Remember?

My brain is working on a very deep level today - I'm pondering the significance of a memory. What is the main purpose of a memory?

There are different kinds of memories - some that we like to remember all the time, and some that we push to the back of our minds for the majority of our life. It's the second type that I'm interested in at the moment.

When you have a memory that's bad, and you've spent most of your life post-event trying to forget it, what happens when you let it come forward? There is the potential for a majorly cathartic moment when the memory comes to light, and it's this that people are truly frightened of. The thought that the memory could be worse than you remember, the thought that your whole life will change if you let it come back, the thought that your brain will explode with emotion and a realisation that you're not hiding it anymore.

Of course, there's a thought there somewhere that things will be better. They say it's good to talk about things, and not to keep it bottled up. But who can blame a person for being scared of the darkest recesses of our own minds? And once you've talked about it, there's no going back - whoever's ears your memory falls on will permanently have taken your memory into their own mind.

Does this mean that talking about something in your past is essentially passing the buck? Does talking about it merely let it out of your own brain, and into someone else's?

I'm thinking - should memories just be forgotten?

Smut around the world.

After a few glorious years of working in an office environment, I've encountered a theme - what I'd like to know is, is this theme perpetuated by me, or is it common to all office environments? And what are the reasons for differing levels of the theme with differing geographical positions?

The theme is smut. I've witnessed many levels of smut in my different offices - in the UK, the smut largely centered around ratemypoo.com and finding interesting terms for the male and female genitalia on the internet. In Australia, it seems to be based around actual sex talk, the smuttier the better.

Perhaps it's just my office? Could it be that me and my colleagues are in fact situated in a sexually active wormhole where the universe concentrates all it's excess hormones and pheromones into one space, and between the hours of 9 and 5 we're unknowingly being pumped full of the stuff, causing us to be completely preoccupied with all things smut related? Or perhaps our employer has unwittingly employed a bunch of people who clearly don't get enough bedroom action, or that have tendencies toward nymphomania?

Is this a reflection of the Australian population? With all this excess sunshine, we have so many endorphins that we just don't know what to do with them. And in the UK, as witnessed in my old office, we were desperately trying to find the need, but our bodies just wanted to hibernate and this resulted in focusing on the baser elements of smut; excrement, and childish labelling of genitalia.

Can I assume that Australian workers are hornier than those in the UK? Or is it just that the smut-part of their brains is more active due to the sunshine? Either way, I aim to make the most of my surroundings - colleagues beware; that animal humping your leg is actually me. Throw me a bone.

Life Made Simple

In this day and age we're constantly trying to make every day tasks and activities as simple as possible. Marketing departments have followed this initiative and we now find ourselves bombarded with all sorts of simpler avenues for using companies and services. We have simplified internet banking, simplified queuing systems, we have pre-paid advantages and fast-track avenues coming out of our ears. We even have a new and improved simplified tax return system called eTax.

I've just had the pleasure of using eTax, and can conclude that yes, things now appear a lot simpler to me; the inefficiencies of the government are as clear as day.

Was I able to lodge my tax return in a simple and quick fashion? No.
Am I now sitting pretty on a nice lump sum in my bank account due to the speedy response of eTax? No.
Will I now have to phone the tax office, rifle through last year's paperwork, and generally waste a shit load of my time in order to be told that I'll have to use the old paper based system to lodge my return, regardless of the existence of the Tax Made Simple approach? Yes.

I'm telling you - it's just not good enough. Why do people even bother to invent these simpler approaches when they only work for those few people in the world who were blessed with the name 'John Sample', have no debt, no income, and don't even launder their non-work-related clothing in order to prevent the onset of a potential deduction.

If life is inherently complicated, why change fate? Why don't we just make things complicated and let the simpletons struggle for a change?

Anticipating a wasted opportunity...

I'm concerned that the USS Kitty Hawk is about to dock in Brisbane; I'm concerned that the 5500 sailors on board said aircraft carrier will not be 'catered for' in an adequate manner; I'm concerned that we have not been informed as to their whereabouts this coming weekend, or indeed, their itinerary of amusements and events.

