+ mother mockery.

I would just like to take, and abuse this opportunity to mock my mother, hence the title. 


We were innocently sitting in the kitchen and my little brother was trying to plant this funny hybrid plant specimen in an innovative can while my mother attempted to assist. Obediently following instructions my mother did as instructed by the small print. Until it got to the last step, following 'place in sunlight'. 
3. Water.
For you average garden variety gnome this would indicate to water the plant. However mother believed this to be too logical and straightforward. She then pondered on the instruction and then announced her query. 
"Could you water plants with milk?"
My brother, being very intellectual for his young age of eleven, and I looked at her with dismay and awe of the stupidity of the question. I, having done year twelve biology, knew the requirements and the properties that water and plants supplied and filled and began a debate with my blonde mother. My brother offered his knowledge of the natural world to the argument.
She was convinced. 
Her point? Waters wet, so is milk. 
In that case we could feed plants molten iron or lava and it'd still grow. 
But nay. She refused to acknowledge science, and thousands of years of successful crop growth because she was certain plants could grow if they were simply wet.


There you have it.
Breakthrough in science.


Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+ the red fox.


-OVER AND OUT-

+ no returns policy.

Good day to you eight.


I'd like to introduce a new issue that I've stumbled across too much than one would like recently. And that is regarding the traumatic life burden that is 'favour' etiquette. 
I have always viewed politeness as, well, a bitter bitch. But unfortunately, like marriages, the bitch will forever rule. If you're luckily unfamiliar with the process of returning favours, I'll walk you through it, red fox style. 

(just an example of when you wish you hadn't said yes)

It begins with one rather overly considerate and merely 'nice' person doing an essential but ultimately an unnecessary kind deed. What follows is a bugger of a burden that will drag you down with guilt like the cannonball chained to a prisoners tattooed covered kanckle. Unfortunately, like real returns, it's a two way exchange, I suppose hence the meaning of exchange now I look a back on its usage...
Just like you don't get to keep the faulty appliance you were given by your stepmother, you don't get to get off scott free. 
Then comes the dreary weeks, months, years following the deadly deed. Where every time you see this - great mate, they remind you of the healthy, beautiful guilt trip. Generally goes something like the following: "hey could you be a real sport, and pick up my kids on thursday from band practice" of course this does require the presence of musical kids - therefore you're a parent - or a teen frankstoner. 
This is where you have an option.
A - redeem yourself and be a good 'sport' like real friends do
or
B - lie.
Heres how option A would unfurl:
"Oh yeah, I owe you after all this time. Sure can, would they like some ice-cream afterwards?"
And here's option B's result:
"Oh yeah, mate, you know I would (in your head you're shaking your head vigorously), but my girlfriends (yes you have neither kids nor a wife, most likely due to the fact of your pathological inclination to lie) sisters, niece from her ex-husbands side needs to pick up her dog from the airport and, you know what the Miss's is like when she's cranky...and you don't want that do you. ha"
which is usually followed by: 
"come on." then they suavely suggest some solution (quadruple alliteration- awesome), that you hadn't considered, which is when you go "DRAT!" and then they proceed to roll out the red guilt carpet so you can trip up on it while they yank it from beneath your lying feet. "remember the summer when we were in college and I lied to the dean about...you know...*winky wink wink* and you said I owe you. Well nows that time."
To which you cringe and nod, knowing inside you deserve it. 
So if we analyse this process, we really see that no matter what option you choose, you'll end up doing it eventually. 


But here's my social issue. How can you possibly know when one favour is equivalent to another? I'm pretty certain there isn't an application on your iPhone that says 'deed converter'. Or a set of scales or measurement system that allows you to compare the ratio of favours. It's an etiquette nightmare. 
If I walk your dog once, does that equal you taking my kids on a walk? Cause I'd really like that. Not that I have kids, but I've seen kids, and you can't make them catch balls and bring it back on command. Therefore I'd happily walk your dog twice a day if you could return the favour. 
But it's not the case. And then you have situations where they plead "one big favour", to which you groan or sigh or sprint away, leaving a puff of dust behind you like in cartoons. 
Now as I've observed, the 'big favour' is roughly the equivalent of two or three medium sized favours. They're kind of like redeemable coupons you find in magazines, but you have to do a lot more than cut them out to reap the reward


Either way, either option, either big or small favour. It's still a bloody pain in the ass. 
Therefore I would like to propose a no returns policy. One way favours. Like when you borrow your mates tissues. You don't need it back. 


Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+ the red fox. 


-OVER AND OUT-

+ spotlight: the raven

I'd just like to share with the eight of you now, my favourite poem as a child, well still is I suppose. It's quite long but it's actually stunning. It's a shame it's being posted on such a medium which lacks the appropriate integrity for the poem. Apologies for those literary 
Written by Edgar Allen Poe (one of my favourite poets, like DrSeuss), in 1845 and published numerous times following I hope you appreciate the eerie and ominous words of 

The Raven.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -

Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -

This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -

Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -

'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'

Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore

Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted - nevermore!

-Edgar Allen Poe.

Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+hann.


-OVER AND OUT-

+ covalent coworker bonding.

Aloha Foxy Followers.

I suppose this blog was inspired by the year twelve orientation camp I was meant to attend. 
Now I'm unfamiliar with the bonding exercises involved in the workplace, but I've had my fair share of school group integration, and let me just refresh those graduates, that it's utterly pointless. 

For example this orientation camp I was meant to be featured at was based upon the incentive of being more friendly towards each other as a whole and making new friendship bonds with those who you wouldn't regularly. Well just firstly, being stuck in a bunking room with five other girls I've known for at least six years isn't going to make me like them even more. It would do quite the opposite. I severely doubt a good 72 hours is going to make us the best of friends. Have you ever lived with anyone? Because I know that we all go in good friends, but as soon as there is a group of hormonal, adolescent girls in a confined, compulsory experience, it's gonna end up boarder line lord of the flies let me tell you now. 
So living with them certainly isn't going to strengthen my love for the girl who sits behind me in Chemistry. 
And then there are the activities. There's always two I loathe with a definite passion.

1. The untangle your hands game. In what universe, does making me hold my arch nemesis's hand and some other clammy girls paw while hurling lanky or chunky ligaments over other peoples entangled bodies make me like her? I sincerely do not see the point in this exercise. Sure, 'teamwork', but we all know that there's that one bossy girl (more than occasionally yours truly...) that insists on winning instead of working as a team and takes the leadership role, catapulting the team to victory and a sweet food-y prize. So maybe in pictures holding hands with people of mixed races across the globe, interconnecting, all that jazz, maybe thats nice, but in reality, I like my personal space thankyou.
2. The fall back on your partner exercise. No I will not. The leaders tend to pair you up in couples which gravity will admit, height wise do not compliment each other at all. In fact it's almost conflicting, surely theres a law in physics about it. I'm rather small. And I'm not kidding when I say I'm always paired up with some mammoth. Usually towering over me, I have no problems falling back on them, but when it comes to me catching them, well excuse me for being rude sir, but they'll pummel me to the ground flat.But somehow the leaders point and convict me of not being trustworthy. No, I can be trusted, but the strength of my upperbody muscles cannot on the other hand. 

Then theres the 'buddy' system. Where they stick draw your name 'randomly' out of a hat so no one gets to be paired with their mate. Spending hours interviewing each other so that you can find overlapping interests and build your friendship on them, real hoot and a half. I did that last year, I can't even remember my partner let alone her likes and dislikes, the name of her pet, favourite cuisine and middle name. 

Of course this procedure is usually accompanied by a booklet of some sort to store your precious progress memories or 'signatures', which is usually an assault on the usage of Comic Sans (the font) and ClipArt. I shudder at the thought...

For those who aren't acquainted with RickyGervais The Office you are really missing out on classic 'bonding' comedy. I did do a wee bit of Googling but failed epically for the first time in my life to find the specific clip of the episode so I just urge you to go out and rent it. The episode where they have an office workshop. Very entertaining and accurate. 

So when it comes to making bonds, my favourite is dipole-dipole thank you very much. (chemistry humour I'm afraid...)

Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+hann.


-OVER AND OUT-

+ lemme grab my utility belt.

Bonjour. 


No. Australia - no, society protests, pleads, don't wear utility belts!
If you're obviously oblivious to the shock horror that is the buzz lightyear quick access freak of a belt. 

Now look at that picture. That, my foxy readers, is no longer a belt. That, monstrosity contains more attachments than the feeble jeans loop can withstand. Think of the belt loops will you!! You don't have to be a mathematician to know that the belt surface area to electronic device ratio is completely...well, whack!! It's outraaaageous!! (yes all those a's were necessary to depict a kind of hysterical pronunciation). Right there, on a lets say 30-40cm length of poor poor cows hide is four devices.

