How to ruin any chance of promotion.
Well it seems that in most offices there are people lined up to nut nuzzle, schmooze or woo the boss to be promoted. I find it interesting how the office back stabber and office nut nuzzler (brown nose) seem to be in allegiance until it comes down to a final show down. In the meantime, the office strumpet is practically shimmying about the office attempting to hypnotise the boss with booosoka shuffling. It can either entice the boss or result in motion sickness – it all depends on rate of motion and angle. Unfortunately, for the office strumpet, she usually misses the position because she is already lying on her back with some other high-ranking, married superior who offers power potential through association.
All the while the office victim is telling stories of how she has been overlooked for promotion ten years in a row and how nothing good ever happens to her. The office efficient is planning her secret efficient strategy. The office bore is telling a three-hour self-amused story of the day he once heard that someone might have been promoted – which was actually him. In that monologue he deviates numerous times and forgets what he was actually trying to tell you. To him it is incredibly amusing but to others they would rather have hair ripped from their private parts. At that point, the rest of the team are standing by the window trying to work out how they can escape through the bombproof glass without actually dying… Why does no one ever bring long ropes and glass cutters to the office for such necessary escape eventuality?
So of course while the majority of the team consider abseiling twenty floors to escape the office bore, the office backstabber and nut nuzzle are freed up to do their thing! When it comes to being under pressure to get promotion both will return to their natural behaviour: the back stabber prepares to backstab the nut nuzzler. However, all animals have survival techniques and the nut nuzzler has cleverly adopted his natural instinct to survive. He has already bent over and has adopted the brown nosing position behind the back stabber. Obviously, the back stabber receives pleasure from this action but the reward for promotion is greater than having your ego massaged internally using a nose. From the observers point of view the pair resemble the snake trying to eat its own tail and a no win situation ensues. The backstabber is unable to backstab the nut nuzzler because he is practically absorbed in her behind. The backstabber has essentially become a living hat. What’s more, you cannot backstab yourself and it is hard to backstab someone standing behind you unless you are a martial artist and can do a good back flip at the perfect time. While all this is taking place I realised that promotion simply means more work. It also means more responsibility, more stress and less time to write blogs about what takes place in the office. What at first seemed to be an unintentional technique to avoid promotion has revealed it is my natural tendency. How can the office observer observe if they are working flat out? So if you do want to be promoted do not do any of the below:
• Do not send pictures of dogs in wigs to your boss, especially if he has no hair or wears a wig himself. If the boss is a woman, she may also be offended because she may interpret that you are likening her to a dog. Admittedly, it was a great idea at the time but a dog in a wig does nothing to convince your boss of leadership skills, other than leadership of dogs in wigs. What’s more, do not sit hysterically laughing at the array of dogs you have found on the internet when you are supposed to be working towards a crucial presentation, which does not involve said dogs in wigs. It could actually suggest that you are evolving into the office I do diddlysquat.
• When disclosing psychological techniques for delivering bad news do not say anything actually offensive directly to you boss. The sandwich technique is a classic technique where you sandwich the bad news between two pieces of good news. Take for example the following delivery, which I gave my boss as an example. “So how you deliver the bad news is like this: that is a nice shirt, yep you’re ugly as sin, but you have nice shoes.”
“Hang on that’s a bit harsh…”
In that moment, I realised my choice of bad news was not terribly thought through. I had essentially told my boss that he was ugly. Oh God!!!!!!!!!!!!! (He isn’t at all. He is actually quite handsome. Oooops!”
And that was when the digging begins… The hole was already deep and was becoming a well.
‘No not you… You are actually good looking – but you know that. You must know that. No, you are definitely not ugly as sin. It was just an example of bad news… It just popped into my head… Oh God! Please do not be offended. Your wife must think you are good looking… She married you didn’t she? See that is more evidence of you not being ugly as sin. Admittedly, she might have really liked your personality. I did not just say that… Oh God… You are a good-looking man… You don’t need me to tell you that…’
Dig, dig, dig.
The hole wasn’t just deep - it was becoming a well.
Silence.
Intensive blushing.
Nervous laughter and time to involve the team and get them away from the window and the office bore.
“He’s good looking isn’t he? He’s not ugly as sin.”
The teammates gazed at me in horror as I continued to justify what I said. Promotion for miss dry… Pahhhh! No chance! Bus trip to work banishment – oh one ticket please! No return!
When you actively involve teammates to justify the horrifying thing you have just said by accident you know it has all gone wrong. In that moment of silence, I realised there was no saving the situation.
“Look over there,” I said pointing. They all looked over there and I hid under the desk. (Actually, I made that up, but thinking about it… That is what I will do in the future). Anyway, from now on I will bring in my own tumbleweed and roll it around the office!
• Alternatively, you can evolve into the role of office stinker and repel everyone on a daily basis. You will definitely not even be called into potential promotion interview through the boss’s fear of being stuck in a confined space with a hideous stench.
• If you really do not want to avoid promotion just make a massive mistake with your name on. When I worked as a temp, I once made a payment of eight hundred dollars to the wrong account. I was beside myself and instantly ran over to my previous boss and apologised profusely. She turned to me and smiled. ‘That is cannon fodder Michelle, I once paid the wrong account eight one million. Strangely, she was a boss… Hmm… Thinking about it – maybe my theory is not perfect! In fact, maybe my antics will keep me in the mind of the boss and get me a promotion that I do not really want. Actually too late – office power-hungry has convinced everyone of her true potential and as always, she has taken no prisoners. The backstabber can never backstab her because she knows that power hungry will lift her by the throat and stare into her eyes like Darth Vader! There will be deep breathing and there will be power surges through the office that no one can actually explain.
So moral of the story: bring long ropes and glasscutters to work. The action of considering escape from the office bores three-hour monologue will endear you to the team and create the perfect teambuilding escape strategy.
Moral of the story two – when laughing hysterically at images of dogs in wigs and fancy dress – go to the bathroom and laugh. Do not share the images with boss or anyone with hair depreciation.
Moral of the story three – when offending a person of a higher title than you – make sure you sandwich it, have and escape route or offer them the office strumpet as a distraction for offense – that is if she is not already being taken by anyone else.
Sunday, 24 April 2011
Thursday, 21 April 2011
TOILET OF TERROR!
The office toilet dynamic and the curious incident of the nostril violator.
Whether we like it or not, we all, during the course of the day, have to visit the office loo. To be honest if I did not have to go I would avoid the toiletry dynamic at all costs. So today, as with every other day I have ventured into the toilet of terror! Yes it is the toilet of terror. You never know who, what or how you are going to find this loo. What’s more, when you do venture there it is often the case that cleaning is in progress and the appropriate ‘you must cross your legs and wait’ sign is stuck to the door. Now when you have a cleaning sign on the door you generally make the assumption that cleaning is taking place. I believe this cleaner may well be the anti-thesis of cleaning and goes in there and destroys the area. In actual fact I think she goes in there and sprays nostril violation stink bombs and throws toilet paper on the floor so it can get stuck to your shoes.
When I have finally managed to access the toilet of terror, I have noticed some common themes that appear to be repeat toiletry patterns. The end loo is always taken by someone sitting rustling loo roll. That in toiletry terms means it is time to evacuate the area – women and children first and I am letting you know of an impending posterior tragedy. Also if anyone passes wind in the bathroom they generally have a tendency to stay in the cubicle until any potential witnesses have left. If miss vanity is in the loo the rips-snorter creator is likely to be in the toilet most of the day.
Talking of the office vanity, she seems to spend the majority of the day studying her non-existent zits in the mirror. She applies make-up on make-up and adjusts, readjusts and adjusts her clothing. Her hair is endlessly brushed and lip gloss is applied then re-applied and applied again. Some call it applying the slap, I would say that is a defensive technique to buffer the slap that she deserves for allowing other people to sweat blood while she makes herself look nice. What’s more, she gets away with this by fluttering her false eyelashes and smelling nice. In one office I worked in we had to type a code into the phone to collate the time that we spent in the loo. This then became a metric and each person’s time in the loo was added up and added to a chart. One particular girl was called into a meeting and asked her to justify her average time spent in the loo.