I'd like to propose that Brisbane celebrates their arrival in a suitable manner, and I'd like to head up the committee that organises this. In order to prevent the atrocity of their presence going unnoticed, I have put together an agenda of items that need addressing prior to the start of the weekend; the weekend that will now be known as "Sally's Sailor Solstice".

1. Welcoming Committee: Women dressed in bikinis will greet the sailors as they disembark the Kitty Hawk - all sailors will be required to give their name, age, rank, measurements and preferred beverage at this point. Details will be passed to me for shortlisting.
2. Shortlist Party: Those sailors lucky enough to make the shortlist will then be asked to form an orderly queue to be vetted by yours truly. I'll be looking for notable muscular definition, and a level of arrogance conducive to my own 'damsel in distress' qualities.
3. Final Event: The lucky 5 Sailors who have met my prior requirements will be ushered onwards to the Stamford Plaza where a private party will be held in their honour. Invitees include me, the Sailors, and the bar staff.

What happens to the remaining 5495 sailors is up to you - I'll be contactable after 9am on Monday morning, shortly after the Kitty Hawk has left my/our welcoming shores.

Hyperbolitis

In my quest to deliver blog posts worthy of reading, I often read other blogs to try and inspire my creativity. However, lately I've become angrier and angrier at the quality of posts, or lack thereof. I'll give you a couple of examples.

Brisbane blogger, Kat, has centered her blog around Brisbane and the sexual activities of the city's residents. What irritates me about her blog is that she is so sex-centric, when there is a hell of a lot more going on in the world, and comparatively little sex going on in Brisbane. Also, she seems to suffer from a common journalistic illness known in some circles as Hyperbolitis - in layman's terms; a disorder which leads to the incorrect or unneeded usage of polysyllabic words with the aim of appearing more intelligent and a better writer.

Another sufferer of Hyperbolitis is Sam, a Sydney blogger who also centres her topics around sex, posing as some kind of expert on all things coital. Although the quality of her polysyllabic diarrhoea doesn't quite match up to Kat's brisbane based bad boys, it's still highly irritating. Additionally, she appears to be suffering from a lack of inspiration and is stealing her post topics from the story lines of the previous night's Sex and the City repeat on Channel W. I feel it my duty to inform her that she's not the only one watching that show, and her plagiarism is obvious.

Now, I'm fully aware that I often use words of an outwardly verbose nature, but the difference here is that I make sense. I don't use a word for the sake of using it - I use it because it fits into the context of my script, and it's usage is wholly necessary to maintain fluidity of word and thought for both writer and reader. Of course, if you disagree with me, I'll accept comments to that effect. (Any attempt to sarcastically use polysyllabic words will lead to a personal reprimand for blatant mockery.)

The Promotion of Gambling

Me and my pod have just won $19 on some scratchies. The purchase of said scratchies stemmed from the amazing performance of a young horse called 'Champagne and Chicks', which Roy was compelled to back. The whole experience was enthralling and exciting and it's made me start to question if gambling is such a bad thing? In fact, my pondering goes beyond this - I'm beginning to wonder; is gambling just for fun, or are people inherently attracted to it?

I'm inclined to think that the act of gambling is up there with all endorphin releasing activities - it pleasures like a bar of chocolate - it amuses like a cracking joke - it excites like the promise of Sunday afternoon sex. Surely we should be fitting as much of these activities into our lives as possible, not limiting it to special occasions? After all, depriving yourself of chocolate, laughter and sex only leads to misery.

If I'm to assume that gambling should be encouraged, and it necessarily helps in our pursuit of happiness, then is a gambling addict merely a person who's reached ultimate enlightenment and is no longer hampered by the consciousness of an ill-bred theory that gambling is bad?

Should we all take a leaf out of the Gamblers Anonymous Guide Book, and get on the tracks, get down to the TAB and back everything that moves with the hope that we too can achieve the same enlightenment? Should we all be striving towards the goal of being a Gambler?

Life as a Brunette

The era of Blonde Bazza has left us, and we have entered the age of Brown. It was a pretty painless decision, with some interesting ramifications.

