December 2007 Archives
The Russians are a strange lot. Best known for their dancing bears, the Iron Curtin, their world renowned 'mail order bride' system, and for being the only people group on the planet that die if they accidentally end up with more blood in their system than vodka, they are also apparently very keen on creating unusual stamps. Very unusual stamps.
Now, as we know, postal stamps are a great way of recognising national pride and achievements. Major events are commemorated and celebrated through postal stamps, heroic people and their feats become veritable stamp icons. The above stamp was created in 1968, celebrating the 50th anniversary of the end of world war two. It depicts Soviet soldiers moving forward to victory across a battlescape, with the Soviet Communist flag flying proudly in the top right hand corner. Most of the right hand side of the stamp is occupied by what appears to be a soviet worker expressing his gratitude to a Soviet soldier... through the art of interpretive pashing.
Yeap. Pashing. That dude with the Moustache and floral pattern on the hem of his shirt is saying "Thankyou Brother for risking your life for the greater good of our people" by ramming his tongue down the throat of that guy with the tin hat and rifle. Awesome.
In the West, we love our fellow man. In Russia, fellow man loves YOU!
It did get me thinking though... for all those people out there this upcoming New Years Eve, standing around under Sydney's harbour bridge, surrounded by couples making out by the exploding light of 10,000 fireworks, don't be so narrow minded. If you can't find a random stranger of the opposite sex to pash on NYE, why not turn to your fellow man, and show them some Russian love.
Find that lonely man under the bridge with the big moustache and the Police / Indian / Construction worker / Cowboy / Military / Leatherman outfit, wrap your arms around him tightly and say "Thankyou brother for Liberating me" with a big sloppy man kiss. Heck who knows, he may just be better looking than that chick you were oggling all night through your beer goggles anyway. I mean, for NYE, most people are as drunk as Russians anyway, so no one will remember it... unless of course they record it on their mobile phones... hmm.
So from all of us here at lifeofsuch.com thanks for reading in 07, and Happy New Years and many wonderful returns for 2008.
For those that are regular readers of life of such, you may have previously heard (or at least read) this poem in the last poem... but because I'm such a geek, I threw together a little spoken version.
So enjoy, and once again, have a Happy, Merry and Safe Christmas (and New Years period).
Stay classy. Or not. Either works.
So it's that time of year when we all say goodbye,
to diets and weight loss and slimming of thighs.
We eat lots of sweets, bad food is a feature,
red colours turns good little children to creatures.
We drink lots of wine and our faces turn red,
and the wine hastily puts uncle Kenneth to bed.
And from food and drink to the tree we all look,
with presents and cards hidden in every nook.
The presents are opened, the paper is torn,
another year comes, more bad socks to mourn.
But mourning bad gifts is just not the reason,
of this time of year that we call 'silly season'.
So as we gather around, the whole tribe in one house,
the family, with chickens, rabbit, dog and mouse.
Well, we don't have a mouse, it was really a rat,
and it died mid this year, so enough about that.
We gather as one with friends & pets in this season,
and reflect on the neighbours Christmas light treason.
As thoughts shift to snowmen, reindeer's and sled,
and that jolly old fat man all dressed in red.
Who breaks into houses in the dead of the night,
and gives our poor guard dog a terrible fright,
And we don't forget during our pleasure and mirth,
Little baby Jebus, Lord at his birth.
On his birthday he met the three men that were wise,
and fried their poor brains with his laser beam eyes.
And then Jebus got up with his sword in his hand,
and slaughtered the Zombies who inhabited the land.
But enough of that stupid talk, onto serious things,
no more being distracted like a kitten with string.
So again I attempt to surmise this whole season,
and look through the dollar signs and to the real reason.
Christmas is a time to reflect on the year past,
and wonder why your auntie has such a fat ass.
I'm sorry that tangent just was not my fault,
my auntie walked passed, and came to a halt.
To read this here poem, and the contents within,
and because I have humour I just slipped that line in.