I just walked into the ‘restroom’ to find the office ‘I am on a diet’ studying her bottom in the mirror. Clenching one’s bottom cheeks does not change the size of the bottom, only the shape. It you wear cheap trousers clenching will only reveal cellulite and make it look like a squashed organge, so don’t do it. Now, something I have noticed is that when women look in mirrors they adopt what I now call ‘the my best slim face. ‘ They suck in their cheeks and kind of do an ‘I’m in a magazine pose.’ What’s more, it seems that all women do this – no exception – the old, the ugly, the strumpet the cute – all of them! They also have a tendency to look at themselves from a three-quarter angle and lift up the closest shoulder. Some look hunched others look like pin-ups others… Well… We won’t go there. Many also tip their head to hide double chins. I guess that I notice this because for years I worked as a photographer on cruise ships. And when it came to photographing portly women I had to stand on something tall and make them look up to avoid capturing extra chins or hanging skin. Obviously sometimes you might have to consider standing on the ship’s funnel to get the best angle and distance but you had to do what you had to do to get the best shot. At one time I was re-touching and asked to add a whole head of hair to a bald man… I have also had to remove every wrinkle from and eighty year old… Try doing that when she had probably spent about sixty years in the sun!
Sorry I deviated from the bathroom. In the toilet of terror there is often the moment of loo role lack. I have heard people whimper ‘hello… Is anyone there… There is no loo roll in here…’
Now what I do wonder is who in their right mind would choose to clean loos? There must be other alternatives than loos. One particular cleaner I met at a previous work place was amazing. She interpreted the little messages from the loo. Rather than reading tea leaves she could read other things and offer her opinion on your life and diet… She could tell you about your state of health according to colour, texture and consistency. I never took my opportunity to have this done because I did not comprehend how the shape of my intestine could actually shape my life. Also I have never felt the need to share my posterial creations with strangers…
Talking of that… I do have a real issue with those who do not flush the loo. Now what is going on with that? Is it that people are proud, want to show off or simply torture others? There is nothing worse than walking into a loo with an item floating there which has not flushed. Admittedly most people’s reaction is to turn and walk away. Please flush it because it will affect other people’s days. In terms of being kind to your fellow humans - why allow them to experience the horror that you have experienced too? Now what people don’t actually know – apparently – is that if you repeatedly pump the flush button it will eventually flush. Effort in will result in a full flush…. Wow! Amazing!
Has anyone else ever witnessed the competition between length and force of peeing sound whilst other women visit the loo? Personally I have a tendency to suffer stage fright when others are present and have to really concentrate to allow anything to happen. Others seem to have the tendency to simply go for it and let loose. The sheer force and power behind it can lead me to a number of conclusions: they drank a river. Somewhere in their lineage they adopted a horse genetic. Or they have the pelvic floor of steel. I think the power-pee-er is more than likely the office power hungry because even in the bathroom her insecurity is demonstrated by the sheer force of her peeing skills.
Hovering… I understand that when we actually consider all the different bear behinds that have sat on toilet seats is quite disturbing, but hovering is not the answer. It seems that women who wish to strengthen their thighs and have no contact with the evil loo, often go for the hover, but the truth is hovering is selfish. Honestly how good are you at aiming? You might have a pelvic floor which could shoot a basketball but that is a rare phenomenon and you are messing up the loo for others and giving the anti-thesis cleaner no change to make her own mess!
Now I have just witnessed the ultimate in the bathroom, a woman who simply adjusted her tone and almost created a cyclic hum with her number one production. I am actually astounded – how did she learn that? Is it a natural talent?
What I would like to know is whether anyone else notices this stuff going on? Or is it that the office observer simply notices everything because they it is intrinsic to them.
Moral of the story: don’t visit the toilet of terror if you want to remain emotionally unaffected.
Moral of the story two: to compete in the power pee Olympics do numerous pelvic floor exercises at the desk. Build up your skills to shooting basketballs and only then compete!
Moral of the story three – develop a bladder of steel which can last nine hours without any visits. You will impress your boss because of how long you spend at the desk
Moral of the story four: bring your own potty to the desk.
Whether we like it or not, we all, during the course of the day, have to visit the office loo. To be honest if I did not have to go I would avoid the toiletry dynamic at all costs. So today, as with every other day I have ventured into the toilet of terror! Yes it is the toilet of terror. You never know who, what or how you are going to find this loo. What’s more, when you do venture there it is often the case that cleaning is in progress and the appropriate ‘you must cross your legs and wait’ sign is stuck to the door. Now when you have a cleaning sign on the door you generally make the assumption that cleaning is taking place. I believe this cleaner may well be the anti-thesis of cleaning and goes in there and destroys the area. In actual fact I think she goes in there and sprays nostril violation stink bombs and throws toilet paper on the floor so it can get stuck to your shoes.
When I have finally managed to access the toilet of terror, I have noticed some common themes that appear to be repeat toiletry patterns. The end loo is always taken by someone sitting rustling loo roll. That in toiletry terms means it is time to evacuate the area – women and children first and I am letting you know of an impending posterior tragedy. Also if anyone passes wind in the bathroom they generally have a tendency to stay in the cubicle until any potential witnesses have left. If miss vanity is in the loo the rips-snorter creator is likely to be in the toilet most of the day.
Talking of the office vanity, she seems to spend the majority of the day studying her non-existent zits in the mirror. She applies make-up on make-up and adjusts, readjusts and adjusts her clothing. Her hair is endlessly brushed and lip gloss is applied then re-applied and applied again. Some call it applying the slap, I would say that is a defensive technique to buffer the slap that she deserves for allowing other people to sweat blood while she makes herself look nice. What’s more, she gets away with this by fluttering her false eyelashes and smelling nice. In one office I worked in we had to type a code into the phone to collate the time that we spent in the loo. This then became a metric and each person’s time in the loo was added up and added to a chart. One particular girl was called into a meeting and asked her to justify her average time spent in the loo.
I just walked into the ‘restroom’ to find the office ‘I am on a diet’ studying her bottom in the mirror. Clenching one’s bottom cheeks does not change the size of the bottom, only the shape. It you wear cheap trousers clenching will only reveal cellulite and make it look like a squashed organge, so don’t do it. Now, something I have noticed is that when women look in mirrors they adopt what I now call ‘the my best slim face. ‘ They suck in their cheeks and kind of do an ‘I’m in a magazine pose.’ What’s more, it seems that all women do this – no exception – the old, the ugly, the strumpet the cute – all of them! They also have a tendency to look at themselves from a three-quarter angle and lift up the closest shoulder. Some look hunched others look like pin-ups others… Well… We won’t go there. Many also tip their head to hide double chins. I guess that I notice this because for years I worked as a photographer on cruise ships. And when it came to photographing portly women I had to stand on something tall and make them look up to avoid capturing extra chins or hanging skin. Obviously sometimes you might have to consider standing on the ship’s funnel to get the best angle and distance but you had to do what you had to do to get the best shot. At one time I was re-touching and asked to add a whole head of hair to a bald man… I have also had to remove every wrinkle from and eighty year old… Try doing that when she had probably spent about sixty years in the sun!
Sorry I deviated from the bathroom. In the toilet of terror there is often the moment of loo role lack. I have heard people whimper ‘hello… Is anyone there… There is no loo roll in here…’
Now what I do wonder is who in their right mind would choose to clean loos? There must be other alternatives than loos. One particular cleaner I met at a previous work place was amazing. She interpreted the little messages from the loo. Rather than reading tea leaves she could read other things and offer her opinion on your life and diet… She could tell you about your state of health according to colour, texture and consistency. I never took my opportunity to have this done because I did not comprehend how the shape of my intestine could actually shape my life. Also I have never felt the need to share my posterial creations with strangers…
Talking of that… I do have a real issue with those who do not flush the loo. Now what is going on with that? Is it that people are proud, want to show off or simply torture others? There is nothing worse than walking into a loo with an item floating there which has not flushed. Admittedly most people’s reaction is to turn and walk away. Please flush it because it will affect other people’s days. In terms of being kind to your fellow humans - why allow them to experience the horror that you have experienced too? Now what people don’t actually know – apparently – is that if you repeatedly pump the flush button it will eventually flush. Effort in will result in a full flush…. Wow! Amazing!