The first reaction was an inability to stop grinning. This was shortly followed by incessant giggling. Afterwards, I was shocked. And then, prior to going to bed, I felt lost - I was suffering a major identity crisis. Now, the morning after, I'm feeling some very foreign sensations which I can only assume are part of what it's like to be a Brunette. Here was me thinking that Blonde's have more fun - but oh no - Brunette's are on a whole new level.

I'll elaborate. Since waking up this morning and spying the new me in the mirror, I have felt a distinct feeling of attractiveness in a much more womanly way. My previous state of blondeness gave me a sense of naughtiness, and now that has been replaced by what can only be described as sexual power. I'm keen to know if this is how brunette's always feel, or if this is some strange reaction unique to me.

Can it be assumed that Blonde's are sexy in a naughty, young, frivolous way, and that Brunette's are sexy in a womanly, powerful, subtly flirtatious way? That is my conclusion - any verification would be greatly appreciated.

Innate Human Coupledom?

After reading another, more inferior, blog this morning, I have decided to poach their subject material and create my own post on the same subject. They discussed the possibility that all humans are supposed to be part of a pair. Initially, I'd like to point out that I am single, and therefore possibly slightly biased to disagreeing with this opinion. but nevertheless, I will attempt to give arguments for and against the proposal of Innate Human Coupledom.

Evidence Against Innate Human Coupledom:
I'd like to discuss Valentines Day Propaganda, and the effect that this has on people's view of Innate Human Coupledom. Starting towards the middle of January, we are inundated with advertisements for dating websites, florists, and all manner of aphrodisiac flaunting chocolate companies with their highly suggestive slogans for what 'she'd like' this valentines day. We all know what she'd like - and it sure as hell aint a tinny piece of crap metal on her finger and the threat that she will be permanently attached to the hip of a sexually inferior animal named man for the rest of her sexually active life. Just get her some chocolate and a god damned vibrator and leave her be; she doesn't need your promises and proposals, she just needs your penis.

Evidence For Innate Human Coupledom:
PMT - women, at that time of the month, seem to not only despise being single and curled up alone on the single sofa of doom, but they also physically and mentally despise the thought that they will indeed be alone forever. No amount of chocolate and no hoard of stimulating play things can satisfy the insatiable hunger for a man to be 'hers'. She doesn't just want a boyfriend - oh no - she wants a man with her name tattooed on his arse in big thick black letters, she wants a pre-nup agreement stating that he can't divorce her under any circumstances, and most of all she wants him permanently attached to the sofa of doom in a ready-to-rub-her-feet-and-anything-else-that-might-need-rubbing position. She can't live without him - she NEEDS to be part of an impenetrable pair.

As you can see, it's a tricky subject to tackle, and I haven't really reached a conclusion. This is where you could help - answer me this: Are we supposed to be part of a pair - is there such a thing as Innate Human Coupledom - and are women just too fucking needy?

My Rules

Does it count as inappropriate for me to stare at a man's groin while waiting for coffee in the croissant shop? He was good looking, slightly short but taller than me, blonde, professional - and he paid for his coffee with a $50 note which indicates that he might have just got paid and been to the cash machine, hence making him a fine target for my affections.

But, he caught me sizing up the package he possessed, and when I smiled at him he went a little red in the face and quickly walked out with his coffee. My question is, did I offend him? Do men not appreciate being sized up in the coffee queue? Should I have just asked him 'so, what size are you sporting down there?' - would that have been more appropriate??

I'm pretty sick of the faffing about when it comes to men and women - I've always thought it best to just be obvious, and if I want someone then I should just let them know. But apparently it's not the case, and we're all doomed to subtly and casually making eye contact with someone, followed by a tedious charade of do you like me, do you think I'm cute, would you like to have a coffee blah blah blah when all we really want to say is 'can I take you home?'.

Things would be a lot simpler, and maybe a lot more fun, if we went by my rules.

To dye or not to dye...

