The dog-lover's cat
(new improved).


Yes, dear readers, Instant Jim has been at it again! He is one sick puppy.

All in jest, of course! But don't laugh your head off.

Affection. We all want it. That's why we surround ourselves with hapless pets in order to supply it. They are the universal panacea for our loneliness, aren't they? Poor smelly, flea-ridden, hairy, headless, creatures!

I can't count the number I've killed off. And I have had them all, too! Assisi and me.

I have had dogs, cats, birds, fish, hermit crabs, kids...

But do we ever count the millions of intestinal flora and fauna that we carry about with us everywhere we go? ? Or the microscopic skin mites that number in the thousands per square inch of us? ? No!

Well, maybe you don't. But I do! Yes, that is why I am never lonely. I am positively coddled in affection everywhere I go! And I always have listening ears to talk to.

And I do.

Angry Baby

Angry Baby
Originally uploaded by !HabitForming.


BABIES!!!!! HAS THE WHOLE OF HOLLYWOOD GONE BABY-FREAKING INSANE ???????????

Though, I must admit, when Britney Spears announced she was pregnant (the FIRST time) it was one of the happiest days of my life!!

HA HA! Take THAT Britney!! REVENGE ....GLORIOUS REVENGE!!!!!!!!!! Snicker, snicker. She thought she was so hot in those itsy bitsy bra-less tops and those teeny weeny hipsters. SNORT, CHUCKLE, SNORT! Well, womankind, WE GOT OUR OWN BACK ON HER DIDN'T WE? ( That will teach her a lesson or two for making our lives hell!) So much for the pin-up girl of the Raunch Culture!

It's the pink haze of hormones, you know. It gets us all in the end. Some famous feminist ranted against the saying "Biology is Destiny", I think it was Germaine Greer, anyway she was wrong. Biology is destiny, and if you don't agree, then just wait a few years and you will.

They're just popping 'em out left, right and centre, aren't they?! Katie Holmes with poor little Suri, Angelina Jolie and Shiloh Nouvelle(?? spelling ?), um.... who else, er.. what's her name, .. Gwen Stefani and Kingston (I remembered Baby's name because it's a famous type of biscuit that I highly recommend with a nice cuppa tea). I think Brooke Shields is in there again, .. Geri Halliwell and new bubby Bluebell Madonna (cough, cough) etc etc you can probably think of a few more yourselves.

It used to be that the craze was adopting a kid in tinsel town. Was it the ultimate accessory? Or a placebo solution to biological urges that would ruin one's career and figure? I must admit, kids are kind of like the ultimate pet, aren't they? Of course, some celebs don't even bother with the species and just go for a chihuahua instead. They're easier to stuff in your handbag.

Anyway, there is an awful lot of consolation in this for us. Not only does it get rid of a lot of obnoxious celebrities but, as we grow older, we can smile happily at the thought of Britney's stretch marks, and Angelina's saggy bosoms.

Ain't nature grand?

Every thing has gone to rack and ruin!
I'm looking around me right now and all I see is HUMAN PIGSTY. Get your innoculation for swine fever before you come here! I've even gone to rack and ruin (though I bothered to wash my hair on Wednesday so I didn't look like a Smurf again). And I have had this windcheater on for a week. I used to care.

Dear Readers you must be embarassed by me.

Grunge was the greatest thing to happen to fashion, don't you think? It all started with Georgio Armani pushing up and rumpling the sleeves of his big bucks mens' suits. Then it ended with Kurt Cobain and his wonderful cardigans. Dear dead Kurt.

The hippies knew a thing or two about fashion as well, but you know me, I'll tie-dye my underwear if I can. AND DON'T SCOFF AT TRACKY DAKS. Tracksuits are the mainstay of my couture. Long live the dag (or the 'geek' as the Yanks say).

I'll tell you something and I know you won't believe me. I have been told BC (before children) that I should be a model. Oh stop laughing! No, quite true. OK Ok, it was by my uncle once, but a hairdresser said the same thing (think she was a druggy) and once a shop assistant did too. ...
> sudden intake of air <
I CANNOT BELIEVE HOW GULLIBLE I HAVE BEEN.Bum. She only said it to get a sale. How naive. It's all clear to me now. That's me in my model days (pictured).

