Wednesday, May 04, 2016

Blogrid & the Beach Boys

Hello everybody!  I have no new tinder tales, because I clocked tinder with a pun about a flamingo and now it has nothing more to offer me.  This is merely a short post to remind you all that I, like Pearl Jam, am still alive.  Enjoy having that song stuck in your head for the next ever.

Do you know how you can get it out, though?

Aruba, Jamaica, ooooh I wanna take ya -

Shoutout to the guy in the back who doesn't know where the camera is.

Ok now stop being mad at me and read the post.  To the rhythm of a steel drum band.

Way down in Kokom- wait is that the same fucking guy with his hand on his hair? Who even let him in here

Fuck I'm sorry.  It just ran away on me.  I promise no more Kokomo.

As a side note, this is not unlike the time I was messaging Button at work and managed to string her along with Dave Dobbyn lyrics for way too long, and then she became angry:

me: hey Button do you know, I can't remember the last time I thanked you
button: *vaguely confused, but pleased*
me: I think I've been keeping my distance
me: unintentionally
button: *confused, concerned*
me: too close for comfort
me: it just ain't close enough
button: GOD DAMN IT U SHIT

ANYWAY I've been off the blog grid - which sounds like what you would call the unfortunate-looking female cousin of Hagrid -

Blogrid, yer a... disappointment to this family.

- mostly because I'm disorganised and unmotivated but also because there have been new projects at work, so I come home and collapse into bed.  Or a bottle of wine.  Sometimes both.

The projects mean I have many meetings with important people; you can tell they're important people because they say 'strategic imperatives' more than anyone ever really needs to! So strategic.  And yet, so imperative.

Here's how today's meeting went.

Colleague: "something something revenue. Disappointed noise."
Me, professionally: "While revenue from the event was-"
internally: don't say 'a fucken banana'
Me: *pause*
internally: don't say 'turdy'
Me: *pause*
internally: fuck now I've paused for too long
Me: "a bit of a banana-"
internally: ahhh fuck me
Me: "I mean not where we expected it to be-"
internally: whew
Me: "the project delivered on a number of strategic imperatives."
internally: did you hear that! strategic imperatives.  look at me go.
Colleague: *something about revenue*
internally: i wonder if my kitchen rules is on tonight

On the way home I was thinking about the meeting and about how I overcame the odds and didn't say 'fucken banana', and how I'm excellent at all manner of things, then I got my necklace caught on the handbrake getting out of the car.

beach boys can you stop pointing I'm already embarrassed and also trying to parallel park and this isn't helping

Enough about the Beach Boys, here's the pun about the flamingo.

Dude's tinder bio: they asked me at the party if I was going to stop playing wonderwall, and I said - maaaaaybe

Me:  They asked you if you would stop playing wonderwall, and you said maybe? They asked me to stop doing my flamingo impression, and that's when I put my foot down.

Dude: Let's get married.

Me: It seems like the logical next step.

And then neither of us ever sent another message, and quite honestly I think that's about as good as Tinder gets.

Unless, of course, I made my profile picture the Beach Boys.

Aruba.  Jamaica. Hey how was ur weekend?

Monday, March 14, 2016

Tinder Tales: Advice for Gentlemen Tinderers

Note: if you are averse to the phrase "sea of pussy" then this is not the post for you. 

Hello everyone!  In a move which will surprise absolutely nobody, I got Tinder.  Through this experience I have learnt that over the last 10 years there has been absolutely no improvement in my attention span or taste in men.  Present me with five sensible, good-looking businessmen and I will still swipe right on the naked dude on a jet ski because of course I will.

As a result of my tinder adventures, here are some tips that I have put together for men who are considering tindering.  There are so many appalling profiles out there that I am considering this a public service.  A scathing, judgmental public service.

Also, there is one tip for the ladies: if a gentleman has has his snapchat in his tinder profile he is not, in fact, a gentleman.

  • I gather that women don't often send the first message on tinder, and this has given rise to a subgroup of men who end their profile with, "I won't send the first message" or - direct quote - "I like a strong women so I won't message first."  Oh well this is good to know because I like a polite man, so won't message at all!

    I usually read "I won't send the first message" as "...because I am simply too busy drowning in this massive sea of pussy," written while rapidly casting about for enough liquid-state pussy to fill a small wine glass.

Rupert rowed his knob-canoe across the undulating waves of the great Sea of Pussy.

  • Side note: why is it 'a sea of pussy'?  You don't say 'a forest of cocks', although I am certainly going to now.  "How is dating going?"  "LOST IN A FOREST OF COCKS."

