It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Then it was the best of times again.
2011, you were a year of shenanigans and beer and life lessons and beer and good friends and beer and sexually harassing innocent men. Then having another beer.
Last year I wrote a blog on why I hate New Years Eve, and in that blog I included a resolution or five. Let us revisit those and see how I did.
1. Don't eat so many chips that I get chest pains
SUCCESS. I did, however, on more than one occasion eat so much bacon that I got chest pains. But there was no such bacon related resolution.
2. See Europe
SUCCESS. And it was amazing and brilliant and magical. Apart from when I vomited in Greece.
3. Stop typing my Facebook password into every other website I try to log in to
FAIL. Old habits die hard. Or die not-at-all.
4. Stop trying to deactivate the house alarm with my pin number, and stop trying to get money out of the ATM with the alarm code
50/50. I have cut back on how often I do this, but it still happens.
5. Finally become the proud owner of the complete box set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Thanks to Santa Claus, this was a last minute Christmas SUCCESS.
So last year I whinged about it, but this year I feel no such ill-will towards December 31. Usually I hate it because the changing of my wall calendar just reminds me that I’ve wasted another year of my life, but this year was pretty kick ass. I saw some awesome shite, laughed so hard with some great friends that I cried/snorted/peed my pants a little, and learned that making angry playlists on your iPod will get you through anything.
Popular opinion is that the blonde hair I’ve been ABSOLUTELY ROCKIN this year makes me look a lot less like I’m dying than the black hair did; that the stupidest thing I’ve said all year is ‘This apple juice tastes too much like real apples’ (if I wanted to taste a real apple, I’d eat a freakin apple); and that my hatred of people misusing the word ‘ironic’ has grown to such proportions that I’ll either stab someone or have a rage-induced stroke in the near future.
So what are my resolutions for next year?
1. Keep surrounding myself with good people
2. Don’t get porky again because it took five months to drop the weight I gained in Europe. Needless to say the food there is quite good
3. Try to be less of a pervert (men will have to agree to be less attractive, though)
4. Stop playing Florence & The Machine’s Shake it Out on repeat, because other songs are good too
5. Watch the entire boxset of Buffy The Vampire Slayer
And if you still need reasons to look forward to 2012, there’s a possible apocalypse and a new Muppets movie.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Thursday, December 22, 2011
My grownup Christmas list
Dear Santa,
As the festive season is upon us once more, I can’t help but think about the many years we’ve known each other and how you have betrayed me on each and every one.
Santa. Mr Claus. ‘Saint’ Nick. What happened to you? Growing up, I was led to believe that if I was good, and if I behaved myself, I could write you a letter at the end of the year and you would bring me some lovely things.
Well, I have one question for you, Santa. Where exactly is my monkey army?
Year after year I was the picture of the perfect child. I did well at school. I behaved myself. I didn’t swear, I didn’t answer back, I only bit my brother that one time. And yet, no monkey minions.
You’ve clearly dropped the ball. Christmas 1995 there was a Kmart price sticker on my Barbie. Kmart, Santa? I realise the world is far more populated than it used to be, and the elves are busy trying to make iPods instead of dolls and hula hoops, but what the hell, man? What. The. Hell.
I don’t mean to criticise. Well, I do, but only because I want to give you the chance to improve. It’s like you don’t even care anymore. The kids hold up their end of the bargain, what with the being good and all, so you should hold up your end and bring them their monkeys.
To get you started, here’s my wish list for this year:
-An attractive man wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a Santa hat.
-A unicorn. With a rainbow mane. And a glittery coat. I shall name him ‘Captain Clip-Clop’ and we shall be the best of friends.
-My freakin monkeys. Better late than never.
As the festive season is upon us once more, I can’t help but think about the many years we’ve known each other and how you have betrayed me on each and every one.
Santa. Mr Claus. ‘Saint’ Nick. What happened to you? Growing up, I was led to believe that if I was good, and if I behaved myself, I could write you a letter at the end of the year and you would bring me some lovely things.
Well, I have one question for you, Santa. Where exactly is my monkey army?
Year after year I was the picture of the perfect child. I did well at school. I behaved myself. I didn’t swear, I didn’t answer back, I only bit my brother that one time. And yet, no monkey minions.
You’ve clearly dropped the ball. Christmas 1995 there was a Kmart price sticker on my Barbie. Kmart, Santa? I realise the world is far more populated than it used to be, and the elves are busy trying to make iPods instead of dolls and hula hoops, but what the hell, man? What. The. Hell.
I don’t mean to criticise. Well, I do, but only because I want to give you the chance to improve. It’s like you don’t even care anymore. The kids hold up their end of the bargain, what with the being good and all, so you should hold up your end and bring them their monkeys.