I don't even know where I am going with this. Human Pigsty. Oh yeah - not only is my house one, but I am one too. Sigh *





p.s. I always like to credit my references and other people's work, and the photo from my last post failed to print that, so I will: It was a Flickr photo by Andreas Solberg. Oh, and I can't pose and take photos at the same time, Instant Jim is responsible for that picture (and most of my other photos).

Mustache club

Mustache club
Originally uploaded by Andreas Solberg.

PROOF THAT MEN ARE GROSS!

Who spells moustache as "mustache"? Probably Europeans taught English by Americans. Sad thing they have done to the language. French as well. Anyway, this photo is further to my previous post where I examined the HARROWING PHENOMENON of male facial hair. It's a public service.

SOMEONE NEEDS TO PUT ON THEIR HAPPY PANTS, DON'T THEY?!

This is a diagramme of my brain. Enough explanations.

(Yes nurse, thank you, you may put in my intravenous chocolate drip now.)

Time for the official Change of Subject: Do you agree with the following statement -

"A facial hair style can make a man look: handsome, mature, rugged; dashing, sexy, intelligent; friendly, decisive, aristocratic; distinguished, bold, evil or simply stylish."

Depends, I guess. Though 51% of women give it a general thumbs up. I have been doing some beard research (somebody's got to) and I have found out some interesting things. For example,

FACIALLY HAIRY MEN ARE VAIN ! And all along I just thought they were lazy. It's a little subculture. They have their special beard shampoos and moustache conditioners, they have styling products, colouring and bleaching goo and , AND .......

BEARD MAKE UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

No kidding. It is applied with a special brush and washes out with shampoo.

I'm feeling faint with the visions of manly Maybelline beards that I am having - but I will press on.

Some men just should NOT bother. Leonardo Di Caprio. Nup. Forget it. Definitely a "ban facial hair" type face.. You don't agree? Oh come on! He is way too angelic and girly looking, and facial hair just makes him look like the daughter of a circus freak who forgot her monthly electrolysis appointment ...

How about the Don Johnson five o'clock shadow? Mmmm. Acceptable.

Have you noticed the current trend for really sculpted face do's? Is that a gay fashion ? Seems to have crossed over if it is. Why take up topiary when you can landscape your face? Makes me wonder why more men don't grow company logos on their cheeks and get paid sponsorship. I would!

Wolverine (Xmen) has made a big contribution with his six foot sideburns. The lead singer of Wolfmother has 'em, too. I think Elvis was the prototype there.

UGH!! BUT ONE THING I JUST CAN'T STAND ARE THOSE TEENY BIKINI WAX BEARDS JUST UNDER THE BOTTOM LIP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!They come in traditional triangle, or Brazilian clipped strip. Ick! !Apparently they are known as 'taints'. Entertainment and an education is what you get here, dear readers! Ick again!

I've got to keep a watch on Instant Jim now - KNOWING WHAT I KNOW. For yes, it is true, he is hairily inclined. Luckily, so far, he fits none of those adjectives. (Joking! He is a mightily handsome man - something of a cross between Orlando Bloom and Drew Carey. With a beard.)

Now, I must sign off and press the buzzer.

"Nurse, it's time for a top up!"

Oh poor little me. What a terrible time I've had. Pity party, pity party pity party.

I don't suffer self-indulgence much. And I am pretty intolerant of others' whinging about trivial stuff (though I don't show it). Am I a hypocrite, or just diplomatic? Can't stand old people.

And that is what this is all about. No, I'm not ageist. I believe old (and I mean ancient kind of old) people should have equality etc etc. I just don't like them.

Every time I see an old person I feel irritated and angry. And I can pin point the very first occasion I felt like this: It was the day after my Dad died. He had had a work accident and ended up as a quadriplegic for over thirteen years from a botched operation. Eventually he chose to live in a nursing home to relieve the burden on my mother (she has always been prone to "do silly things" when under great stress). Anyway, I was sitting in a doctor's waiting room for an ultrasound (I was 20 weeks pregnant) and I remember staring at this old codger thinking,
"Why aren't you dead?"