    Also if we're going to be saying 'a sea of pussy', why haven't we tacked it onto other phrases, like, for example, "there's plenty more fish in the sea (of pussy)"?

    It even translates across to classical literature, like The Old Man and the Sea (of Pussy) and of course the lyrics of America The Beautiful.  From sea to shining sea!  Of pussy.

    Wow, that went off topic fast.  Anyway.  Back to tinder tips. Just the tips!  Of the forest of cocks.  Help me I'm stuck in a loop.

Stop imagining the tips.

  • Do not make your profile photo a picture of you and a monkey that looks like you.

  • Also do not make it a photo of you looking staunch beside a monkey which is touching its balls.  (His balls.)  You think I'm kidding.  I am not kidding.  Somewhere out there are two men who, when looking through all the photos of them ever taken and choosing the one they would use to represent them in a romantic context, got to the monkey photo and went, "Of course!  That one."

  • PICTURES OF FISH.  Jesus fucking Christ I have seen enough pictures of men holding fish to last me a lifetime. (Pro tip for the ladies with a fish fetish: get on Tinder.)   It is delightful that at some point in your life you have hunter gathered but that is not what ladies look at tinder profiles for; please allow me to demonstrate my thought process when swiping through photos.

    "He's cute." *swipe*
    "Oh actually he's really cute" *swipe*
    "I would totally make out with him" *swipe*
    "EWWW DEAD FISH"

    Nothing kills daydreaming about a total stranger faster than a picture of the total stranger brandishing a surprise bleeding kahawai.  Granted there must be some women who are all about the fishing, but it's a niche market.  I pick up spiders in a glass and put them outside, and I'm sure some men would find this charming, but I don't have a picture of it on my tinder.

  • On a similar note, if you have a photo of your car in your tinder, make sure it is a nice car.  Few women have swooned over an early 90s Lancer.  My mother drives one of those.  If it's a car that you can imagine my mother driving, it is not what one would term a 'pussy wagon'.

we build this City on hope and stupidity


  • Also a note to the ladies that if someone has a really nicely done up WRX, this is not a good reason to swipe right, particularly if they are 19 and their bio is "6 foot 6 inches... those are two separate measurements ;) "

    Actually that's mostly just a note to me.
help his name is dwayne but i can't stop swiping

  • Don't say tinderella.  Even if you are cuter than your WRX is.

  • Don't say 'tinderfella looking for his tinderella'.  It does not improve 'tinderella' one bit.  Maybe just leave out all permutations of 'tinderella'.

  • If there is a child in one of your photos, explain the child.  Is this your child?  That's cool.  Is it a delightful nephew? That's cool too.  Is it a random kid you've appropriated specifically to display your extreme sensitivity and ok-ness with children? That's also kind of cool, I guess.

    What is not cool is making me guess which one it is.

    I say this as someone who has sent a message saying "is that a child you stole for a tinder photo," and it wasn't, it was in fact a child he had made himself, and things went downhill from there. (Side note: the other day at work colleague said, "It's all uphill from here!" with a cheerful smile on his face, and I wanted to take him aside and explain that that is not how that phrase works.  Unless you are a mountaineer. Or a landscape architect who specialises in you know what fuck it.)

    And here I terrified myself searching for 'hill scary children', and so we will have a picture of a puppy.
I googled 'best puppy', and I was not let down. 
 
  • Speaking of colleagues - if it would make a good linkedin profile, it does not make a good tinder profile.  If you wish to fuck people in a professional setting then just go on linkedin or maybe try staying half an hour later at Friday drinks.

  • This is a serious one - don't say demeaning things about ladies in your tinder bio.  There are a whole heap of profiles with things like " not in it for fake girl shit" or "you have a brain know how to use it" or "over fake bitches".

    This is the equivalent of Coke running an ad campaign that just says, "Like soda?  You're probably pretty fucking stupid!" and then wondering why they are not drowning in a sea of... revenue.
Just turn left after the FOREST OF COCKS!

Next time on Tinder Tales: I have no idea.  We'll just have to wait and see.


Of pussy.

Monday, January 25, 2016

The Giant Arm

Hello everyone.  Happy New Year.  Nothing to report except that it's really hot.
Note: this changes later in the post when I remembered that I did have things to report.

It's stick your head in the fridge and get jealous of the slightly freezer-burnt pork ribs hot.  The kind of humid sticky hot where you're super glad to be single because quite honestly even thinking about sex is exhausting and kind of sweaty by inference and if Channing Tatum showed up in the next five minutes and said "well do you fancy it?" you'd say No Thank You Channing But Did You Bring Any Cold Beers.

