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Do you ever get the feeling we are being ripped off and lied to as a society? That our lives are constantly caught up, let down and tangled in a web of marketing and spin? We never REALLY get what we pay for?

I mean, when was the last time you saw a Big Mac that looked like the image on the menu board, and not like the pimply faced teen that handed you your meal, decided to sit on it first before sliding it over the counter? When was the last time you bought a pair of jeans, and your ass looked as good as the obscenely sculpted model posing in the poster? When was the last time you met someone online, and they weren't at all 18kg's heavier, with unwanted facial hair, and 9 years older than their profile pic? (You know who you are.)

Things are never as they seem. From the two big news stories of the day, it would appear that gender-bending is back in vogue. Not since Boy-George walked the streets have we been witness to this much confusion. Today, his Holiness the Dalai Lama, categorically stated that he will not meet our Prime Minister, as"I have nothing to ask him".

Him? I knew there was something about his voice I didn't like. Next we'll be hearing that our PM is just that Orangutan from the ING Bank commercials, and that lustrous ginger mane of hair is really a wig, and that her 'First Man' is actually a real hairdresser, or at least a competent hairdresser. I wouldn't let him cut toenails. Lets face it, if the central showpiece of your professional career was Gillards hair, would you let her out to the world like that? No. You'd send her out looking like a crazy, gender-ambigous celebrity like Lady Gaga or Tom Cruise.

In other news today in this new world of Internet anonymity, we have a cute looking female blogger, supposedly kidnapped and unable to be located. "Amina Arraf", the author of the 'Gay Girl in Damascus' blog who was supposedly showing the online world what life was like for a minority in Syria. The worlds' media had been obsessed with her blog in the rush of Middle East uprising - holding her up as a shining beacon of hope for democracy in an oppressive dictatorship...

After 110 days of blogging, a supposed visit by security forces in Syria and one case of militant kidnapping, it turns out the Gay Girl in Damascus isn't actually a Gay Girl in Damascus...

Like all good internet romances, Amina is neither a young female lesbian currently residing in Syria. "She" is actually a "dude". But let's be honest, this is an old problem, just ask my friend Lola. We have all seen this before. Like all young hot-looking women you think you meet online, when you come face to face with reality, you're not gazing lovingly into the eyes of a beautiful women, you're staring at the unkept beard of a 40 year old white man with a Southern American accent named "Tom".

He is probably a trucker or a pig farmer, may have had relations with cousins in his past, and for reasons unknown, has a penchant for wearing lingere, but not wearing deoderant. This just further re-enforces my mistrust towards men with beards. To be fair, Beards don't have a good track record... Charles Manson, Joaquin Phoenix when he went mental, Jesus, my aunty, the Fat dwarf from Lord of the Rings... They're a pretty sketchy looking bunch of bearded individuals.

I guess, what I'm trying to say, is that in this world of digital anonymity, deceit and treachery, as I sit here wearing my $50,000 Rolex, my chromed Bently in the driveway of my country estate, while sampling a fine scotch that is worth at least $19 a bottle, at least be the one setting up the fake profile and telling lies. Life is a little bit more fun that way.

It is that time of year again, where we slow down, take stock of the year gone, and as a society collectively groan about how we never really got around to doing what we wanted in 2010, that we are still smoking, too fat, too lazy, not paid enough, still have that awkward hunch, and spend too much time in front of computer shopping for things we cannot afford.

Isn't reflection a wonderful thing?

So in the spirit of that, I give you the top 5 viewed posts from life of such. Even though I didn't post enough in 2010 - the hits just kept on coming... so, without further ado - The top 5.

#5 - Would you put your children in this?

"Kids, Mummy is tired, how about you all go play in the monkey's vagina for a while ok?"

#4 - Best Birthday SMS of 2008

Unfortunately - this one is just getting more and more appropriate coming into February. Ehh.

#3 - The 'Art' of Spanking Children



"Daddy please may I go home and play with Señor Spanky?"

#2 - Amputee Dolls, Hulk Wang, and other things...

