I Am Woman

I'm half way through a large bag of maltesers, and am very close to polishing off the giant bag of peanut M&M's. I've just cried watching 'Miss Potter' and have an insatiable need for a man to massage my feet. I had a hissy fit in the garden due to the green ant that bit me as I was trying to frolic through the grass like Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music, and am now nursing a throbbing foot and some serious panda eyes. I'm upset that I have no cheese or savoury goodies because, of course, I've eaten too much sweet stuff and feel very guilty and know that a bite of savoury would remedy that no end. I think I'm getting a headache due to the apparently unlimited hot flushes that keep coursing through my body, and I have uncontrollable aches and pains thrown in, just because I can. My headache is possibly partly caused by the guilt I feel for screaming at a colleague today, shortly before leaving work 3 hours early to prevent myself from crying in the office. I'm stressing out about the fact that I have a very important, life changing decision to make by Monday, and am in no state of mind to make any decisions, proven by the fact that it took me ten minutes to decide if I should have peanut or straight chocolate M&M's. I feel slightly dehydrated, but can't move off the sofa to get water due to the ant bite and the stomach full of chocolate and my life has taken such a tragic turn for the worse that even my cat has abandoned me for the spare bedroom.

In short, I am suffering from an ungodly, unforgiving, inexplicably torturous bout of the dreaded PMT, and all I can do is sit it out. Like a big, soggy mess of a woman, I shall sit and wait for my socially acceptable self to be returned to me.

I am woman... hear me moan.

Giving Up

I'm trying to give up a good thing. It's damn tough - I've previously given up cigarettes, and that was hard, but it wasn't quite so much of a good thing, in that it kills you.

There are other things though, that don't kill you - at least, they don't kill you directly. And when it comes to giving up these things it's much a case of 'just one last time'.

Deciding on when this last time should be is something that is easy to do, but is often retracted when you start to miss it. Then you see a whole new reason why the good thing should be banished from your life, and you schedule a last time again, with the view to sticking to it.

The vicious circle continues when the last time is so good that you can't possibly make it the last time. So, we go back to the start.

So tell me, how do you give up something that doesn't directly kill you, and is very enjoyable, but inherently bad? Just how do you make the last time, the actual last time?

Misinterpretation...?

I refer back to my post entitled 'Xmas', posted on the 17th November. Apparently it was ignored. So, I would be grateful if you could all just scroll down, find this post, and for the purposes of clarity, read it again.

Done reading...?

Good. Now, you notice that I started this post with a statement alluding to the fact that I don't celebrate xmas. I'd like to say that again: I don't celebrate xmas.

So, what does that mean to you? I imagine, somewhere in the recesses of your mind you have interpreted that as 'Bazza does not partake in xmas celebrations.' You are correct in your interpretation. Well done.

What then, will you do with that piece of information? Do you store it? Do you throw it away? Or do you do what I expect you to do, and use this piece of information to interpret further pieces of information that I throw your way? Let me be clearer:

If I were to say that I couldn't see out of my left eye, you would take this information and remember it. In future instances, you would access this information and utilise it - for example, you wouldn't make grand and vital gestures towards my left hand side, knowing full well that I can't see those gestures and there may be a lack of communication that ensues. By remembering the information I gave you, you will therefore prevent this lack of communication from happening. This makes sense, yes? Anyone have any problems with this? ...No? Good. So:

WHAT PART OF "I DON'T CELEBRATE XMAS" DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?

At precisely which point in the sentence, "I tend to boycott the whole thing; secret santa, tinsel and merry are banished from my vocabulary at roughly this time of the year." do you lose interest and stop listening and not digest the information? How much clearer can I make it?

But - maybe I'm wrong in my musings. Maybe this isn't a matter of your inherent stupidity; perhaps I unfairly judge the capability levels in your process of learning? Maybe, just maybe, you don't take me seriously - and when I say 'I don't celebrate xmas because I am not of the Christian faith and do not wish to spend a shit load of time and money celebrating the birthday of someone who a) I don't know, b) I doubt the existence of, and c) has never celebrated my birthday' you actually think I'm talking shit and it shouldn't be heard.

Somewhat related to the above, I have just been included on the Secret Santa draw at work. I attempted to withdraw my name, forcefully and aggressively, but alas, this was ignored and I am now supposed to buy a present for someone despite the fact that the organisers are fully aware that I don't want to. Originally, in my anger, I had decided that I would again attempt to withdraw and make a big deal of it and get angry and possibly cry and scream and accuse everybody of not taking me seriously and of forcing me to do something that I don't believe in and physically despise. But then, I spoke to my mother, and she told me that what happens at work doesn't matter - I'm still going to be ignoring xmas in my usual fashion, and to prove that I am a good person underneath it all, I am willing to play around in the minefield of stupidity, commercialism and false hope in a person that doesn't exist, and I will participate in Secret Santa.

