return to sender

Dear God,

I'd like to make a return please.  Your conditions clearly stipulate that one is only given as much as they can handle.  I don't know what the others have been saying, but I am not doing OK with this load you've given me.  I think there's been some kind of mistake?

If you need me to fill out some kind of form, I'd be happy to oblige - but you have gotta take some of this crap off my hands. I don't know who you might be able to "redistribute" these things to - I'm hoping you might be able to recycle, or better yet, liquidate things altogether.

The incessant neck pain,
                the never ending fucking headache, 
     the earache, the plantar fasciitis, 
              the fat pad atrophy (great sense of irony there bud; real nice of you to shrink the single most important piece of fat in my fat-rich body!)  
                 the bad hair, 
      the big ugly feet, 
   that fingernail on my right hand middle finger that Just. Keeps. Breaking
                         the asshole boss, 
                                         the crooked nose, 
          the instinctive pull to eat my feelings, 
                                        the poor sleep, 
                   the fear, the angst and all the sadness,
                                        the complete and distinct void of purpose in my life 
                                                                        and that glorious innate reflex to run,                                                                                 anytime something seems remotely                                                                                  hard or uncomfortable or scary.  
And you know what? To me, pretty much everything is scary.

Enough already.  I'm waving the white flag.  I just can't juggle this many things at once, truth be known I'm a terrible juggler - two things - tops!

For the love of all things good in the world, will you please give a girl a break and ease up?  And, if you won't take anything back, will you at least send someone down here to help me out?

Kind Regards,
Me xx

breaking up with Facebook

Dear Facebook,

We've been dancing around this issue for a while, but I finally have the courage to say.... it's over between us.  I just don't like you anymore.  Truth be told, I'm not sure I ever really did.

Yes, to start with you made me feel more included, more connected - you used to be fun.  Pictures of people I hadn't seen in years were enlightening, inspiring even. Travels could be tracked, virtual catch-ups were heartwarming, and even the stalking came in handy... once in a while.

But then, it became about numbers.. how many 'friends' did I have, who requested me, who didn't?
Who dumped me as their 'friend'?
Who wished me happy birthday this year?
Who 'liked' my photo?
Who commented? What did they say? What did they really mean?
Who is that?!
Who cares?

With so many 'whos' I've been asking myself why. All you do is bring self doubt and frustration to my fingertips.  For every legitimate good thing you've given me, I've scrolled through dozens, and dozens of bullshit posts, adverts and 'selfies' oh, how I hate the selfies.

And then there's the way you crept into my conversations.  Something innocent I had learnt on Facebook, would escape my consciousness and in answer to "where did you hear that?" I had to confess: I saw it on Facebook. Urrrgh I feel dirty.

You kept gnawing at my time; anytime I sat idle for long enough to reach for my phone, all I had to do was tap that little blue icon - for that 'just in case' look.  I couldn't help it, I'd become dependent on knowing everything, anything.  It has become a sickness, the desire to know things that I don't really need to know - I'd become torn between acceptance and freedom.

For I'm sure that all the 'good' reasons Facebook started, have now long since faded away.  Now we're all right back where we never wanted to be - high school.  All the cool kids who still don't want to be your 'friend', watching assholes continue to be assholes via their pictures, bullies with endless rants, and the bad spelling - so much bad spelling.

You are an enabler Facebook - you have allowed every wank-fest, whinge-fest, aren't I so funny/clever/ironic/hot/sad/happy-fest to go on, and on, and on.  And I won't take any more of it. You are a terrible 'friend' Facebook. And don't think I don't know you're using my likes and preferences as a way to shove more marketing and rubbish down my throat!

Now you see, I just don't care. I've always had one foot out of the 'normal' world anyway, the way I see it I may as well step through and get comfortable where I'm standing.

As 2013 rapidly draws to a close, a year which has been choc-full of rubbish - I'm finally cleaning up.  I'm simplifying my existence.  Who knows how long it will last?  When that first pang of guilt or fear hits, will I be tempted to rejoin the masses?  Whatever happens, just know Facebook - that in this dysfunctional relationship, it's not me, it is most definitely you.

death to smiley faces

I used to throw one in every now and then.  I once felt it appropriately symbolised my feeling at the time. But now, my boss has killed it for me.  In mass emails, notes, on the sign in board for sobbing out loud.  It's too much. Just. Too. Much.  I'm finding now it's having a reverse smiley effect on me - now when I see one, I want to vomit, and when faced with a situation where I might've ordinarily used one, I quietly shudder.

I feel that smiley face over-use is definitely a punishable offence. Jail time even.