When have you ever walked into a shop, and had your child grab your arm in excitement, look up at you with eyes full of anticipation and wonder and say "Mummy, I want the doll with the Stumps." That's right. Never. Which is why this toy is such a stupid idea.

#1 - Why I HATE Hawaiian parties...

What is worse than an old lady stripping down and trying to dance like a Hawaiian princess? 30 old woman doing the exact same thing! Because it is a birthday party, there will be copious amounts of alcohol AS WELL AS large numbers of other elderly people pretending to be young pretty Hawaiian girls in bikinis and grass skirts. One wrong move, and this party could turn into something you read about in the newspaper tomorrow.

So read up and catch up, and tomorrow (if I am sober) I will count down the top 5 moments of 2010...

And here.... we.... go.

So, it has been a few weeks now, and unless you have been living under a rock (and to be honest you probably have been, I know what you people are like) you'd know that I recently put on my anti deep vein thrombosis socks, boarded a plane with two different Joshua's and took my first ever trip overseas on what was meant to be an action packed boys motorcycle adventure in Vietnam.

And let me assure you right now. It was certainly an action packed adventure, it was everything and unfortunately more than I had expected.

Now, details on this trip have been rather hazy since our return, and a lot of questions have gone unanswered - and before you all assume the worst of us - and lets face it, you are all quietly judging us already - let me give you the three most influential reasons for our hazy recollections of our holiday.

1. A beer in Vietnam costs around 60 cents.
2. A standard "Beer" in Vietnam is actually a 750ml long-neck.
3. Previously mentioned beer is available in every restaurant / cafe / corner store in Vietnam from Ho Chi Minh to Hanoi.

So, after finally managing to sit down and work out where we had been, and living through our own version of "The Hangover", I can finally describe, narrate and collate the official version of what has come to be known "The 14 days of drunk" tour.

Over the next few weeks an accurate day-by-day account will be given, beginning with our arrival in Bangkok, and culminating with our arrival back on Australian soil. Some stories will make you laugh, some stories will make you cry, and some stories will probably lead you to call the authorities. I understand (more than most) the perils that come from sharing hilarious and embarrassing stories from a holiday, trust me on this. But truth needs a voice, and sometimes, when that voice is unforeseeably unavailable, I step in with my version of events.

This is the story of the holiday of the year. This is the story of Hinton, Spenny and Will. This is the 14 days of drunk tour.

I update you from the confines of a lovely oversized hotel in Hoi An, which is pretty much the cutest little Ancient Asian Town in Vietnam. I HIGHLY recommend getting your ass over here some time to check it out. Plus it has awesome tailors currently making the three of us 6 suits, 1 custom jacket, 10 pairs of pants and 29 business shirts, plus 1 awesome custom shirt Spenny designed, along wtih 2 pairs of custom shoes. P.S., the tailor organises our own taxi to take us all over town, free of charge just because we are awesome and spent craploads of money with him. Its like our own private little servant!

Anyways, I write this as I am about to head out to a nice little cafe for breakfast (only a few hours late) and food is on my mind... It has been a pretty interesting time food-wise over here in Vietnam... from burgers and pasta to Pho, curries, bbq grills and random hotpot combinations, it has been good. Oh, and did I mention the beers and Vietnamese coffees?

Well, Spenny has a pretty interesting habit of looking over the menu and automatically ordering the most vile sounding weird animals on the menu for us before we have a chance to stop him.

So what have we ordered?

Wild Boar.

Deer.

Goat.

Snails.

Frogs legs (twice)

Roasted Field mouse.

Snake.

We turned down the offer to drink Snake and Scorpion wine. (As I write this, Spenny is sitting next to me shaking his wrist and hand inappropriately - he says it is his watch - I'm not so sure to be honest. BUT, Spenny literally just asked when we turned down Snake and Scorpion wine and sounds a little upset because he wants to try it - case in point.) Thankfully, we only saw the last two on the menu in Nha Trang (not a bad little place - not as good as Hoi An though). After ordering Snake and Field Mouse, the waitress came back after a few minutes to tell us "Sorry Sir, all out of Snake", and "Sorry Sir, all out of Field Mouse". I did ask why she couldnt just catch and cook us a regular mouse, but she wouldn't do that.

