All Grown Up With No Place To Go

Something happened the other day.  It was the point in my life where I think I officially became a grown up (there is a substantial difference from being an adult and being a grown up I think)
My 26th Birthday is approaching, and my Mother asked me what I wanted for my birthday.  Usually the answer to this question is something along the lines of Puppy, Trampoline, Shoes, DVD’s, CD’s, Stereo, iPod etc. Fun stuff. Stuff that you can play with. 
My response this year was Shampoo.  I no longer have the urge to put in orders with Santa for fun stuff, just items that are essentials so I don’t have to buy them for myself. 
When did this happen? When did I become all dull?  Should I accept that the carefree fun of youth is well and truly behind me? Or should I go and drink goon and play ping pong with my teenage friends? 
But perhaps I am stressing prematurely.  I was shopping in the toy section of Target for my 3 year old Nephews birthday and was awestruck by "The Wizard of Oz” Barbie Dolls.  Please feel free to present me with one on my birthday.  Many Thanks.

Ultra Violent Zombie Mayhem? Pfftt.

One of my favourite people suggested I write a blog about zombies, and whilst they can be very entertaining in a grotesque flesh-eating way, I was reminded of a hideous book I recently tried to read.  “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: The Classic Regency Romance Now With Ultra Violent Zombie Mayhem”. 

As dedicated readers of this blog will know, I am a lover of anything Jane Austen.  I love the whole regency era. The customs, language, dances and love stories all fill me with a warm fuzzy feeling and I gladly read any Jane Austen related spin off written.

This book however, was complete and utter rubbish.

It was unlikely enough that Mr Darcy was a time traveller from present day who actually fell in love with Jane Austen (another Jane Austen spin-off), but ZOMBIES?? Attacking the good people of Meryton and England? 

Reading one scene, the first dance at Meryton to be precise, where Darcy mutters the immortal words “She is tolerable I suppose”, I sat aghast as zombies attacked and the Bennett sisters drew daggers from their garters and fought back.  Mr Darcy, as is his disposition, just stood by.  It was then that I shut the book firmly, went to my happy place and pretended that the whole dreadful experience had never occurred. 

My strong recommendation to you dear readers is if you are ever tempted to read this book, to slap yourself really hard until the thought goes away.

The End of the World as we Know It?

Apparently Australia is talking about one thing this morning (and no, it’s not that Bill Clinton thinks that our illustrious PM K-Rudd is the smartest world leader) and that thing is this crazy weather we woke up to.

They Sydney skies are blood red and made us re-think that “the chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one”.  The War of the World-esque skies were however not from something interesting such as an alien invasion, but from dust. 

I woke up this morning in Queensland to wind so strong it blew down a small tree in my backyard.  Melbourne was shaken by two earthquakes (albeit small ones).  Central New South Wales was bombarded by hail.  Bushfires are ablaze across Queensland. 

Is this the apocalypse, the rapture that Nostradamus predicted? The Second Coming of Christ prophesised throughout the ages?  Well if it is there is bugger all we can do about it apart from have a stiff drink. 

But it got me thinking about a play I performed in during the 1998 Sunshine Coast Drama Festival called “Concrete Walls” (the playwright’s name escapes me) where I played one of four teenagers who survived a nuclear holocaust by accidently being in a bomb shelter. 

My character couldn’t bear it. Survivor’s guilt, boredom and cabin fever caught up on her, so she popped some pills and muttered the immortal lines “I didn’t know dying would be such a painful experience”.  This moving last line caused many a snigger in the audience, but let’s not get off track. 

If the world did head up shit creek, either by nuclear or environmental disaster, freak weather, alien invasion, giant asteroid (where’s Bruce Willis when you need him?) or by God’s fury, would I want to be a survivor?

In disaster movies people are always running to get into the shelters. Why? So you can live underground with the same 50 people for the end of your days? So you can spend the rest of your life eating cans of Baked Beans?  I forget what happened in “Concrete Walls” but what I would choose the pill-popping option. 