Has anyone else ever witnessed the competition between length and force of peeing sound whilst other women visit the loo? Personally I have a tendency to suffer stage fright when others are present and have to really concentrate to allow anything to happen. Others seem to have the tendency to simply go for it and let loose. The sheer force and power behind it can lead me to a number of conclusions: they drank a river. Somewhere in their lineage they adopted a horse genetic. Or they have the pelvic floor of steel. I think the power-pee-er is more than likely the office power hungry because even in the bathroom her insecurity is demonstrated by the sheer force of her peeing skills.
Hovering… I understand that when we actually consider all the different bear behinds that have sat on toilet seats is quite disturbing, but hovering is not the answer. It seems that women who wish to strengthen their thighs and have no contact with the evil loo, often go for the hover, but the truth is hovering is selfish. Honestly how good are you at aiming? You might have a pelvic floor which could shoot a basketball but that is a rare phenomenon and you are messing up the loo for others and giving the anti-thesis cleaner no change to make her own mess!
Now I have just witnessed the ultimate in the bathroom, a woman who simply adjusted her tone and almost created a cyclic hum with her number one production. I am actually astounded – how did she learn that? Is it a natural talent?
What I would like to know is whether anyone else notices this stuff going on? Or is it that the office observer simply notices everything because they it is intrinsic to them.
Moral of the story: don’t visit the toilet of terror if you want to remain emotionally unaffected.
Moral of the story two: to compete in the power pee Olympics do numerous pelvic floor exercises at the desk. Build up your skills to shooting basketballs and only then compete!
Moral of the story three – develop a bladder of steel which can last nine hours without any visits. You will impress your boss because of how long you spend at the desk
Moral of the story four: bring your own potty to the desk.
Tuesday, 19 April 2011
DARTH VADER BREATHING AND THE ART OF KEEPING CALM!
Darth Vader, the dark side and the disabled sticker.
Since we are all human, we all have off days. The virtues of kindness, joy and light evacuate and can be eclipsed. The result is the dark side taking over which, in psychology, is known as the shadow. I call this a Darth Vader day. Yesterday was that day for me…. We can’t all be perfect all of the time and in many cases most people can’t be perfect any of the time (no matter how much they convince themselves). So when the Darth Vader day arrives you just have to accept it and allow it to be. Rather than suppress any anger, rage or frustration I believe that experiencing it allows it to drive you and experience life to the full. If you suppress it it is like pushing it down and I believe the body repays you with uncontrollable flatulence or a bad stomach…
To me, when I feel anger, it is usually when I need to say no… Or disagree with something. If I do not say no I will have the incident buzzing around my head until I actually do say no. So Monday night is weigh in night for me… At the moment I am trying to shift an excess ten pounds, which has cleverly attached itself to my waist… So what better way to do that then to attend a weekly weigh in? Have you noticed with weigh-ins that as soon as you step on the scales you feel the need to confess everything that passed your lips?
In a rush, and already feeling a bit grumpy, I arrived at my car. And what has happened? I was blocked in. Not only was I blocked in, but on one side I had four inches to manoeuvre and the other side the person had actually parked on the double yellow line, on a corner and their bumper was actually touching mine! Why does it always happen when you are late? It was then the transformation began. The Darth Vader breathing increased and the dark side emerged… With the fight to remain calm, I took a closer look at the car behind. Did it have a dodgy hand break or was it light enough to life above my head. No. Worse. Booooom! It wasn’t just a car. It was a car with a disabled sticker in the window… What are you supposed to do with that? Other than adopt louder Darth Vader breathing.
I glanced around the road to see if I could see any disabled people who might own the car. Nothing… Then I stood for a moment and thought ‘hang on!’ Okay why is it okay that a disabled person did that with their car? Surely everyone should consider everyone else. I contemplated ringing the doorbells of all the nearby flats, but what was I supposed to ask? ‘Are there any disabled people in there who own car reg…’ I was completely flummoxed – it was not okay but I could not do anything about it. That is when the brewing began… I was angry but there was an ‘unfair card’ being pulled. I was supposed to not be angry because the person was disabled. In the end I simply got in the car and used both bumpers of the other cars to gauge my space. That is why they are called bumpers.
With a bee in my bonnet, I climbed on the scales at the weigh in and even worse I had gained 1.5 pounds… I reckon anger weighs heavier than fat! Actually in truth, during the week I had eaten one measly pizza. That was the only thing outside the dietary jurisdiction. To compensate I had been to the gym six times, been running, done abs and rowed for over an hour with the local rowers… And still a pizza had stuck to my body and would not shift.
‘But I only had one pizza,’ I said.
The weigher sighed, ‘carbs – make glycogen stores- that is what will be doing it… ‘
In that moment I was not only angry with being jammed in, the pizza was now on the list… Was I never going to be able to eat a pizza, chocolate or bread ever again just to remain slim…?
‘You probably have a very sensitive body – one which is very efficient,’ she said.
Brilliant – a body that is efficient and hoards pizza!
I have just discussed this with the office comedian and office cheeky. They have the following theory:
‘I would say that your body is not used to pizza,’ said office cheeky.
‘I suggest you increase the amount and frequency and you will build resilence to pizza,’ said office comedian with a certain look on his face.
‘Little and often…’ said office cheeky.
‘We know – we are your office dieticians,’ said office comedian contemplating eating yet another double decker whilst office cheeky filled a bucket with coffee and drank it through a straw!
So on the way home I called in at by best friend’s house. Her boyfriend wrestled the dog in the garden while I told them about the blocked in car.
“So what would you do?” I asked.
Mid-dog wrestle my male friend contemplated but was intent on extracting a dribble-imbued ball from the dog’s mouth. ‘Well there is no excuse unless the driver is blind!’ he finally said waving the drool covered ball victoriously.
My best friend and I frowned, ‘So what should I have done? Knock on all the flats and get a guide-dog to move the car.’
The dog and my best friend’s boyfriend stopped wrestling, looked at each other and nodded.
A little bit later, they served up dinner in the garden while I resorted to eating cucumber. They appeared a little concerned but I advised them of how efficient my body was. It was during this insightful moment that the dog adopted its best worming position and with a mad look in its eye appeared to be writing its name on the grass with his bottom. Of course that broke the atmosphere and made us all laugh. What’s more, the dog looked particularly proud of itself. I always find it amazing how dogs choose apt times to de-worm. This particular dog actually adopted that pose during a funeral and made a diagonal line amongst the guests while the eulogy was being read out. Well I left the house with my best-friend’s boyfriend demonstrating to the dog how to climb through the dog flap. It seemed the dog was enjoying watching the chap climb through and every time he went through the dog wagged his tail. Then when it came to the dog to go through the dog just sat and wagged its tail. I think that was a case of a dog training its owner!
So on my way home I came to the conclusion that I had to take action. I know this is bad and I do not profess to be an angel, but I think people need to be made aware how their behaviour affects others.
So I left a note on the car with the disabled sticker which said the following:
In the future please can you consider others? As you must be aware you blocked me in which made me late for an important meeting. Now I assume you expect me to consider you, well it should work both ways. As I currently see it – your behaviour was selfish and unkind. I think you should know that.
Moral of the story: if we all considered others - less bumpers would get bumped.
Moral of the story two: to lighten all dark sides employ a dog with worms.
Moral of the story three: don’t eat pizza if you want to be thin, don’t park where people can block you in and don’t eat your dinner (especially spaghetti) in plain view of a dog with worms!
