February 21, 2010

...Didn't Write a Damn Thing

I haven't updated this week. My challenge to myself when I set this blog up was to, at the bare minimum, write once a week. But my week is nearly over and I thought I would write something tonight when I had all that Loser at Home on a Saturday Night Alone time... but I didn't. And not for any good reason like "I broke all the bones in my fingers so couldn't type" or "Mum was cooking a lamb roast so I had to call up Tom Cruise and tell him I couldn't make our date but his entourage kept giving me the run around". There's just nothing in there. And by "there" I mean the ol' coconut that holds me brain in. It's all gummed up like a shower drain filled with hundreds of old hairs wrapped around the underside of the plug hole. And I know what to blame this on: I'm thinking about excel spreadsheets and dispenser brackets in Singapore and what kind of cleansing kit the Taiwanese would really, really like.

You know, the stuff that's going to change the world.

So anyway, when I get home from work and have brought all of that home in my head with me, I end up trying really hard NOT to think about it. Which unfortunately results in the mental equivalent of stuffing cotton wool in my ears to block out white noise - sure I can't hear the white noise anymore, but I can't hear anything else either.

As a result? No writing for me. Instead, my big achievement for tonight was to watch about eighteen episodes of Sex and the City, eat snakes for dinner, make a chicken casserole (which I don't know why I didn't make earlier in order to avoid scoffing the bag of food colour and sugar in place of a crucial main meal), ride my bike to the IGA for baking soda (taking the long way home for no good reason other than I was liking the "whooshing" feeling) and bake banana spice muffins.

Tidy little list of activities there, but not one of them involves writing a damn thing. Anyone for muffins?

February 10, 2010

... Thought about Possums



DISCLAIMER: "Possum" is a euphemism for a specific part of a woman's anatomy that I stole from Michi Girl (http://michigirl.com.au/newsletter/melbourne/2226/comfort-zones/). Ye who feel generally prudish or uncomfortable with talk of the privates I have two things to say:(a) I have no idea why we would be friends. But more importantly (b) Turn back here or enter at ye own peril...

So my daily dose of Michi Girl came into my inbox in late January with a cute little turn of phrase I hadn't yet come across, that involved Michi stating that all the dresses she tried on "came right up to possum". Now this tickled my fancy no end. Having never heard this before, and long been a believer of getting the vagina talk right out in public, I was delighted to find a euphemism that seemed so friendly, so PG rated and so damn cute for this part of the female anatomy. I don't have a problem with saying "vagina"(obviously, as I've already used the word three times in one paragraph) or even talking about "My Vagina" (four times now) but the truth of it is that it's a cumbersome, boorish sort of word. Not at all fun to say like "dither" or "speckle". It's more along the lines of "fungicide" and "quarterly projection".

I also took joy in the idea of "possum" because I suddenly thought of all the possibilities of how it could be used in general conversations where one would have to otherwise do that twee thing of lowering the voice, like in a stage whisper, to deliver a line like "I've got thrush" (*the audience gasps*); or inserting mime into otherwise performance-free adult conversations e.g. Girl 1: "What's wrong? You don't look well today?" Girl 2: *contorts face into a grimace, widens eyes and looks down while making small, rapid pointing movements to the ovaries*.

For me, I would lower my voice or mime in these situations not because I'm embarrassed that my body is functioning in a female specific way, but more that the language I have been given to talk about it is crass, or laden with sexual innuendo, or overly formal/ medical, or simply viewed as not appropriate to use in a public setting with your "outside voice" on.

If we adopt the Possum Principal, on the other hand, the possibilities suddenly become endless: "possum's not well today" (I have a UTI and/or thrush), "possum's a bit itchy" (used when in the chemist trying to buy Canesten), "possum's behaving strangely" (my period is weird), "possum's late" (shit, I need to go get a pregnancy test), "possum's been cranky all week" (bad period), "possum needs a haircut" (time to book a wax), "possum's lonely" (I'm pretty sure you know what I'm implying with that one), "did you see that picture of her with her possum out?" (for any discussion concerning issues of New Weekly circa 2006 featuring Paris Hilton or Britney Spears).

I think any move we can make to allow people to talk openly about possum in public is positive. Unless of course that person is Tony Abbott. He should definitely be playing possum (on ANY issue to do with women) rather than talking about them.

Power to the Possum, people.

February 1, 2010

...Attempted to Wrangle a Possessed BlackBerry



My phone has basically turned into the telecommunications version of Linda Blair in The Exorcist.

Maybe this is my fault, as the start of this strange behavior did seem to coincide with me spilling a full glass of pinot noir on it at the pub last Friday night. But anyway, as we're not here to assign blame let's just focus on the facts. Whether or not it was caused by the pinot baptizing, the once docile child I'd spent hours playing with; proudly taken out to show-off in public because it was so pretty and smart; slept easy next to knowing it was peacefully resting in "sleep mode"; is now rotating its head on an angle which defies both god and man to stare with its dead, soulless eyes and spray green vomit all over me. Seriously. I try to type an email or do anything at all functional - like unlock it when I want to or set a morning alarm, just like we used to in the good old days - and the keys randomly activate themselves, turning words into gibberish and the time zone from Melbourne (where I clearly am) to Hawaii (where I'm clearly not). Needless to say I need actual English when trying to send through product release strategy to Japan (as they only read Japanese and English there and not gibberish) and I would like to wake up in time for work and not the afternoon luau. And that's not all. If the battery's in, the screen light never goes off. I can't leave it alone by itself unlocked as even sitting quietly on my desk it starts to spasm, the screen flashing as it jumps wildly through assorted menu icons, cackling its hateful cackle at me and draining the battery. It's even banned me from using the internet on it. Where there was once Facebook and instant weather updates, there's just... nothing. How foul, strange and unnatural is that? A BlackBerry that DOESN'T web browse?! That's just a really large and useless phone, DAMN IT! OH GOD! ANGELS AND MINISTERS OF GRACE DEFEND US! BE GONE DEMON!!!! BE GONE! I COMMAND THEE OUT!!!!

The point to all of this? Just remember that it could happen to you too. So take my advice: even though it's been given the name of a fruit (a thing in nature that usually doesn't mind a good rinse) don't get your BlackBerry wet. And never, ever feed it red wine after midnight.

Yes, I know that's a different film reference, but you still get the point.