To Put It Simply: I Hate Maths

Maths and I have never understood each other. I have a very vivid memory of learning subtraction for the first time when I was 5 years old. I can recall sitting in my chair at the front of the class near the window looking out over the barren school oval (in 2001 Brisbane was in drought) and thinking what is the point? Who cares if we have 7 slices of pizza and Gerald eats 3; wasn't that the point, to eat the food? My five year old brain pondered, what the flip is the point (in 2001 I had not developed the vulgar vocabulary you enjoy today)?

From that point maths never got much better. My year three teacher tried to encourage my otherwise by placing me in Maths Club. What a joke that was. The teacher who ran the club had the name of a popular burger at McDonalds and was full of empty promises. For the two weeks I did the homework under the false pretense that I would receive a Freddo. Sadly Mr. MacDonalds burger never delivered; thus even further screwing my motivation for the subject.

 Following a year of minimal contact, in 2005 Maths and I got ready to become better acquainted. I spent countless mornings with an extra maths text book hoping to improve my skills of numeracy. After another few years of a very "on again, off again" relationship Maths and I decided to part ways. In 2009 my teacher liked pressure cookers and swimming caps more than numbers; he inspired me a little. I got a glimpse of what a maths lesson was like without maths; fucking awesome!

Don't feel sorry for me and my lack of numeracy abilities, it is better this way. The less I see of numbers the better. Maths doesn't take it personally, it is a mutual thing. I was always cheating on it's homework with  one hunk of a graphics calculator anyway.

Define Gay

Kookaburras, the world's first homosexual bird species or just jovial?

 Every Australian has heard the adorable song which tells a brief narrative of a Kookaburra sitting in an old gum tree, manically laughing because he or she is either an extremely jovial bird or a raging homosexual. In today’s contemporary society either of these should be accepted. Educational boards are attempting to alter the lyrics of this classic Australian song morphing the Kookabura’s life from gay to fun in a bid to prevent laughter and misunderstanding from students.

I find the whole situation rather amusing. Correct me if I’m wrong but we attend school to be educated. This song should beckon discussions with children about the various meanings of the word gay. Clearly education in this area is lacking, simple adolescents frequently throw round the word gay as either an insult or a substitute word for what the French refer to as ‘merde’. Seriously, get educated and use the word in the correct context. 

“It was so gay how the bus was late. I had to sit next to the boy with the gay hair cut while I sat and did my gay Maths homework because if I didn’t gay Mr. Ferguson would give me a detention because he is gay.”Honestly there is only one noun in the sentence that could actually be attracted to other males, I will give you a hint. It is not the boy's mullet.

Next time you or the half wit in school uniform near you deems something gay, consider whether it actually literally posses gay qualities.  Was Maths actually literally gay? Because to be frank I think the answer will mostly be no; unless you’re a nerd enjoying learning about surds. In which case contact me, I need a maths tutor, we can have a gay time with numbers.

Cinema Etiquette

Image source: www.telegraph.co.uk

There are two type of people in this world. Those who have cinema etiquette and those who don't. I personally hate the latter. There is possibly nothing more irritating that sitting next to a person that does not adhere to the simple and logical rules of how to behave in a cinema. For your general information I consider the following five behaviors,  poor cinema etiquette at its finest. 

1. The packet rustler. The idiots who chose the most intense moment in the film to open various foods or beverages. Talk about picking your moment. 

2. The horrifically noisy eater. The idiots who decide to conveniently crunch chips during the intense silence. Honestly, if you must consume food at these moments of heightened silence suck or lick your food please. I do not want to hear what goes on in your mouth as your inhale a packet of chips.

3. The giant. Dear giants, I know you have no control over your height. But for the vertically challenged of this world, you hinder the cinematic experience. I do not want to fight some idiot's over-sized head while trying to perv on Channing Tatum's abs. So giants please if you note a person below average height like my number one fan Elly; please do not sit directly in front, it is rude and I will take it personally.The same rule applies to morons who sit where my feet have comfortably been resting. Honestly, is your ass so needy it has to sit in that exact seat. Nb. If the giant is seated first than obviously there is not a problem.

4. The mindless clapper. To idiots who clap at the end of a film; nobody who cares can hear you. To put it simply the more you clap the more I want to push you in front of a large bus as it travels well over the speed limit. Got it?

5.  The Ads. I realise this is not a human behavior. However, some idiot of a human is in charge of the ads presented to us as an audience. Dear person in charge of ad making, please run ads in a manner that appeals to my OCD tendencies. ie. Advertisements for places, then products, then previews and then the movie. No more than 20 minutes of advertisements would be appreciated. I didn't pay to be bombarded with your propaganda.

If you are aware that you exhibit some of these undesirable behaviors please rectify them before going to a cinema with me.
Thankyou. 

Let's Be Honest: All Children Are All Little Morons

Dear future daughter/son/tranny child,

Firstly, congratulations on being my child. 