I want it to be known that I am not happy about this; I understand that not everything that comes out of my mouth will be taken seriously, and that quite possibly I shouldn't bother to express my view on anything ever again because it may just be ignored. I also understand that if, in the future, YOU express a wish not to do something, or partake in something, I can ignore it and include you anyway.

And that is all I have to say. This is the last time that I will mention it. If you have anything you would like to say to me about this (Roy, Chappers, IT Helpdesk), please submit it in writing.

Skinniest

There really, really needs to be some kind of standardisation in the world of coffee making. I'm constantly being told that a routine is not necessarily a good thing if practiced every day, and that some deviation is important to keep the brain interested in living. So, I went to a different coffee shop today, (incidentally, the same chain that fucked up my skinny iced coffee), and ordered a standard skinny latte. I am now half way through this latte, and have surmised that it is, in fact, NOT made on skinny milk.

So deviating from my routine of going to the nice, normal coffee shop over the road, with their nice, normal skinny milk and their nice, normal method of making coffee of all varieties, has proven to be detrimental to my health. Both my mental, and physical health.

While I continue to drink this lip curlingly heavy non-skinny latte, I curse the creation of other forms of milk and other forms of coffee shop, and I pray for the implementation of a standard.

Skinnier

Due to yesterday's skinny coffee shop issues, I chose to go to a more mainstream coffee place this morning - namely, Starbucks. I asked for a very simple drink, which they could not possibly get wrong, and which most certainly doesn't warrant the addition of ice cream or whipped cream. I asked for a Grande Skinny Latte.

After waiting for 30 minutes, and still no sign of my coffee, I began to wonder if I had been fooled into thinking that my coffee choice was standard; perhaps it was, in fact, a 'grande' coffee, of grand proportions, and they'd had to charter a flight to Colombia in order to get the grandest beans, and they'd embarked on a trip to Scotland in order to find the grandest cow to extract the milk from. Surely this is the only logical explanation for a coffee taking such a very long time to make?

Or perhaps I'm cursed. They're just lucky it tastes good.

Skinny

I've just got back from a trip to the coffee place, where I asked for a skinny iced coffee. That is, an iced coffee made with skimmed milk. When I received the iced coffee, it had a scoop of ice cream in it, and was topped with whipped cream. Now, I ask you, what part of 'skinny' did they not understand? How could the word 'skinny' possibly be construed as anything but low fat?

I'm tempted to complain. In fact, I think I will. I'm going to write to the coffee shop in question, and inform them of this terrible mistake. Oh I'm going to make them sorry they ever opened...

Xmas

Not a big fan of xmas, as most of you know. I tend to boycott the whole thing; secret santa, tinsel and merry are banished from my vocabulary at roughly this time of the year. There is a reason for my lack of festive mirth, but I don't know if I should bore you with it. Ordinarily I would bore you with it, and get great pleasure out of enforcing my view onto the ears of you, my helpless listeners. But I have learnt that there isn't much point anymore.

Over the past few years I've tirelessly explained to colleagues, friends and family members just why I won't partake in mince pies / secret santa / decorations etc. Now, I only ever explain this when specifically asked 'why don't you celebrate xmas' - I rightfully give an answer. But I've learnt that nobody, I repeat, NOBODY is ever satisfied with my answer and more often than not thinks that my answer, and my views, are NEGOTIABLE. So for fuck's sake, let me just get this out there now: I don't celebrate xmas because I am not of the Christian faith and do not wish to spend a shit load of time and money celebrating the birthday of someone who a) I don't know, b) I doubt the existence of, and c) has never celebrated my birthday.

I ask you - would you happily turn round and spend lots of money celebrating the birthday of Buddha? No - because you're not of that faith - am I right? Would you gladly take time off, using your own annual leave which you've worked hard for, to celebrate Hanukkah? No - because you're not of that faith - AM I RIGHT??

So, next time someone asks me what I'm doing for xmas, and I reply with "why, I'm not sure... I imagine I'll treat it like any other day that I've been forced to take off work, and NOT go to the gym because it's shut, and NOT go shopping because the shops are shut, and maybe I WON'T do anything that I actually want to do because the whole fucking country is SHUT", I expect this answer to be acknowledged in a minimal way, and accepted as my prerogative.

And before you smart arses even bother asking; no, I won't be having xmas lunch, no I won't be spending time with my family, and no you won't be receiving a xmas card. Is that clear now? Good.

Patriotism

My holiday is almost at an end; thankfully, I'm tanned and relatively relaxed. However, my less than fortunate friend will be returning to England tomorrow, and I can't help but feel very, very sad for him. Don't get me wrong - I see the benefits of living in such a place as London; the shopping, the night life, the restaurants, etc. But, do those things count when it's cold, miserable and wet for 8 months of the year? No, my friends, they do not.

