Words Strike Again!

"You know what... that dress you bought last week that I said looked really good on you actually looks terrible – just sayin’!”

Has anyone noticed that the phrase “just sayin’” is a guaranteed social get-out-of-jail-free-card? You can say whatever you want to someone and by adding “just sayin’” to the end you have ensured there will be no ramifications of saying what you really think. Usually we bite our tongues when giving criticism to people... unless you’re a total douche and just act like an ass to everyone. But to those who actually have friends they tend to be nice. There are certain phrases, however, that allow you to speak your mind... aside from “just sayin’”.

There is:

 “I didn’t want to tell you this but...”

“You didn’t hear this from me...”

“I wasn’t going to say anything but...”

“No offence!”

And so on.

Basically, you need to add these to any sentence and then go nuts with whatever thinly veiled insult criticism you have. It seems like an odd loophole that has presented itself to us. Usually the phrase was “if you can’t say anything nice then don’t say anything at all”. Now it’s “say whatever the hell you like but don’t make it seem like it’s coming direct from you, rather it’s a duty you are performing to aid the other person in their mistakes”.

Here are some of my own:

“Fake tan is the most fail creation I’ve ever seen. No one can seem to get it right – just sayin’!”

“No offence but if you wear Crocs you will look stupid.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything but Lady Gaga’s bizarre dress choices are a scapegoat for her inability to dance very well.”

“I didn’t want to tell you this but the epilogue in the final Harry Potter book was sappy and unnecessary.”

Just sayin’!

Heed this Warning...

The other morning, before I made my daily journey to work, I was looking for some music to listen to. Having decided I was sick of all the legitimate music I kept on my CD shelf – in full display to any guests, I ventured into the draw where I keep all my spare miscellaneous CDs from over the years. I came upon one that read “Music Mix”. Fair enough. I would give it a whirl.

I popped it in the car stereo and headed on my way. I shortly realised this was a CD from my adolescent years where I was taken in by the latest song even if it only contained a drum beat, heavily auto-tuned backup singers and a generic rapper over the top who says “yeah” a lot. There were also many other different types of terrible songs from the past that people would probably remember but try to conceal.

Nonetheless I was grooving away on the drive, sadly, knowing all the words and any appropriate hand gestures that went with the song – and no I am not talking about the “Macerena” give me a little bit more credit than that.

As I was grooving and driving – drooving if you will – I started thinking about how embarrassing it would be if a) I picked up a hitchhiker (not that I ever would by myself because I don’t want to get stabbed in the neck with a sharpened stick) or b) was in a car accident. Sure I’d be fatally wounded and that would be a big bummer but the main point is that when the hitchhiker got into the car they would probably get right out hearing the terrible music that I happened to be listening to. Similarly, I can imagine a paramedic racing to my crushed, mangled car in slow motion dodging fire (there’s always fire in dramatic situations) ripping the door off its hinges to rescue the poor, innocent and injured damsel... only to realise she was listening to a Shania Twain song from the early 2000s and instead of rescuing me just leaving me there in shame to die in Shania’s country/pop embrace.  

I guess everyone has the thought about what-if-they-died-and-someone-would-have-to-clean-out-their-house-and-subsquently-dicovered-their-extensive-collection-of-erotic-smurf-paraphenalia. It has dawned on us all. The car music thing, however, be wary. Listen to “All the things she said” by T.A.T.U. in the safety of your own home.

My Techology is Better than Yours.

Why do Apple products feel the need to self-promote themselves? Sure, every business wants to let everyone know how awesome they are but I think it's a little bit lame that every product they release sets itself on a mission to let the world know about it and its brilliance.

Like ipads and iphones. Whenever someone sends an email from either of these products they end the email with "sent from my iphone" or "sent from my ipad". The person has no control over this but everytime I see that message I take it as an insult. A message of look at me and my sweet, fancy gadget - far superior to yours.

What if my computer did that everytime I sent an email? It would go like like:

Ray-Ray,

No, you cannot borrow my spandex tights again. I spent hours cleaning the mustard and bubblegum off them after the last time you used them.