To get you started, here’s my wish list for this year:
-An attractive man wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a Santa hat.
-A unicorn. With a rainbow mane. And a glittery coat. I shall name him ‘Captain Clip-Clop’ and we shall be the best of friends.
-My freakin monkeys. Better late than never.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
An open letter to attractive men
Dear attractive men,
Hello. You don’t know me, but my name is Lauren and I have been finding it harder and harder to ignore you of late, as you insist on parading around in front of me wherever I go, with your faces and bodies and lovely, lovely smiles.
Despite the positive attributes of your kind, I have to admit that I have a complaint or two about the way you insist on living your lives.
Complaint the first: The pace at which you walk.
If you’re going to walk past me, all I ask is that you do it slowly. This will increase my perving time and I’m sure there’s some kind of advantage in there for you somewhere, too. Walking slower will reduce the chance of sweating? Maybe? Yeah. Let’s go with that. Sweating.
Complaint the second: The wearing of those shoulder/messenger bags.
These tend to cover your amazing backsides. This is unfortunate. Please put your belongings elsewhere.
Complaint the third: Some of you don’t wear glasses.
I had a theory that men, meaning all men, meaning 100% OF THE MEN look better in glasses. I have tested this hypothesis and it turns out that I am correct. If you do not wear glasses, please obtain some in the near future.
Complaint the fourth: Sometimes you can be so attractive that it’s unattractive.
I know this sounds stupid, but there is something I like to call the ‘Cycle of Attractive-ness’ and it looks like this:
The cycle goes counter clockwise, beginning at ‘Total-freakin-ugmo’ and moving all the way up to ‘Dear-god-please-help-me-now-I-can’t-help-but-swoon-over-this-ridiculously-good-looking-person’. Occasionally, you can become so attractive that your features become comical and off-putting and you jump from the sexy side over to the not-so-sexy side. Please don’t do this, as it is a tragic waste.
(Note that the cycle only flows one way. No one is so ugly that they’re attractive. No one. It’s science.)
Thank you for your time and cooperation. I hope these issues will be remedied in the coming days.
Lauren
Hello. You don’t know me, but my name is Lauren and I have been finding it harder and harder to ignore you of late, as you insist on parading around in front of me wherever I go, with your faces and bodies and lovely, lovely smiles.
Despite the positive attributes of your kind, I have to admit that I have a complaint or two about the way you insist on living your lives.
Complaint the first: The pace at which you walk.
If you’re going to walk past me, all I ask is that you do it slowly. This will increase my perving time and I’m sure there’s some kind of advantage in there for you somewhere, too. Walking slower will reduce the chance of sweating? Maybe? Yeah. Let’s go with that. Sweating.
Complaint the second: The wearing of those shoulder/messenger bags.
These tend to cover your amazing backsides. This is unfortunate. Please put your belongings elsewhere.
Complaint the third: Some of you don’t wear glasses.
I had a theory that men, meaning all men, meaning 100% OF THE MEN look better in glasses. I have tested this hypothesis and it turns out that I am correct. If you do not wear glasses, please obtain some in the near future.
Complaint the fourth: Sometimes you can be so attractive that it’s unattractive.
I know this sounds stupid, but there is something I like to call the ‘Cycle of Attractive-ness’ and it looks like this:
The cycle goes counter clockwise, beginning at ‘Total-freakin-ugmo’ and moving all the way up to ‘Dear-god-please-help-me-now-I-can’t-help-but-swoon-over-this-ridiculously-good-looking-person’. Occasionally, you can become so attractive that your features become comical and off-putting and you jump from the sexy side over to the not-so-sexy side. Please don’t do this, as it is a tragic waste.(Note that the cycle only flows one way. No one is so ugly that they’re attractive. No one. It’s science.)
Thank you for your time and cooperation. I hope these issues will be remedied in the coming days.
Lauren
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Surviving the office Christmas party
I haven’t been very good at attending the work Christmas party. I went once a few years ago, where my then manager got a bit too excited about the bar tab and decided that even though we were sitting outside, it would be a good idea to go back into the pub to vomit. On the floor. Right by the door. Like a champ.
Last night I made my second appearance at one of our Christmas parties. My manager felt obligated to go, and talked me into accompanying her with the following three points:
1. There’s a bar tab.
2. Tab = free beer.
3. Free beer is good.
So the Christmas party was at a pub by the river. I only had one drink on account of having to drive, which really wasn’t enough alcohol to deal with not remembering the names of people from other sites, being reminded of just how many years of my life I’ve spent working for these people, or awkward conversations with one of the company’s slightly intoxicated owners:
Him: ‘How are you? Good?’
Me: ‘I have beer. Beer is good.’