1. An outdated iPod. - minus headphones. so really he doesn't truly yearn to please himself with the cockney humm of Ringo Starrs Yellow Submarine, but merely to appear sophisticated, trendy, up with the 'times' and as spoken by its placement upon his person 'hip'. Fail.
2. The concealed item. - Ooohh. What could it be? My guess is the good ol' pager. For when you need to impress colleagues, family, cafeteria members, friends, dogs, bosses, bus ladies, girlfriends....boyfriends that you matter in the world. You can appear like you're a man on demand, when we really all know you got your best mate to buzz you. Serious? I thought they stopped selling those in 1992. Now they're in museums as artefacts and you're still carrying one around your waist. Ya foolin no one fool. 
3. The state of the art brick-phone. - ahhh the latest in techno-ology. Colourscreen, polyphonic ringtones. Man, that girl that's got their eye on that sexalicous cowhide of his will be green with jealous rage when she sees that phone. She'll forget about her husband and do the classic double take on that manly Europian Nokia. Talk about your chick magnets.
4. The mystery machine! - It's compulsory for there to be one machine which no one knows its actual function. "Is it a palm pilot, is it a walk-ee talk-ee, or a hunk of electronics you found at Savers and you're not even certain of its true function?" Whatever it is, the way it sits on his pleated acid wash jeans...ooooh what a stud muffin....just like his muffin top.

Men. Your ego, or downstairs pride is not accurately compensated for in the means of hunks of black, leather covered techno-ology. Don't try and defend it's worthless and non-existant honour. It's not 'convenient', it's not saving you any time. Is it that difficult to put your bricky phone in your pocket? That'd probably do you more accidental good than weighing you down on one side. I bet in twenty years time, you'll be able to tell those idiots who wore these monsters simply because of the 45degree angle they lean on. And don't you dare take the the belt off and then chuck in a bluetooth headset because so help me I'll come after you and rip it off of your ear. Don't make me blog about wireless...crap!

You're not Lara Croft, you're not on a mission, you're not inspector gadget or Buzz Lightyear.

Burn the damn belt.

(would just like to mention the integration of the fannypack to creat this awful combo)

Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+hann.


-OVER AND OUT-

+ look, that kitten can't hang on forever.

Guten Tag my Five Fortunate Followers!


Right well I am rather forgetful and I forgot to mention the dreaded inspirational poster in my waiting room blog. Apologies for those who are sensitive to segways and smooth flowing passages. This will have to suffice.


I despise them - with a passion. 
Not only do they not inspire me, they do quite the opposite. They almost anti-inspire me. 
From the instant I register the posters existence, from that point onwards, I will go out of my way to make sure that poster had no part in my actions and life whatsoever.
It's like reverse psychology. It's instructing me to be determined, and excel, or achieve, but really now I want to do now is be slothful, slack and unmotivated. And when I'm feeling particularly rebellious I like to sneak in a cheeky 'why don't you make me' comment.
Unfortunately this is one of my many many 'spite decisions' where I often do the opposite to whatever or whoever is telling me to do. It's actually gotten to the point, where, even if I do yearn to say - not climb a tree (which for people who know me, even just a little, will know I would never do), and someone says don't climb that tree. I'll do it. Even though I hate nature and it hates me. Simply because they're pissing me off or I don't like that tone they're using. I'll climb that gosh darn tree, even if there's bugs in it...which for trees is highly likely. 

(my favourite - the classic "keep holding on kitty" picture. I particularly like this branch of poster as they've gone out on a limb and used a looser, more hip retro font, just to lighten up and mask the inevitable death of this innocent kitten)


Right. But speaking of nature.
They're generally always nature orientated. Which also aggravates me, as I also loathe nature, and in return it hates me too. It's quite a healthy relationship. But it's not like - look out of your window - nature, it's always peaceful, calming, stress reducing nature that makes you go 'naww' or exhale a sigh of depression as you realize you're not jumping off a waterfall, you don't have a pet lime green frog, and you don't have a view of the ocean with a photoshopped orange sunset permanently. And then you return to mindlessly gawk at your computer monitor or remember you're minutes away from your root canal appointment. Not what I'd call inspirational. 