Since we are all human, we all have off days. The virtues of kindness, joy and light evacuate and can be eclipsed. The result is the dark side taking over which, in psychology, is known as the shadow. I call this a Darth Vader day. Yesterday was that day for me…. We can’t all be perfect all of the time and in many cases most people can’t be perfect any of the time (no matter how much they convince themselves). So when the Darth Vader day arrives you just have to accept it and allow it to be. Rather than suppress any anger, rage or frustration I believe that experiencing it allows it to drive you and experience life to the full. If you suppress it it is like pushing it down and I believe the body repays you with uncontrollable flatulence or a bad stomach…
To me, when I feel anger, it is usually when I need to say no… Or disagree with something. If I do not say no I will have the incident buzzing around my head until I actually do say no. So Monday night is weigh in night for me… At the moment I am trying to shift an excess ten pounds, which has cleverly attached itself to my waist… So what better way to do that then to attend a weekly weigh in? Have you noticed with weigh-ins that as soon as you step on the scales you feel the need to confess everything that passed your lips?
In a rush, and already feeling a bit grumpy, I arrived at my car. And what has happened? I was blocked in. Not only was I blocked in, but on one side I had four inches to manoeuvre and the other side the person had actually parked on the double yellow line, on a corner and their bumper was actually touching mine! Why does it always happen when you are late? It was then the transformation began. The Darth Vader breathing increased and the dark side emerged… With the fight to remain calm, I took a closer look at the car behind. Did it have a dodgy hand break or was it light enough to life above my head. No. Worse. Booooom! It wasn’t just a car. It was a car with a disabled sticker in the window… What are you supposed to do with that? Other than adopt louder Darth Vader breathing.
I glanced around the road to see if I could see any disabled people who might own the car. Nothing… Then I stood for a moment and thought ‘hang on!’ Okay why is it okay that a disabled person did that with their car? Surely everyone should consider everyone else. I contemplated ringing the doorbells of all the nearby flats, but what was I supposed to ask? ‘Are there any disabled people in there who own car reg…’ I was completely flummoxed – it was not okay but I could not do anything about it. That is when the brewing began… I was angry but there was an ‘unfair card’ being pulled. I was supposed to not be angry because the person was disabled. In the end I simply got in the car and used both bumpers of the other cars to gauge my space. That is why they are called bumpers.
With a bee in my bonnet, I climbed on the scales at the weigh in and even worse I had gained 1.5 pounds… I reckon anger weighs heavier than fat! Actually in truth, during the week I had eaten one measly pizza. That was the only thing outside the dietary jurisdiction. To compensate I had been to the gym six times, been running, done abs and rowed for over an hour with the local rowers… And still a pizza had stuck to my body and would not shift.
‘But I only had one pizza,’ I said.
The weigher sighed, ‘carbs – make glycogen stores- that is what will be doing it… ‘
In that moment I was not only angry with being jammed in, the pizza was now on the list… Was I never going to be able to eat a pizza, chocolate or bread ever again just to remain slim…?
‘You probably have a very sensitive body – one which is very efficient,’ she said.
Brilliant – a body that is efficient and hoards pizza!
I have just discussed this with the office comedian and office cheeky. They have the following theory:
‘I would say that your body is not used to pizza,’ said office cheeky.
‘I suggest you increase the amount and frequency and you will build resilence to pizza,’ said office comedian with a certain look on his face.
‘Little and often…’ said office cheeky.
‘We know – we are your office dieticians,’ said office comedian contemplating eating yet another double decker whilst office cheeky filled a bucket with coffee and drank it through a straw!
So on the way home I called in at by best friend’s house. Her boyfriend wrestled the dog in the garden while I told them about the blocked in car.
“So what would you do?” I asked.
Mid-dog wrestle my male friend contemplated but was intent on extracting a dribble-imbued ball from the dog’s mouth. ‘Well there is no excuse unless the driver is blind!’ he finally said waving the drool covered ball victoriously.
My best friend and I frowned, ‘So what should I have done? Knock on all the flats and get a guide-dog to move the car.’
The dog and my best friend’s boyfriend stopped wrestling, looked at each other and nodded.
A little bit later, they served up dinner in the garden while I resorted to eating cucumber. They appeared a little concerned but I advised them of how efficient my body was. It was during this insightful moment that the dog adopted its best worming position and with a mad look in its eye appeared to be writing its name on the grass with his bottom. Of course that broke the atmosphere and made us all laugh. What’s more, the dog looked particularly proud of itself. I always find it amazing how dogs choose apt times to de-worm. This particular dog actually adopted that pose during a funeral and made a diagonal line amongst the guests while the eulogy was being read out. Well I left the house with my best-friend’s boyfriend demonstrating to the dog how to climb through the dog flap. It seemed the dog was enjoying watching the chap climb through and every time he went through the dog wagged his tail. Then when it came to the dog to go through the dog just sat and wagged its tail. I think that was a case of a dog training its owner!
So on my way home I came to the conclusion that I had to take action. I know this is bad and I do not profess to be an angel, but I think people need to be made aware how their behaviour affects others.
So I left a note on the car with the disabled sticker which said the following:
In the future please can you consider others? As you must be aware you blocked me in which made me late for an important meeting. Now I assume you expect me to consider you, well it should work both ways. As I currently see it – your behaviour was selfish and unkind. I think you should know that.
Moral of the story: if we all considered others - less bumpers would get bumped.
Moral of the story two: to lighten all dark sides employ a dog with worms.
Moral of the story three: don’t eat pizza if you want to be thin, don’t park where people can block you in and don’t eat your dinner (especially spaghetti) in plain view of a dog with worms!
Monday, 18 April 2011
SATURDAY NIGHT BOTTOM MESMERISATION AND DAD DANCING!
Saturday night, hypnotic buttock motion and the role of dad dancing to impress women.
Saturday night, as with all Saturday nights, is the opportunity to venture into the human alcohol imbued jungle. It is the prime time to watch the mating techniques of numerous inebriated human animals. Large gestures, exaggerated hip motions and puffed out chests are just a few of the techniques used to attract attention. One of the major techniques in Bournemouth is ridiculous fancy dress outfits. When I say fancy dress I do not mean a ‘fancy’ dress as in a nice evening dress. Instead large groups of men (the stag night) can be witness dressed as babies, large items of fruit or super heroes. These are directly proportionate to hen parties who are dressed as policewomen, nurses or pirates. There are obviously variations on these themes but the women wear items that are revealing, a bit rude and are suggestive. In the opposite faction the men dress as fruit. I have not determined the ultimate psychology behind this, but essentially the men go for phallic / heroes. And the women go for ‘have some of this big boy!”
With all the above in mind, Saturday night is the prime opportunity to take part in a human safari. It is dangerous, there are conflicts and there are passing outs in the street. Survival of the fittest is demonstrated by the winning Alpha male escorting the most attractive female in the direction of a taxi. Of course there are those who are unsuccessful in the mating escapades. The women are often found collapsed in piles outside bars with opportunist men attempting to prize them off the pavement. Alternatively you find those who resort to stuffing chips and kebabs in their faces with far too much Chilly sauce as a consolidation prize.
So this brings me to the dance floor. The dance floor is the prime place for demonstration of sexual prowess. With low lights, alcohol and loud music this is the prime place to appear attractive without actually being attractive. The constant flashing of lights and intoxication evolves beyond beer goggles into cocktail glasses! No one has to talk; they just need to demonstrate their sexual prowess by dancing.
In terms of dance, or that which is defined as dance, - the pointing at of genitalia, waving at genitalia or simulating certain motions with your best friend or any passer-by who is not offended by the randy-dog leg grabbing technique appears in abundance. On this particular evening a group of stags, wearing baby attire, were in full testicular swing. Dad dancing extraordinaire was being demonstrated in all directions and genitalia thrusting filled the dance floor. As the evening hotted up, the men attempted to out thrust each other until two blondes arrived on the dance floor. That was when things became interesting and best friends stopped being best friends and survival of the fittest/alpha-malism competition was on!