Question for you:

I have been blonde all my life. Usually I put highlights in it, so it's some kind of nice pleasant blonde, but lately I've been too fucking lazy to get anything done to it, and it's now an ash blonde colour. I am considering dying my hair brown - a nice chocolatey brown. It's a big step, it's a huge decision, and I need your help.

Should I go from Blonde to Brunette?

Self Righteous...?

I'm feeling very positive this morning; this could have something to do with the intense gym session this morning, or it could just be that my hormones are being kind to me today. Either way, I feel the need to force my opinion onto my adoring public in the form of a 'let me tell you something you already know' rant.

So, isn't it shockingly amazing how a slight change of focus, or a change of mind, can completely alter your feelings? Par example, let's say that you were feeling pretty shit about something, you go home, you sit on the sofa, and you stare at the wall pondering the true complexity of the situation you've found yourself in, and the sheer lack of hope for a comforting resolution has swamped you. There appears to be no way out, and the messy pile of crap just gets bigger and bigger the more you think about it.

Let's say that at some point, your mind switches - it just flicks over to a different channel, and suddenly there's a slight ray of hope, and a wee little glimmer of sunshine at the end of the self imposed tunnel of doom. This is your chance to get out of the shitty mood, and more often than not, any reasonable person would take this chance.

My findings of late have been astonishing, in that I've discovered the knock-on effects of accepting this change of channel. My example outlined above was indeed a picture of my evening last night, and yes, there was a sudden change of channel. (Most likely brought on by the realisation that my TV package had been upgraded and I now had complete access to the Comedy Channel, and the channel that seemingly only plays Sex and the City re-runs. Brilliant.) I went to the gym this morning, and then on my way into work I started thinking about the cesspit of crap, but this time, I didn't care! I smiled in the face of adversity, and I believe that I can now emanate a feeling of positivity onto the entire situation, and perhaps, just maybe, resolve said issue with the application of some sympathy, some understanding, and a smile.

Sickening, aren't I.

Dirty Smokers

I gave up smoking over a year ago now, and since then I have been very pleased with myself and my renewed ability to breathe deeply. The majority of the world have also apparently cottoned onto this idea, and smoking is now mainly banned in public places. Joy. Wonderful. We're all on track... However, one place of communal existence was largely forgotten on my part, that is, other people's houses, largely; parties in other people's houses.

Smoking is still legal in your own house. The idea here is, I'm guessing, that if you smoke and your household smokes, you're not killing anybody but yourselves and therefore there's no problem or liability for passive smoking related illnesses and afflictions. BUT what happens when you have a party, and, let's say, 15 of the 17 people at said party are smokers. What rights do the non-smokers have? Who is in charge of designating the whole house and grounds as a smoking area? And who should be made liable and answer the complaints of the non-smokers, when they inevitably arise?

You see, I spent this afternoon at a very pleasant party, with a bunch of my friends. It was fun, great to catch up with said friends, lovely surroundings etc etc. But, when I got home, I realised that my clothes STUNK of cigarettes, and my freshly washed hair STUNK of smoke. Not only was my general smell affected by other people's dirty habit, but my chest was feeling markedly tighter than this morning, and I had to take my asthma inhaler in order to relieve said tightness.

Now tell me - is this fair? Is this fair considering the facts that a) I gave up smoking over a year ago and am now a non-smoker, b) I spent roughly $600 AUD on nicotine patches and another $150 AUD on compensatory alcoholic beverages, and c) I didn't give permission for people to smoke around me and was not asked for permission or an indication of my willingness, whether favourable or not, to be surrounded by smoke?

I'd appreciate your feedback on this issue, as the letter I've drafted the Prime Minister is a little offensive and possibly completely over the top, and will no likely get me into a whole world of trouble that really I could do without.

Dreams of Weirdness

I'm getting fed up with my mind playing with me while I'm asleep. I've had some of the weirdest dreams of my life in the past couple of months, and last night's just sent me over the edge.

I can't remember what it was about - all I know is that I was at some kind of party, and there were odd people, and it was odd - but I woke up feeling a whole world of strange. It's not just how it makes me feel though, it's the weird things that the dreams seem to do to the world around me. For example, I went to breakfast with my mum and step-dad, and they sprinkled icing sugar on my raisin toast. Then, my step-dad gave me a hug when I left, which is totally unheard of. Then one of my friends was on the Homepage of Brisbane Times which totally threw me.