Anyway since September you have missed nothing except that it is really hot and also I grew more hair.

i found alt text points for spotting it
I got Instagram.  This is my life now. Let me filter you.

And we moved into a new building at work!

The new building combines our print, radio and digital arms into... one giant arm, I guess.

Dwayne "The Corporate Strategy" Johnson.

Here are some things the new building has: it is state of the art!  The art of building buildings.

1.  Fancy Lifts

The lifts in our new building are so fancy that they have heated handrails.  Or perhaps just handrails that are lit from the bottom - for all your late-night lift adventures when you can't be bothered to turn on the automatic lift lights - that have the side effect of warming the entire lift to the perfect temperature for a cup of herbal tea.  I'm sure this will be delightful in winter.

Lift planning meeting begins
"Do you know what would make an uncomfortably small, unventilated box full of people even better?"
"What, Rupert?  What??"
"HEAT!"
Lift planners applaud; meeting is closed.

One of the lifts also used to have Lift Lady, who was a disembodied voice or potentially a visitor from the spirit realm who would say, "Level One.  Doors closing."  Pause.  "Ground floor.  Doors opening" in an unsettlingly pleasant and even tone.

Lift Lady: "Basement One.  Doors closing."  Pause.  
Lift Lady, pleasantly - "Doors closing forever.  Lift on fire."

Lift Lady disappeared after two weeks. Presumably there was an exorcism.

2.  Swipe-activated printers

In the Sleeve (this is what I am now calling the new building which houses the Giant Arm) if you wish to use the printer you must first ask your computer to print the thing, then go over to the printer and swipe your access card.  I don't know why this is.  I genuinely don't.  You can still print ridiculous amounts of nothing important (I am the current owner of a 67-page compliance report that I didn't realise was 67 pages when I started printing it), and surely in today's day and age you could look in the printer logs and trace the 10 buttcheek photocopies straight back to Rupert's machine.

Is it because people are worried about other people seeing their secret printing?  How much secret printing are we all doing?  Does anyone actually secret print anything that isn't their CV?  Why would you even need to print your CV anyway?  Wouldn't you just email it?  What happened to 'hit print, immediately rise from your chair and walk very briskly to the printer without getting waylaid by another department'?  This printer has taken all the fun out of printing.

- here there is a brief hiatus where I fish a small bug out of my drink.  Button once alerted me to a bug in my drink, right as I began to sip it, and I said "Button, I think he's already gone" but it turns out her concern was more hygiene-based.  Thank you Button. -

3.  New Colleagues

There are many new colleagues in The Sleeve and I made an excellent graph about them but then remembered that many of these colleagues know about this blog.  Everyone is wonderful and certainly not worthy of a scathing Venn diagram.

Have this one instead.  It is my most-used graph in the office.

 I tried to make a graph about revenue once but it turned into a lunch break.

4.  A No-Clutter Environment policy

I can't remember why we have this, but we do.  The idea is that you don't have any clutter on your desk, which has highlighted that my definition of clutter is quite different to the Giant Arm's definition.

"What's this?"
"That's a file rack for compliance documentation that we legally have to hold for seven years."
"Ok.  What are these?"
"Those are sales awards."
"What about these?"
"Those are my grandfather's cufflinks, which I like to have on my desk."
"Ok, what's this?"
"That's perfume in case I have to go to a meeting."
"And this?"
"That's backup perfume in case I have to go to an important meeting where it's not appropriate for me to smell like Selena Gomez."
"...and this?"
"That's a small wicker duck full of candy."
"...and th-"
"THAT'S A PILE OF CANDY WRAPPERS NO MORE QUESTIONS"



This post with thanks to Danny for reminding me that blogging is a thing I like to do!

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

In Which the Author makes an Error of Judgment

Hello it's me!  I hadn't blogged in AGES and I thought I probably should, because what if I die suddenly and my legacy is that terrible pilot rap?  That is not how I want the world to remember me, although if there was a massive group rap at my funeral I would be ok with that.

Wait, no I wouldn't, it would distract from the fireworks.

Sorry, future children.  Better luck with your dad's life insurance.

Anyway it is Healthy Living Month around here at the moment because, while I am generally pretty good at being a grown-up and doin' grown-up shit like 'paying bills' and 'getting car serviced' and 'consistently forgetting to put the rubbish out', left to my own devices there is a distinct tendency for me to go a little bit Henry VIII.