Then I found out baby was a boy. My mum had only ever had girls and Dad was raised in the British Royal Navy tradition, and so he always secretly wanted a boy. My sister only had a daughter. I wish I had made that appointment 24 hours earlier.

So now Mum is in a nursing home too, because of a stroke. She's not overly old. There are heaps more fogey people there. They stare at you with faded wet eyes, and you can feel the resentment they have of your youth. Every time I go there it is like entering a nightmare, you know, those ones with the corridors and grisly spectres ...

I've smelled worse places. This one only reeks of old people-type vegetables and plug-in air fresheners. But the air is not fresh. It is old and stale like them.

My sister once commented how angry and bitter I was. But she works as an occupational therapist in aged care so she is trained, basically, in making it remote and impersonal.

There is so much more that impacts me about this that I won't bore you with. I remember doing a sketch once, when I was out and about, of a senior citizen enjoying his cappucino at a seaside cafe. I scribbled next to it "Old person not in a wheelchair or in a nursing home or dead". I planned a painting of a skull on top of an amplifier (a practice amp) and I was going to call it "Practice for the real thing" or "Really Still Life". It tends to all come out in my art. My paintings are miserable things.

There is only so much levity that you can try and manipulate your own self with. At some point blackness and darkness turns inwards so others are not inflicted with it. My apologies.

Loss and death and mess. What can you do without any power? It haunts, it follows. I am looking through my sketch book now and it even disturbs me.
"The old cling to life with every urine-stained fibre of their fabric
while young men are swaddled in their grave clothes."

I'm so tired now.

My apologies, again.

Here I am, trying to validate my time-wasting by writing another post.

HISTORICALLY I am doing a very important thing and those anthropologists who are reading this in a thousand years' time should thank me RIGHT NOW and erect a marble statue to celebrate me!
For I am the epitomy of a Blogger.
I am Blogger Personified.
Anonymous! A lone voice in the world! Randomly blogging good advice and unnervingly brilliant opinions around the blogosphere for the free benefit of all!

My bum's going numb again. This chair is so uncomfortable.

Where was I? Blah blah, I'm so great, blah. Oh, who can be bothered?
Here's some cat.



*

$5.95 for a magazine?! That's outrageous!! But every now and then I get one for my Mum so she can have a change from watching actors on the TV all day, to reading about them instead. It makes it more cerebral.

I'm sucking on a lollypop and I have reached the stage where, if you swivel it around your mouth, it shaves off your tastebuds. I'm fighting pain here, people.

So far in the opening page ads I have flicked past Eva Longoria's helmet hair, Sharon Stone's pixellated skin, Andie MacDowell's turkey gobbler, and Catherine Zeta Jones' plump pale arms! Phew! Made it to the index! Let's see, what do we want to read about, ? Jennifer Aniston's race with Brad to see who has the best life? No? It has crazy wedding rumours ... OK, how about Hugh um er sorry Grant ( ..wait a tick .. flick flick flick flick flick ) .. he says "I must have children, I think I would be a delightful father."

DO NOT LET HUGH GRANT BREED !!! (New campaign.)

Well, there must be something blog-worthy. Found it! It's Brooke Shields "my new baby and my fight with Tom Cruise"! Now this sounds good. She's so huge and tall and he's so little and tiny ...... could be VISUALLY SPECTACULAR - after all, someone needs to sock a bit of sense into that man, why shouldn't it be the Brookster? Break your nails, honey! She has beaten depression and now Tom is next!

Do you reckon Katie Holmes looks a bit like Brooke? From the side she does. Hmm. And do you think Keith Urban looks like a scruffy, grungier Tom Cruise with blonde tips? HMMMMMMMMM.

Maybe they are all inbred?

Gasp!

Maybe they are Hugh Grant's children?!


* This is getting too intellectual for me. I need to apply a pressure bandage to my tongue, anyway.

It has begun! The little, sneaky, late-night purchases are starting to turn up on my doorstep wrapped in brown paper!

Yes. Ebay.

In the real world that is how Instant Jim got his name. He wants it, he has to have it NOW! But then he discovered EBay. You know, that is like giving a chainsaw to a maniac. He reckons he is an E WARRIOR going into E BATTLE! So he bids on an item and jousts with his opponent over the key board at midnight. These are the fighting hours!

