The Smize have it

I've always felt that James Bond was a little bit too "boy" orientated what with the countless women in need of being slept with, the guns, unattractive bad guys and explosions. Don't get me wrong these components appeal to many, many people but not so much me. I mean do we really need 22 movies to explain that Bond is a walking STD - WE GET IT!

So... I have come up with a handy editing technique that will cater these films to everyone - especially me. These involve the one and only Tyra Banks and her patented "smile with your eyes" modelling technique also known as the "smize". Enjoy!

Security Guards

Why is it in movies and television that security guard characters are always fat and hopeless? I mean I know that the “good” guy needs to by-pass this facade of authority to reach their goal and wow their viewers - but seriously the “bad” guys need to give them at least a bit of a challenge.

Okay. Let’s say you are the head of “Big Bad Booty Incorporated” and you have to protect your very important, confidential and incriminating documents. How would you go about that? Security codes, armed doors, dogs, guns, sharks, lasers, bear traps, vats of boiling oil and of course one lone security guard.

If you could only have one guard to protect your incriminating photos (yes, they involve you, tequila and a wild hog) who would you choose? The guy who has a degree in security guarding, a previous position as vault keeper for Gringott’s and a black belt in human destruction. Or the guy who is overweight, unfit and has a vocabulary of “Stop!”, “You!”, and “Freeze!”? Pretty obvious choice.

This security guard makes his on screen appearance sitting/leaning back on a chair with his feet on the desk eating or drinking coffee whilst looking at a bunch of flickering black and white mini screens. Eventually he sees something on one of the many screens, sits up straight, looks mildly concerned then rushes (and wheezes) out of his little room only to be beaten down by the good guy in under eight seconds.

I wonder if this guy goes home to his family at the end of a busy ass-being-kicked day, flops into his favourite brown leather recliner and looks into the eyes of his little children who dream of one day following in their daddy’s slow and incompetent footsteps.  

How does this guy manage to keep his job? He only has one purpose and that is keeping your perverted hog photos out of the public eye and he has failed that. Over and over just in different scenarios. I mean is there some training college for really crappy security guards? They have to go through rigorous training of lifting heavy donuts up to their lips and back down repeatedly as well as firing a tiny pistol everywhere but into the target. A couple of courses in fail wrestling and voice lessons for their single moment of dialogue. All in all it’s an un-intensive ten week course. Then they are head hunted by the most important companies in the evil world.  

Just dial 1800-FAIL-GUARD for an information pack.  

Talking and Driving

Have you ever noticed when you are a passenger in a car having a conversation with the driver and they try to look at you throughout? Maintaining eye contact in a normal conversation is pretty standard form... this we know. But trying to do this whilst driving? It’s an odd conversation because they are either snapping their necks quickly back and forth to look at you when you are in the passenger seat or it is a weird spy/chauffeur type conversation with them flicking glances via the rear view mirror. Or it gets really weird and they try to turn their whole body toward you or just their head swivels around like in a horror film and they projectile vomit all over you—okay I’m getting carried away...

Basically there needs to be a loophole in social etiquette so that car conversations with mandatory eye contact don’t go like this...

“Yeah and then I said to him that it wasn’t on – ya know?”

“Oh I know. The fact that he could go and do that to you? After all you did for him.”

“It makes my blood boil! Who cheats on someone with their grandma? I can’t believe that—”

Enter oncoming truck. Bloody chaos ensues.

Mind you the situation doesn’t have to be that emotionally charged... it could go like this...

“Man I just love Doritos!”

“No way! I love Doritos!”

Laughter “That is so funny that we both love Doritos this much...”

“I know. I thought you were more of a Pringles kind a guy but—”

Enter oncoming bus. Bloody chaos ensues.

Or even this...

“Something beginning with ‘r’.”

“Rabbit?”

“No.”

“Red car?”

“No.”

“It better not be ‘road’ again.”

“Hooray! You got it! You’re so smart... okay another one... Something beginning with ‘r’.”

Enter oncoming wildebeest. Bloody chaos ensues.

Okay I’m pretty sure that last one was an intentional crash.  

In order to prevent the previous scenarios playing out before your very eyes I don’t think there is anything wrong with putting a gentle hand on the driver’s arm and saying “it’s okay if you don’t look me in the eye while we converse. I understand how difficult it is to drive and be a good social citizen – it’ll be our little secret.” Hopefully the driver isn’t looking at you when you say that... otherwise it will have all been in vain...

The only other way of doing it is every time they try to look at you just scream “DON’T LOOK AT ME!! DON’T LOOK AT ME!! AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!”...

I can’t see any harm in that.  

Me? Negative? NO... well maybe...

So I’ve had some recent constructive criticism about the pessimistic/negative vibe some of my blogs give off. To them I say “meh, what cha gonna do?”.