So to all my friends who have stood by me this year,
I thank you and promise I shall persevere,
At being more of good guy, (although you may mock)
I'll be more of a good friend and less of a cock.
I'm not much of a poet, but if I could write,
I'd write something great for you this Christmas Eve night,
If I could find the words, I'm sure I just might,
Say Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night...
Dear Santa.
I know that everyone loves getting into the Christmas spirit around this time of year by decorating their houses and windows with coloured lights and fake snow, but can you tell me why Lindsay Lohan keeps on decorating her nose with little lines of white Christmas powder all year around? She must really like Christmas a LOT.
Looking forward to your arrival.
Little Timmy.
A few weeks back an email arrived in my inbox from one whom we shall call "Mr Italy" for now, letting my know my website had begun transforming and doing strange things all on its own. Now, to be honest, my site often has its strange moments when it takes on strange forms of its own choosing... one day it has long blonde hair, then seconds later it takes to its head with a razor faster than you can say "Britney put your pants back on".
For good measure he attached a screen capture of the offending 'error' that had appeared. For those that have not yet seen the site header, it contains a series of images where I 'walk' across the screen, sit my massive ass down and look stupid. Not really a stretch for me, because i'm pretty sure that even in real life I can do the walking and looking stupid thing pretty well. Some call me the master.
So all things being unequal I figured I would just clarify the situation for those that care. It isn't a site error, it is what is known as an 'Easter Egg', a hidden mini feature within the header of the site. "Mr Italy" accidentally became the first to discover it. In fact, I think there are only 2 people that have seen this Easter Egg in full, and only because I pointed it out to them... at least I think.
So, if you are up for a challenge, spend a little time searching for some easter eggs at Christmas time around the page at life of such. And if you work it out, feel free to email me with a mini screen shot. First person who finds the anomoly (and works out how to make it appear) on their own gets a mini poem dedicated to their greatness.
P.S. There may be more than one easter egg hidden on the site...
Dear Santa,
I think you need to see a doctor about your big wobbly tummy, which may be due to either your excessive eating or alcoholic binge drinking. You may have some serious health issues that urgently need attention. Perhaps next year you should consider giving yourself a treadmill and a detox diet book.
Much love,
Little Timmy
P.S. You need to cut back on the pre-shopping centre drinks. Mummy says I got drunk just from sitting on your lap and getting high off the whiskey fumes. Of course, I don't remember much of the shopping trip after getting my photo taken. And your elves looked hot.
Over the past couple of months I have seen a lot of things in my new work role, and have met a lot of strange people and visited a lot of strange places in the course of my travels. This is just one of those occasions when those three elements collide in a rather unusual life of such kind of way...
Here I was, driving through a rural area in North West Sydney, when I started seeing signs for local business, all peddling their various wares... from antiques to metal oil drums, fresh flowers and fruits from the orchards, to fresh manure and fresh rabbits. Fresh rabbits? Huh? Rabbits?
Now don't get me wrong, I think rabbits are cute. My favourite nintendo Wii game at the moment is Raymans Raving Rabbids. Really, I love rabbits. I especially love the sound they make when you hit them with a shovel or bathroom plunger. Awesome.
Oh, and I loved them in real life too... as a kid at least. I used to have some as pets. Unfortunately, Betty and Mavis turned out to be Bob and Mavis, and doing what rabbits do, pretty soon we were being over run with little white rabbits. And can I say, nothing is more condusive to the love of rabbits than having your yard overrun with little white baby rabbits.
In fact, after a couple of months, my dad loved them so much that he used his bare hands to put the bunnies to sleep. And then he used the fur from those cute little bunnies to make some motorcycle gloves to keep his bare hands warm. Of course, my dad being dad, he only got half way through his project, and we ended up having a few rabbit skins hanging on coathangers in his garden shed. That and a few little frozen rabbits in our deep freezer.