The two blondes, wearing their best animal patterned dresses, rotated their hips and hypnotised. The men did not stand a chance. In that moment I understood that the word hypnotism may have originated from such hip motion because it was actually hypnotic (Hip – notic)
My fellow safari observer, who was male, was transfixed by the motion too.
“Does that mesmerize?” I asked turning to him.
The answer was obvious; his eyes were fixed on the ‘said’ bottom. He could barely speak and his head motioned in exactly way as the hypnotic bottom. Her motion reminded me of a cobra and how it subtly motioned until its prey was completely dazed and then it would attack. Strangely my fellow safari observer could hardly string a sentence together either. In the meantime, I considered how the application of the sound of jungle drums to would work well accompany the blonde bottom undulation.
“It is really interesting… “ he finally said choking on his words. “I never realised a bottom actually hypnotised,” he said. It is really nice to watch…” he said dreamily.
It was then that the competition increased. A group of hens arrived in the arena dressed as police women. They carried truncheons and handcuffs. The invasion changed the dynamic of the room and the men scattered and were confused. Rather than just focus on the blondes they thought they could go for all of them and work by numbers. That never works and men never really seem to learn that.
As soon as the competition arrived, the animal pattern wearing blondes increased their rate of bottom mesmerisation. The men increased their thrusting but the hens were accosting the thrusting men. It was like the Serengeti crossing. All manner of species were diving into the water and some of them were going to be picked off by the alligators. The men were scattered, there was no group dynamic or strategy. It was carnage. The men were confused which did they go for? Did they accept the easy pickings in terms of hen party versus the prize of the hypnotic bottom owners? The competition was rife. Hen’s versus the cobras. The men could not think because the blood had been dispersed between the two brains and all they could do is thrust their parts. It was genitila testicular war!
Of course, the blondes had a strategy. As soon as the men were distracted, they pulled out the ultimate male-attention attracting card. They danced closely with each other and kissed each other on the cheek. It was at that moment a ‘matrix’-like moment took place. All the men froze, the hens features distorted, they had been out-alpha-femaled… The male attention had shifted and the hens were now desperate. And what happened? It was a fraught moment and the hens had to get the attention back. The hens glanced at each other and to their leader. Someone had to do something and do it quickly. They could not repeat what the blondes were doing so there was one thing for it. The leader of the hens lifted her top and showed off a pair of massive bazookas. Bang! The men did not know where to look. Two brains not enough blood. Two eyes not enough vision. Mental overload took place and the men folded. They reverted to what they knew and all adopted their worst dad dancing. No one was impressed and the blondes left the dance floor.
Later that evening my fellow safari observer and I walked past a number of kebab shops. The stag night were in there stuffing consolidation. The blondes were being escorted to taxis by two very masculine opportunist and the hen night were in a pile outside the bar laughing hysterically. Men were attempting to help them up and legs were flaying.
Moral of the story: if you are a man focus on one woman and go for it. Scattering your mind will scatter your options which will result in your evening ending in chips and kebab.
Moral of the story two – hypnotising the room with the bottom can only be achieved successfully if there is not hen-like competition. Too much bottom mesmerisation results in dad dancing. It is the default for the drunken male.
Moral of the story three – do not dad dance even if your instinct drives you to. Do not thrust your pelvis at your friends to gain attention. I suggest you spot potential bottom mesmerisers early on and make your move before the rest of them room are transfixed by an undulating bottom.
NOTE: My fellow safari observer mentioned something very profound which may well provided insight. When a person is drunk and talks to someone sober, the sober person never understands. Yet when two drunken people talk to each other – they always understand! The language of inebriation seems to be exclusive to those who are wasted.
Saturday night, as with all Saturday nights, is the opportunity to venture into the human alcohol imbued jungle. It is the prime time to watch the mating techniques of numerous inebriated human animals. Large gestures, exaggerated hip motions and puffed out chests are just a few of the techniques used to attract attention. One of the major techniques in Bournemouth is ridiculous fancy dress outfits. When I say fancy dress I do not mean a ‘fancy’ dress as in a nice evening dress. Instead large groups of men (the stag night) can be witness dressed as babies, large items of fruit or super heroes. These are directly proportionate to hen parties who are dressed as policewomen, nurses or pirates. There are obviously variations on these themes but the women wear items that are revealing, a bit rude and are suggestive. In the opposite faction the men dress as fruit. I have not determined the ultimate psychology behind this, but essentially the men go for phallic / heroes. And the women go for ‘have some of this big boy!”
With all the above in mind, Saturday night is the prime opportunity to take part in a human safari. It is dangerous, there are conflicts and there are passing outs in the street. Survival of the fittest is demonstrated by the winning Alpha male escorting the most attractive female in the direction of a taxi. Of course there are those who are unsuccessful in the mating escapades. The women are often found collapsed in piles outside bars with opportunist men attempting to prize them off the pavement. Alternatively you find those who resort to stuffing chips and kebabs in their faces with far too much Chilly sauce as a consolidation prize.
So this brings me to the dance floor. The dance floor is the prime place for demonstration of sexual prowess. With low lights, alcohol and loud music this is the prime place to appear attractive without actually being attractive. The constant flashing of lights and intoxication evolves beyond beer goggles into cocktail glasses! No one has to talk; they just need to demonstrate their sexual prowess by dancing.
In terms of dance, or that which is defined as dance, - the pointing at of genitalia, waving at genitalia or simulating certain motions with your best friend or any passer-by who is not offended by the randy-dog leg grabbing technique appears in abundance. On this particular evening a group of stags, wearing baby attire, were in full testicular swing. Dad dancing extraordinaire was being demonstrated in all directions and genitalia thrusting filled the dance floor. As the evening hotted up, the men attempted to out thrust each other until two blondes arrived on the dance floor. That was when things became interesting and best friends stopped being best friends and survival of the fittest/alpha-malism competition was on!
The two blondes, wearing their best animal patterned dresses, rotated their hips and hypnotised. The men did not stand a chance. In that moment I understood that the word hypnotism may have originated from such hip motion because it was actually hypnotic (Hip – notic)
My fellow safari observer, who was male, was transfixed by the motion too.
“Does that mesmerize?” I asked turning to him.
The answer was obvious; his eyes were fixed on the ‘said’ bottom. He could barely speak and his head motioned in exactly way as the hypnotic bottom. Her motion reminded me of a cobra and how it subtly motioned until its prey was completely dazed and then it would attack. Strangely my fellow safari observer could hardly string a sentence together either. In the meantime, I considered how the application of the sound of jungle drums to would work well accompany the blonde bottom undulation.
“It is really interesting… “ he finally said choking on his words. “I never realised a bottom actually hypnotised,” he said. It is really nice to watch…” he said dreamily.
It was then that the competition increased. A group of hens arrived in the arena dressed as police women. They carried truncheons and handcuffs. The invasion changed the dynamic of the room and the men scattered and were confused. Rather than just focus on the blondes they thought they could go for all of them and work by numbers. That never works and men never really seem to learn that.
As soon as the competition arrived, the animal pattern wearing blondes increased their rate of bottom mesmerisation. The men increased their thrusting but the hens were accosting the thrusting men. It was like the Serengeti crossing. All manner of species were diving into the water and some of them were going to be picked off by the alligators. The men were scattered, there was no group dynamic or strategy. It was carnage. The men were confused which did they go for? Did they accept the easy pickings in terms of hen party versus the prize of the hypnotic bottom owners? The competition was rife. Hen’s versus the cobras. The men could not think because the blood had been dispersed between the two brains and all they could do is thrust their parts. It was genitila testicular war!