What sort of existence is a life without your loved ones, without the comforts of home?  I suppose I could live without technology for awhile, but a life without peanut butter and wine? Thanks, but no thanks! 

So if I do manage to see the end of the world (and something tells me I’ll see lots of nasty stuff in my lifetime) I’ll be sitting on my veranda, a bottle of really really expensive wine on hand and some Valium.  Good night, and good luck.

The Blame Game

I have not posted as much as I would have like lately.  Unfortunately I have been suffering from a bit of the dreaded writers block, with dozens of half finished blogs in my head that refuse to leave my fingers into my laptop. 

A sleepless night last night caused me to dwell on this a bit and perhaps the reason is because I am a wee bit angry with myself lately.  Therefore I am offering this blog as an apology to myself.

Ashamed does not even begin to cover the fact that I have been resenting the success of my acquaintances and loved ones the past year.  My lovely friends have been busy building houses, having babies, getting married, getting promoted, enjoying jobs in their chosen fields and earning more money than me.  I have been adopting a “why not me” mentality, blaming everyone and everything else for my current situation when the fact of the matter it, quite simply, I have nobody to blame but myself.

This year has been a domino effect from a few bad decisions made about this time last year.  Obviously the Global Financial Crisis has contributed somewhat to my current career desperation, but I have now made a conscious decision to stop blaming the GFC, the EX-boyfriend etc for every disappointment. 

So now that is off my chest, I can be genuinely happy for the people I love again. 

4 Little Ducks Went Out One Day…

My parents are nature lovers. I am not particularly.

I cannot count the times when my Mother has hollered at me to “come quickly” and when I run out, expecting someone to be bleeding profusely or something good on telly, all I find is a bird. A bird (usually a colourful bird of some description.. a parrot or similar) eating from the bird feeder. Woop-de-fricking-doo. 

But today I saw something that made me smile and automatically brightened my otherwise dreary and tiresome day (a day spoiled at 7am by a co-worker bitching about me.. but that is another story).  I was stopped at the traffic lights to see a Mummy and Daddy duck escorting a row of baby ducklings across dual carriageway. 

It was very scary to see cars speeding towards them on the opposite side of the row.  But the valiant family of ducks made it safely across the road.  And I ended my day with a smile.

Only Child Syndrome? Kiss My Ass.

I am on only child.

Well that is not entirely true. I have a half brother who is 17 years my senior and never lived with us when I was a child, and whilst I love him, for all intents and purposes I am an only child. 

There is a stigma attached to being an only child that I have never been able to shake. People (usually people from large families) always presume that only children are spoilt and selfish.

G. Stanley Hall was one of the first professional people to diss being an only child. Calling it a “disease unto itself”.  Adler believed that only children are deficient and that only children have interpersonal problems and have tantrums if they are not universally loved. 

Now I’m sure they were very smart men but they can go shove their studies up their asses. They created a stereotype which has been stigmatic to only children for generations.

I do not personally think I am a selfish person.  I have never had issues with sharing anything, I always lent my friends whatever they wanted to borrow. In fact, as an only child I was always excited to have someone to share with (Except today when it comes to sharing men and books to people who don’t return them). So there is one myth busted.

In fact in recent years, academic people who study things have found that only children are better adjusted, achieve better results academically.  My parents have been able to give me things they wouldn’t have been able to do if I had had brothers and sisters.  That doesn’t mean I am spoilt though, I never had everything I wanted, but I did have everything I needed.

I like being an only child. I don’t believe it has impacted me in any way really. I’ve never had to share the remote with anybody which was great.  I learnt to enjoy my own company, which is a skill I think that many people need to develop.  I have made an extended family for myself made of great friends whom I love as much as any of my real family. 

What does scare me though is that in the future, when Mum and Dad are old and decrepit, I’m not looking forward to being the only one looking after them.  I’m not sure I’m cut out for that.

But as for being maladjusted?  Well Mr Hall, Mr Adler.. you can kiss my ass. 

(Sources as always from somewhere on Google/Wikipedia)