To my remaining readers I say – well let’s look at where I learnt it. And so begins the introduction to my wacky upbringing.

When I was a lot younger I had a neighbour called Mrs Dufty and she was/is the most negative person – ever. If you could invent a person who was so against everything whilst wearing a floral dress you would have thought of her. She use to look after me a lot when I was a kid so it’s not surprising where my attitude stems from. Now let me start this description by saying Mrs Dufty was the nicest neighbour ever – so don’t get the wrong impression. 

When you think of older female relatives two archetypes come to mind – the loving, timid, soft and cuddly woman who bakes you assorted goods and appreciates the drawing you did of her made entirely out of woodchips even though it kind of looks like she has three noses and then there’s the older woman who scolds, snarls, hits children with her walking assistant (cane, walker or caregiver) and has the fragrant aroma of urine.

Neither of these fits Mrs Dufty. In fact she is some sort of amalgamation of the two – and in a very entertaining way. She would always comment on the activities of “you young kids today” which she learned from the television – and when I say television I mean those awfully crooked “documentary” programmes that are so hideously biased and ridiculous it makes any slightly informed person shudder in horror. There was a segment on Schoolies (or Spring Break whatever you call it) which showed hordes of youths staggering up and down the streets squealing and showing off their...physical maturity (A.K.A. special bits). To this Mrs Dufty turned to me and said “look at those girls showing themselves off! Anyone can do that. Look!” at which point she suddenly lifted up her dress and for a flash in time I saw my elderly neighbour’s enormous knickers. After another audition for the Flasher’s association Mrs Dufty cackled away eventually asking if I’d like anything to drink.

Now here comes the negative part (and you thought a mad old woman somewhat exposing herself to me wasn’t the negative part!). Mrs Dufty had taken it upon herself, personally, to hate every part of this elaborate world. Now she’s old... and I know life gets tough when you get old so I went to her house to clean her fish tank as a sign of my good will. Well I cleaned it as best I could given my hopelessly chubby child arms and hands and after spending hours cleaning the water, scrubbing away the algae and managing to somehow choke on some fish poo water I finished it. I presented this sparkling aquatic wonderland to my neighbour who replied “ugh. I hate that fish tank.”

“But, doesn’t it look nice now? You can watch the fish swim about.”

“I hate those fish and I don’t want them. Do you want them?”

“No, they’re yours.”

“Well I hate them and I’ll be dead soon anyway.”

From this little episode you can glean how she reacts to any good deed that is shown to her. You bring her flowers “I HATE flowers and I don’t have a vase anyway because I gave it away because I’m going to be dead soon”. You bring her a nice bun from the bakery “I HATE buns from the bakery – especially THAT ONE. I don’t want it – I’ll be dead soon anyway”. Basically bring her anything and she will tell you how much she hates it and tries to sneakily place it in your backpack while giving you a cuddle when you leave. If you don’t bring her anything she will try to offload everything in her house. “Here, do you want all my pots and pans?” ... “But, what will you cook with?” “I don’t need them. I’ve got this one which will do. I survived on more than that when the Japs where flying over our heads! Besides... I’m going to die soon anyway.”   

So there you have it. My negative neighbour. My pessimistic guardian.

And if you didn’t like this blog...well... I’m going to die one day anyway.   

The Royal Faff

Okay this whole “William and Kate” getting married thing is getting really old really quick.

I mean through no fault of their own this couple is dominating the world via the media. Sure they tour about flipping pancakes in Ireland and surveying the damage here in Aus but they didn’t ask to have their faces glued to every news related programme.

First – their marriage is not news. In fact, no part of their marriage should be news.

Second – William is no longer that attractive so what’s the big deal?

On the first note I was going to write this blog a little while ago when I saw a “news” cast for the day. This included a five minute update on the earthquakes in Japan – they may have another aftershock which could do more damage. More lives are at risk. This was then followed with a very long story about the – not one – but two wedding cakes that Kate and William were having! Kate is being strict on her choices for the cakes which is “great that she’s taking such a personal interest” says the official cake maker.

Seriously.

Seriously?

I’m very happy for the soon-to-be official couple but should it really override the rest of the world? This would be fine if it were a one-off but last night I witnessed worse. Much worse.

In the week leading up to the wedding every channel on free-to-air television is broadcasting about the wedding. The dress maker, the venue, the witnesses, the bridesmaids, the colour palette, the guests and so on and so forth. A whole week dedicated to this tripe? God forbid something really bad happens anywhere because if it does it will have to wait until the wedding is done and dusted.

I guess people are excited... This is the biggest royal wedding since Princess Diana. I’m excluding Charles and Camilla because... well... Camilla wasn’t the most luminous bride the monarchy has ever seen. A royal wedding is a big deal... but only because everyone is making it one. I’m sure a shotgun wedding in Las Vegas wouldn’t go astray...