Fortunately we are heading back to Nha Trang and can re-order snake and mouse. Unfortunately that is EXACTLY what Spenny will order. Apparently he isn't going to rest until he samples every beast on the planet.

Oh, and in other news, we met a dog in Nha Trang called Gappy at a restaurant. She was a lovely little playful puppy that ended up biting Spenny and drawing blood. I have never seen Spenny more concerned with catching an infectious disease in my life.... he was panting, red faced, eyes full of concern. HILLARIOUS. The only time I have seen him more concerned is, oh, I don't know... pretty much EVERY MEAL when he drags out his oversized bottle of hand sanitizer from his pocket (I dont know how he fits that bottle in his pants - and I'm not asking). But without fail, every meal... sanitizer. Walking down the street... sanitizer... touching the locals... hand sanitizer.

But back to the dog called Gappy.... I asked the restaurant owner if she was called "Gappy" because she was filling a blank spot on the menu tomorrow. Apparently that joke just isn't funny over here...

Ahh, fun times.

Ok, just a random little post about security in Vietnam.

Pretty much every street has security on it, be it army, police or private guards. In fact there is so much security around, you litterally couldn't walk more than 5 meters without tripping on a broken sidewalk and landing in a uniformed guards lap. They always look mean, and unless they are bashing someone with a rifle (which I am forced to say never happens - Mr Dong, you can put the nightstick down now) they almost always look bored.

Security is pretty tight even in the nightclubs, but this time was pretty OTT (over the top in internet nerd speak) and imposing. It is a little scary when 3 white guys decide to pull an all nighter before a 6am flight, and turn up to a club which is litterally on a building construction site, and instantly get mobbed by security guards. They scowled at us, and then ushered us all into what can only be described as a tiny cube of sound. Sound so freaking loud that talking was impossible, and standing with your internal organs intact was difficult to say the least. I couldn't hear what was ordered, and to be honest, can't exactly remember HOW it was ordered, but what I do remember is being the ONLY white Honkies in a club surrounded by Vietnamese... quite conspicuous to say the least.

We got a LOT of stares from all the girls, and a lot of glares from all the Vietnamese guys who thought we were there to steal girls. Next thing we know, a group of security turned up and surrounded us at our little table. 3 white boys who don't speak the language, and 4 massive security guards. Overkill anyone?

We got a little worried, although the fact we were already a little drunk meant that we weren't too worried until it was a little too late. The security cordon surrounding us and separating us from the other club goers, and stood there smiling with arms crossed. Eventually we realised they were there entirely for us, just to protect and serve us... pretty soon we had security bringing and pouring us drinks, and holding back the multitudes keeping us in our own VIP area.

They stood with us for the rest of the night, pouring us drinks, escourting us to the bathrooms, making sure we were happy, calling us cabs, pouring more drinks, smiling, pouring, presenting more drinks. It was pretty much like being famous and I loved it!

So yeah, security in Vietnam can be pretty tight. Sometimes they are there to protect and serve. Sometimes they are there to protect and serve drinks.

I'm just glad I didn't pay the drinks bill that night.

Will

P.S.
I just checked, and apparently I DID pay the bill last night. In the order of one and a half million dong or something. Yay.

So. I'm sitting here in the foyer of the Oscar hotel in sunny, sweaty Saigon (Ho Chi Minh city to be particularly correct), and after being in South East Asia for the past few days, well let me just say, I shouldn't have drunk so much.

I won't go into all the details, partially because I would rather spend an hour typing in this heat, and partially because all stories and events need to be verified for accuracy (and a major one is currently unfolding as we may need police involvement), but mostly because I'm simply not ready to talk about what has been one of the MOST traumatic and hilarious trips of my life...

But just to appease your appetites until such time as I can tell more, here are my top 5 headlines from South East Asia so far.