And then you have the comedic attempts. Poor - comedic attempts. I don't know where to begin. But it usually includes ridiculing the decrepit status of the elderly or a furry animal of some description in a slightly hazardous and yet ridiculously easy to avoid - situation. Which usually prompts you to think: "how the hell did that cat get there in the first place?" If anything it makes you frustrated. On so many levels. Not only can you not afford to go visit these not so exotic places and see these conveniently positioned iconic animals...etc... it's just a whirlwind of confusion and depression.


The majority of the time the picture isn't even remotely relevant to the caption. Maybe because the caption has integrated the most amount of cheesy-ness and cliche-ness legally imaginable (yes you can illegally imagine things, according to me) and slapped together some heartwarming remedy tag to follow attempting to include as many encouraging words as possible. 


So for your enjoyment. And to promote and support my frustration...I hope you feel motivated by the following album of literally - crap.

Motivating? Methinks depressing. 


Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+hann.


-OVER AND OUT-

+ celebration of a landmark occasion.

Just briefly...


CONGRATULATIONS!!!
Observatory Commentary has reached a magical moment in time.
I now have 5 followers.


Hip Hip - Huzzahh!    x3


Thankyou you five you are apart of a very exclusive band.
...very, very exclusive...


Cheers. Keep reading.


Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+hann.


-OVER AND OUT-

+ your future cannot be that bright.

Bonjourno.


Well this blog was in fact a suggestion from Miss Fraser, one of my four faithful followers, who  foolishly subscribed to read my brain blabble. But again, thankyou, and keep suggesting!


I guess I noticed it at first when I was at the beach with a cluster of my school mates. My friend who endeavors to appear 'cool' by wearing long white socks, a necklace chain-a-magigy, the oh so nineties white 'gangsta' cap but - backwards and the wretched sunnies. It's all well and fine because we have all embraced him as being super badass - and we understand his persuit of cold-ness but he did however commit a spectacle crime. 


You cannot wear sunglasses at night or inside.


I don't care if Corey Heart loves wearing them at night 'cause he can, 'cause he can...(this joke will only apply if you're an '80s music enthusiest or over 30 unfortunately...). Not only does it make him appear shifty, like he's an agent from the CIA or a 'man - in - black', but it's simply stupid. I've searched my rather limited vocabulary and that's really the only word I can fathom that describes such an action.

The term 'sunglasses' even specifies the terms of its usage. To be worn when the light from the sun is present. For example on boats, in cars, outdoors obviously, at the beach - a more specific version of outdoors, barbeques...and so forth. This does not include inside a building with windows. Just close the blinds or step away from the transparent environment barrier. 
Please I'd love to hear of those sunny-offenders why they feel that making the inside of a club several shades darker, makes it exponentially better. I can barely see with all the flashy epileptic lights going, let alone chuck on the shades and eliminate the light altogether. Perhaps this is the reason for the 'beergoggles'. These metaphorical goggles are actually real! They make everything look better, because you can't see them at all.


Another incident I've noticed this arising is on aeroplanes. Do these passengers sincerely feel that that small porthole of a window delivers such a significant amount of UV light to their cornias, retina, iris, macula, optic gel and vitreous gel that they need to shield it with their new Christmas present to themselves - the knock off RayBans? 
I say nay.

What makes it even more of a felony is when you comment on it, but they insist 'oh but I'm getting off the train soon". No. Don't be slothful. Take them off - put them on your head or shirt, then put them back on again. You're not James Bond.


Perhaps if you have a horrible eye condition such as conjunctivitis - which renders your face considerably repulsive then by all means, cover up, please. But unless you're actually executing an impossible mission, or are a blues brother or a '20s Chicago real gangster, please refrain from the seedy shades. They make you look like a peter-file.


Please obide by the unwritten law of the spectacles. 
You're future is not that bright that you must wear sunglasses 24/7.


Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+hann.


-OVER AND OUT-

+ just a side note - looking for.

If you dress like this...
...please marry me.

Apply within.


Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+hann.


-OVER AND OUT-

+ scrubbed up.

That's right. We're wearing scrubs.  And we scrub up nicely I think. 
And we look like we should be the cast of a new sitcom. 
We took the pictures, but a friend of mine (thankyou beth) compiled it all into the introduction of what looks like a new asian drama series where tessa.m. (the only non-asian funnily enough) is the FES or Raj Kuthrapolji. It goes for 13 seconds so don't be obnoxious and not click it because you're so precious about download time. Be a darl and hit play. 





"Sorry, I can't shake your hand. I just scrubbed up."