Of course, the blondes had a strategy. As soon as the men were distracted, they pulled out the ultimate male-attention attracting card. They danced closely with each other and kissed each other on the cheek. It was at that moment a ‘matrix’-like moment took place. All the men froze, the hens features distorted, they had been out-alpha-femaled… The male attention had shifted and the hens were now desperate. And what happened? It was a fraught moment and the hens had to get the attention back. The hens glanced at each other and to their leader. Someone had to do something and do it quickly. They could not repeat what the blondes were doing so there was one thing for it. The leader of the hens lifted her top and showed off a pair of massive bazookas. Bang! The men did not know where to look. Two brains not enough blood. Two eyes not enough vision. Mental overload took place and the men folded. They reverted to what they knew and all adopted their worst dad dancing. No one was impressed and the blondes left the dance floor.
Later that evening my fellow safari observer and I walked past a number of kebab shops. The stag night were in there stuffing consolidation. The blondes were being escorted to taxis by two very masculine opportunist and the hen night were in a pile outside the bar laughing hysterically. Men were attempting to help them up and legs were flaying.
Moral of the story: if you are a man focus on one woman and go for it. Scattering your mind will scatter your options which will result in your evening ending in chips and kebab.
Moral of the story two – hypnotising the room with the bottom can only be achieved successfully if there is not hen-like competition. Too much bottom mesmerisation results in dad dancing. It is the default for the drunken male.
Moral of the story three – do not dad dance even if your instinct drives you to. Do not thrust your pelvis at your friends to gain attention. I suggest you spot potential bottom mesmerisers early on and make your move before the rest of them room are transfixed by an undulating bottom.
NOTE: My fellow safari observer mentioned something very profound which may well provided insight. When a person is drunk and talks to someone sober, the sober person never understands. Yet when two drunken people talk to each other – they always understand! The language of inebriation seems to be exclusive to those who are wasted.
Friday, 15 April 2011
TWO BRAINS - NOT ENOUGH BLOOD AND THE WORLD OF WOMAN THROUGH MALE EYES!
So how often do you receive a phone call asking how obvious you are on a scale of one to ten?
I would guess not very often, well I have just had a call from the mail room asking me that very question. ‘Are you a blonde or a brunette,’ he asked.
‘Neither, I am red,’
‘Ah fiery then… Good I like fiery ones…’he replied.
Apparently I came off the phone looking rather confused and the men in the close vicinity were studying my expression and pointed out that I was blushing.
‘So what is making you pull that face?’ they asked.
‘On the scale of 1-10 how obvious are you?’
For a while there was silence. The general consensus of opinion was that most people in the office were about a five. So why was I nominated an eight?
A few minutes later, our trusty mail man turned up with my book delivery… Yes I have my books delivered to my desk – how luxury is that? In truth I have every delivered to the office because I can’t take the delivery at home.
“Ah a fiery one…” said the mail man.
I shook my head, “I’m not fiery…”
“Is she fiery?” he asked my male colleagues.
Both nodded, “really fiery!”
“I knew it!” he said.
Thanks!
Anyway, whilst rummaging under the desk I heard a chap say ‘boobs,’ under his breath. There was an elongated silence and all the men in the vicinity stopped typing, breathing or making random comments. It was eerie to say the least, so I popped up and looked around. The mesmerised look of a man who had been hypnotised was the only way I could describe the facial expressions of all the men in close proximity. In that moment I was struck by a bolt of inspirational lightening and it was then that I identified ‘the male compulsive blurt. ‘‘Sorry?’
‘Boobs,’ he said with a whisper and a nod in a certain direction. Admittedly there was a pair jiggling past in too looser bra. Two angry ferrets in sacks wrestled and were intent on escape.
I turned to my other male colleague who was smiling and had a similar expression on his face.
‘Busted!’
It was then I was provided with an insight into the male office view. So it seems that whenever any woman walks into the room the men have a tendency to imagine her in the way that nature intended.
“So what every woman who comes into the room - you know… You imagine?”
The pair smiled a very knowing male smile.
“That is a male secret. We have disclosed something very precious to you. You are now an honory bloke!’
Great!
“So what all women?”
“All women except those that are ugly or over sixty,” said the office cheeky.
“Really?”
“Actually all women…”
I studied them both and the pair grinned as a couple of women walked through the office carrying coffee. In that moment, I glimpsed the world through their eyes…
“So what about the blurt? Is it kind of like when you say something before you mind filters it.”
The pair shook their heads.
“That is just women who do that,” came the response.
“Okay then… Can you justify that?”
“Men think before they speak, but the blurt is different. It is a male reflex action that enables other men to know there is potential visual absorption in the area, just in case they miss the display. Look at it kind of like a call. In fact it is a natural tribal instinc - you would not want your friends to miss out on the potential sight.”
“What like when women go to the loo together?”
The men shook their heads, I was obviously a woman and still could not step into the mind of a man – even if I had been privilege to become the honorary bloke.
“So meetings…”
“Let me just say if you walk into a room full of men you are not likely to wow them with intelligence. We are men and we are visual – you should know that!
I glanced at them both and suddenly it all made sense. I call it the two brains not enough blood syndrome. Obviously there is only a certain amount of blood in a man’s body and when any type of twitching occurs in the nether regions, the blood slips from his cerebral cortex to the alternative location for thought.
“This kind of thought only comes with the male appendage. Think of it like the appendage being the hard-wear and the blurt, in terms of boosooka recognition, is the software…”
I sat for a while brooding about how different the male mind is from a woman’s and came up with a few morals of the story.
Moral of the story: To avoid being envisioned naked at work - wear clothes that contain mirrors.
Second moral of the story: If you don’t want that kind of attention move at great speed erratically flapping your arms.
Third moral of the story: If you want that kind of attention do the can-can as you walk into the office. Or maybe possibly shout ‘here I am boys!’ When doing the can-can make sure you have not left your knickers behind!
Oh and before we go any further I have to share my amazing linguistic discovery. After returning to the office after a run at the gym I noticed a general air of doom. It seemed that room had a grey cloud of Friday afternoon boredom descending upon it. And then it hit me they were all suffering from BOREDOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
That little combination will be milked until the literary cow is dry!opportunity. Are you suffering from boredooooom? I feel a bit of boredooooooooooooom coming on! They mystery of the angry hamster and the office of boredooooooooom! Right that is off my chest now. I feel better.
I have had my escape from mundanity! Hooorah!
I would guess not very often, well I have just had a call from the mail room asking me that very question. ‘Are you a blonde or a brunette,’ he asked.
‘Neither, I am red,’
‘Ah fiery then… Good I like fiery ones…’he replied.
Apparently I came off the phone looking rather confused and the men in the close vicinity were studying my expression and pointed out that I was blushing.
‘So what is making you pull that face?’ they asked.
‘On the scale of 1-10 how obvious are you?’
For a while there was silence. The general consensus of opinion was that most people in the office were about a five. So why was I nominated an eight?
A few minutes later, our trusty mail man turned up with my book delivery… Yes I have my books delivered to my desk – how luxury is that? In truth I have every delivered to the office because I can’t take the delivery at home.
“Ah a fiery one…” said the mail man.
I shook my head, “I’m not fiery…”
“Is she fiery?” he asked my male colleagues.
Both nodded, “really fiery!”
“I knew it!” he said.
Thanks!
Anyway, whilst rummaging under the desk I heard a chap say ‘boobs,’ under his breath. There was an elongated silence and all the men in the vicinity stopped typing, breathing or making random comments. It was eerie to say the least, so I popped up and looked around. The mesmerised look of a man who had been hypnotised was the only way I could describe the facial expressions of all the men in close proximity. In that moment I was struck by a bolt of inspirational lightening and it was then that I identified ‘the male compulsive blurt. ‘‘Sorry?’
‘Boobs,’ he said with a whisper and a nod in a certain direction. Admittedly there was a pair jiggling past in too looser bra. Two angry ferrets in sacks wrestled and were intent on escape.
I turned to my other male colleague who was smiling and had a similar expression on his face.
‘Busted!’
It was then I was provided with an insight into the male office view. So it seems that whenever any woman walks into the room the men have a tendency to imagine her in the way that nature intended.
