Wednesday, 18 July 2007

You Know, Uno Anonymous

I think I should start an Uno Anonymous Society. There would be one member right here, me. But with a name like Uno Anonymous, that number is about right.

I'm addicted. It's dire. Lately, Mr Coffee has won several matches of Uno by massive margins, and I'm desperate to win them back. It's a matter of pride, I tell you. It's a matter, of you know, Uno.

My desperation has made me do some silly things. In my wild fever of sorting my hand out so I'd have the Mr Snuffleupagus's all ready in a row to defend, I failed to note that Mr Coffee didn't say "Uno!" - and I got hit with a menacing Draw 4 and he won over 200 points from me in one game. A cruel blow. That's what happens when cards make you throw caution to the wind, and my Uno Society is determined to cap that.

The more I lose, the more I play, like a pokey machine addict, or Pauline Hanson.

I beg for help.

The Tale Of The Control-Freak Office Manager

I have just recovered from a weekend of irreverent slobbish lazying, DVD-watching and honey-macadamia nut gorging, and reluctantly crawl out to the real virtual world.

I am glad to report that I have indeed finished the 75 days of Law placement - hurrah! I walked back down Liverpool Street with my fellow law clerk on my last afternoon, having an emotional farewell every few steps, and then reminding myself I had a celebratory Japanese dinner awaiting me (early booking) so I couldn't keep doing this, so I dashed off after the 473rd hug and promise to keep in touch by mobile, SMS, email and to pop in at lunch times for no particular reason.

Some things, though I won't miss about work:

1. Waking up early by my alarm
2. Waking up again by my second alarm because I dozed off after my first
3. Running to catch the bus
4. Running to catch the bus in the rain
5. Chain smokers
6. No time to blog
7. This one pop song that I don't know the name of but I know the tune by heart and I know one line by heart. It must come on the radio at least four times a day, and every time it does, my office manager starts singing it out loud. Badly. And shrieks out one line piercingly. Help!
8. My office manager

Yes, my office manager is one of the chain smokers.

Perhaps my Office Manager can best be explained through a little, dare I say, moral story?

The Tale Of The Control-Freak Office Manager

Once upon a time there was an Office Manager who managed a little office where there were some animals working for her. They were not stupid animals, but she treated them as though they were stupid, and she gave them rather confusing orders, which made them look stupid.

At least to her.

One day an iguana came to work for the Office Manager.

"You must not answer the telephone, unless I am too busy to answer it," said the Office Manager.

The iguana ignored the telephone. "Why aren't you answering the telephone, I am busy!" screamed the Office Manager, getting rather red.

The iguana was rather confused, as the Office manager had been playing solitaire on the computer and having a smoke. But next time she answered the phone. "Put it down, I told you not to answer it!" shrieked the Office Manager.

Poor Iguana!

It was like this for the Pretty little Hen upstairs, and the horse, and even the Lion was cowered even though he was supposed to be king. The Office Manager shrieked and confused them all. A rabbit gave her resignation, and a giraffe proudly walked out the door - or would have looked very proud if he hadn't had to bend his neck a lot to get out.

Very soon it was just the Office Manager sitting there with her solitaire and her smokes.

Wondering what she - how she - did manage.

P.S. I rather liked to be an iguana, at least just once in my blogging life!
P.P.S. Yes, Mr Coffee and I did watch 'Miss Potter' as our celebratory end of Law Placement DVD. Recommended.

Friday, 6 July 2007

Dear Maria: Actually, Ask a Statistician

The fretfully in love, and sexually embarrassed on Ask Sam
(previously known as Sam And The City) were confronted with the statistic from wherever Sam gets her stats, which was that the average man has had 7 sexual partners, and the average woman has had 4 sexual partners, which "doesn't add up" complained some, and bewailedcertain others, "women must be lying, where are all these extra women that men are sleeping with???" ('Course, couldn't be the men who were exaggerating their sexual prowess.)

Of course the stats could add up.

The average (whoever "average" is) man has had 7 sexual partners. The average female has had 4 sexual partners.

Doesn't say that those partners are all of the opposite sex.