Oh and just quickly. I was wearing my scrubs the morning after we took all of these photos, because I slept in them. So I was looking tired and ratty and the doorbell rang. Of course as it always does when you're looking your best...*sigh*
So I clamber down to answer it and it's one of the many tradies that continually roam through this house. Except these two sparkies (young and gorgeous might add) looked a little taken back and immediately uncomfortable when I opened my door in scrubs and puffing from running across my humble house that stretches over a timezone. So the first sparkie immediately apologises as if he's interrupted me in theatre or something. Which I found odd, and then he says "you can go resume whatever you were doing now. Sorry, again." uhh..I'm 17, too young to be an intern, and very muchly too young to be a surgeon thankyou sparky. But I thought it was interesting. 

Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+hann.


-OVER AND OUT-

+ "and I quote".

Attention both of my followers. 

(this photo is really only here because it says 'quote' on the tshirt and the sarcastic remark really is irrelevant)

Just thought I'd mention a little bit about those certain groups of people (myself sadly included) that actually have conversations purely consisting of quotes. Doesn't this really indicate a lack of communication between two people. For example I said "lucky" in a very Napoleon Dynamite voice the other day, which catalysed a series of Napoleon quotes until we had pretty much recited the movie. Bravo. What does this prove?

Only that we have a very large segment of our metaphorical pie chart brains occupied by memorising whole TV series and movie. It's really quite imperative...?

But it's arrived at the sad point in time where the only way I can relate to certain people is by chucking in the cheeky HotRod quote or some in-joke that we made when we saw a movie together. Has quotes consumed my friendships? No. I refuse to succumb to the evil that is the conversation that I like to call the Quot-er-sation. Cleverly infusing the words 'quote' and 'conversation'. 

So I propose a vendetta against the poisonous quotersations and i'm asking both of you readers to join me.

Even though I do enjoy a good HotRod quote-off every now and then, *sigh* i'm sorry to say I do need that portion of my brain dedicated to higher priority things such as physics and maths and the laws of grammar. 

And because it was completely unrelated but I had a sneaky 'lol' when no one was looking I will throw in this picture. 

So happy quotersationing.

Stay Tuned.

life's narcissistic narrator.

+hann.

-OVER AND OUT-

+ bon appetit.

Greetings to my pair of followers. 


Well this blog really emerges from my hate of public eating. Not to be confused with the less popular and understandable more vulgar form of digestion known as pubic eating. 

For those who know me rather well they'll know that I rather detest eating in public for many reasons, which in best interest of time, your time, I shall dot point for you.  (I also managed to find the dotpoint button so I got a little excited at the thought of clicking it to see the result)