“So what every woman who comes into the room - you know… You imagine?”
The pair smiled a very knowing male smile.
“That is a male secret. We have disclosed something very precious to you. You are now an honory bloke!’
Great!
“So what all women?”
“All women except those that are ugly or over sixty,” said the office cheeky.
“Really?”
“Actually all women…”
I studied them both and the pair grinned as a couple of women walked through the office carrying coffee. In that moment, I glimpsed the world through their eyes…
“So what about the blurt? Is it kind of like when you say something before you mind filters it.”
The pair shook their heads.
“That is just women who do that,” came the response.
“Okay then… Can you justify that?”
“Men think before they speak, but the blurt is different. It is a male reflex action that enables other men to know there is potential visual absorption in the area, just in case they miss the display. Look at it kind of like a call. In fact it is a natural tribal instinc - you would not want your friends to miss out on the potential sight.”
“What like when women go to the loo together?”
The men shook their heads, I was obviously a woman and still could not step into the mind of a man – even if I had been privilege to become the honorary bloke.
“So meetings…”
“Let me just say if you walk into a room full of men you are not likely to wow them with intelligence. We are men and we are visual – you should know that!
I glanced at them both and suddenly it all made sense. I call it the two brains not enough blood syndrome. Obviously there is only a certain amount of blood in a man’s body and when any type of twitching occurs in the nether regions, the blood slips from his cerebral cortex to the alternative location for thought.
“This kind of thought only comes with the male appendage. Think of it like the appendage being the hard-wear and the blurt, in terms of boosooka recognition, is the software…”
I sat for a while brooding about how different the male mind is from a woman’s and came up with a few morals of the story.
Moral of the story: To avoid being envisioned naked at work - wear clothes that contain mirrors.
Second moral of the story: If you don’t want that kind of attention move at great speed erratically flapping your arms.
Third moral of the story: If you want that kind of attention do the can-can as you walk into the office. Or maybe possibly shout ‘here I am boys!’ When doing the can-can make sure you have not left your knickers behind!
Oh and before we go any further I have to share my amazing linguistic discovery. After returning to the office after a run at the gym I noticed a general air of doom. It seemed that room had a grey cloud of Friday afternoon boredom descending upon it. And then it hit me they were all suffering from BOREDOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
That little combination will be milked until the literary cow is dry!opportunity. Are you suffering from boredooooom? I feel a bit of boredooooooooooooom coming on! They mystery of the angry hamster and the office of boredooooooooom! Right that is off my chest now. I feel better.
I have had my escape from mundanity! Hooorah!
FRIDAY BRILLIANCE AND THE ART OF NAKED PROMOTION
If we all live for Friday then surely if we named all days Friday then we could live every day and not just live for the weekend… Sometimes I even astound myself with my own brilliance – how do I share that modestly? Actually there seems to be something wrong with that plan… We would not have a weekend and would just work seven days a week. Okay so I take it back – not quite so brilliant but the thought was there… So what about the endless Saturday? Hmmm… but then how would we afford the weekend if we did not have week days? My goodness I am actually glad for the week days because the weekend is a celebration of not working… Okay I feel better now. Although there should be a bit of daily celebration somewhere within the day… I will think about that…
You know what? I have just decided that celebration should be a necessary part of the day. At a certain point each day it would be lovely to do a little dance to celebrate being alive and the wonders of ‘the self’. Obviously I am not suggesting do the hokey cokey or the Macarena (how does one spell that word?) but a minimalist celebratory dance to remember that we exist and that life is good… Seventies staying alive dancing at the desk is a pure celebratory move. Body popping would be for the office show off and pole dancing for the office strumpet. The office bore would probably do dad dancing and the office little and cute would just do a cute little dance and everyone’s heart would warm. Those pigeons would probably start mating again… (if you are wondering what I am talking about this is in office little and cute posting.)
So today, it is Friday and I am excited… I am always quite excited but this time next week I am off on me holidays… In the meantime, I have team mates making suggestions on how to promote my books. So the general consensus of opinion, from the male contingency, comes down to nudity… Why does it always come down to being naked? They kindly came up with the Demi Moore cross legged pose with my books cleverly positioned. Why do they keep suggesting that I should be naked… Maybe we should have a nudist office… Oh how awful would that be? I suggest looking around the room and imagining that… Of course there would be issues. We would probably get pubes on the photo-copier and then we would have to bring little hankies so as not to make a mess or dirty the office furniture.
Anyway the boys are off on one… “Michelle the fact of the matter is nakedness sells!”
“So how will that sell a children’s book?” I asked.
The men grinned at me and told me that the dad’s would buy it and read it to their children…. They have an answer for everything. Me being me decided to throw a blow-up cat amongst the male pigeons… “So which of you would be willing to do that? You know pose naked with my books? Since we live in a world of equal opportunity....”
The men looked at each other with horror. “No… We were meaning you…”
“Oh really, well as we are all grown-ups and as you told me that nakedness sells – then your nakedness should equally sell.”
I watched three men go pale and almost retch when they glanced at each other and the thought of their hairy bodies being put on a billboard- suddenly it was not so appealing! The men being men then began to nominate the potential totty who would make a good naked poster… Bless them. Fantasy is a major part of their day… So around the office the general question was ‘would you pose naked to promote Michelle’s book?' Interestingly both the office strumpet and the office desperate (for hide the sausage) were very up for it – plus a few older randoms offered their lacking clothes services. So in the world of fantasy we now have a line of office workers posing naked with books arranged over naughty body parts. Since I used to work as a professional photographer I have been nominated to create the ‘imaginary’ image. Now, just to take this a little bit further I set a diary meeting… Title – naked picture for Michelle’s book promotion… At this point fear appeared in the numerous ‘oh I am up for it’ bunch and strangely none of them actually wanted to be photographed. It was all just naked book bravado…
So today it is a case of back to the book promotion drawing board… Oh and of course the men have come up with another naked idea – let’s get me riding a horse with my hair over said naked parts with my books as a bra… Lady book Godiva… What is it with men?
You know what? I have just decided that celebration should be a necessary part of the day. At a certain point each day it would be lovely to do a little dance to celebrate being alive and the wonders of ‘the self’. Obviously I am not suggesting do the hokey cokey or the Macarena (how does one spell that word?) but a minimalist celebratory dance to remember that we exist and that life is good… Seventies staying alive dancing at the desk is a pure celebratory move. Body popping would be for the office show off and pole dancing for the office strumpet. The office bore would probably do dad dancing and the office little and cute would just do a cute little dance and everyone’s heart would warm. Those pigeons would probably start mating again… (if you are wondering what I am talking about this is in office little and cute posting.)
So today, it is Friday and I am excited… I am always quite excited but this time next week I am off on me holidays… In the meantime, I have team mates making suggestions on how to promote my books. So the general consensus of opinion, from the male contingency, comes down to nudity… Why does it always come down to being naked? They kindly came up with the Demi Moore cross legged pose with my books cleverly positioned. Why do they keep suggesting that I should be naked… Maybe we should have a nudist office… Oh how awful would that be? I suggest looking around the room and imagining that… Of course there would be issues. We would probably get pubes on the photo-copier and then we would have to bring little hankies so as not to make a mess or dirty the office furniture.
Anyway the boys are off on one… “Michelle the fact of the matter is nakedness sells!”
“So how will that sell a children’s book?” I asked.
The men grinned at me and told me that the dad’s would buy it and read it to their children…. They have an answer for everything. Me being me decided to throw a blow-up cat amongst the male pigeons… “So which of you would be willing to do that? You know pose naked with my books? Since we live in a world of equal opportunity....”
The men looked at each other with horror. “No… We were meaning you…”
“Oh really, well as we are all grown-ups and as you told me that nakedness sells – then your nakedness should equally sell.”