Or for that matter, even human.



Jerry Springer's team read the above paragraph and has started storyboarding:

My hubby is bi, homo, gay, queer, experimental, and every othe not-that-there's-anything-wrong-with-that word you can think of!

My boyfriend bonks aliens!

I found my partner bonking a squirrel and now I'm experiencing insecurity problems and furry fantasies!

My man has ghost fetishes and it's driving me nuts!

My father likes it with ... well however you'd describe it you can't call my piano teacher human!

Thursday, 5 July 2007

Brought to you by The Sydney Morning Herald's Sunday Life, and D. Morgan, Esquire

The article "The Best Mates I've Never Met" disturbed me. We mistake these confessions and narcissistic displays for intimacy. We're treating each other as freak shows and fleeting entertainment. Everyone is too busy delivering their opinions and emotions to reflect on anything at length or listen attentively to anyone else or check the facts. If blogging makes you part of a community, why are bloggers sitting in front of computer screens alone? I can understand why it is a lifeline for people who are isolated by geography. war, age, illness, disability or carer's duties but I wonder if we should spend less time talking about ourselves to strangers and more getting to know our neighbours.

D. Morgan
Wollstonecraft, NSW

(Watch out, Wollstonecraftians, there's a D. Morgan out to get to know you all. That is, if John Howard, your friendly neighbourhood politician, doesn't get there first with some hefty hand-shaking.)

I found this in a Letters to the Editor section of the magazine, and the following thoughts tumbled out:

1. "If blogging makes you part of a community, why are bloggers sitting in front of computer screens alone?" - This sounds like "if those girls are having fun why don't they go to nightclubs, instead they stay at home and read books?" question. Answer - because they're having a different kind of fun from you. Doh!

2. WE mistake ... WE'RE treating each others as freaks ... What the heck are you doing D. Morgan? Don't automatically include me in it! - You need my explicit permission! - While I'm not high on my orange juice, chocolate binge or a good blog post!

3. It's so nice to know that blogging is what makes you a narcissistic pontificator, incapable of listening, rather than your personality. And no other medium does this - not even a Letters Page to the Editor.

4. And my neighbour couldn't be a complete stranger. (or a narcissistic pontificator who doesn't listen.)

Wednesday, 4 July 2007

Men Don't Understand Me! Waaahh!

And I thought I just didn't get the romantic life.

Perhaps we'll start a little "What Shall I Do With My Love Life?" column, right here. All responses welcome. As a long time contributor to the hugely entertaining, highly addictive, often turning-into-jelly-wrestling-type-lowbrow banter blog, Sam And The City (if that offends anyone, please let me know and I'll ignore your complaints - I'm sure even the most ardent fans will agree that Sam's blog doesn't exactly massage the highest of their cerebral functions, or if it does, then ... oh dear) - the topic now turns to romance. Or lack of it.

I head to the streets, and turn my attention to the distressed Pinky.

Maria: Pinky, let me guess. Man problems?

Pinky: Isn't it always? My boyfriend is an idiot. He doesn't know what I want!

Maria: Hmmm, neither do I. What do you want?

Pinky: Boyfriends are jerks! The last one didn't stay long enough to be a boyfriend. He just has sex for a week then he disappears!

Maria: Ummmm ... welll ... Pinky: *glares* I AM NOT A SLUT!

Maria: Errh, I wasn't going to say that. *thinks: next interview I will bring a bodyguard/bulletproof vest/at least a heavy baseball bat*

Pinky: Then the next one gets all gooey eyed and wants to have kids and be my husband - can you believe it? My husband?

Maria: *thinks of glaring eyes* I definitely can't.

Pinky: I just want a gorgeous hunk of spunk who I can use for sex when I want and who'll spoil me rotten and adore me and never look at anyone else but won't marry me and doesn't expect commitment - is that too much to ask?

Maria: Errh ...

Pinky: Men are idiots aren't they?

Maria: *thinks: you'd better hope so* Thanks Pinky, good luck.

There's always someone with a pressing problem. Plenty of those unlucky in love out there.