*spew*

violent tendencies

Recently I had admitted to my psychologist that I was becoming increasingly frustrated with my boss, and that I was beginning to struggle with hiding those feelings.  I thought that perhaps these feelings were 'seeping' out of me, and being picked up those around me and making for a more tense atmosphere. Therefore creating a big ol' dirty circle of angst.

In order to diffuse these feelings, she suggested that whenever I was around the aforementioned boss, I should try to think of something funny to lighten my mood, similar to the imaginings of J.D in the TV series 'Scrubs'.

I saw this movie "Identity Thief" recently, and while it was not a terribly great movie, it did contain the inspiration for my 'mood-lightening' thought.  See 0:36 below for the golden moment.

The only problem is that this didn't work for very long, and my 'mood-lightening' thought has now taken a violent turn.  When my boss is hovering over my shoulder, or ignoring my transferred calls, or being dismissive, I now like to imagine that the sandwich-maker is being hurled at her head - by me.  As she's walking past my work station.... as she's exiting the door... even a surprise blow as she's sitting at her desk with her back to me - I imagine smacking her square in the melon with that platinum silver sandwich press. That's bad, right?

I don't think this is quite what the psychologist had in mind.

being Pat Benatar

I had a weird dream the other night. I dreamed I was staying in a weird house with my ex-hairdresser (odd fact #1) and her brother. There was a dinner party, and then afterwards the floor turned to sludge (odd fact #2). I was there, but I didn't look like me (as a side note, isn't it interesting when we have dreams where it feels like our point of view, but we look like an entirely different person - I wonder if it's past-life-esque? Anyway...).

Anyway... after the sludge, I put on a performance for all the guests, in the hope it would impress ex-hairdressers brother.  Said performance was an unplugged version of Pat Benatar's "hit me with your best shot" (odd fact #3 - odd because I. Don't. Sing.) with special thrusting and vigorous gestures for the apple of my eye.  Yes, that's right, I was willing ex-hairdressers brother to hit me with his [metaphorical] best shot of love! And he did. And my, it was lovely.

Aside from all the weird bits, when I awoke from this dream all I wanted to do was go back to sleep and dream some more.  Because it reminded me that I want someone to love me, I want to be the object of someones desires, and I would like to have sex again before my insides shrivel and wither to dust.

things you probably shouldn't write in a cover letter

Dear Sir/Madam,

I'm excited at the opportunity to apply for this position, because I really hate the assholes I work with now.  Plus, the pay is really good here...

I feel that my extensive customer service experience lends me the capabilities to adequately deal with just about any crackpot you can throw my way - aside from exceptionally stupid people.

I'm confident I would be a great addition to your team, but if people piss me off I will want to stab them in the face with my pen - MY pen.  I don't share pens.

When I look ahead five years into the future, I'd like to see myself sipping cocktails poolside with a good book in hand, and a gorgeous man by my side - failing that coming to fruition, I'm probably not going to want to be doing this job, but I sincerely promise I will give you a solid 18 months.

I look forward to hearing from you, mostly because I'd really like to get the fuck out of where I work right now. Thank you for considering me for this position.

Yours faithfully,

StrangeBird xx

the shallow end of the pool

I found out today that one of my cousins is trying out to be a competitor on "Beauty and the Geek" (as a beauty). I feel pretty confident that for as long as I live, I'll never do anything quite as ridiculous to top that.

I think this is good news for me.

And now, a little celebratory Ray....

in the eye of the beholder

I've pretty much been lounging around the interior of the house for five days, high on painkillers, wearing my pajama bottoms all day - yeah, you heard me, and sporting big black retro-shaped sunglasses like an alcoholic movie-star under house arrest. I'm that cool.

No, in truth I've been hiding in rooms with closed curtains and quiet lights because I had eye surgery.  The pajama bottoms are pure comfort and convenience - and the sunglasses, well, aside from helping with the sunlight situation, they also provide a slightly more glamorous feel, than my bright red swollen eye lends me.

In my mind, I like to think I look like this..

But when the glasses come off, I look a lot like this...

I have one more weeks reprieve, before I have to put on some actual pants and face the real world like a proper adult. It's not terribly easy looking at the world right now, especially when your brave face is not a particularly pretty one. It's times like these I wish I were the kind of person who didn't care what people thought of me.

once more with feeling

I don't know which set of planets misaligned in their orbits to result in me viewing this clip, but they did. I haven't quite decided how I feel about it - aside from confusing me, it also makes me feel simultaneously dirty and ridiculous.

It is an ode to my day. A day filled with strange feelings and general ridiculousness of the futile kind.



