The Dawn of a New Era

A new blog is in production. If you'd like to be included in the mailing list of this new blog, please email me.

Final Post

The blog is officially dead. It has come to my attention that it causes more problems than it's worth, due to the fact that everybody knows who I am. I can no longer write anything without other people taking it the wrong way. Due to the inherent uncommunicative nature of some of my readers, I have to protect myself by not writing anymore.

I'm thinking I might start another blog, where my more communicative readers can read my rantings etc. If you're interested in being informed of this new blog, let me know and I'll communicate it to you.

Thank you all for reading!

Bazza

Ignorant Fuckwits.

I have a new realisation of just how ignorant people can be. You heard me: IGNORANT. Because I didn't explain why I wasn't going to this fucking charity thing yesterday, some people were ignorant of my reasons and of course, bitched about it. I'd like to tell these people a few things that may enlighten their tiny little brains, somewhat:

I have a belief. My belief means that I don't contribute to charities which prolong the human race. It's a personal belief and I don't enforce it on others. Just as you don't enforce your personal beliefs onto me.

Most importantly: IF YOU HAVE A QUESTION ABOUT MY REASONS AND MY BELIEFS, ASK ME. Don't sit there and bitch about what you don't know about. It isn't my fault that your ignorance has made you incapable of offering a worthy comment to the world.

Seriously - there's nothing I hate more than someone who doesn't have the brains or the balls to ask someone else a direct question, and bitches behind their back. So just grow the fuck up and be a fucking mature minded person for a change.

Connectile Dysfunction

Ok, so I'm sat in the office of one of the largest media organisations in the world (my employer) and can't really do any work. Why? Because the email system is down - the entire company has no email. Apparently it won't be fixed until tomorrow. Brilliant. Thank the lord that this hasn't affected our internet connection.

I'm sat in the email-less office on my own. All phones are diverted to me, and I sit and wait for the phones to ring. Why? Because everybody else has gone to help out at some foodbank where they pack up tins of food for people who can't afford to eat. Why am I not with them? Because I don't agree with disturbing society's process of natural selection; namely, Amnesty International and all the other charities who aid the human race in their never ending plot to save the entire planet, disrupt the natural order of things, and eventually destroy the earth in it's entirety.

But I'm not completely alone. Originally I thought that I'd be able to divert my phone (and hence, the phones of everyone else) to my mobile and just go home. But no - my boss has decided to stay in the office too. So far he's annoyed me just with his presence, as it means I can't go home as planned. And also, he's made me realise that he has no clue what kind of an evil person I am. Or maybe he does now... He said to me 'so why aren't you out at the charity place; that seems like something that's right up your alley' - He clearly knows NOTHING about me. I'm the least charitable person in the world and would much rather see the whole race of humans, including myself, die a painful and explosive death than let the earth perish under the strain of the population, and would therefore never give anything; my time, my money or my attention, to a charity that's sole purpose is to extend the life of humans. Let them starve - that's what I say.

I don't expect anybody to agree with me, and I don't usually enforce my view onto others. (I remained fairly quiet about my intentions to stay in the office and offered no explanation to my colleagues who questioned my motives.) But I just figured that this is MY blog and I can talk about whatever I want to on here. So, if you don't like it, don't read it.

Notes on a Ramble.

The only positive about being sick, (physically ill where no food or water is able to be held within), is that once your stomach has calmed itself down, and accepts foreign bodies of food, you have an almighty excuse to eat anything, for the sake of your health. This afternoon I have consumed numerous frozen treats, purely because they're easy to eat (suck and swallow), they're cooling on the mouth, and they are pretty much just sugar which turns into the much needed energy that you're lacking.

Now, ignoring the almighty innuendo inserted (hah) above, I'm pleased to say that the consumption of various sticks of pleasure (heh) has sorted me out. As always.

What is WRONG with me?? I always get like this when I'm sick. I apologise. My god - my mum reads this... ah well, she knows I'm a complete freak of nature anyway. Nothing shocks her anymore.

So, I have inadvertently and unintentionally resumed my state of hermitage this weekend. I have done a lot of sleeping, and finished Northanger Abbey. This book was somewhat of a disappointment. It was a refreshing change to read something so lighthearted, but I had been given the impression, at a young age, that this book was a little bit scary and some themes of horror in it. The person who gave me this idea was wrong. It was the biggest pile of piss-weak lovey dovey bullshit that I've ever read (aside from Richardson's 'Pamela') and there were no scary bits whatsoever. I don't know why I'm surprised at this misinformation. It was my father, after all, that delivered it to me.

You may have noticed that he doesn't get much of a mention on this blog. There's a very good reason for that, and as I'm feeling rather open to day, and the only member of my family who reads this is my mother and she shares my view of my father with me and doesn't talk to him anymore, I shall tell you.

He's a mean old man.

In your head, somewhere, you've likely formed a stereotypical image of a 'mean old man'. I'm thinking you're thinking of some kind of scrooge like image; a small, weedy man with a perma-scowl, a fist full of money and the remnants of an evil comment on his lips. To get an accurate picture of my father, insert about 50kg and you're there.