Sent from my piece-of-shit Toshiba

Humans = Big Ol' Suckfest

When you get a job and it involves anything to do with talking and dealing with people face-to-face you eventually come to the realization that people suck.

Let me just emphasise that a little bit more – people SUCK.

I’m sure we’ve all been in a retail/hospitality type situation where an individual goes crazy over the most trivial and insignificant matters. It happens A LOT.

I’ve been working at a hotel for a while now and I never knew people were so annoying – particularly when they are holidays. When I go on holiday I go there to see the place I am visiting, eat good food and have a good time. I never care about the state of the place I stay in (unless of course it is crawling with lice and there is no roof) but SO many people do. I am constantly bombarded by the wankiest complaints.

“Excuse me but does the body lotion in the bathroom contain wheat?”

“My soap dish wasn’t properly cleaned. I think someone might have stayed in my room before me”

“My television only gets 399 channels and I really need 400”

“When I go into the public swimming pool other people can see me and it isn’t very private”

“I’ve been in my room for five minutes and it hasn’t been cleaned again yet”

For the most part people whinge about stuff they should have found out before arriving. If you do your research then you won’t need to get all huffy about the fact that, no, your room does not have a gold plated urinal that shoots fanta when flushed whilst playing “We Will Rock you”.

Why do people suck?

Interacting with other humans is mostly an unpleasant experience and all the good people you meet and see don’t counteract the lame ones that plague the earth demanding soy sheets and turtle friendly light fixtures.

I think the only conclusion is that people are douche bags love to complain. Or rather older people love to complain. I consider myself to be in the youthful category and I have hardly ever complained about anything in any official capacity because I go at it with the thought “get over it”. Older people (and I had SO better not turn into one… though maybe it’s fun…) like to find fault in most things and nothing compares to their humble abodes which begs the conclusion to STAY AT HOME. Buy some inflatable palm trees, throw some sand about the place and BAM a tropical paradise in your own home.

What annoying people have YOU dealt with?    

Just a Thought... naked children (oo-err)

Why is it that every single person has a photo of themselves naked? Usually as children.

Not only are you naked but often you are in a nude situation with some other kids you have absolutely no recollection of.

First, why do parents photograph their children when they are in the process of bathing? Is it really necessary? I understand that, yes, children are covered in dirt, poo or general detritus 99% of the time and that remaining one per cent is when they actually are in the bath but why the need for a photograph? I thought photographs were reserved for special events but apparently not.

When I was a kid my dad use to put me in my high chair to eat my lunch, naked, and let nature take its course. After I had “had my fill” he’d literally hose me off with the garden hose. Luckily there’s no picture of that. I guess I didn’t look as cute covering my face in food and shitting myself at the same time as I did in a bubble bath. Who would’ve thought?

Second, why do parents always seem to dump their kids in the bath with other random kids? It’s as if parents have little hang-outs so they jam all the kids in the bath to amuse themselves. Given that there is photographic evidence I assume it isn’t unsupervised.

Every person has a photo of themselves bathing with other children. If I bathed with these people now I would freak out. Not only would we not fit into a bath tub as we did back in the day but there would be too much hair and privacy being exposed.

Maybe parents do this because kids never stay still. It makes sense to put them in a slippy sided container (as you would a spider) whilst you struggle to maintain your hair and sanity. Then once you have attempted to pull yourself together you realise these little wee ones aren’t so bad after all and begin to gather snapshots of them with beards made of bubble bath or chewing the head of a rubber duck.

Chances are if I am ever a parent I will end up taking snapshots of my widdle babies when they are getting all squeaky clean. I assume they will be my own children as well...

Man Clothes are Manly

There’s so much irony in this world I don’t know where to begin! Probably with this blog... and its title. Duh.

Men.

The eternal question.

I should probably rephrase that.

Men?

Ahhh men... the “y” chromosome of manliness. Men want to be considered masculine – generally – and in order to do this they shun all that is the opposite. All that is girly. One of the aforementioned shunned fields is that of fashion or rather caring about the way they physically appear to others. At least openly. I know loads of guys who spend FOREVER on their I-didn’t-even-try look but that is not the irony of the day.