Manager lady has a massive amount of Grinch-y-ness in her tiny, blackened heart.
This has been a recent source of amusement for the two of us who work under her, as we’ve been entertaining ourselves by slowly building up ‘Operation Christmas Bombardment.’
Next week I’m starting the carols, and yes, I’ve got Mariah Carey. And Wham. And Celine Dion. I know I can’t force cheer down her throat, but since I don’t like to lose, I plan to lose in the most annoying way possible.
Manager lady’s initial anti-Christmas comments of ‘I’ll stay for an hour at most’ and ‘One drink and I’m out of there’ were a big, fat fail. I left before her and received some slightly scrambled text messages later in the evening. She stayed about six hours longer than planned, proving that the spirit of Christmas is alive and well after all.
Or the spirit of Jack Daniels.
Last night I made my second appearance at one of our Christmas parties. My manager felt obligated to go, and talked me into accompanying her with the following three points:
1. There’s a bar tab.
2. Tab = free beer.
3. Free beer is good.
So the Christmas party was at a pub by the river. I only had one drink on account of having to drive, which really wasn’t enough alcohol to deal with not remembering the names of people from other sites, being reminded of just how many years of my life I’ve spent working for these people, or awkward conversations with one of the company’s slightly intoxicated owners:
Him: ‘How are you? Good?’
Me: ‘I have beer. Beer is good.’
Manager lady has a massive amount of Grinch-y-ness in her tiny, blackened heart.
This has been a recent source of amusement for the two of us who work under her, as we’ve been entertaining ourselves by slowly building up ‘Operation Christmas Bombardment.’Next week I’m starting the carols, and yes, I’ve got Mariah Carey. And Wham. And Celine Dion. I know I can’t force cheer down her throat, but since I don’t like to lose, I plan to lose in the most annoying way possible.Manager lady’s initial anti-Christmas comments of ‘I’ll stay for an hour at most’ and ‘One drink and I’m out of there’ were a big, fat fail. I left before her and received some slightly scrambled text messages later in the evening. She stayed about six hours longer than planned, proving that the spirit of Christmas is alive and well after all.
Or the spirit of Jack Daniels.
Friday, December 2, 2011
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Happy December! My Christmas tree is up and decorated. The Christmas CDs have been dug out of the cupboard. My Santa hat is… too small for my head and I have to buy a new one.
For those of you not yet feeling the Christmas spirit, I give you 11 reasons to love the festive season:
1. Tinsel: It’s shiny and everybody loves shiny things.
2. Food: It’s delicious and there’s plenty of it.
3. Presents: Not just receiving them, but using a ridiculous amount of sticky tape when you wrap gifts for other people so you can watch their frustrated attempts to free whatever it was that you found on sale at the last minute.
4. National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation is on TV: Classic.
5. Summer (for people in the southern hemisphere only): Beer and BBQ. ‘Nuff said.
6. ‘It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas’ as performed by Alvin and the Chipmunks: It has never stopped being hilarious and never will. Check it out here (skip to 0:53 for the LOLs and an enormous dose of cheer).
7. Christmas songs in general: The only time of the year when it’s acceptable to belt out a Mariah Carey song.
8. Fairy lights: The only time of the year when it’s acceptable to put brightly coloured flashing lights all over your house.
9. Photos with Santa: The only time of the year when it’s acceptable to let your child sit on a strange, old, beardy man’s knee and tell him what toys they want.
10. Sneaky mistletoe: The sexual harasser’s greatest ally.
11. That rare moment when a bird lands in your Christmas tree:
For those of you not yet feeling the Christmas spirit, I give you 11 reasons to love the festive season:
1. Tinsel: It’s shiny and everybody loves shiny things.
2. Food: It’s delicious and there’s plenty of it.
3. Presents: Not just receiving them, but using a ridiculous amount of sticky tape when you wrap gifts for other people so you can watch their frustrated attempts to free whatever it was that you found on sale at the last minute.
4. National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation is on TV: Classic.
5. Summer (for people in the southern hemisphere only): Beer and BBQ. ‘Nuff said.
6. ‘It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas’ as performed by Alvin and the Chipmunks: It has never stopped being hilarious and never will. Check it out here (skip to 0:53 for the LOLs and an enormous dose of cheer).
7. Christmas songs in general: The only time of the year when it’s acceptable to belt out a Mariah Carey song.
8. Fairy lights: The only time of the year when it’s acceptable to put brightly coloured flashing lights all over your house.
9. Photos with Santa: The only time of the year when it’s acceptable to let your child sit on a strange, old, beardy man’s knee and tell him what toys they want.
10. Sneaky mistletoe: The sexual harasser’s greatest ally.
11. That rare moment when a bird lands in your Christmas tree:
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