And then before you know it the floor is covered in chicken bones and you have soup on your bathrobe and you are drinking a self-invented cocktail called the Garlic Wallbanger because you did not go to the supermarket and thought it would be sensible to use up the garlic, but it wasn't, and also you still haven't put the rubbish out.

Side note: last week one of my neighbours decided on the spur of the moment that it was recycling day, and the whole street followed suit and put their cardboard and bottles out by the side of the road, only to sadly trundle them back inside again that evening because actually it wasn't recycling day after all.  I love it when this happens.  I wonder if anyone ever does it on purpose?  I also wonder if next week is recycling week.  I might just put my recycling out and see what hap- WAIT I GET IT NOW.

why, what does YOUR council's recycling campaign look like?

Anyway while I have not yet gone full Henry and (thankfully) the Garlic Wallbanger remains a figment of the imagination, I did decide to be more Good in General.  Which in reality means going to the gym slightly more and attempting to have dinners which aren't just a compilation of snacks.  This is going pretty well, but quite honestly now that I've compared myself to Henry VIII I'm bored with talking about it - I suspect you are relieved by this.

In other news, Button and I got fluoro lipsticks today; you may be asking "How fluoro can a lipstick really be," which was also my question right after I'd invested my $9 plus shipping, but it turns out the answer is very, and also the answer is where do I buy more.

you will most certainly have no trouble finding me in da club

Anyway, I've run out of news but here is the recipe for the imaginary Garlic Wallbanger.

1 part gin, or whatever alcohol you happen to have.  "part" means "amount sloshed into glass where you go 'huh that looks about right' and then tip in some more to be sure that the cocktail will in fact work.
1 clove garlic, or two if you're feeling adventurous
fizzy water, if you do not have fizzy water then get regular water and blow some bubbles in it with a straw. be the soda stream you want to see in the world!
maybe... cayenne pepper?  or an unsuitable spice of your choosing
something to garnish - mint and cherries and lemon wedges are traditional but this cocktail deserves something more.  garnish with star anise and charred Marmite or something.  you char it in the toaster.  I'm beginning to suspect you haven't done this before.

Instructions:

Put the gin into a glass.  Small glass means less gin, but large glass means more cocktail.  Your call.  Please don't put this in one of those fancy-ass dacquiri glasses, you will only be ashamed of yourself.
Wait, no!  Step one isn't putting in the gin.  Sorry.  Maybe just drink that gin so the glass is empty again.
Put the garlic into a glass.  Muddle it with your professional bar muddler, or a spoon, or the holding-onto end of a spatula if it's washing up day.  Muddle means smash it about.  Did you take the skin off first?  I hope you took the skin off first.
Once the garlic is mashed about and all up the walls of the glass, add the gin.  At this point, you should be beginning to question your decision to make this cocktail.
Put some ice in, if you have ice.  If you don't have ice, I hope you have been keeping that gin in the freezer, because warmth doesn't really help the um, the garlic ambience.
Add the cayenne pepper.  Holy shit not that much.  Take some back out.  Oh dear, you can't, it's all floating in the gin.  Add some more gin to make up for all the pepper. Muddle the garlic again for good measure.
Add fizzy water until the glass is full.  Stir.
Garnish with star anise and charred Marmite.
Pour down sink.

UPDATE: after writing down the instructions to the Garlic Wallbanger I thought it was only fair that I make it and let you know how it goes.  I have made it, and now I am afraid to drink it.


if you like pina coladas / you're about to get a horrible surprise

ANOTHER UPDATE: I have just taken my first sip and fuck I wish I had been out of cayenne pepper today.

REVIEW: At first sip it's vaguely savoury and refreshing and the cayenne pepper tingles lightly on the tongue and you go "Oh maybe this won't be so bad" and then HELLO, GARLIC AND GIN, and then there is a gentle aftertaste of cayenne and then there is a fucking massive aftertaste of garlic and then the cayenne comes back with a vengeance and oh my God, people, never ever make this.

I was about to say it wouldn't be that bad if it wasn't for all the cayenne but quite honestly it would.  I don't know what I was thinking.  I'm going to have another sip and see if it gets better.

UPDATE: IT DOES NOT GET BETTER

I HAD A THIRD SIP JUST IN CASE AND IT GOT WORSE AGAIN

I HAVE THROWN IT DOWN THE SINK

GOODNIGHT

(In the interests of honesty - I did not char the Marmite, but I very much doubt that it would have helped.)