Friday, 13 December 2013
Apparently I have really strong arms. My boxing instructor told me that not many people, let alone women, can keep solidly boxing for 30 minutes without stopping or dying. Many a time I want to stop or fall on the floor in a sweaty heap and scream ‘Uncle!’ Or ‘Aunt!’ Or ‘Leave me the hell alone!’ But I don’t. I’m not sure why. Possibly it’s sheer stamina or bloody minded determination or maybe its like one of those nonsensical tests at school where Billy is travelling on one train wearing a red sweater, Freddie is travelling in a car eating an ice-cream and Harry is riding a bike wearing a baseball cap – which one will get to point A to B fastest and claim the prize? None of them because Susie thought ‘Stuff the lot of them, I’ll switch the signs around so they all go in different directions and get lost and I’ll win.’
Susie probably had strong arms too.
Thursday, 12 December 2013
So, after my 5km walk – I’m not running again yet, I’m trying to be a good, obedient girl due to my pulled muscle – it completely sucks of course – and after an hour of RPM (Raw power in motion on spin bikes aka really painful muscles on bikes with tweeny weeny seats), I did aqua aerobics. I’m a great believer in trying everything at least once. Would I do the mermaidian aqua thing again? Er, no. It’s a little tame for me. I’m one of those people who likes to sweat profusely while doing things hard and fast and painfully because in my mind all that torture means serious kill-you-or-cure-you-fitness. I like to limp away exhausted. I want my muscles with a side order of oh-my-god-why-did-I-do-that-pain and knowing that the litres of toxins sweated out means I can go put more evil, naughty, lovely things in and sweat them all out again.
Nobody ever drowned in his own sweat ~Ann Landers
Both tears and sweat are salty, but they render a different result. Tears will get you sympathy; sweat will get you change ~Jesse Jackson
Wednesday, 11 December 2013
The other day I received conduct records regarding my father’s service in the Australian Army. He was a career soldier – starting as a Nasho (National Serviceman) and then going through peace keeping in Korea, the Malay Emergency and later in Vietnam working with US Special Forces and then with the Army on home soil. He would always tell of the time a
US Colonel came up to him after a particularly
hard battle in Vietnam and declared
that my father would be awarded a US medal for his part in it. My father
told the Colonel to piss off. Like most Aussie soldiers they didn’t do the job
for medals and they sure as hell didn’t care for clean skinned,
never-out-in-the-field officers pouncing about. Nah, he didn’t get the medal
and he never regretted his words
Anyway, I requested the records from the Army due to accusations I consider slander. As expected the records didn’t indicate much at all in his 30 year history. In fact it was only between 1954 and 1957 that any charges were filed against him. Not so bad for a kid from the slums who had been smacked around by the local cops who told him to go into the Army or else. He went – naturally. What were the charges for? Things like not wearing the right hat or uniform or turning up late. I think of the man he would have been back then – 21 years of age, fresh from the slums of Sydney, a fighter, a survivor and someone who would turn out better than anyone expected.
As for the slander? Greed, jealousy based and un-Australian and I will not countenance it.
Surrender? Don't be bloody silly, we're Australian…
I cannot surrender. I am in command of Australians who would cut my throat if I did.
Not lip service, nor obsequious homage to superiors, nor servile observance of forms and customs...the Australian army is proof that individualism is the best and not the worst foundation upon which to build up collective discipline - General Monash.
**Photo is my father outside the Nee Soon Barracks in
(serving with 3RAR)
Tuesday, 10 December 2013
So, I attended part two of this psyche test for this job I applied for. It’s been a bloody long process. Part 2 was about going over some questions I answered in part one. Two of my responses to questions confused them. There were questions (330 in all) that you have to answer false, partly truly, slightly true, true. You know the drill. Those two questions were -
Question one – Do you often get unwanted advertising (junk mail).
I answered false. This confused them because the standard response was true. Why did I not fall in line with 98% of the population? Because, I told them, I have a ‘no junk mail’ sticker on my mailbox. Ipso facto I get no junk mail. This surprised them as they had not thought of this variable. I would have thought they had and I also wondered why a question on junk mail is so important anyway. It doesn’t tell you anything on life or people. Good to know I’m not like 98% of people.