Which leads me on to my next point... rabbit is not the most well known meat around. You go to McDonalds and order a 'Mc Chicken', 'Fillet of Fish' or a 'Homestyle Beef burger', but you don't walk in and order a 'McRabbit burger' or a six pack of 'Bunny nuggets'. It just isn't a mainstream meat. In fact, I don't think I have ever eaten rabbit meat in my life.
I have eaten Hare though... (for the record, a Hare is a big ass rabbit the size of a pony). Some friends and I were out at our old farm out in western NSW when we shot one, and decided to give it to my sister and her friend to make a pie out of it. Of course, we were joking about the whole thing, but they had unfortunately taken us seriously so when we came back to the farmhouse that evening we were presented with two oversized hare pies. And I must say, they were freaking great. Even knowing that we had shot that hare (about 10 times - those things just take so much punishment) didn't turn me off the taste. It was reallygood.
But even that foray into the bouncy rabbit creature food world was limited and rather accidental. I don't think I would actually go down to Woolworths and try and buy some rabbit. Fortunately if you tried, you couldn't do it because Woolworths don't sell rabbit meat. For the record, they don't sell dog, cat or possum meat either. But in typical Australian redneck fashion, if you look hard enough you can find anything your heart desires. Including rabbit meat.
You see, those signs started innocent enough... You can almost just picture the wonderful car conversations between a mother and her young 8 year old daughter sparked by these loving rabbit signs...
SIGN: "BABY RABBITS"
Mummy... can I play with the baby rabbits?
Of course dear...
SIGN: "RABBITS FOR SALE"
Oh can we buy one of the baby rabbits Mummy? Please? I always wanted a rabbit!
Ok, if it is your birthday present... you can have one"
SIGN: "MEAT RABBITS FOR SALE"
Mummy? *child goes pale* What is a meat rabbit?
Um... uh... it's a... uh... lets go to the pet store shall we?
MUMMY! *child begins hyperventilating* WHY do they have meat rabbits?
Oh look child dearest... a cow *car speeds up*
MUMMY!! *Child begins to vomit uncontrollably*
"Meat Rabbits" - proving rednecks live in Australia and not just in Alabama, USA since 1932...
(Voice from the background) "AND STAY OUT!!"
"Can you believe that?... he thinks he knows everything!"
"Yes dear..."
"I mean where does he get off thinking he runs the place huh? It was just an apple!"
"Yes dear..."
"And I mean, his clothes and his white beard are just so outdated and gross. Who wears that? Tell me, what kind of person would wear that?"
"Yes dear..."
"Oh, I'm so big and mighty... look at me... I wear old clothes and don't shave... ooohh. I am all powerful and go around using my smiting hand on weekends... look at me, I'm the boss Adam, I'm so big and powerful... oohh.. I'm God, fear me!"
"Yes dear..."
"Adam, have you been listening to a single word that I have been saying?"
"Yes dear..."
"ADAM! You NEVER pay attention to me!!"
The bible: bringing you the original sin called 'nagging' since... well, forever really.
A little idea Spenny and I worked on a while back... a little Spenny Penny for your weekend on life of such... because everybody loves a little spenny...
If you know me, you know I like to joke, a lot. Sometimes not everyone understands my jokes. In fact, it unfortunately happens pretty regularly... In my head I am at the dinner table, the life of the party passing witty social comment and humourous observations with alarming ease. Yet in reality sometimes everyone around me just stares at me horrified. Really. Horrified. At times it can seem like I am sitting at the table in a batman suit, you know the one where he had nipples? Yeah, that one. Sometimes (as it was pointed out at a recent birthday party during the speeches) being friends with me often leaves one requiring a lot of psychological and emotional therapy.
Interestingly, this insight was shared on more than one occasion during the birthday speeches... and it wasn't even my birthday! At the time, I thought there might have been a meaning to their mouth words - a real point behind what they were saying, but try as I might, I just couldn't work it out... hmm.
