Do you have enough support to run?

Dressed in attire ready to run down Spring Flat, I stood on a stool, destroying the last thick layer of dust on top of the book shelf in my childhood bedroom. I was dusting the trophies my dad told me not to throw out because they are a "reflection of who you were." I know the sad truth that they are just a reflection of my forced participation and a reminder of the time I was booted from my netball team for being "butter fingers."

The positive now though, is that I am active and I was ready to go for a run. As I dusted the last bit of the shelf, I remembered that yesterday my sports bra hadn't given me the ideal support, so today I had worn an extra layer, for extra support. I decided there and then, that I should test out just how supportive this extra layer really was.

I stood on the stool and jiggled lightly and everything seemed to be in order. I jiggled again, harder this time and much to my horror I was no longer supported, but I don't mean my chest, I mean the bloody stool underneath me had a tanty with all the jiggling and came out from underneath me!

I lay on my bedroom floor with my duster still in hand, boobs still supported and a bit shocked. No damage. Went for my run. Boobs were supported.

I hate the term "country girl at heart"

Do you think it’s funny that yesterday I was on the back of a ute tying a ram to the tray so that we could take the fuzz ball to the neighbours to sheer off all its winter woollies?
If you don’t think that’s funny then maybe you need to take your sense of humour to the doctors because it really is funny. For you folk who don’t know, sheep don’t usually transport like dogs on the back of utes. He was bleating at traffic though and I’m certain that he was having a jolly good time.
Another funny was yesterday when I helped my dad push a 7-tonne truck down a hill, twice, so he could attempt to jump start it, twice. Then there is also the funny of me having to steer the beast backwards up a hill as it was being towed, twice.
I’m spending the week in the country with my dad. Currently I’m unemployed and quite frankly I’ll do anything for a quick buck. So if this means summer cleaning a massive, dust infested country house and my dad is willing to pay me $15 an hour to Jiff the crap out of it, then so be it!
The house is next to a dirt road and the dust from the road thinks it’s nicer inside than outside in its natural habitat. I’ve been coughing for two days, but I’m not mad because I go to bed at night knowing that that I am making the house a less allergenic place for my dad to dwell in.
As for the flies, I went postal on their arses with the vacuum cleaner today. They were those slow, lazy blow flies, the ones that you go to swat away but they are so slow that you end up squishing them and then you feeling dirty because you touched something that likes the smell of poo and gives birth to maggots.
It was very pleasant yesterday afternoon when I’d finished dusting the piano piece and sorting through which tea towels my dad was allowed to keep - I sat out on the grass with a beer and soaked in the country air. I then went and visited my dad in his art shed, I stomped all the way there to scare away the snakes.

Short attention span

I thought of something to blog about just before, only maybe 5 minutes ago? I remember that it didn't seem like a very interesting topic but I decided that I'd make it funny when I finally got fingers to keyboard. Unfortunately I opened up the blog page and became distracted with pointless web surfing, which caused me to forget about what I wanted to blog about. It's kind of annoying but I can't be bothered to dwell on it.
This did however lead me to a new topic of discussion to punch out in a short, snappy and mildly entertaining blog post - how my attention span (and yours too) is quickly diminishing because of the bloody internet!
I can't read a flipping book, I am unimpressed when I see that a YouTube clip is longer than 30 seconds and I will only read a long news story if it's about something sick and twisted, otherwise it's just a brisk browse to make sure I can say "Ohh I know!" when people want to have topical conversations.
They say this lack in attention span is to do with us having endless options of content at our fingertips and social spaces like Twitter requiring us to write something awesome in 140 characters or less.
I'm bored of this post, see ya.

Bandaged bear

Once upon a time there was a little bandaged bear. He was pissed off because he was always in the wars. Day after day; one injury after another.
"Cut me some fucking slack!" the bear would growl out loud every time he acquired another injury. "You have got to be joking me! Another broken leg, on top of my broken arm? I'm still recovering from last years broken bones!"
The poor bear was dirty for honey. Just like any bear, he was mad for the stuff. Rumbly tumbly, always wanting to be climbing a honey tree. He never could though, unfortunately for him he was always in hospital. Never any honey trees in there, just a bunch of sick people and a lot of morphine he'd become addicted to.

Don't rob people with no money.

A friend of mine was robbed the last night. Well he wasn't actually robbed because he had nothing worth stealing. However the robber did come into his room and threaten to slice him up before checking his wallet and getting really upset that there was no money in it.

This led me to thinking about how I would react to a situation like this. Although reasonably far fetched, I would definitely be thinking this.

Jess stirs in her sleep as her subconscious alerts her about the person standing in her bedroom doorway. She gasps when she sees the dark silhouette of a tall, half baked man.
"Don't fucking move" screams the angry man "Lie down or I'll stab you in the throat."
"Oh no!" whispers a frantic Jess.
"Where's your money?" demands the man.
"I don't have any money" answers Jess, honestly.
"Where's your fucking money?" the man screams again.
"Seriously I don't have any money!" says a panicked Jess "Here, you can look in my purse if you want."
The robber snatches at her purse and opens it, much to his dismay, there is no money in the purse. "Where do you keep your money?" he screams again, even angrier this time.
At this point Jess is getting a little irritated. Why won't he believe that she doesn't actually have any money? She certainly doesn't look rich, she isn't wearing diamonds to bed or anything.
"Listen dude!" she yells back. "I work in a low paying job, I am in a lot of debt at the moment, all my money goes on my credit card and I don't get paid until next Saturday, OK? There is no fucking money!"
"I don't believe you!"
"I don't care if you don't believe me! I actually resigned from my job on Thursday, I haven't had time to sell anything on Ebay this week. I've just finished AWARD School and I'm really tired. It's so annoying hat you've woken me up by the way, I don't even say hello to Julian when he gets home from work at 1am, what makes you so special?"
The robber doesn't know what to say.
"I have scoliosis, which is really hurting right now, my parents split up 8 years ago and I really need to visit my grandmother before she passes away.
When I was little I had pet goats and I really like sleeping with a hot water bottle in winter. Is it cold outside?"

The robber leaves with no money.

Putting your foot in it

Riding on public transport can be a discomforted thing. You often find yourself jammed into small, confined spaces with strangers breathing down your neck while you're busy sniffing the hair of the person in front of you. Sometimes you have to sit next to people that you’d be scared to cross in a dark alley and it's always awkward when you’re unsure whether or not to offer your seat to the lady with the big stomach - in case she isn’t expecting.
Last night on my bus ride home I was snugly positioned next to a large old man who was kindly keeping me warm with his body heat. I recall moving over to the window seat as he sat down and repositioning my feet comfortably under the chair. Much to my subconscious delight my feet found something sturdy and smoothe to fondle, so quite contently I continued to day dream, stay warm and play footsies with this lovely piece of bus I'd found.
It was a good 10 minutes of bus ride before the man with the mighty body heat got off, giving me a chance shift a little, for maximum comfort on the long journey home.
Once settled, I went searching again for my foot's entertainment. It was only then, when my feet searched madly for their plaything, that I realised I had been playing with the foot of the person sitting behind me. I sunk into my seat cringing.
I’m not sure why this person hadn’t moved their foot when I'd first made contact. Maybe they'd planned to but had let it get to a point where it'd gone on for too long. With all the caressing and squeezing going on, it was probably deemed far too shameful to pull away mid foot rape.
I couldn’t even bring myself to turn my head to the side in case I caught a glimpse of my victim in my peripheral.
Five more long minutes passed and it was time for me to attempt a nonchalant exit from the crime scene. It was time to get on with my life.

Clearest Way To Break Up

Step by step instructions on the perfect way a break upper should break the break up news to the break uppee

1. Draw an imaginary line.
2. Say “anyone who doesn’t want to be in this relationship, stand on this side of the imaginary line.”
3. Step onto the appropriate side of the line.

The meaning of Graffiti

I wasn't in the men's bathrooms at Forresters Hotel at any point on Saturday night but I know this happened and I'm not afraid to share it.

Two men enter, one takes a urinal and the other settles for the privacy of a cubicle.

"Aw there's some good graffiti in here!" pipes the man in the cubicle.

"Yeah there is ay? I was in a public toilet in Mosman today - no graffiti in those at all" responds the urinal man.

There is an appropriate pause to intensify the comical piece of the situation.

"Rich fucks."

Be careful what you type for....

I've always been told to check my emails before sending them but I've never really taken much notice. I just think that I’m professional and intelligent enough in my communications and quite frankly I'm not into people reading my shit (how contrary.)
But on two separate occasions of late, I’ve wanted to bury myself alive after receiving replies to my emails, which I should have checked and I’m now reconsidering my email sending protocols.
On my first unfortunate occasion, I had the delight of having a high profile executive reply to me, asking me not to be so rude, even though he appreciated the Freudian slip in my subject line.
Instead of abbreviating the project name to TWAW, as we all usually do, I had delicately switched it to read TWAT and then proceeded to ask for a purchase order number.
Luckily for me he had a sense of humour and went on to tell me about a key number they once raised that would use the first 2 letters of the brand and the 1st letters of the title words. His ad was for Currys, called 'No Turkey.'

OK so that one turned out alright and kind of makes me laugh when I think about it now, however, the next story is not so funny and still makes me cringe.

So the Monday after I had babysat the 8 year old child of an old work colleague (let’s call him Bob) I wrote Bob an email to find out about the show that he had gone to see on the night of the babysitting.
Of course I made polite small talk and made genuine comments about how cute his son is and how it's nice to see him growing up, finding his interests and hobbies.
His son had shown me all his latest projects, like some neat lego structures, some posters and strangely enough for an 8 year old boy, some craft pieces he had sewn!
I received the reply to my email the next day at about 7 in the morning. I was still in bed and can’t reply from my iPhone. Bob responded about the show and talked about how his son had enjoyed having me babysit too, closing the email with the curious comment of “What do you mean by sexing?"
I was a little confused and thought he had made a spelling mistake of some sort, much to my horror, this was not the case.

I read back through my email and here is a direct quote of what I had written.
"I think he liked having me and my friend there, he was very into show and tell with all his cool stuff. I love how he likes sexing and being craftsy. So cute!"

pokes head in sand