Must be a male thing. But can you imagine all the E Bay Warriors e-battling in their tracksuits and jammies, pot-bellied and flaccid, slurping on warm drinks in their slippers? They are the real men with wild instincts! Just give them a ninety-nine cent starting bid and they will rip it to shreds with their teeth and drink the blood, too!

HEY GIRLS, COME AND GET YOUR HUNKA HUNKA BURNIN' LOVE!!!!!

Eventually he'll stumble up to bed all bleary-eyed mumbling about one cent CDs, and how there's only seven hours twenty two minutes left on that book. And he's back again first thing in the morning at the computer, and even rings me from work with updates, LIKE I AM INTERESTED!!!

Maybe I can auction off his parcels as lucky dips, or mystery prizes to get our money back before he comes home? Two can play the sneak game!

I'm just a poor, sorry excuse for a Blogger! Up against such luminaries as my dear readers, who I have tried to make appear on my blogroll, and all of those 'ranting' people, I don't even exist in the Blogosphere! I just inhabit a tiny nano-particle of the Blog Ether, the blog limbo, the blog dunce's corner.

Sigh* Woe is me.

And now my bum is aching from sitting on it for too long. FOR NOTHING!

Ever noticed how "com/post" appears in the address bar when you create a post? No comment.

But, speaking of manure, here is a very funny and HUMUS picture Instant Jim did for my desk-top. Very warped sense of humour he has - must send him off for a spot of auditting ...

I call it - DOGGY THETANS !

Football season has started - and I just had to gulp back a bit a vomit then.

Of course, to certain people in Australia, and especially in Victoria, footy is a RELIGION. How's this for vomitous: Recently the captain of the West Coast Eagles got in trouble for ditching his car and girlfriend when he came across a Booze Bus ( a van of cops with breathalizers) and did a runner!! They have to apprehend you in the car, and so this loophole lets you escape if you have been drink-driving. Big man, hey?

Anyway, there was a huge public stink about it and he had to step down as the captain of the team and one of his mates became head moron instead. Now get this: At the press conference the new captain declared,

"He is still our Spiritual Leader !"

The mind boggles. And I don't even have the luxury of observing how stupid men are because certain women (though less in number) join the mindless hordes of supporters, too! I think they see it as a good way to get male attention and approval.

Of course it happens everywhere. Just look at the lunatic soccer tribes overseas. Football is the only 'valid' time that a lot of men feel they can get emotional and even hug each other. Germaine Greer, famous feminist, even went further to observe that footy is "homosexual horse-play". Now, I don't know if I'd go that far, but they do get a bit touchy-feely, don't they?! And I have noticed how they jump at the chance to dress up as women for charity fundraisers and pantomines ...

By the way, I was watching Smallville last night and Clark was doing his bit in the grid iron football team. What's with those funny little pantaloons they wear?!!!!!! Do they think all that shoulder padding lessens the wussy effect that the breeches give them? (They even wear them in baseball, too, don't they?) Funny little trousers! Funny little country. No one in their right mind would want to be known as a jock here, because it is vernacular for underpants!

Dear, oh dear.

The whole world is weird, but me.

How low can I go? How much further can I stoop till I scrape the bottom of the barrel of human scummy-ness? If that is a word.

Question: What is worse than stealing candy off a baby?

Answer: Stealing a WONKA WHIPPLE SCRUMPTIOUS CARAMEL DELIGHT BAR off your poor, poor Mother who LIVES IN A NURSING HOME!!!!!!!

Yes, it is true, dear readers, I did do that horrible thing! And now I hang my head in abject shame. So go ahead shake your heads and tut-tut at ME THE CRIMINAL!

I'M SORRY!!

OK, now I will make my plea of insanity. Or at least diminished responsibility. You see, the problem is that my life has been virtually hijacked since my Mum had a major stroke and had to go and live in a "care facility". She is not bent or sick or feeble, but she is incapacitated. I am in charge of all her affairs and it is a HIDEOUS HIDEOUS JOB, since everything is such a mess. Currently I am trying to save her pension (which has already been cut) and her assets from the greedy, griping, grasping government. So I nicked her chocky to get back at her!