Simply put, don't ever take me too seriously ever. Because I say things to get a reaction and make people laugh... it's just a part of me. If I ever send you a random message calling you a uterus, or telling you that Jesus is hanging out in your shower with a pair of scissors, it means I think the world of you. That in mind, when you read the following little exchange, don't send me hatemail - my inbox is full. Just chill, take an enema pill and let the good times roll...
"So why are you drinking beer all of a sudden?"
"Because I am thirsty..."
"But you never used to drink... why do you drink now?"
"Oh right... I drink to take away the pain."
"What pain?"
"The pain of having you as a mother!" **
"..... sniff"
Parents, look and marvel... don't you all wish your children were as polite and friendly as me? Don't try and hide it. You love you, you just don't actually know it yet.
** This line seemed like a funny idea at the time. Obviously the more my mother cried, the less funny it became. Even still, I think it was funny for a good 15 - 20 minutes... hehe.
Jesus often tells me to do bad and inappropriate things, and I am required to pass them on via SMS and email... so friends of mine end up with messages like "Jesus says we should totally hit up that Gentlemens club on the weekend", or "Jesus is mad at you for not buying him a beer. Prepare to be smote". I also love the word smote. It should be used more in day to day conversation.
So here I include a snippet of conversation between myself and a pastor no less - for your LOS reading pleasure.
"Jesus said you should get back to work watermelon." (Said pastor is pregnant)
"Ha... No... Jesus says get back to bed and enjoy my sick day"
"No. Jesus is sad because you don't have enough faith to be healed and go back to work. You are off his Christmas card list. Heathen."
Other messages include phrases like:
"Jesus was offended that you punched him in the uterus yesterday... you hurt his feelings - and his uterus!"
and
"Jesus wants a rematch in wii tennis."
Ahh. Good times.
So, I have jumped feet first into a battle with the new neighbours in our street, and it promises to be bigger than Lord of the Rings and Starwars rolled into one. Well, maybe a little bigger than Yoda at least. Or perhaps around about the size of one of his ears. His left ear in fact, because it is slightly smaller.
So the important thing is that we are battling. Why?
Christmas lights. Stupid overly bright and garish Christmas lights.
You see my neighbours are new, literally only around 10 weeks old, mere newborns in the St Helens Avenue baby creche. And they have gone and upstaged everyone in the street by putting up Christmas lights. Quite a few of them.
Now, I have nothing against Christmas lights, in fact I love them... it is just that no one in our street ever really puts anything up. So imagine my horror when I got home one evening to the sight of my neighbours house decked out in icicle lights... icicle lights!!
A neighbour from across the street looked on and remarked "Well... that's not going to be good"
I was a little more proactive... saying something along the lines of "Oh, we can't have that... there is NO way they get the entire street to themselves" and then muttering something along the lines of "Game on Moles".
It isn't that I have anything against the neighbours... they are wonderful I'm sure. But I am very petty. And so have gone out Christmas light shopping... so stay tuned.
Game on Moles.
(Another random conversation snippet from the life of such...)
"So what did you do tonight?"
"I had my Aunties 50th birthday party..."
"Grrr.... So while you're having a few beers at your Aunt's party, I'm typing away working..."
"No, there were no beers unfortunately. Just a lot of old people and cake. The elderly certainly love their cake... in fact, old people are bandits for cake. Toothless cake bandits."
"You are so slack! it's all they can eat because it's easy for them to chew!!"
"They don't chew... they gum."
"WILL!!! So rude!"
Aunty Glenda, this conversation was included especially for you... happy birthday!
Two days ago I walked past a bus, down my driveway, opened my front door - and walked through it into the living room where my aunty was standing there, apparently waiting for me with a big cheesy grin on her face.
"HEELLOOO" she said, in that creepy way only an older (and slightly unbalanced) relative can manage.
"Uh, hi"
"Aren't you surprised to see me?"