I'm gonna sit back and wait for more elements of weird to enter my life today, but in the meantime I think it's safe to assume that my brain has a direct effect on the world around me, and that perhaps, maybe, I am actually in control of the entire universe.

(I'm now thinking very hard about all of my readers sending me $100 each in the form of a cheque or an EFT payment...)

Just a Phase?

This morning I signed up for the next 12 Week Challenge at my gym. That's right people, the months of torturous posts about cravings and aching muscles are about to return. Why have I decided to put myself through months of carrot sticks and protein shakes again, when last time nearly sent me over the edge? I'd like to say that it's just a phase in my life where I feel the need to constantly improve myself and eventually become Super Woman, but I am feeling more and more that this is yet another example of my tendency towards Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD).

I received an email from a friend in the UK the other day, saying that London wasn't the same without my OCD ways. This got me thinking - has Australia dampened my disorder? Or have I merely fallen into a group of friends that fail to notice said affliction? Is it that the sunshine of Australia hides my OCD, or maybe it's just the eternal sunshine of my obsessively spotless mind that has enabled a lessened version to emerge?

The answer is, none of the above. I have been hiding my Obsessions behind the 12 Week Challenge, and my excessive gym activity and diet regime. I fear that I am actually completely obsessed with my fitness, my weight and my measurements, and I'm about to embark upon another round of results measuring and personal abuse. It's a disturbing realisation, but it's one that leaves me with a feeling of power not unlike those felt by the super heroes of the past. My OCD therefore inherently enables me to do pretty much anything I like! With my new found, yet rediscovered, powers of obsessiveness I too can fight the evil powers of the universe! (As long as it's within the 4 walls of my gym, and doesn't involve consuming fat, sugar, salt or anything remotely tasty...)

Tanty

I think I've decided that today should just be over. And I don't even have PMT! Brilliant.

In the last 24 hours I've managed to piss off my two best friends, annoy another friend, disturb my mum's sleep with a panicky phone call, run out of money, and I've chucked a major tanty where I threw things around my house, drank two beers and took a valium, all in the hope of escaping the dark world of crap that I appear to be on the edge of.

Am I overreacting? Probably. In fact, yes, I am. I'd like to raise a topic for discussion, in lieu of my tanty: Liars.

I'm thinking that a lot of people in this world are actually compulsive liars - they lie so much that they start to believe their own lies, and at this point it's actually impossible for anybody to know the complete truth. Now, I'm not pretending to be completely innocent here. I've done my fair share of lying. But I've never really knowingly been lied to on a major level. It's not a nice feeling to know that people purposefully bend the truth for their own pleasure or satisfaction. Especially when it's stuff that directly affects you. Is it possible that some people have no idea that they're lying, and are so selfish that they don't even think about the consequences of their actions? Is it possible that we are in fact surrounded by arseholes who directly hinder our happiness with the inconsistency, and sometimes the complete lack, of their truthfulness? Or is it possible that I have taken this a step too far, and I should tank myself up with more valium in order for me to ignore the presence of crap which is evidently innate in the human race?

Falsification

As some of you may be aware, I designated a Guest Blogger and stipulated that for me to determine whether or not the position should be made a permanent one, I would use the counter to the right of this screen as a guide to the popularity of this medium. Given that, on average, my own posts deliver 50 page impressions per post (PPP), I would assume that the impressions of a Guest Blogger should by rights deliver an equivalent PPP.

After informing those involved of the rules and parameters set around this event, I assumed that said rules would be adhered to in the most professional of manners.

I was wrong.

Unfortunately, a person who shall remain nameless due to the amazing respect that I have for them, (Roy), has been hitting the 'Refresh' button to falsely increase the PPP of the Guest Blogger post. All I have to say is that this is a perfect example of why people with less than half a brain should not be left in control of electrical or heavy machinery, and why it might be best for all concerned to just designate a dark corner of the earth to accommodate them and their anti-social ways.