My First Pet

You know when you play that game about figuring out your stripper name and you take the name of your first pet? Well now you do. Anyway I was thinking about it and I remembered my first pet was a hermit crab named Claudia. Now Claudia had an unfortunate demise... that is we got the house fumigated and both my brother’s and my crab passed away. Or rather slowly and painfully asphyxiated whichever you like.

Here’s the kicker. I was having family dinner the other week and I told this story – after we’d all worked out our stripper names (mine’s Claudia Chelmer) I told the story of poor choking Claudia and mum chimed in with – Claudia didn’t choke she cooked!

?

I’m sorry, mum, what?

“Your crab Claudia got really sick after the fumigation - we didn’t know it would affect them so badly and in the end she lost her legs one by one. The poor thing only had little eyes flitting about – it was still alive and suffering – so I dropped it in hot water”.

Now that’s the humane story I heard. Here’s what I visualised...

I find out seventeen years later that my poor crab, my first pet, my only crustacean love was boiled alive? How psychotic is that? Hadn’t she suffered enough? I imagined my poor little crab thrashing its eyes about in agony (that was only thing it could thrash around given it didn’t have any more limbs) crying silently that I’d abandoned it... trying to escape. To which mum answered “Well it didn’t move after I dumped it in”.

Good point. R.I.P. Claudia.

Grrrrrrr-tars

Why has it become the norm at parties for people to play the guitar?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not an anti-guitar fascist or anything I just don’t see why a party collective has to be subjected to the mindless twanging of a badly played guitar.

There are people who are few and far between that rock at playing the guitar and to them I tip my proverbial hat (it’s green and has many feathers) but for the most part people who know a few chords feel entitled to bombard the ears of those around them for hours on end.

I mean you’re at a party and there is music playing quietly, people chatting, drinking, laughing that sort of thing and then suddenly some random at the party (absolutely NOT the host) pulls out a guitar that they ‘found’ in the house and begins to strum ... and strum and strum and strum. They don’t sing, they don’t play regular known songs (or maybe just one chord progression from it repeatedly) and they don’t really involve anyone else. If that person was playing on their iphone it would be considered anti-social but apparently playing an instrument all by yourself is okay because the sounds they are making contribute to the party atmosphere. Does that mean I can stand in a corner and sing the “Mario” theme song to myself and not be considered a total numpty? NO.

There is some weird social loophole when it comes to guitars and people need to know the truth! Why is it only guitars? Would someone randomly grab a cello? Or a tuba and start tooling around? I doubt it. Or rather I doubt that anyone would put up with that for more than eight seconds.

Let’s stand together people. Let us not sit idly by, awkward grins adorning our faces, but rather take the guitar off the incompetent, yet arrogant, guitar fiddler and smack them in the back of the head with it!  

ROAR!

Responsi-wha?

Since when did getting older mean that we have to behave like adults? I realise that sounds like a rhetorical statement but seriously – who started this crappy rule?

When did it become not okay to cry at the dentist’s office or skip merrily down the road just because you felt like it?

I turn 22 this year and it is just confirming how terrifying it is to be older and more responsible. “Responsible”. What does that really mean? Well according to my primary school dictionary it is defined as “1. Answerable or accountable, especially for something within one’s power, control, or management” and it comes right after rabbit but before steamroller – sweet dictionary I KNOW. Did you ever find in primary school that if you couldn’t spell a word your teacher would tell you to look it up? What’s with that? I mean if you can’t spell the word how the hell are you meant to find it?? Mark it against all the words you do know and work backwards? Well at least I learnt how to read and write in school so here we are... Now where was I? Oh yes. Being responsible – or rather not being very responsible in terms of clarity in this blog...

So – responsibility. Taking control and managing my actions... well what has that got to do with fighting the urge to bellow “Eye of the Tiger” on the bus? I take full control of that... the volume, the delivery and its general brilliance.

Why have retained a Victorian standard of public and social living? This hushed up-avoiding eye contact with a bad situation? Who hasn’t avoided staring at a public brawl between a man and woman who get heated and start shouting about their waning sex lives and inability to re-tile their bathroom? You avoid it but really, really want to gawp. The only reason we don’t is because a) it’s rather inappropriate and b) because we don’t want these crazies getting all up in our grills.

It seems weird though... I don’t know... I think it’s warranted to throw a big tantrum like any normal child would when the video store is out of “Avatar”. Or when your significant other asks you do to the washing up... It’s better than bottling it up and then finally exploding at them in a public place. Like your wedding.

That reminds me... so there are these life-size concrete cassowaries (big blue emu/ostrich birds – look it up) at a service station near us and one day there was this dad with his three little kids having lunch. Well two of them were having lunch... the other one was doing this...