Her eyes were so wide open it looked like her eyeballs were actually clambering forward out of her skull. Her head was nodding in a slightly eccentric 'twitchy' kind of way. Her hands were clasped across her waist, and every fibre of her being was willing me to be totally surprised at her presence.
"Umm, no... not really" I replied.
"What? Why not?" She asked. Deflated. Like a broken silicone implant breast. But without the silicon poisoning.
"Um... I guess the 10 tonne bus parked out the front of the house kinda gave you away..."
"Oh..."
"I mean, it isn't like it is a little bus. You live in it. It has beds, and a loungeroom and a kitchen and everything... it really is very massive. Cars can hardly get up and down the street with that big ass bus there... in fact, the neighbours all make comments about knowing when our cousins are visiting, mostly because access to their houses is kinda blocked."
"But..."
"No wait, I'm not finished. Walking into my house, and not seeing the bus would be like looking at Jennifer Lopez and not realising she has an ass the size of a crate of watermelons... it would be akin to being Prince Charles and not seeing that you had accidentally married a horse Camilla Parker Bowles... it would be like spending $2 BILLION on an underground train line between Chatswood and Epping, but not realising that trains can't actually go on the line because you are the State Labor government and you fooked it up... it would be like having dinner with Josh, his 4WD and his rifle, and not realising he is a massive bogan..."
"Ok, but aren't you surprised to see us?"
"Um... I think we can probably say NO to that one."
While I'm banging on about cars and that, I think there should be a law that dictates a drivers eyes should be a certain level above the steering wheel.
I can't even remember the last time I was out driving and wasn't nearly run off the road by one of the old blue rinse brigade... absolute nightmares.
They drive extremely safely. And by safely I mean they change lanes without looking, merge onto freeways at around 60kmph slower than traffic, fail to give way at round abouts, spend 15 minutes unnecessarily giving way on intersections and generally causing havoc on the roads.
And while they pot along in the right hand lane at 20km's per hour below the speed limit, holding up traffic and blissfully unaware of the 3km traffic jam behind them, they peer out the tiny space between the top of the dashboard and the bottom of the steering wheel. Not that it matters though, they are obviously more concerned with what outfit they will wear to their funeral than being co-operative road users.
But if there were police out there, policing the roads between the retirement villages and the bowling greens and rotary clubs, ticketing the old brigade for wearing beige and not being able to see over their steering wheels, the roads wouldn't be congested and jammed up like a gunk filled sinus cavity. There would be less accidents caused by old people merging dangerously without looking... there would be more traffic movement through roundabouts...
...oh the world would be a safer place.
I just wonder if anyone else suffers from peer pressure when driving... Do you put your foot down just a little more when the arrogant looking businessman going through a mid life crisis with the little Mazda MX-5 begins to speed up a little?
Or maybe that is just me suffering from road related peer pressure.
What about headlights? I've noticed I'm a little bit 'headlight happy' at times, and often drive during the day with my headlights on. Not out of any deep seeded notion of transit safety, but mostly so people get out of the freaking road.
But here is the one that I really suffer from. Windscreen wiper peer pressure. If I am out on the road alone, with no cars around and it starts raining my windscreen wipers go on faster than Pete Doherty's Cat gets high on crack... But if people are in cars around me, and they seem to be driving just fine without using their wipers, then for some strange reason I turn my wipers off again, even if I have trouble seeing.
It is not like I don't care about safety, but for some reason if the other drivers are going in the rain with their wipers on intermittently or not at all, then I just can't justify having mine on full speed. In my head (which is a strange place) they are all looking at me and my car thinking "What a stooge... supernerd cautious freak who can't drive without wipers! - I bet he wears beige tweed".
And we all know that there is nothing worse than wearing beige tweed...
So, life seems to be going well for you, with a good job, good friends and that special person in your life... and now you are thinking of getting engaged, right?