Questions two – “You answered that it is slightly true that you will do what people require of you.” Apparently this is a true or false answer only. I pointed out to them in personal life I do whatever I want and rarely do what anyone tells me to unless it makes sense. I added, that in a work situation following a justifiable protocol I will follow it. Now, this surprised them as you are either one or the other. Again, I explained I was not part of any 98% and probably will never be.
After writing copious notes on what I said and I was ‘not to worry about them’- I wasn’t - they asked what questions did I find odd in the 330 question test. I said the one about jumping out of an airplane while doing archery. How so they asked? How so I wondered? I pointed out as far as I know it’s not the norm to shoot an arrow while free falling. I added this question could only make you look odd if you answered yes because then please explain how often you do the plane and arrow thing or is it only while on drugs? And, if you had never done it then does this mean you’re not prepared to face challenges and danger in life indicating you’re a wuss. Many, many notes were written down then.
In the end, I explained, quoting Popeye, ‘I am who I am’ and essentially I’m a take or leave me proposition. I am feel I left the psychologist a little wiser, possibly needing to have an aspirin and lie down. I do what I can in life…
Monday, 9 December 2013
So, I saw this picture of some really nifty socks. I like socks, particularly ankle socks. I wear them with my Mary Janes. No, I’ll probably never grow up but that’s okay with me. Anyway, I liked the socks and clicked on a tab that said ‘see other suggestions’. I will. I did. A bunch of other socks came up and then what the? How did we go from ankle socks to looking like a hooker in latex tights? They would look terrible with Mary Janes. And who the hell wears latex anyway? And in the tropics? Massive thigh sweat. In the cold? I could see that latex adhering to frozen thighs and having to be blow torched off. Uses for rubberized leggings? Other than maybe if your tyre blows and you have no spare and you rip a legging off and wrap it around the tyre. Other than that, I can’t see them as useful at all. Is this some weird arsed male fantasy ‘cause I seriously cannot see any sane woman wearing them. It just ruined my sock watching…
Sunday, 8 December 2013
I was doing my normal Sunday morning swim, at the lagoon on the Cairns Esplanade, when this Chinese bridal couple and their photographer came along. It was early morning and they would have been getting some photos done before the general wedding chaos of the day began. I tread water, not wanting to photo bomb the all important pictures, and watched the couple. He was in this silver grey 19th century type frock coat and he had such a proud, happy look on his face when he looked at his bride. She, in turn, looked quite lovely yet nervous in a strapless gown with a long train that she and the photographer worried a great deal about. When the bride and groom looked at each other with such blatant love in their eyes I thought to myself, yeah, this is what people want to believe in and why despite every setback, failure and facing the odds and still daring to try, that as humans we still believe in love and soul mates and not giving up on finding ‘the one.’ That's nice.
"He’s not perfect. You aren’t either, and the two of you will never be perfect. But if he can make you laugh at least once, causes you to think twice, and if he admits to being human and making mistakes, hold onto him and give him the most you can. He isn’t going to quote poetry, he’s not thinking about you every moment, but he will give you a part of him that he knows you could break. Don’t hurt him, don’t change him, and don’t expect for more than he can give. Don’t analyze. Smile when he makes you happy, yell when he makes you mad, and miss him when he’s not there. Love hard when there is love to be had. Because perfect guys don’t exist, but there’s always one guy that is perfect for you" ~ Bob Marley
Friday, 6 December 2013
So, at work, a mechanic type person got a metal splinter in his hand. It was all very dramatic and apparently intensely painful and I expect if Steven Spielberg had been there he would have been caught up in the drama and optioned the film rights – that is if the splinter was an actual splinter and not a teeny weeny speck that I could barely see. The bloke in question was apparently in ‘massive pain’ – uh huh – and had to get it out or he was in danger of dying – so he told me. The thing is he couldn’t shove the sharp, splinter get-er-out-er-rer probe into his own hand because he knew it would hurt ‘terribly.’ I did what any woman worth her salt would have done when faced by a whiner, I took the sharp probe, grabbed his hand, plunged it in and flipped the life threatening splinter from his flesh in a matter of seconds. He howled. He pointed to the speck of blood this major surgery involved. Sigh…where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods?