Delicate geniuses and the real meaning of intelligence.

I’ve had a very brutal last few weeks at work.  I’m made of sturdy stuff so generally I can cope with any shit people want to fling my way.  My telephone handset at work suffers a bit, however I do know when to bite my tongue and roll my eyes inwardly.

The one thing that really pisses me off however, is when people who believe they are above you in some way because they are learned and ‘educated’ treat you like shit and expect you to jump through hoops at their say so.  I call these people delicate geniuses.  Not that for one second do I believe they are geniuses, but it prevents me from dropping the C bomb and smashing things around me.

I’m going to say right here and right now that I do not, for one second, accept that anyone who’s tertiary educated is intelligent.  It’s been my experience that a great deal of people waving an undergraduate degree couldn’t tie their own shoes on a good day nor can they function as a contributing member of society on a bad day.

I’m going to go even further and say that those who’ve gone onto further studies and have earned some acronyms along the way (Dr, Prof. whatever) should get off their high horses when dealing with plebs and minimum wage employees like myself because I personally don’t care what your title is, if you cannot integrate across all levels of society and make people feel comfortable, then I’m sorry but you’re the idiot who should know better and clearly you are socially deficient and somewhat socially retarded.

Now friends, I don’t want to tar all over achievers with the same brush.  I have a number of fucking AWESOME friends, associates, colleagues and acquaintances who don’t wave their credentials around to make people feel like shit.  I just don’t get why some people feel the need to draw the line in the sand and state, I’m better than you.  I mean, is that really necessary?

I don’t know.  Is it silly to believe that we all are somehow linked and that we need to work together to make things happen?

I mean, what is real intelligence anyway?  Is it being about to discuss far flung ideals of a life no one will ever live?  Is it being able to understand, empathise and support someone you feel kinship for even if they are only a high school graduate? Would you prefer to find a partner who can debate politics and current affairs or would you prefer to find a partner who’s going to love you, care for you and give you an orgasm when you really need it?  Anyone can memorise facts.  You just have to want it bad enough.

My definition of real intelligence is this; Being able to interact at a multitude of levels with people from all walks of life.  As a person who is blessed with smarts, you should be able to go up and down some levels and be able to make people comfortable in your company.  Those of us who aren’t blessed with smarts don’t want to feel stupid.  It’s not a nice feeling having shit kicked in your face because you’re not genetically predisposed to be ‘intelligent’.  Being smart is one thing.  Being a smart arse is completely another.  Real education stems from developing empathy towards others.

Don’t get me wrong.  Sometimes people need a smack across the chops or a well timed eye roll: But not all the time. That’s just misplaced arrogance and probably means you need a root or a stiff drink...  Or both.

An alternative road to recovery.

So I've been seeing a spiritual for some time now.  Yes, ok.  Roll your eyes.  I know I second guessed the entire thing when deciding what path to take.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm all for experimenting with mind altering substances and things that make you 'check out' for a while.  I spent a number of years smoking nothing but God's best with a friend (good times, we can talk about that later!) however in my quest to heal myself internally (and no I don't mean a colonic irrigation), I've opted to not take any happy pills and try something on a more spiritual level.

Which led me to my healer.  Now, I'm going to confess that as a younger woman, I was really into psychic readings and tarot card reading and anything that would tell me my prince charming was just around the corner and we'd get married, live a charmed existence and be forever happy.  Then of course, I grew up and realised that life is just not like that and I thought, fuck it, I better sort my shit out and bought my first house, moved out and started to enjoy life.

But I digress...  The healer.  She's lovely and very knowledgeable on chakras and spirit guides and healing and auras and light and essential oils and crystals. I on the other hand, know naught about any of that.  Except for oils.  I like to burn then cause they smell great.  As for healing properties...  I'm sorry, you lost me there.

So this is what I do.  I drive to her absolutely gorgeous home and she's always so lovely and smiley.  We retreat into her healing room which is bathed in a yellow glow.  She's got some combination of oils.  We discuss a range of things that have been bothering me or we discuss any concerns I may have.

I then lie on a bed, covered with a blanket and she gives me some crystals to hold. She then rubs oils into her hands and I inhale deeply.  By this stage, I'm starting to unwind and relax and she goes to work.  What she does, I have no idea.  I don't open my eyes because any opportunity I get to lie there and not have say or do anything is so freaking awesome that I plan to make the most of every second.

In the back ground, there's plinky plonky music designed to either relax you or piss you off.  Me???  The first time I went I found it very hard to let go of every inhibition I had.  By the third session, I woke myself up with a snort.  Yep, I'd drifted off to sleep.

Does it work?  I'm not sure. After my first session, I was consumed by fury, an anger that surprised even me, Mrs Cranky Pants.  I'm not sure if this was due to the fact that for the first time ever, I'd forced myself to face some things I'd buried so deep inside that 30+ years of repressed anger came spewing forth.