Do you feel like you have found that one special someone, that 'perfect match' who is constructed entirely from pieces of ground-up clouds, rainbows and unicorns? Do you find yourself feeling a little light headed when you start daydreaming about that special someone? If so, it may be an idea to see a doctor and get your blood pressure checked.
Before you jump on the nuptial bandwagon, let me just point out a few 'lesser known' thoughts about marriage, LOS style...
Firstly, the word 'marriage' comes to us through the combination of the words 'Mar', meaning to 'make imperfect, and the words 'I rage', which really needs no further explanation... Looking at it that way, marriage is not a word, but a sentence. Think about that.
And before you tilt your head on its side and hold up your disbelieving hand to my face and say something like 'oh no he di'int jus say dat!', lets go on a little further and look at the differences between male and female views on marriage.
"I can't imagine getting married now, I'm too young, I mean, I can see how it would have its fun parts and all but, eww"
"Ha. The fun part is the sex and stuff, the cooking and cleaning part, well not so much fun."
"No, I meant the fun part is living with your best friend for life, the not-so-fun part is the mortgage"
"Oh yeah, that's what I meant".
Men and women are very different. We get married for different reasons. Men get married because they think it is a surefire way of getting more sex as well as a free house cleaner. It is pretty simple for us men. Women get married because suddenly they are not making any more episodes of 'sex in the city' and Cosmopolitan magazine has become too expensive. And without these two staples of female entertainment, they become painfully aware that certain body parts are starting to go south for the atomic winter, and that if they leave it too late they will end up wrinkly, saggy and all alone.
And when the day of sags and wrinkles comes, it does not matter where you work, or how many kittens or puppies you own, or how many exotic locations you have visited on holidays. No matter how much you make out that you are enjoying your life, your old school friends will still come by your myspace and facebook profile and laugh at you, because you are alone, so very very alone.
But seeing as though I will never convince people to think twice before people jump into the murky depths of marriage, let me offer you a few pointers.
Women, when your husband is watching sport on TV and starts yelling at his football team, calling them such affectionate names like "Stupid dumb f*ckers" or "Pansy Biatches", he is hardly going to go straight outside and burn all his Arsenal football jerseys in a metal bin out the front on the street. Similarly, when he misses an easy shot in pool or golf and swears until the trees begin to blush, he is still a fan of the game. So remember that next time your husband gets angry and starts calling you affectionate terms like "Stupid whatever", remember he is still on your team.
Women, remember that when men get married, they are predominantly looking for someone to sleep with, and do their ironing. As they get older, the ironing becomes more important. Just so you know. Oh, and Men snore, so women, rather than develop a grudge against him, those times at 2am when he wakes you with the thunderous snoring may just be the perfect opportunity to catch up on some ironing...
Men, it is not a good idea to tell women that the only reason it is called 'PMS' is because 'Mad Cow Disease' was already taken. Doing this is only leading you down the long road to ruin, regardless of how much truth may or may not be in the statement. Oh, and women, if you ever need to get your man to do something, simply suggest that he is a little too old for it and he will move heaven and earth to get it done.
The golden rule in marriage is to avoid the laws at all costs. No matter how crazy your own parents are, your spouses mother is worse. Think of your mother in law as a cranky unholy combination of bigfoot, that pig headed Orc from Lord of the Rings, Kevin Rudd and that stupid little rat-dog that lives down the street and yaps almost 24 hours a day. You know the one.
Feuding with your mother in law is not the exception, it is actually just the rule. Remember it. If you are not feuding with the dreaded M-I-L, then you're not trying hard enough. Oh, and if you need to go away on holidays with your mother in law, may I suggest Byron Bay, it has everything. Sand for the children, sun for the wife, and sharks for the wife's mother...huh?
So before you jump into a legally binding marriage contract, just remember that when you say "until death do us part", you really have to mean that bit. Because technically the only way to end a marriage is with a chainsaw.
Before certain readers take this too seriously... remember this is only life of such, not an official marriage tips site, and that the whole thing is all in jest. Remember your jest people!