He was having the time of his life... it was awesome. Heck after seeing him do it – I wanted to do it!

Maybe the moral of the story is to do whatever you want as long as it doesn’t involve aggression...Or maybe that you should be able to do whatever you want as long as I find it amusing.

Crayons for the real world

What’s with crayons being introduced with such sissy colour names? I mean as an adult (!) I want to choose colours that actually represent what I’m colouring and it doesn’t usually consist of a blue sky, green grass and a red house as it might have many years ago.

These days we use crayons to draw our feelings towards our day, mocking a co-worker or just pounding those things into the walls – whichever takes your fancy. I find that in these scenarios we need colours that really reflect this. That and “wild watermelon” doesn’t really have any relevance to most peoples’ everyday life – unless you, dear reader, often find yourself alone with a watermelon and the presence of many whips and handcuffs... well that’s your business...

...aaaannnnyway...I have taken some colours from the more original 130 (not the added on extras like the swirly crayons or the glitter ones – that would be too easy) and renamed them for your grown-up pleasure.

Antique Brass (205, 149, 117) – An evening with the toilet

 Beaver (159, 129, 112) – No seriously... that's what it's called... I don't think it needs changing

Brick Red (203, 65, 84) – Paper Cut

Cadet Blue (176, 183, 198) – Unemployment

Copper (221, 148, 117) – Immovable stain on white shirt

Dandelion (253, 219, 109) – Stomach Bile

Granny Smith Apple (168, 228, 160) – Mucus

Hot Magenta (255, 29, 206) – Regrettable lipstick choice

Inchworm (178, 236, 93) – Why can’t I look like her?!

Laser Lemon (254, 254, 34) – Too much Asparagus/Dehydrated

Manatee (151, 154, 170) – Crap Weather

Mango Tango (255, 130, 67) – Fake Tan

Outer Space (65, 74, 76) – Migratory mascara

Periwinkle (197, 208, 230) – Old Lady Do

Radical Red (255, 73, 108) – My boss needs to die

Raw Umber (113, 75, 35) – Beer O' Clock

Scarlet (252, 40, 71) – Bad Day

Spring Green (236, 234, 190) – Forgotten Milk

Tumbleweed (222, 170, 136) – Deforestation

Unmellow Yellow (255, 255, 102) – Peroxide Mishap

White (255, 255, 255) – Everything Mac

Wild Strawberry (255, 67, 164) – Funeral Faux Pas

Wild Watermelon (252, 108, 133) – Acne

Some "Doctor Who" joke

Baby, does indeed, got back...

Why is it now that whenever I go outside to face the world I have to be confronted by the bouncing bums of chicks my age in tiny, tiny shorts?

I walked through the city and I realised I was absentmindedly staring at the girl-in-front-of-me’s rump hanging out of her shorts. That sounds perverted but I was not staring in a sleazy way... more in a wide-eyed version of repulsion. I thought this might be a one-off. A poor misguided girl who forgot to look at her butt in those pants before setting out on her adventures of the day. But no. There were several of them – gangs of them, herds of them! Each bobbling along with their butt cheeks dangling free.

I can understand shorts. They make sense. It’s hot. They’re short. I get it. But when did shorts become denim underpants? They’re not “shorts” but rather “non-existents”.

Maybe these girls are aware that their backsides are on display but I’m boggled as to why you would want to jiggle your jelly at unsuspecting passer-bys. I mean there are both children and old people in this world who probably don’t want/don’t need to see that. Heck I don’t need to see that.

I wear shorts... we all do at some point but this is just getting ridiculous... I mean we wear high waisted shorts now which kind of looks like regular shorts that have been yanked way up resulting in this bum leakage – but this can be avoided!  I mean I wear high waisted shorts but I am not guilty of this –

And this is what is out there! Everywhere! I went to an RSL club (like a members club where people were expected to cover themselves up in respect for the veterans of WWII but really it’s just a place to get cheap drinks and play the pokies) and I wore a longish dress and covered up my cleavage expecting this to be the norm but OH NO... Yoko OH NO... there was a girl with her bra hanging out of her shirt and her buttocks hanging out of her non-existents... dear me... How can anyone concentrate on their chicken schnitzel when there’s female rump lurking around your ears?

Oh on another note – well following the bum segue... I went out to a cocktail bar with friends the other day wearing high waisted long pants and I walked past all the tables to go to the restroom when I overheard a girl at a booth say “Gee those were nice pants” to which the other girl replied in a loud bogan voice “Yeah but they make her arse look HUGE!” ... that may be so but I didn’t see hear her boyfriend complaining as I waltzed on by...   

Anyway the main point of this blog is – big bums are awesome but KEEP EM COVERED. Ladies, leave something to the imagination! Think of my gag reflex!