After being back in my mother land for 18 months, I have finally lost most pleasant thoughts for England. The few pleasant thoughts that remain are for my friends who are, unfortunately for them, trapped there against their will (I can only assume). I have the most unbelievable fondness for Australia; I wake up every day and thank this country for it's weather, it's cheapness, and it's loveliness in general. Not once in my eleven years in England did I ever do that.

Furthermore, I believe that I might just stay in Brisbane forever - it's my favourite of all the Australian cities, I've got some very pleasant friends, and some (just a few) of my family live here. For me, this statement of permanent residence is quite amazing; I'm a mover, have lived in about 20 different towns across the world in my lifetime, and just assumed that this was the way it should be. But no - I was wrong.

Lastly, in my little patriotic post, I have now discovered the home of the greatest food in the world. I don't need London's Busaba, Hakkassan and fish & chips; I've got Hog's Breath Cafe - or 'Hoggie's' as my lovely Chappers calls it. It truly doesn't get much better than that: Steak, curly fries, sunshine and Cholesterol. Brilliant... just brilliant.

An anti-social experiment...

As most of you know, I'm not the most social of people and I quite enjoy my own company, as opposed to the company of others. Don't get me wrong, I love my friends, but I also love pottering about my house cleaning, dusting, staring at the walls etc. So, at the risk of becoming more of a hermit, I am going to conduct a social experiment, which may end up being an anti-social exercise.

After my holiday, I am finally going to stop drinking alcohol. The only times that I will drink alcohol are with a meal (limited to one glass of wine) or at a wedding (that's you Toes). As a preamble to my intended experiment, I have been asking my friends the following question:
"Do you have any friends that don't drink?"
The most common answer I've received is "None that jump to mind."

My slowly breeding point is that friends that don't drink are not at the top of one's mind. They are, in fact, acquaintances, with whom a night out is something more to be feared than relished. I intend to try and prevent such a fate for myself, hence proving that a non-drinker can have as much fun as a drinker, and the non-drinker's drinker friends can cope with keeping a non-drinker friend at the top of their mind.

I'll keep you updated with my experiment, if the need arises, and until then I will be embarking on an evening out tonight, where I will drink...all for the sake of being social.

Pitfalls of Love

Ok - I love Colin, BUT where does his insatiable need to attack my bare skin with his claws come from?? Every time I'm sat down, Colin climbs on to my lap, and starts kneading away at my arm, my elbow, my hand; ANY piece of exposed flesh that he can see. To start with, it's cute, but then it starts to hurt, and when he starts to draw blood with his suckling, it's time for him to stop. But it's like a habit - he's like an alcoholic, but he's addicted to my skin. I've provided him with toys, blankets, a whole house of furniture, but still he scratches me. I'd rather he scratch the sofa - and it's more expensive than me!

So now I find myself sat in the heat with a jumper on, because it's the only thing that stops him kneading me.

To add to my slight discomfort, I'm suffering major food cravings. Since learning the delights of Hog's Breath, and learning that there's a 24 hour pancake place in the city, I've not been able to stop thinking about steak and pancakes. If I had a man I'd get him to go out and get me some... actually, if I had a man I doubt I'd be thinking about steak and pancakes. God damn.

Ok Colin, get the fuck off me - I'm hot, flustered, frustrated and hungry. I need something, and that something has nothing to do with being your personal pin cushion.

Cloudy

When the sun is hiding behind a layer of cloud, and life seems just a little too cloudy, there are some things I do to distract myself from the forces of cloud. Not only are these quite effective for me, but I believe that they could potentially replace the prescription of various pharmaceuticals.

Gym: When outer influences create a feeling of anger or frustration, the gym is the best remedy. Find a treadmill that's slightly hidden from the general gym population, and pump it up to the highest setting. Your arms and legs are free to flail in a maniacal way, and your bits are wobbling like there's no tomorrow, but the feeling of complete lack of control, while still maintaining the inherent control of being able to press STOP at any point, is quite satisfying. The same satisfaction can be had from the bike, the rower and the cross trainer.

Food: Namely, Hog's Breath Cafe. I've never been to one of these places before, so could never have known the complete level of awe that I recently experienced (and the apparent beginnings of a heart attack half way through my meal). They have steak that has never been so tender, they have chips that are curly and can be dipped in your choice of sauce, and lastly, they have a mammoth ice cream sundae of such astounding proportions that they recommend not attempting to eat on your own. That, my friends, is exactly what is needed in a time of 'last hope'; feeling like you wanna die? Go and eat yourself to death!