I watched three men go pale and almost retch when they glanced at each other and the thought of their hairy bodies being put on a billboard- suddenly it was not so appealing! The men being men then began to nominate the potential totty who would make a good naked poster… Bless them. Fantasy is a major part of their day… So around the office the general question was ‘would you pose naked to promote Michelle’s book?' Interestingly both the office strumpet and the office desperate (for hide the sausage) were very up for it – plus a few older randoms offered their lacking clothes services. So in the world of fantasy we now have a line of office workers posing naked with books arranged over naughty body parts. Since I used to work as a professional photographer I have been nominated to create the ‘imaginary’ image. Now, just to take this a little bit further I set a diary meeting… Title – naked picture for Michelle’s book promotion… At this point fear appeared in the numerous ‘oh I am up for it’ bunch and strangely none of them actually wanted to be photographed. It was all just naked book bravado…
So today it is a case of back to the book promotion drawing board… Oh and of course the men have come up with another naked idea – let’s get me riding a horse with my hair over said naked parts with my books as a bra… Lady book Godiva… What is it with men?
Wednesday, 13 April 2011
Hanging out for holidays and advancement in the knicker continuum
Hanging out for holidays.
So do you ever get to the point where you have not had any time off for a while and you are desperate for a holiday? I guess that would be most people… I was just thinking about it… As you can imagine I am having the palm tree daydream and I have just realised that it is close to five months since I took a holiday. I know… What am I playing at? The thing is I have been pretty sly and utilised all the coming bank holidays to use the most limited amount of holiday days and maximise the most time off possible… So as of the 22nd I have 17 days in a row using a whole seven days holiday – bliss!
So it is Wednesday and that means Wednesday call of doom! It is the most boring call in the world and the other team members are comfort eating chocolate digestives. Rather than add on the poundage I have wondered off into Michelle land of Laaaaaa and today the land of Laaaaaaa is full of holidays. Amongst the holiday scene a giant pair of knickers has doubled as a hammock! It seems the ’knickers on wheels’ post has raised a few eyebrows in the office and it seems knickers attached to wheels could become the next big thing… Dragging your knickers around the office on the bottom of your chair could be a signal for availability and single-dom. It could be a special mating signal - like those birds waving their giant red warbles about. Although I wouldn’t advise knicker waving from your chin.
Of course the post stimulated numerous knicker-loss horror stories… Of the numerous knickerless adventures, my friend’s knicker elastic evaporation was the worst. It is amazing how knicker elastic can select the most awkward of places to evaporate. While my friend was walking through the main central area within the place she worked that was precisely when the knicker escape began. Numerous business men sat at tables and her knickers slid down to her knees. To combat the issue she walked with a slightly wider stride but that did not help and the said knickers slid to her ankles. In that moment she had a choice – pull them back up or let them go… What would you choose? Whilst looking straight ahead she simply stepped out of the defiant undercarriage protectors and continued walking. What I find amazing is that no one pointed it out. It was as if it was a normal occurrence and a lone pair of knickers made their escape into the central meeting area. For the rest of that afternoon a pair of red, lace knickers remained on a white marble floor. People would not be able to miss them! Of course for the rest of the day she had to be aware that it was windy outside, she was wearing a skirt and could not allow anything to drop on the floor.
This then lead me to my ultimate horror story of loss of the knicker kind. This one also happened to me… In public, with a crowd and a school party!
I went to Cabo St. Lucas- Mexico , to swim the dolphin. My particular dolphin swimming partner was called Osiris. Now as part of the fun you get to hold onto the dolphin and swim. Unfortunately with a dolphin noise she blasted off and so did my bikini bottoms. Unfortunately we were in a pool, with large windows and a school party had just arrived. It was a while before I realised. I was just about to climb out after the rapid ride and I looked down in horror. The penny dropped and suddenly I understood that the dark material floating on the other side of the pool was in fact my nik naks! So after feeling somewhat humiliated by the dolphin, I had to swim back and collect them. The only possible good that could have come from that is that the school party would have had a lesson in female biology and the virtues of investing in pressure-resistant bikini bottoms.
I feel at this point it would be well worth having a moral of the story.
Moral of the story – invest in knickers that stick to you like glue… Actually no invest in anti-falling down knickers. Or alternatively wear two pairs of knickers then if you lose one pair you have a back up. For those who need an extreme contingency - wear three pairs. The should be a really small pair. The second a slightly larger pair and the third – a giant pair of granny knickers…!
Second Moral of the story - time your bikini bottom loss to be at night and away from a pool with windows.
Third moral of the story only go on holiday to nudist beaches and places where loss of knickers is not frowned upon.
From darkness came light and whether you realise it or not there are solutions for all knickery eventualities!
So do you ever get to the point where you have not had any time off for a while and you are desperate for a holiday? I guess that would be most people… I was just thinking about it… As you can imagine I am having the palm tree daydream and I have just realised that it is close to five months since I took a holiday. I know… What am I playing at? The thing is I have been pretty sly and utilised all the coming bank holidays to use the most limited amount of holiday days and maximise the most time off possible… So as of the 22nd I have 17 days in a row using a whole seven days holiday – bliss!
So it is Wednesday and that means Wednesday call of doom! It is the most boring call in the world and the other team members are comfort eating chocolate digestives. Rather than add on the poundage I have wondered off into Michelle land of Laaaaaa and today the land of Laaaaaaa is full of holidays. Amongst the holiday scene a giant pair of knickers has doubled as a hammock! It seems the ’knickers on wheels’ post has raised a few eyebrows in the office and it seems knickers attached to wheels could become the next big thing… Dragging your knickers around the office on the bottom of your chair could be a signal for availability and single-dom. It could be a special mating signal - like those birds waving their giant red warbles about. Although I wouldn’t advise knicker waving from your chin.
Of course the post stimulated numerous knicker-loss horror stories… Of the numerous knickerless adventures, my friend’s knicker elastic evaporation was the worst. It is amazing how knicker elastic can select the most awkward of places to evaporate. While my friend was walking through the main central area within the place she worked that was precisely when the knicker escape began. Numerous business men sat at tables and her knickers slid down to her knees. To combat the issue she walked with a slightly wider stride but that did not help and the said knickers slid to her ankles. In that moment she had a choice – pull them back up or let them go… What would you choose? Whilst looking straight ahead she simply stepped out of the defiant undercarriage protectors and continued walking. What I find amazing is that no one pointed it out. It was as if it was a normal occurrence and a lone pair of knickers made their escape into the central meeting area. For the rest of that afternoon a pair of red, lace knickers remained on a white marble floor. People would not be able to miss them! Of course for the rest of the day she had to be aware that it was windy outside, she was wearing a skirt and could not allow anything to drop on the floor.
This then lead me to my ultimate horror story of loss of the knicker kind. This one also happened to me… In public, with a crowd and a school party!
I went to Cabo St. Lucas- Mexico , to swim the dolphin. My particular dolphin swimming partner was called Osiris. Now as part of the fun you get to hold onto the dolphin and swim. Unfortunately with a dolphin noise she blasted off and so did my bikini bottoms. Unfortunately we were in a pool, with large windows and a school party had just arrived. It was a while before I realised. I was just about to climb out after the rapid ride and I looked down in horror. The penny dropped and suddenly I understood that the dark material floating on the other side of the pool was in fact my nik naks! So after feeling somewhat humiliated by the dolphin, I had to swim back and collect them. The only possible good that could have come from that is that the school party would have had a lesson in female biology and the virtues of investing in pressure-resistant bikini bottoms.
I feel at this point it would be well worth having a moral of the story.
Moral of the story – invest in knickers that stick to you like glue… Actually no invest in anti-falling down knickers. Or alternatively wear two pairs of knickers then if you lose one pair you have a back up. For those who need an extreme contingency - wear three pairs. The should be a really small pair. The second a slightly larger pair and the third – a giant pair of granny knickers…!
Second Moral of the story - time your bikini bottom loss to be at night and away from a pool with windows.
Third moral of the story only go on holiday to nudist beaches and places where loss of knickers is not frowned upon.
From darkness came light and whether you realise it or not there are solutions for all knickery eventualities!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)