Ghostrider_oz's profileGhostrider_ozPhotosBlogListsMore  |  Tools Help |
|
Ghostrider_ozIf at first you don't suceed destroy all evidence of even trying May 22 It tastes like chickenI have recently decided that the only way to survive in the world is to be invisible.
Well no not invisible but at least in the background, being out the front of everything just leads to the chance of failure.
Don't get me wrong failure is the basis for survival of the human race. If we didn't fail occasionally then nothing would improve.
Apparently some of the world's most important inventions came from failures, don't ask me what because I don't know and somehow I don't think I want to know. Imagine finding out that something you use everyday is really somebodies failure.
I suppose it all comes back to those few deep and meaningful questions, which came first the chicken or the egg.
But the mental dilemma that I like best is who decided one day that the white stuff coming out of cows might be good to drink, or how did some prehistoric man, or woman, decide to put the cow on the BBQ not the dog or the cat (except in dim sims). I mean did they try out a whole heap of stuff and decide the cow tasted better or what.
And how come every time somebody can't decide what something tastes like it taste like chicken, go figure maybe chicken really taste like fruit loops, who knows.
I suppose, as per usual, I have deviated from the track a little bit but I suppose that's how things get invented and questioned, now I going to slide back into the background, but remember every time you open your mouth and volunteer for that really tricky job at work life is going to kick you in the balls and somebody else will get the credit for the final outcome. March 23 Women & MemoryI work in an office full of women, some guys may be saying lucky bastard, but truely it's not as great as it might sound. Not wanting to get into the mysteries of women you notice after a while they all get grumpy at about the same time and so forth and so on.
It's like this there me and my supervisor,we're blokes men males, then there's 4 women and unfortunately for me I sit in the main office whilst my supervisor hides cowering in his little booth of glass, cone of silence think Maxwell Smart, he can't hear anything really that goes on in the office.
Now for those of us who have girlfriend, partners or wifes know that the month is spilt up like this 1 week of happiness joy and all things nice (yes a quiet early night in the sack could be included in this week) and then 3 weeks of not hell, but that feeling like being the designated driver on a bucks night when the Jim Beam girls are dishing out free drinks.
 So then comes the female office, four women all whom seem to have set their body clocks from some mystical female 1800 number "at the tone the countdown to that day is 3 days 4 hours and 27 minutes 16 seonds" and when that time tick around all of a sudden the workplace become the depths of hades. Nothing and I mean nothing is right, at one end of the room it's too hot (fans going) and at the other end of the office it's to cold (heater going) but what worse is when they all agree it's too cold, all of a sudden the A/C unit comes on pumping out air at approx 32deg C and the room becomes something reminding me of a steam room or sauna.
 "Can you help" becomes "get over here and fix this" and phone messages are passed attached to darts, I mean those ones you get at the pub, sharp and heavy and the dartboard appears to be my back. You hesitate to leave for a smoko cause you know as soon as you leave they'll huddle up and see who can come up with your biggest screw up for the day and bring it back to haunt you.
 Why is it it doesn't matter when you say it "your big arse is blocking the TV" or "Move you boof head so I can see up the road" it will always be the death of you at some later stage. It doesn't even have to be in the same decade, women are like elephants they remember everything (no not their fat, grey with big noses) and they have this amazing storage system that can retrive that flippant throw away comment you made half pissed after a night out with your mates (whom she doesn't approve of anyway) dragging yourself into bed whilst trying 1 - not to wake her up cause your three hours late 2 - trying not to wake the baby up, well refer to 1 and 3 - knowing that whatever you say will not be a good enough excuse for being late.  "Hi honey sorry I'm late had to stop and help a bus full of topless strippers change a tyre" is not going to work any better than "Am I late sorry I was sure I told you 3am" and what ever you do don't get so drunk that you think getting your best mate to call the missus and tell her "relax he's fine you should let him out more", because this is a bad idea, trust me I didn't smell alcohol for 2 1/2 years after that one and she still brings it up if I'm a little too snotted when I get home "At least you didn't get <Name removed to save the innocent> to call me this time", blimey that was 5 years ago now but no there's that memory again.
 Anyway tommorrow Friday - I need a drink so I off home to ask if it's alright with her if I go out for a while (she never says no but occasionally the yes sounds very similar to no - take a note and don't go out).  March 22 Hump Day & The WeekendI love Wednesday, mainly because it not monday, and especially cause it's hump day the week can only get better, well at least it can't get any worse.