• I hate it when people bite their spoons/forks with their teeth. - Pardon the pun, but this is one thing you really shouldn't sink your teeth into. For example yoghurt or soup really only requires the not-so-complex dual lip action. The elderly have no issue with this rule, mainly because this is really aimed at a general audience of those with teeth. Which really cements the old tradition of eating hideously textured mushables, baby food, variety of blended food, purees, or like my mother, a troth of jelly when you have dental work done. Why? Because you don't require teeth for this action!! So for those dentally impaired, never fear. Your soup-lution is here. 
• I have an issue with splitting bills. - For example: My friend and I shared a meal together, being what I thought was considerate of others and then when the dinner-organizer recieved the bill, she decided to simply split it eight ways. Now I'm no maths wizz or beautiful mind, but I know that I payed for more than just my meal. Because if I knew that this was going to be the agreed ettiquite of paying then I would have ordered a lobster, an entree and a very large, very rich chocolate cake for myself, accompanied by a lovely bottle of red and yet pay 1/8th of the cost! My preffered payment method: you pay for what you order.
• Tipping. - I hate tipping very much. Mainly because you are the person responsible for correctly and accurately judging how much another individuals services are worth. And I find that ridiculously confronting and if done incorrectly, embarrassing. In the states, the waiters and waitresses really should be enrolled in acting because boy, do they suck up or what. They run around for you like you're royalty. Goodness help them if you ever reach the bottom of your glass, I reckon they're under the impression that you'd give 'em a good whack over the head if you did, or your meal was seconds late, or if you didn't recieve enough complimentry butter with your complimentary bread. It's actually quite frightening how hard these people work to earn a good tip. Which is why when the bill comes, I become really anxious. It's that kind of situtation when you're inclined to take a peak at what the table next to you is doing. I call it the Mr. Bean peek. So what do I do. I turn to my trusty techno-ology and download a 'tipping' application. Because not only am I mathematically slothful, but I'm also socially inept. Apple iPhone saves the day again!
• What to order. - Probably what I struggle with most. Not only do you feel the pressure to order something that is in the same price range but also in the same health range as well. It often occurs when you're shopping and there's several outlets of foodstalls around and one person goes "oh I'll just grab a fruit salad from Healthy Habits" which immediately sets off anxiety in me because I was just about to go "I'll zip down to Nandos and pick up some healthy fatty chips and steroid filled chicken...", nope, not anymore. Hello panic. So I usually either cave in to the bitch that is peer pressure and get a frogurt, a delightful infusion of frozen yoghurt which I do recommend. Or I be stubborn and fat and get my chips. But it just gets worse when you're at a restaraunt and you have to make a quick descision cause the waitress is standing there with her convicting pen and pad, her eyes boaring holes in your head because you're indecisive. So you result in ordering something you can't remember if you like or not because of haste or sharing something or ordering the same as everyone else. Another reason why you don't eat in public.
• The bitch that is manners. - It definitely bites ya in the butt. I'm sure you'e often sat down at a restaraunt and moaned because there's been a child or a ill-developed person who likes to munch. You can hear it like some bear gnawing on a turtle or something, the awful crunching and slurping of soup and snapping when biting. It's absolutely disgusting. Or what's worse is when it's accompanied by lack of table manners. The neanderthals that clench their fists around a petite peice of silver cutlery, the poor spoon, shaking in its boots, wishing for its release from the grasps of the monster eater. Nothing more unattractive. When I was a child (trying to avoid sounding like an old man), I had those peculiar little hazardous plastic cutlery where it told you where to put your fingers. Awkward to use but now I applaud my mother for enforcing such a tedious task upon a two year old. It has finally payed off. But no. Have you never wanted to hit that slurper across the head with the big heavy salad spoon, or dunk his head in his soup like he's a pig eating from his trough. Because I certainly do. Those who know me, know I have a rather vivid and violent imagination and one day I'll snap and teach those eating pigs the proper eating ettiquite...I suppose that sentence was rather menacing so I'll go onto say - mark my words.

(I quite liked this one because it made me much happier to be short. XD)

The realm of fine dining is never fine, it's often riddled with waiters spit from insufficent tips, nasty slurpers, healthy options which make matters worse, peer pressure which we all know is just a monster, inpropper use of cutlery and the inevitable bill.
It's nasty and if it weren't necessary to consume food every day, I'd avoid it.
Unfortunatly this isn't the case. Happy Eating.

Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator.
+hann.


OVER AND OUT.

+ death's waiting room - life.

Aloha from the waiting room.

A small introduction to my motive for composing this blog. I work at a medical office where the secretary - me - too often says "please take a seat", indicating towards the large void full of a communitty of awful non-matching chairs and an archive of magazines from the beginning of the industrial era.
Now the protocol of the waiting room is not only pure awkward, but there are some unwritten rules I've obviously observed.

(would just like to note the fake plants. guarenteed to spice up the atmosphere.)

• It's too damn silent. - No room, ever, except for maybe a morgue is ever this silent. Nap time at primary schools, or the 10 minutes silence in the car doesn't ever compare to the absence of audiable noise in the waitingroom. It's definitely an unwritten law of the waiting room that you can't talk or make other vocal noises except for your average cough & sneeze - possibly the reason for you being the waiting room, or the unfortunate case of factulence - another reason to not see a proctologist. 
• The phonecall. - Goodness gracious you just hope you don't recieve a phonecall while waiting because you are then introduced with the riskay descison of whether you A) take the phonecall and surrender your holy seat, or B) you draw attention to yourself by picking up your call but whisper in really what is a coarse yell "I'm in a waiting room, I'll call you back later." Which is really more problematic for you as the caller usually follows up that response with a "What are you waiting for? Why are you in a waiting room? Are you sick? Are you okay? What's wrong?" Therefore extending the intended brief call to a small conversation of hushed tones. So us waitees are forced to switch our phones on silent and ignore the not so silent buzz that is the vibrating setting.
• The kids. - Unless it's the kid that has the issue, you should always avoid bringing your kids. Because there is always that one that is on its gameboy or nintendo DS and keeps nudging their parent trying to appeal to their anxious and very divided attention. Where the parent usually responds with "shhhhh, quiet." Always comforting. And if they're techno-ology impaired or too young for the flashing lights and buttons, they are usually the pains in the middle of the room making a huge scene with blocks, or those stupid frame mazes, or those plush toys crawling with small parasites due to lack of hygiene that the secretary found at her sisters old toy box from when her mother was a child, or ripping out pages or pop-up pieces. More often than not there's a designated area with a little bit of 1m fencing to cage the children in some sort of zoo den, carpeted with that horrible foamy puzzle stuff usually consisting of letters or numbers. It's truely horrible. Another reason you don't have kids.
• The lack of choice of reading material. - Waiting rooms are notoroius for lack of current reading material. And when I say current, I mean from the last century. Usually if you get there later or theres a stock up of people in the waiting room you are generally left with the National Geographics or the AutoMobile magazines where the hot topics are the release of these new wizz bang 'com-puu-ters'. Whoah. If you're smart, you've brought your own book or magazine or play on your phone. But few remember...
• Chair fruit salad. - I'll just clarify for those who were deprived of a boring youth (poor you...) that the game fruit salad is when you gotta get up and move chairs really quickly. I liken this to the situation at a waitingroom. If you're travelling in a 'pack' you could say, then it's often difficult to find a row of chairs for the appropriate number of people. So you generally have to split up. Which creates that across room eye contact conversation through muted gestures that get very irratating to others who are unorganized and only have mere thought to entertain them. So once a chair frees these packs of people generally jump on it the first oppotunitty they get. Which startles some people as they think they're next in line. So it becomes a sort of game. If you're standing you'll edge around so you can quickly jump in the vacant chair, but if you're waiting for that to free you'll be on the edge of your seat simply waiting for the nurse to come out and call his name.
• The unorganized pecking order. - As a patient or a waitee you're not aware of who is next in queue. Unlike when you're waiting at a bakery, you have your number in your hand, and you can monitor your situation in the line against the number being called. An informative method. But in the waiting room this is not the case. People turn up for their appointments ridiculously early or late and even though you're appointment is at four, and you've been there since three, someone might arrive at half past three and get called five minutes later. It's unfair and it's a pain. My advice, turn up on time.
• and finally, the one you want to not so secretly kill. -There is always that individual who is munching on beef jerky, or popping their newly bought gum, or the secretaries who keep chirping away about some dissapointing love life or how something is always annoying, or the constant wine and cries of a baby, the inconsiderate loud mouth business person on the phone who openly shares that their time is better off spent doing something more imperative, or the parent who is trying to hush the two forever bickering children. There is always that one you want to kill, or you want their lottery number drawn before yours so you can wait in peace and quiet. But you refrain from throwing the pointy wooden kids block at their head and you put up with it...*sigh*

Evidently I spend too much time in the waiting room, or observing one. So hopefully next time you're in the waiting room you're prepared for the mute hell that is yet to come.  

Over and Out - Stay Tuned
life's narcissistic narrator.
+hann.

+ green wing promotion.

all i can say is.

watch it.

Over and Out - Stay Tuned.

life's narcissistic narrator

+hann.

+ kids - caught & caged.

Paging all of my one follower.

As many girls do, I shop. And when I shop I see a vast variety of the people society has to offer. This includes those deranged parents who harness their kids up. 
I seriously do not get it at all.
They're not some savage animal like a dog on a walk. It's not like your kids gonna sprint away at the speed of light like Flash Jr and weave and dodge around the crowd to escape from you. Unless you're a terrible parent  (like ones who cage their child in this leash) that feeds their children soft mushables 24/7 and makes them watch the new Sesame Street and for Christmas last year bought them a "in the midnight garden" blue toy, then that's completely understandable. Because - on another off-note rant - I would be personally suicidal if I saw that blue thing in my garden in the night.

 No way in hell am I greeting that demon with warm open arms and a cup of tea. Get lost. If I see that 'Iggle Piggle' frolicking in my garden, I'm reaching for my shotgun (assuming I'm a Southerner and keep a variety of shotguns under my bed), and bustin a cap in that blue toyboys assssss... but enough about the devil from the night garden...