I KNOW it's not her fault. Well, not intentionally anyway. But I still feel angry and upset and resentful. (Actually, I had not given it to her yet. It was still in the fridge. But it was reserved.)

So, I think some self-flagellation is in order now, don't you? How about making use of my old riding crop, or one of Instant Jim's belts for a good whipping? Or maybe I could repeatedly shut the cutlery drawer on my fingers and stub my toes on the door jamb? What about a spot of ear-ironing like Dobby did in Harry Potter? Head-banging? Licking the freezer? Flushing the toilet while in situ ? Spinning myself in the dryer? Writing a fan letter to Tom Cruise???

No. None of that is bad enough.

The only suitable punishment that will make me feel awful enough is more guilt. So, I better go get that other Wonka Whipple Scrumptious bar out of the fridge RIGHT NOW !!

This computer of mine is a SENTIENT BEING and I am going to prove it!

Right now I am typing with Font font (really imaginative, Blogger) and normal size letters. No colour. Let's just see what happens when I change the size (because this continually bugs me, and what is published is always a surprise). OK here we go: tiny size, small size, normal size, large size (I have clicked on nothing else) huge size. Huge size times font, large size times font, normal size times font, small size times font, tiny size times font.

Now, it always appears different on the screen to what is published! Presently it is in bold type. Never chose that. See? IT'S ALIVE! And my normal size test compared with my 'normal size times font test' is different in size (on my screen) and so is the small test!

But what's the bet THIS time, THIS TIME, it publishes completely well just out of spite?! It hates me, I know it does. IT RESENTS THE FACT THAT SOMEONE WITHOUT A PEN COLLECTION IN THEIR TOP POCKET AND WITHOUT THE ABILITY TO SPEAK FLUENT KLINGON IS USING IT !!!

Dang contraption! Beam it up, Scotty.

I'M BACK!
CALLOO CALLAY O FRABJOUS DAY, I CHORTLE IN MY JOY !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yes! The school holidays have ended!!! Now that was a long, long two weeks. But now I'm freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!

Well, technically speaking I suppose I should be doing other more "profitable" things, and dear reader, maybe you should be, too - but we have to maintain our mental health, don't we? So a little 'me time' is good for both of us.

Now, I am not the most socially enthusiastic person in the world, and I do not need to be surrounded continually by others. If I was in a beauty pageant, I would not be gushing "Well, I just looooove people!" And if I can get out of something I will. It's not that I don't have social skills (I can actually keep the conversation going with the most difficult person) it is just that the effort exhausts me and I hate awkward moments. Also, I have been known to upset the apple cart, so to speak, plus social disasters seem to follow me around. Know what I mean ?

Can't stand having visitors, either. And that is as a direct effect of the three little pigs' and their SQUALID HABITS. Instant Jim is oblivious to mess as well. So when THE NEAT FREAK FAMILY came a-knocking during the holidays I was SQUIRMING with embarrassment! Now these people are ALWAYS in ironed clothes. They are completely wrinkle-free. They possess no junk. Their dishes get washed immediately, every time. Their half-used margerine/peanut butter etc is LEVEL and not gouged and full of bread crumb residue, and .. AND THEY WEAR WHITE !!

So they just had to come the day Dog had diarrhoea, didn't they? I live in a pole home and Dog inhabits the verandah that is around the front door (there is a gate to the back yard, going down some steps, but we close that at night). He had actually eaten too much raw bone, which possibly was a bit off, and so during the night he left drippy-doos all over the reeded decking. (I was leaving it to dry to facilitate cleaning up.) Then, he was constipated (from the bits of bone) and I thought it was a good idea to give him a dose of castor oil. BAD IDEA!! Because as I was trying to make polite and gentile conversation with my guests ....
HE CHUCKED UP THE CASTOR OIL AND HIS STOMACH CONTENTS ON THE FRONT DOOR MAT!!! And made a classic barf-noise as he did so. (He'd just eaten a whole left over sausage virtually without chewing, too.)

Of course the door was open( and my lounge room is the first room) so we had front row seats.
Sigh *

I could go on, I guess, about the barbeque I had to host for some American friends, where it rained, and how the pizza type bread I supplied was not cooked properly and was more like eating play-doh etc, but you get the picture now.

Why me? Why is it always me?!