Oh Barry...



when you say nothing... like, at all

Yesterday was my birthday - and after my freak out about it last week, I actually had a really lovely day.  I think I realise that I am what I am, in the place where I am - and that is ok.

I received wishes from Facebook 'friends' which I appreciate - but I also received some gorgeous texts from fewer, far more special individuals.  I was lucky enough to receive warmth, love and some gifts - this extended even into today, when workmates wished me well (well, I was feeding them cake) and the universe generally seemed to give me another pass for the day.

After all the John stuff that has come and gone in recent months - I didn't expect to hear from him. I wrote to him for his birthday weeks ago, to which he never responded. This is why I was surprised to receive his correspondence today. This is what I got:

I'm a lover of someecards from way back - but to send this, with nothing else except "Happy Birthday" in the subject line? Really? No "how are you? Did you have a nice day?" - sweet nothing. This is how you choose to contact me, after months of nothing? What. A. Fucking. Wanker.

I'm not even sure I find that funny.  Wait, second thought, no, I definitely don't find it funny at all.  In my head, I think perhaps he'd like to wish me a long, boring, unremarkable existence.  In my head, I think he doesn't give a crap about anything me related. Or maybe, this is his version of have a nice, long life - without me in it.

This is actually sitting well with me.  I'm just annoyed that he felt compelled to waste the moment of his time to send this completely thoughtless, humorless piece of shit. I feel nothing, other than pity for the kilobytes he wasted sending that via email. Why bother comes to mind.

He obviously doesn't want a response. And may he get his hearts desire.

SB

WTF?

"Young children who learn how to read and write using Facebook may have an edge over their peers later in life, according to a prominent Australian linguist."

Ummmm, are you fucking kidding me?! Yeah - maybe if you want your kids to turn into illiterate little wankers who cannot construct a thoughtful sentence.. or any sentence at all.

God, there's some real shit out there. Worst of all that 'prominent Australian linguist' probably got paid to 'study' that crap.

{Insert wild-man scream}

SB

got gumption?

I had a timely encounter with the Shit-Face who inspired these spewings today.

I had the great misfortune of arriving at work the same time as she did - and the greater pity of her 'seeing' me. Jesus! Happy Tuesday to me! But, as they say... when life gives you lemons... "Hello" I said (I couldn't completely ignore her - I'm not advocating complete rudeness here!)

Why she bothered waiting behind for me, I do not know.  Now don't think I didn't try to straggle - play the whole whoops - did I leave my car unlocked?...handbrake disengaged?...fuel tank on fire? thing. No avail.

Resume: I said "Hello Shit-Face - howyagarn?.." (you know, the obligatory 'how are you going' you say, when you're trying to appear polite). That's. It.

We walked the further 500 metres from the car park, to my department and I didn't instigate a single word of time wasting, awkward avoiding, chit-chat.  It was hard for me, I generally make it my business to avoid awkward silences. But, NO, I thought.  Lets just play here, and see if she actually says anything - asks me anything.  She didn't. She retains said title - Shit-Face.

This might be fun.

So, when life gives you lemons...make lemonade; on the proviso that you drink it all your fucking self!

SB xx

you've got to get mad!

I don't know.
SB xx

early break

Waiting 11 months for a chance at 31 single days to listen to Christmas music seems, unfair. No, I don't prance around in knitted clothing items sporting Santa's head, nor do I dress my car up to look like Rudolph (yes, some people actually do that)... but, ok, I admit it, I like to listen to Christmas music. Why? Because it reminds me that an exciting day is coming.  Because even when the temperature outside hits 43 in the shade, I can still hear songs about snow and it makes me feel better.

It's kind of the unwritten rule that you don't partake in anything Christmas-celebration related until after December 1st - but I've found myself some funky new music and I really, really want to try it out. 

Soooo - I'm gonna!

How can it bad luck to do something that makes you even a little happy?

One album I'm particularly excited about is:

Right now, I'm two songs closer to my condemnation to hell - it's fun and folksy, so who cares!  Another great find from last year was the O.C mix "Have a Very Merry Chrismukkah".  Forget about it being from a TV show, it's actually an awesome collection of non-obvious Christmas songs - alternative, if you will.  If there's a collection of non-poxy Christmas songs - I'll find it.

Let me just be very clear about this; there will never be any Bieber. Ever. I don't care how merry his Christmas may be.

SB xx

Can't believe I just wrote a post on Christmas music.

Hmm.. spell check picks up that 'Rudolph' should be capitalised, but does not recognise Bieber... it's a win for humanity.

there will be no swaddling

This is the 'love to swaddle up original'.  And there is absolutely no way I'd be putting my baby, metaphorical or otherwise in this thing. Jesus. The shit you find when online shopping.

SB xx