It weirds me out that dudes consider clothes as girly yet the manliest of all sports (I give this title due to the violence, brutality, sweatiness and lack of shirts) is boxing. Boxing, as far as I can deduce, is two blokes beating the living bejeepers out of one another whilst wearing shorts and mittens. Does anyone else find it odd that the manliest man (the victor) is bestowed with an accessory? Otherwise known as an item of clothing. Nothing says “I destroy other men” like a pimped out, bling-bling belt. It happens in A LOT of sports now that I think about it.

What about cycling? Or rather the Tour-de-France. Okay we are taking a step down in the manly list with this one given the fact that these guys are admittedly shaving their legs but the winner of the whole she-bang is awarded the coveted yellow jersey. I wouldn’t be caught dead in a jersey let alone a yellow one.

Then there’s golf. Again I don’t really see this as particularly manly. Tiger Woods attempted to make the sport pretty pimpin’ when he started screwing around with other women and his wife took to him with a golf club (oh the irony...). But at the end of the day these guys earn millions of bucks for twisting a stick. At the end the best twister gets a jacket. A jacket is an item of clothing just in case you were unaware.

Cricket tournaments just get some old dirt. I guess you could use it as body glitter if you got really desperate.
Before you know it Rugby players will be given some garishly coloured lingerie as a prize.

My Laptop is a Skank

I’ve had my laptop for many years now. We’ve worked together, played together and spent hours together just hanging out. My laptop, who I lovingly named Mungo, and I were so happy.

Note the past tense.

Whilst Mungo is still my favourite laptop, complete with all my personal touches and files it runs slower than a legless turtle. When I press the “on” button I walk away and do another activity so I don’t have to witness the outright eons that it takes to get itself ready to do a simple task. Opening an internet window takes a good twenty seconds and don’t get me started on trying to do anything simultaneously.

It also flashes white for an instant and sometimes decides to create thousands of internet windows one after the other as if to say “you wanted internet windows WELL HERE THEY ARE, BITCH!!”

It’s a nightmare if anyone else wants to use it. Sure I can navigate all its faults but a first timer does nothing but whinge, moan and throw their hands in the air at the sheer hopelessness of this computer. I bet it hurts Mungo’s feelings. After all, I’m the only one allowed to complain about it.

Moving on to my main point – Mungo is a dirty, dirty, strumpet.

Context? Right.

I decided after all its faults that I would get Mungo fixed. It was getting to the point where I wasn’t using it at all if I didn’t have to. And using other, more competent computers, it was making me realise how screwed Mungo really was.

I found someone at my place of work who considered himself quite the geek (his words not mine) so I packed Mungo up with an overnight case and sent it away to be fixed.

A few days later Mungo was returned to me. I took it home and eagerly awaited turning it on to see just how super jet fast and capable it would now be. I pressed the “on” button.

 What seemed like hours later...

“What the crap!? This thing is still a slow motioned turd of a system. COME ON! Grrrrrr....”

It didn’t work. It wasn’t fixed. Mungo was as slow as ever.

I tried calling the geek who supposedly fixed it – ready for a story of how he was defeated in the mending process.

“Hello?”

“I thought you were going to fix my lappy?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“What?”

“I turned it on and ran it a couple of times but didn’t have a problem with it.”  

“What? I’ve seen 90 year olds shuffle faster than this thing.”

“It didn’t do any of things you say it did to me. So I didn’t do anything to it.”

The plot thickens.

Apparently my laptop is a conniving conception of modern day technology. Mungo no longer wants me as an owner and acts like a retarded piece of metal instead of my only portal to the internet and life companion.

I had always thought Mungo to be a male. Well as male as a no-sex inanimate object can get. Either I was wrong or Mungo is gay. Mungo lusts after the computer geek and no longer chooses me as its master. I can see it now batting its web cam eyelashes at him, displaying extra bright just so he’ll notice and opening its disk drive right up... unbelievable.

Mungo is a manipulative, mature aged harlot and that’s all there is to it. And I’m stuck with it.