I've been told that it's a process and that things won't change immediately. Ok then.  But I'm starting to look forward to being that that room with the golden glow, to smelling the oils and to breathing in the oil mixes. I very rarely get down time in daylight hours and to just lie there and let your mind drift, if only for 90 minutes is a blessing. Like I said, last time I was there, I snored.

Maybe healing the soul will be the better option.  I've been reading about anti depressants and the entire changing your brain chemically freaks me out.  I like who I am, even if I'm riddled with flaws and far from perfect.  The road to loving myself may take some time, but with the oils, plinky plonky music and some time to just shut my mind off will be a massive help.

But if I start to talk about unicorns and world peace...  Intervene.  I beg of you.

Giving thanks for the things that matter

After a particularly brutal week at work, rather than focus on the bad things that took place, I've decided to say thanks to the people who've made the experience bearable.

Firstly, I must say thanks to my family.  My poor, suffering family...  they bear the brunt of my impatience at idiots who do not;

• read their correspondence
• take ownership for their own shortcomings and fuck-ups
• LISTEN to sage advice from someone old enough to know better and who has perspective borne of life experience
• know when to let their babies grow up.

Despite my crankiness and exhaustion, there was never a shortage of cuddles and snotty kisses from my babies and my man.

My workmates rock.  A shared pain is halved when you have people who can truly understand why at the end of the day you want to pound your telephone handset until it resembles dust.  Why you sometimes want to scream at the insanity of 'executive' decisions that have no chance of working in the real world.

My PFF (poofter friend forever - his words, not mine!) who keeps me sane with his incredibly funny and extremely politically incorrect emails remind me that sometimes you just have to say FUCK it and laugh at the insanity that is our lives.

My BFF, my friend who's been with me for over 3 decades...  a great sounding board for the truly heinous days, when only someone who truly gets you allows you to vent like a complete lunatic without missing a beat, with no judgement of my filthy language, my insane rantings or the millionth email about the same old thing.

And then there's the surprise friends you make.  The ones who come out of nowhere, that you don't see coming but who somehow make a lasting impact and make you strive to be a better person. 

I must say, somewhere along the line...  in living my life, I must have done something right to have reaped such a great diversity of friends.  I don't have a lot of friends, but I have quality friends.  While I'm not rich in material things, my wealth lies in the ties I've formed.

So thank you to each and every one of you.  Without you in my life, it would be dull, colour less and empty.

Heros and role models.

For some time now, I've lamented the loss of real role models and heroes in our modern society.

The media, aka 'them' and 'they', thrust down our throats pathetic, vacuous and shallow people like Paris Hilton, Lindsey Lohan and the other train wrecks in Hollywood.  I mean really... what have these nuff nuffs contributed to society other than the word 'like', a predisposition of eating disorders, an overuse of spray tan and a new meaning to the word useless.  They all look like they need to be dipped in dettol and receive a scalding sponge bath before you shake their hands.  Yes friends, skany people spread germs!

And then the Victorian government goes and spends an obscene amount of tax payer $$ to bring out Tiger Woods, serial adulterer, complete and utter knob who couldn't spell the word apology if he tried.  Thank the Lord, someone up above saw the sense to rain on his parade.  I sincerely hope Mrs Ex Tiger Woods enjoys her generous settlement.  I would have sliced off his willy with a 9 iron had I been in her shoes.  Dirty man whore.

Thank god I am surrounded by amazing, strong, generous people who inspire me every day. 

To all the unsung heroes out there, I thank you.

To the skanks and man whores.  Get a life.

Like sands through the hour glass...

I've had cause to be at home on a number of occasions during the past few weeks and I've discovered that daytime TV sucks.  Like BIG time.


Quite frankly it amazes me that Days of Our Live (or DOOL to most fans) is still going, because I was watching this show when I was 18, and let me tell you that was almost 25 years ago.  Back then, I was a die hard fan, totally committed to the show.  I used to tape the episodes when I started working.  Bo and Hope. Patch and Kayla.  They were my main reasons for watching.  Nothing made me happier than suffering for these couples, willing them to get together and have their first kiss.


I also dabbled in Young & The Restless, Another World, Santa Barbara and was 'lucky' enough to watch the very first episode of Bold and The Beautiful.  Yes friends, I am kinda old.


I used to rush to my local newsagent to buy Soap Opera Digest (the US version).  When I moved out of my parents house and into my first home, I think there were two or three boxes full of them that I conveniently left behind.  At the time I just had to have them.  Years later, I wondered what possesed me to fork out $5.95 per edition back in the late 80s.


Twenty years ago, Marlena the enduring heroine, the one who battled through so many obstacles to be with Roman. These days, Marlena still looks amazingly preserved and there have been like a million different actors playing the Roman character.  In fact, if memory serves, there was once a brain washed dude who thought he was Roman, but was in fact a man called John.  And I think that the evil Stefano (who has died and come back to life more times than I care to remember) planned it all.