I don't know about the rest of the world but I know once wednesday is over then the week is looking good, well sort of, because of course the weekend is almost here and most guys know what that means the Minister for House and Hold is getting the weekend list ready.
Have you noticed that the list never seems to get any shorter, I give my wife her dues she is an extremely tolerate women, I have been promising to prune that bush outside the kitchen window for four years now and it won't get done this weekend.
The thing is why on earth would you WANT to mow the lawns, wash the car, clean up the kids rooms after working all week. I now there are some guys out there that love the outdoors, me I prefer to sped the time with the wife and kids, but occasionally I get the urge to clean up the backyard, then I burp and realise it was only gas.
But then you have the problem if you go out for the day with the kids why is it that however you plan it you always seem to end up going out just before lunch, then you have the problems of what do you feed them, you can guarantee they'll want maccas or kfc or something really flipping expensive. I still haven't found the answer to this oone.
And finally there's only one problem with the Weekend, after the weekend it's bloody Monday again.  March 21 Kids & SchoolWhy is it that whatever day it is Kids don't want to go to school, they'll do what ever is nessecary to avoid that trip on the bus or getting out of the car.
Take the Boy I'll just call him the boy to protect the innocent, well vaguely guilty anyway, he's in grade 3 now that means he's been going to school for about four years full time, every day the same thing. He's suppose to get up at 7am, every 5 minutes from 6am he's asking is it time to get up. "Is it time to get up Dad"," Is it time to get up Dad"," Is it time to get up Dad". Every morning the same answer "It's not 7 yet, just wait." finally 7 rolls around and for some reason he's reading a book, playing the last ever biggest pokemon battle ever and can't get up right at the moment.
So you get organised in the kitchen, bowls out, get the ceral and bread, I like brown bread it always causes the "Dad I don't like Brown Bread" fight,anyway back to the boy. You call everyone into breakfast, low and behold out he comes still in his pjs whistling something vaugley familiar and it 0715:
"Where's you school clothes?"
"Can't find any"
"Have you looked in the cupboard?"
"None there"
"Have you looked in your basket?"
"Can't find it"
"Go and Get dressed"
Off he goes staring at the ceiling, 15 minutes later he wanders in shirt inside out and only one sock.
"Can't find another sock, Dad"
"Did you look in the pile of odd socks"
"oh No, better do that"
Finally sits down to breaksfast only to pour his milk down the front of his shirt and it all starts again.
To be fair this is only a mixture of a number of days and the boy does usually get himself fairly organised. I suppose this is all to explain that the handbrake constantly accuses me of being a bad influence on the boy, she feel that I am worse than him.
She probably right.  March 20 It's bloody Monday AgainOOOhhh thats just bloody typical, just spent 20 minutes typing and go to change the font or something and delete the whole bloody thing. I hate Mondays.
As i typed earlier:
Why is it that Monday always follows Sunday, you know it would be great ocasionally if we could just skip Mondays, I suppose that what a long weekend is for to skip Mondays.
I get up this morning, it's Monday. Getting organised why is it that no matter how much ironing you do you never seem to iron a shirt for yourself, and when you do iron your shirt, in a hurry, you always burn your finger, or put your hand on the glowing ironing board.
Then you get in the car, then realise that you left the car keys in the pants you have been wearing all weekend. So you go back inside, find the shorts in the washing basket, say goodbye to everybody again, all whilst calming taking the "short day" / "home so soon" jokes.
 .So finally you leave home, and can you find a lighter in the car, some bastard stolen the one out of the dash, you best mate borrowed the other one and the one that's suppose to be in your pocket must have fallen out on the driveway. I'm going to be in the shit for that when I get home. Finally at the bottom of the glove box you find some matches well two matches, needless to say your careful.
 So finally smoke going radio working in one speaker you head down the road towards work, fighting with every other bastard that left his keys in his other pants and is also running late. Then theres the life takers, overtaking in the emergency lane, if I ever catch one on a Monday they'll have an emergency.
 Finally you get to work, only about 15 minutes late and turn on the computer, the day is looking up. You open your email and read the weekends worth of SPAM, how to make your penis longer, how to improve your stroke (golf stroke), how to make a million by only spending $100 and this is your last chance. A wry smile is creeping on my face almost enjoying being at work and just as thing are looking up then bloody fagging shittin computer crashs. That's it I'm going home and back to bed.
 But I can't even do that cause every other bastard already rung in "sick"
 I hate Mondays |
||||
|
|