I'm hoping you are at least 13 when you read this because Mummy has some serious issues she would like to get off her chest.  You may need to find a comfortable place to read this letter as some content may be slightly unsettling, confronting and or upsetting. To quote the character you were most scared of in your childhood, Agatha Trunchbull Some rats are going to die today. I believe it is important for you to know that I have accomplished much more than being your personal cleaner in my life; actually parenting significantly lowered my standards of living. As you can see my problems are a little deeper than the festering filthy dishes I have washed for your entire life or the stains and their accompanying odors I have tirelessly removed from your clothes. I need to have a heart to heart to get off my chest problems which are of a more emotional and psychological nature. 

I feel at about 13 you should be old enough to hear the brutal and honest truth about children. They are all little morons. For the first year possibly year and a half of your life you pissed, vomited and shat like you had an out of control septic hose attached to various parts of your baby body. I'll be honest, it was hideous. When you entered your years of walking and God help me when words came from your little cake hole, I started to get agitated. By now you are probably making the horrific whining noise that I always did hate. But honey, think logically there is only a very marginal population in society that appreciates both the physical and metaphorical crap that babies, toddlers and young children inflict upon adults. I never understood why you hated Agatha Trunchbull so much, she always was overflowing with wisdom. Clearly it was too much for your small and somewhat underdeveloped brain to process. I cannot for the life of me understand why small children take so long to grow up, I think they do it deliberately, just to annoy me. 

After the irritating child phase came your equally if not more irritating adolescent stage. The soul searching years of who am I, my body is changing and acne seriously annoyed me. At least when you were a child you knew that denim underwear was severely unattractive. And son, the tighter your skinny jeans the better because it reduces your ability to procreate; it is a fashion trend I regularly wish your father had adhered to. 

About now I should mention that I love and cherish you for the person you have turned out to be. At least that is what all the parenting books and magazines say I should do. Seriously though, you can't be half bad as you share half of your gene pool with yours truly. Xx And to be blunt, I am a pretty alright person. Besides as a woman it is possible for me to multitask practically anything, including my emotions. So, darling I resent and love you simultaneously much like I love to hate Jodi Picoult. Given you have consumed about a decade of my income, you need to know how much you are valued and appreciated. While Mummy wished she had hindsight to know that you were not a good investment you should know that I value the depreciation of my investment immensely.

You may think that I am being overly harsh and critical, but you will know exactly how I feel when you voyage into parenthood yourself; which hopefully will be many years after you turn 13. If I ever win the lottery I will donate half to you not out of pure maternal love, but with motive. Spend it on purchasing property at least three continents away from me. I would expect you to do the same for me. In my retirement please stay the hell away from me. Let's be honest its what we both want.

Love you odles and odles munchkin,

Mummy. <3

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Left Hand Prejudice Exists

Ever been writing an in class essay only to drag your hand across the wet ink? Ever had to teach your non-dominant hand how to use a computer mouse? Ever struggled to use a grater? If you have struggled with such things you are either disabled or left handed. Yes, amongst other things which make me a severely flawed human being (being a klutz, having excessively pronated feet, impacted teeth and being a chronic asthmatic) is the fact that I am a lefty.  Most websites generally agree that left handers make up 5-10% of our population world wide. The reliable Wikipedia estimated that one in every ten people are left handed. With these statistics one would expect left handers to blend into society; but we don't. There are dumb ass people who say that being left handed carries no disadvantage in life; I feel like impaling them to a stake. Society has always discriminated against us left handers and sadly probably always will. 

Some random merde I read on Wikipedia said that left handedness was always considered negative. The word left itself is derived from the Ango-Saxson word lyft, meaning weak. Well Ango-Saxsons, the joke is on you because it is a proven fact that left-handers adjust more readily to seeing underwater.

Perhaps the singularly most irritating thing about being left handed is the disadvantages we have in most sports. Who ever invented guitar hero was a righteous nob; how the frack am I suppose to have equal opportunity at winning against my right hand dominant brother when I am forced to play upside down? Researcher Dr. Nick Cherbuin in an interview with AM ABC discovered that the connection between the left and right brain is somewhat larger and better connected in left-handers. This means, hypothetically that we left handers have slight advantages in sports, gaming and activities in which the participant faces large volumes of stimuli in quick succession. I said hypothetical because these so called advantages seemed to have missed me. I can't name one sport in which I have the advantage upon my opponent.

Ned Flanders, the original activist for left-handers

Let's be honest I couldn't give a shivering squirrel that I have advantages in stimulating actives when my accuracy of using 65% of firearms is significantly less than right handers. Honestly what if I wanted to become a cop, or member of a gang; my safety would be seriously jeopardised. Heck, I can hardly use a public telephone and knives; because yes, they are also made for right handers. We are in 2012; there are groups which promote equal rights for homosexuals, women, animals and the environment. What about the fundamental rights of the left handers? August 13th is international left handers day. On this day take time to think about the alarming statistic I stumbled across; on average left handed people die nine years earlier than their right-handed counter parts. As a good friend once put it, I am a left hander living in a right hander's world. 


On a chirpier note;  here are a list of famous left handers; try and make a list this long of right handers, let's be honest it's impossible.

David Bowie
Celine Dion
Eminem
Kurt Cobain
Bob Geldolf
Jimi Hendrix
Sir Paul MacCartney
Ringo Starr
Ricky Martin
Sting
Tim Allen
ALBERT EINSTEIN
Jack the Ripper
Napoleon Bonaparte
Julius Caesar
Aristotle
Neil Armstrong
Henry Ford
Joan of Arc
Helen Keller
Queen Mother
Prince William
Winston Churchill
President George Bush
Hans Christian Anderson
Jason Alexander
Pierce Brosnan
Drew Carey
Charlie Chaplin
Robert DeNiro
JERRY SEINFELD
Ben Stiller
Nicole Kidman
Lisa Kudrow
Julia Roberts
Emma Thompson
Bruce Willis
Oprah Winfrey
Whoopi Goldburg
Michelangelo
Angelina Jolie
Leonardo da Vinci
Marilyn Munroe
Gracyn Bower
Melea O'Reilly

KOBI BLAKE-CRAIG

Inappropriate Winking

During the holidays I was subjected to hell. Obviously I am speaking metaphorically; there was no fire and sadly no horned, dwarfed red man but one winking Zac Efron. Yes, I was forced to endure two High School Musicals. There is no beating around the bush; I'll be honest (it is the best policy). Watching these two productions made me want to fry a goldfish. Perhaps the most irritating thing about the experience was the fact that I appear to have adopted Zac Eforn's wink. If you are unfamiliar with his charismatic winks watch the link to the right...

Zac Efron's winks are rather enchanting. However, I am still trying to come to terms with how I adopted this highly inappropriate habit.  Among many things which make me a flawed human being (see previous posts) I have a severe inability to wink. My wink attempts often are followed by people's concern that I am having a seizure, form of allergic reaction or face spasm. It always takes much reassurance on my behalf to convince people that this is not the case.  At Kmart last week I sent a spontaneous wink in the direction of my brother, and was then asked by the manager if the bright lights of the store were triggering my epilepsy.

On the isolated occasions in which people catch a wink that resembles a wink, it is not taken well. For anyone who knows me, will readily tell you that my speech consists of only poorly strung together sexual innuendos and sarcasm. Winking is not something that sits well within the context of any conversation I have with anyone on any planet.  Please know that if you see me with a strange expression on my face and a creased brow I am not having a face spasm or trying to seduce you, but just simply winking. 

Let's Be Honest: Winter Makes Fools Of Us All

There are many ways to pinpoint the start of winter. Unlike the Northern Hemisphere we Australians do not wake up one morning to the clouds leaking white shit all over our lawn.  Most Australians mark the winter season conventionally; by the calendar. Because let's face it, the fine black print on June 1st seems highly legitimate.  People who are inclined to astronomy, would know that the winter season is defined by orbital relationship of the earth and the sun. While these methods may be useful, I personally pinpoint winter with my killer instincts. When I crave hot drinks, can see my breath dispersing in the atmosphere before me and question the will to live I know winter has arrived.

Let's be honest, winter is a brutal bastard of a season. The behaviour of humans (and other animals for that matter) becomes ridiculous, we all become ill and or severely unhealthy. Suddenly the regimented routine of a daily 8 kilometre run does not seem nearly as inciting when you sweat icicles. Such sports  as running, swimming and cycling are replaced with sports not so recognised by the Olympics such as marathon showering. As humans we have a tendency to consume warm, comfort food. To generalise; hot food is not healthy food. 

If I objectively observe my behaviour during the winter months, it becomes humiliating. I lie rigidly in bed knowing that any wrong movement will through off the triple B balance I have going on (body, blanket, bed).  I set my alarm for 5.30 am; an entire hour before I must rise and shine. Hindsight has taught me that I like to lie in a still state for an hour before I attempt to get up. The humiliation doesn't end here. I then make the insanely mad dash from my warm bed to equally if not more warm shower. It's a legitimate analogy to say that I run faster than Usain Bolt to the shower. At night I find my self clinging more closely to everything (pets, blankets, cups and strangers off the street). This is definitely not because I become emotional and sentimental during the frosty months but because they are a great source of heat and hypothetically speaking could be killed and utilised for protein if life should come to an extreme survival situation. Which let's be honest; winter is an extreme survival situation. 

Winter not only renders my behaviour more humiliating but my dress sense bogan. I permanently trend ugg boots and a tracksuit; because lets be honest warmth and comfort is more important than looking dishy for the boys in a skimpy slut uniform. Our shops never seem to be equipped with the correct attire for our season. It would appear that the world, and indeed Australians are in permeant denial that we ever get a winter. I feel like carrying a sign down Queen Street Mall which bears something along the lines of, thongs (for your feet) are not a seasonal item of apparel you fools. 

Our bodies seem to go into shut down when faced with the unpleasantness of winter.  We contract repulsive viruses like influenza and gastro which cause various parts of us to leak unpleasant liquids. Scientists discovered that during the cooler months we yawn less, piss more and our hair grows ten percent slower. 

Personally I can't wait till the Spring; I want to be my fit and thriving hairy self again.