So thanks, Dad, for giving me a false impression of a novel. Your input in my life has been, as always, something to remember.

The Filters

My oh my I am SO popular.

But seriously - I'm sure every average looking girl who advertises for a man gets as much attention. The thing is that I've never had quite so much attention and I"m friggin proud as hell! I mentioned in my previous post that I'd had 30 enquiries in the first 24 hours. Since then, the number has risen to approximately 100. It's approximate because I've LOST COUNT.

Now don't get too excited; they're all fairly underwhelming, apart from 3 that I have put through my various filtering processes. I feel it's somewhat important to communicate these filters, in order to make this kind of thing easier for other women of desperation in this world.

Filter 1: What Does He Sound Like?
Possibly the most effective of all the filtering processes, in terms of handling the volume of enquiries, this involves yours truly reading the offending person's profile, and scanning it for, a) spelling mistakes, b) grammatical mistakes, and c) syntactical usage. If he is of an adequate standard, (95% pass rate, allowing for potential typo's), then we move on to Filter 2.

Filter 2: What Does He Look Like?
You may be surprised that is not the first Filter, but you see, I place more importance on their ability to hold a written conversation, than their appearance. (This is the main reason why I'd have to decline any advances from David Beckham.) So, I observe the person's photo. My immediate thought varies, but allows me to judge my true opinion quite accurately. There are 3 levels of thought, as follows; a) 'He's hot: I'd like to tap that', b) 'Is he hot? I can't quite tell... perhaps at a different angle...', and c) 'What in god's name possessed this person to contact me, and who told them that this was a good photo?' Needless to say, anybody in (a) moves on to the next stage, those in (b) are left in my inbox for further thought, and (c) are rightly declined.

Filter 3 is as yet undefined. I have made contact with 3 people who passed Filters 1 and 2 with flying colours. I'll update you as to Filter 3 - the final filter - in due time.

Slightly Shameful

I'm slightly ashamed of what I'm about to say, but I figure that if I don't write about this on my blog, I'm never going to be able to talk about what could potentially be a very news-worthy project.

I went to a wedding on Saturday - it was beautiful, lovely, everything a wedding should be. Prior to going, I had been told that weddings were THE place to meet people. I told myself that, having tried most other avenues, if a wedding didn't produce the man of my dreams, I'd have to resort to the final avenue. That is, dating websites. *shudder*

So, I didn't meet anybody at the wedding, and yesterday I did it; I put my profile on a website. Urgh. I feel slightly sick about the whole thing. But I figured that I don't go out, like, at all, and even if I had the time to go out I still wouldn't. In short, there's absolutely nowhere that I'm going to meet a man, so unless I want to be an old spinster this measure is totally necessary.

In the last 24 hours, I've received about 30 enquiries. Of these, I have made contact with just 2. I narrowed it down to these 2 men, because they were the only ones who made no spelling mistakes and could string a sentence together without abbreviating anything or saying 'lol'. Appalling isn't it. But a pleasant surprise was that these adequate spellers were also relatively good looking. So yes, it's an interesting little project, I'm still ashamed about it, but I'd rather do something that's completely against my nature and totally outside of my comfort zone than end up alone, cursing the world for not delivering me some company when deep down I know it's because I didn't try hard enough.

So there.

Antichrist...mas

I will be celebrating my non holiday at home with Colin, as I have previously mentioned. We will be eating some kind of lunch - chicken may be involved - followed by a rather indulgent dessert - possibly including chocolate. This dessert will be so indulgent that it requires a permanent place on my sofa, surrounded by cushions, sitting directly in the path of my air conditioner which will be on ALL DAY. This is one day where I don't give a shit about the environment, and am intent on making a dirty great big carbon footprint.

So, in order to perform an act of true laziness and indulgence, I need something good to watch on TV. This is where I need your help. I need suggestions on movies or tv series dvd box sets which I can hire/purchase for this anti-special day.

So far, I have the following ideas:

Deadwood (box set)
Indiana Jones Trilogy
Lord of the Rings Trilogy
Nip/Tuck (Seasons 1, 2 & 3)
Lost (Seasons 1 & 2)

Does anyone have any better ideas? The last thing I want to do is have to get up off the sofa to change the dvd, so the longer and more intense, the better.

Thanks.

More than a woman...

It has recently been brought to my attention that my outbursts of late, which I largely attributed to PMT, aren't really that normal.

Other women are known to suffer less than I, and my levels of PMT - my SEVERE PMT - could be due to something else. I went to the doctor because of my frequent black-outs and light-headedness, and it turns out that there might actually be something wrong with me! Yay!

This is a good thing - this means that I can now blame something for my erratic behaviour, mood swings and hot flushes. I don't know what it is yet, but I don't really care. The fact that I can now have my sights set on a day when I am a normal woman is far greater a feeling than any I've experienced before (slight exaggeration, perhaps).

So, my lovely readers, colleagues and friends; the days of 'don't go near Bazza, it's "that time" again' are officially close to being over. And as for you, my terribly out of control hormones; you can just fuck off and die.

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.)