Cat: My little treasure Colin was picked up from the cattery yesterday. After a brief period of miaowing his little head off in the car, there was silence. I assumed he'd finally calmed down and realised that we were on our way home. But I was wrong. A smell started to exude from the cat box, and the miaowing took on a ferocity rarely heard. He had done a shit, (not just any shit - it was runny), in the cat box and was getting covered in it. He managed to get out of the cat box with 1km to go, and spread the shit around the car, and onto me. Ordinarily this would have pissed me off, but it merely acted as a grounding experience. I can thank Colin for allowing me the chance to clean shit off a baser being, and to be thanked for my efforts by a big wet cuddle. I needed nothing more.

And that, my lovely readers, is Bazza's little list of things to do when your world is cloudy, your brain can't cope and it seems like life just isn't so important. (Colin can be rented for $50 an hour. Poo is not guaranteed.)

Colin; mummy's sorry...

I am now on holiday, and as you may remember I had previously advertised for a Catsitter. As nobody seems to take me seriously, not one person replied offering their services. So, yesterday I was forced to put little Colin in a HOME for cats who's mothers have got better things to do.

I feel like I've failed him. I left him, after a little cry which he duly ignored in favour of hissing at the other cats, and explained to the woman, Deb, that he's very special and needs lots of attention. I'm slightly worried that the biscuits she put down for him were NOT of an upper class variety, and that they were, in fact, a 'budget brand' of biscuit. One thing I know for certain is that they weren't 'Kitten' biscuits. I explained that I'd provided her with a high quality Kitten Food of varying flavours in Colin's little backpack, but I don't think she heard me...

So, potentially, Colin is starving, being attacked by other cats, bullied and berated by a bunch of felines whose parents clearly don't give a shit about them, and my poor little cherub's arguments of "but my mummy loves me!" won't matter at all. In fact, I think it might just make it worse.

So, I'm in a situation where my pride for looking after my little baby in such a loving and caring manner has completely disappeared because it's probably just made things worse for him in the hell hole of budget brand cats that I've placed him in. God only knows if he'll ever talk to me again, when I eventually pick him up, or if he'll have turned into some kind of feral, unloved, uncared for kitten and I'll never see my little precious Colin, as I know him, again.

I tried, Colin... I promise you I tried for an alternative method of care... but, alas, my readers did not respond...

Temporary Au Revoir

Thank the lord, I'm finally in the last few hours of work time. As of 5pm, I am officially on holiday! I may not update my blog at all in the next couple of weeks, because I'll have much more important things to do. Like going to the beach, driving down to Sydney, drinking copious amounts of alcohol and eating far too much food.

While I'm very much enjoying gloating about the fact that I've got two weeks off, I'm slowly realising that there will be something very important missing in my life. That is, my routine, and the people that comprise my routine.

I'm going to miss my little routine of gym, work, home. Especially people like Roy who keep me permanently amused and make the day of work a little easier to swallow. And the lovely Chappers who consistently makes me smile and gives me the perspective I need to get by every day.

But... apart from them, I can't wait to get the hell out of this pit of mundane misery and party like it's 1999! Wooo! Goodbye, cruel world of work; hello, life of luxury that I crave.

Water Restrictions

Weigh day is on Monday, so I'm currently on Level 2 water restrictions. Much like the sunny city that I live in, I'm suffering somewhat from a drought. In order for me to shed some last weight, and cheat my way down a further kg, I am now drinking no more than 1 litre of water a day.

On Saturday, I'll go down to half a litre (Level 3 water restrictions), and continue that until Sunday evening. On Sunday evening I will not consume anything (Level 4 water restrictions) until after my weigh-in at 7am on Monday. At this point, I will undergo a veritable flood of liquid, preferably of the alcoholic variety, along with some kind of mammoth breakfast and potentially a cigarette. Just for the fun of it.

On a semi-related note, I have just won an award at my gym! I am this month's BEST MEMBER - winning the award for being an outstanding gym member, and for losing a shit load of weight through pure guts and determination (and water restrictions). I'm the fucking greatest. Anybody wishing to see my winning physique can go down to Goodlife Chermside and see my piccie stuck on the wall, along with the following cheesy missive about my journey:

"I joined Goodlife in January 2007, weighing just over 85kg. I started work with my trainer, Angela, and then decided to sign up for the Twelve Week Challenge in February. I lost a total of 12kg in the challenge, 58.5cms and 6.4% body fat loss, taking me from a size 16 to a size 12.
Maintaining this weight loss was difficult, but I continued to go to the gym 4 or 5 times a week, working with Angela to improve my strength and fitness. I joined up for my second Twelve Week Challenge in August this year, and have lost a further 7kg so far.
I have exceeded my own expectations, and am now fit, healthy and happier than ever. I continue to come to the gym at least 5 times a week, and am hoping to compete in a triathlon next year. With nearly 20kg weight loss in total, I thank the gym and my trainer for helping me to set out on a new, healthier lifestyle."

WARNING: Cheesometer Rating: High (but oh so deserved)