1) "South Asia is hot - being molested by a lady boy is NOT"

2) "Thailand - land of smiles - just never trust a smiling taxi driver"

3) "Saigon - no road rules, no safety measures, no worries"

4) "A backpackers guide to breastfeeding while riding in heavy city traffic"

5) "Organ donations in South East Asia - how to lose a member of your group and find them 2 days later laying in a remote alley way in a bathtub full of ice"

Will.

I came home today to find what I mistakenly identified as a homeless woman, complete with unkempt hair, dirty woolen cardigan and fingerless gloves making a cup of Milo in the kitchen. In fact, I checked around trying to track down her cardboard box residential investment... and wouldn't have been surprised if she stirred the Milo with her fingers and stuffed her pockets full of cookies.

As it turns out, it wasn't an actual homeless woman. It was just one of my mothers weird friends. At this point I should make note of the fact that my mother is now on facebook, and could potentially hear about this rant, but seeing as though she struggles to turn on a computer and I didn't accept her friend request, I believe I am safe and that we are pretty much among friends here... anyways, where were we?

Oh yes, the homeless one. Who reeked of cigarette smoke and has a child. Her very own child! The cutest blond haired little creature you have ever seen. Which scares me. Because if there was a parenting class that one had to sit through, complete with a test at the end of it, I'm pretty sure this woman would have failed the course for non-attendance. In fact, she probably used the dent in the top of her young child's head as an ashtray when he was younger...

...but I digress.

I was standing in the kitchen watching this woman making a Milo - which involved rattling through the cupboards for a cup and spoon, spilling Milo over the bench, taking the milk out of the fridge and then LEAVING THE FRIDGE DOOR OPEN. Which we all know is bad for the environment. Every time you leave the fridge open a little bit of Elton John dies.

All the while this little snow-haired child is wandering around the kitchen, and eventually finds himself standing in the fridge. Child finds himself standing in the open fridge... mother finds herself standing near the open fridge... fridge door starts to swing closed on its own... Can you see where this is going? It is as easy as one, two, three...

ONE mother watches from no more than TWO feet away as previously mentioned THREE year old child is sandwiched into the lettuce crisper shelf by swinging fridge door.

And after the little crumpled body is retrieved from next to the carrots, all she can say is "Oh, don't play with the fridge, it is like 5 times bigger than you!" No sympathy, no hugs, nothing. Her three year old child is crushed and frozen to death, and she can't even get her figures right...

...because I have moved fridges before, and I am pretty sure that when I struggled to carry it up a staircase the one thing I didn't say was "Wow, this fridge is pretty much exactly the same as carrying five small children!"

So, as many of you would know, at the end of January I accidentally went wide on a corner and rode my bike into a rock face at 70kmph. Smashed my bike, tore open my knee, wrote off my gear, and wrote off my bike.

Fortunately I was insured, and got money back for my bike and gear... but that meant calling my insurance company on a Sunday to make a claim, and let them know what happened. And from the moment the guy answered the phone, I knew the company was run by men.

Insurance guy: *sniffs and clears throat* "Yeah, hello... welcome to **** Insurance.

Me : "Yeah, hi, I need to make a claim on my motorcycle insurance"

Insurance guy : *sighs* "Yeah, just a minute"

I swear you could almost hear him complaining as he put his beer down and got off the couch to walk across his living room to his computer. He wasn't happy that I had ruined his Sunday afternoon watching sports on TV.

Then there were 3 other things that made me think insurance is a mans world.

1) Most everything they have done was a half assed job. From organising the bike pick up, the gear claim, the forms being sent out. Everything. Half assed. No communication, no feedback, no updates. No idea. There was less communication than an unhappy husband in a mexican standoff with his wife over using the sink as a bin.

2) The only time the company did anything was when they were "repeatedly prompted" or "nagged".

3) The official claim release form is a microsoft word document that the dude in the claims department obviously got his 13 year old child to create between homework assignments.

Yeap. Run by men. Lazy fat men.