A term used to descibe the face made if you push your lips together in a combination of a pout and a pucker, giving the impression you have larger cheekbones and bigger lips."
Or better yet this:
"Stupid facial expression put forth by stupid [people] that don't know how to smile. The Duckface is made by moving both lips has far up and outward as possible..."
I've realised that seeing the presence of this facial expression through centuries of art makes it apparent that this "face of a duck" is not such a recent development. I now argue that it is encoded in our DNA as homo sapiens. Perhaps this was a way of prepping yourself in order to gain the fittest mate. Maybe bigger lips are an outward sign to any approaching mate that you are capable of performing certain tasks better than any other? And by that I mean warding off predators by confusing them into thinking you are a large duck with the ability to smother them in a painful yet pouty death. You decide...

"Portrait of Johann Friedrich, the Elector of Saxony" 1531 by Lucas Cranach the Elder

"Portrait of a Marie de' Medici" 1551 by Agnolo Bronzino
"Portrait of a Woman" 1564 by Lucas Cranach the Elder

"Catharina Hooft with her Nurse" 1620 by Franz Hals
"Self-Portrait, Staring" 1630 by Rembrandt
"Louis XVI" 1776 by Joseph-Siffred Duplessis
"Lady Hamilton as Circe" 1782 by George Romney
"Self-Portrait" 1794 by Jacques-Louis David
"A Portrait of Gavriil Derzhavin" 1811 by Vladimir Borovikovsky
"Self-Portrait" 1847 by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
"Venus Verticordia" 1868 by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

"A Portrait of Berthe Morisot Wearing a Black Hat with Violets" 1872 by Edouard Manet

"La Parisienne (A Portrait of Mme Jules Guillemet) 1880 by Edouard Manet

"Male Portrait" 1931? by Arthur Theo Dirkx

"Duck Face and Wax Face" 20?? - Ozzy Osbourne
"Serious Duck Face" 20?? - Miley Cyrus