Now that picture above of the girl in that harness is amusing on many levels. I don't think you'd be smiling if your younger brother was 'mush-ing' you around like some snow dog on a harness. So you wipe the smile of your face young lady. 
And I doubt 2 year old child is a menace to society. They can barely talk and walk, and half of them don't even have enough teeth to degrade corn.
Now in the airport I saw this mother who had two kids on these harnesses. One I hypothesised was no younger than five and the other looked like he was two. Now I'm no mother, but I'm almost 130% sure that it's not difficult to monitor two rather lazy kids. Especially these ones. The five year old was sat on the chair with a liquified chocolate bar melted in his fat little paws and evidently wasn't blessed with co-ordination as there was also brown schmeeeeered all over his chubby little face. The other was on the ground, on his tummy, like a beached whale, or a grotesque lizard whose ligaments are insufficiently powerful to propel it like your regular reptile. Now in order for him to actually physically move his mother had to literally drag him across the airport terminal. You could hear the disagreeable skin vs tile -friction debate from every direction as he bobbed and lagged across the tiles. Now call me crazy (don't actually), but he didn't fit the 'sitting outside with the opposite end of the leash tied to a bikepole' stereotype. He wasn't a criminal and this was the child-friendly handcuff. He quite literally wasn't going anywhere.
They've even made them more 'kid friendly' by disguising them as little animal backpacks. Sorry you clever marketers, you've fooled no one. We all see, as clear as daylight that these kids are in a material cage, trapped by a cartooned and visually inaccurate caricature of an animal. Really, seriously?

So who is perpetuating this preposterous market of baby-leashes!? Because if it's you (which we all know it's not because no one is reading this...), you deserve a visit from Iggle Piggle in the night...


Over and Out - Stay Tuned.
life's narcissistic narrator. 
+hann.

+ "you have to frisk me, I have a rocket in my pants"

Come in, Come in all non-existant followers. 

For anyone who is a jetsetter or has travelled internationally before, I hope you smile, nod, and share my utter frustration. 


If you've ever watched the T.V. or live in America you'll recognise those fairly intimidating security checks that are compulsory for all passengers. Over the years they have become exponentially more thorough and extensive and quite frankly its borderline invasion of privacy. Thanks to a long procession of terrorists the world has decided the restrictions and procedures weren't strict enough and have enforced more new laws. Make sure you include them in your Thanksgiving cards next holiday season...


So while standing in the queue, for a ridiculously long time, I kinda broke into this mental sweat. Even though I was as innocent as a fluffy bunny on easter day, I found myself re-checking myself and assuring that I hadn't done anything wrong. I liken it to when you've been called to the principals office for an interview. You don't know what you've done, or even if you have done anything, but for some uncanny reason you question yourself and feel guilty, even though you know you're completely not. Well that's what I think happens to people as the undergo the hugely inconvenient rigmarole. You're standing in the snakey line of people anxiously waiting for that metal detecting doorframe panicking that you've brought more than the 3oz of liquids or aerosols allocated, or you've accidentally packed your nailclippers, meanwhile there are hundreds of surveillance cameras and officers and intimidating donut eating coppers with guns and a vast selection of rather vicious instruments that could belt you across the head with a large amount of momentum and force to knock you unconscious or into a minor coma. 
You result in convicting yourself that you've done something unlawful. It's a nerve racking experience. 


This isn't too dissimilar to when you're passing through customs. Therefore I call it the customs-effect.


Not only is it rather intimidating but the whole process is ridiculous. Let me list some of the procedures you have to undergo in order to pass from point A to point B 10m away.
- you must remove both shoes (suck on that Ugg boot victims)
- you must remove all metal jewellery (gangstas and bling-artists are always rather disgruntled over this one)
- you must remove your belt (and last time I went through this process I saw a man who wore a bullet belt to an airport. first, what an idiot, and second, he deserved to have that belt confiscated, it's a crime to the fashion world as well)
- you must display your mobile phones, laptops, camera and video recording devises (yes, unfortunately this means that we must wait for a brief lightyear for Dad to pull out all his techno-gadgets.)
- you must remove all outer clothing (you'd hate to have worn your favourite corset that day, that's a lot of laces...)


Then after you comply to all of these rules you have to then walk through this metal doorframe and wait for the stewardess to use her 10th grade thinking level to determine the source of the shrill beeping. Brilliant Sherley Holmes. Which is usually due to small bits and pieces on your jeans but meanwhile you're considering whether you've been drugged and someone has framed you and put small explosives into your shoes or the lining of your underpants or your body board...
So really, the officers want us to strip down naked to our birthday suits and frisk us while another goes through our personal belongings. That's not inconvenient at all. Go ahead Sir. Frisk away.




Stay tuned. 
Over and Out. 
+hann.