I must give credit where credit is due though.  If anyone knows how to put obstacles in the path of true love, it's soap writers.  I mean my God...  the dramas these characters go through to be together.  Most of us only deal with exes, in laws, and feuding friends.  They go through kidnapping, brain washing, corruption and more sub plots and loopholes than a legal document.


But Bold and the Beautiful.  Now there's a soap.  Back then Brooke Logan was a scientist from the wrong side of the tracks.  Some twenty years later, she's now running a fashion house and seems to have a penchant for men with shared DNA and has an appetite for her daughters men.


She's married her way through and entire family, Dad, brothers and anything with a penis and pulse usually.  Giving credit where credit is due, she looks fucking awesome for a woman of her vintage.  


One question though.  Why does she feel the need to 'accidentally' screw over her daughters?  Not that I can keep track of who and how many daughters she has.  Between Taylor and Brooke, the lines of familial ties is very blurred and I'm convinced that if it were real life, those children they spawned would look vastly different to the pretty people portraying them on screen.  I'm no scientist, but all that inbreeding would seriously screw with their DNA, bringing about all manner of scary things!


Ok, I can admit...  maybe the first time she bumped uglies with her daughter's man, you could say, "Shit, now there's a massive OOPS on mummy's part!".  But seriously, every subsequent time later you have to ask yourself.  Honest mistake or is she just a HO?  I say ho.


With all her money (I mean, how many times has she married the different Forrester men, her alimony payments must be freaking awesome), you think she's be able to afford a holiday to some Four Seasons resort somewhere, where she could meet a man with no ties to the Forrester clan and do the horizontal tango with them.  No, she prefers to stay closer to home to be a good mom.  NEXT!!!


I seriously need to get Foxtel.  Donations are accepted ;-)

Forks in the road and do overs

So after a stressful weekend, I've spent the day ignoring trick or treaters because this is still Australia and Halloween is an American holiday.  More importantly, as you may all be aware, I spend most of my Sunday afternoons on my sizeable arse, folding mountains of laundry.


Today of course, was no different.  And since I had the mother of all meltdowns yesterday, I've had sole control of the plasma all day, which is rather lovely.  So thus far, I've made my way through Legally Blonde and I've finished up with Suddenly 30.


I love Suddenly 30.  It's not just because Jennifer Garner is so wholesomely lovely and shiny, nor is it because Mark Ruffalo is so god damn hot in the most nondescript way (and OMG he can park his loafer on my door mat ANY day).  It's because it touches on a subject that I love.


Would you, if you could go back in time, change things and perhaps take a different fork in the road or do something over again?  I mean, how freaking awesome would it be to go back to an age where you know, with the benefit of hindsight, that something was so totally wrong for you, that you go in the complete opposite direction?  Imagine having the chance to do something again, and getting it right this time.


Of course, having that kind of knowledge would change the course of your life, but even if it's for the better good, is it the right thing to do?


I don't know...  Sometimes better the devil you know is the preferred option.  But what if it's not?  An ugly divorce, a violent relationship, an assault, a missed opportunity with the possible love of your life.  Or maybe it's just buying a GHD or that special pair of shoes that were on special (and you thought, nope, I'll get it next week) only to find that someone else is wearing your shoes.  Whatever the case may be, getting everything you wish for with the benefit of hindsight could be a very dangerous thing.


I'm not particularly religious, but I do believe in God.  I think it's important to have faith in a greater power/good/being, other wise what's the point in raising our children to walk the good path?  There's a saying that I hear a lot, although for the life of me I can't remember it right now, but it goes something like God only gives us challenges he knows we can handle... or words to that affect.


Perhaps that's why he makes some people so ridiculously gorgeous and talented (Angelina, Beyonce, Katy Perry, Brad Pitt, George Clooney et al) and the rest of us in his image. Because he knows we can use our other skills to get ahead.


Many years ago, we emigrated to Australia.  Apparently applications were sent to Australia, Canada and the USA.  Australia got back to us first and here we are.  But what would my life be like had the US application been processed first?  I'm happy we came to Australia, I like my accent.  But the shopping would have been way better in the US.


I used to sing in a choir years ago.  Won some prizes even.  Had Australian Idol, X Factor and the other million talent shows that are all over tv been around then, would I have tried my luck?  Probably not, or maybe I'd have auditioned and punched that smart arse Kyle in the gonads.


When I'm having a shit day, I sometimes wonder where I'd be now if I'd never met my husband.  I believe our meeting was destined.  I wasn't looking for anything.  It was such a random meeting that there's really no other explanation for it.   But would I have remained single?  Would I be upwardly mobile, driving a sports car and going to the gym every night, spending my entire wages on anything I wanted?  Quite possibly.


My oncologist told me I'd never have children.  I think I fell pregnant despite the odds just to prove him wrong.


So here I am.  A frustrated, pissed off, sleep deprived mother of two who wouldn't change a thing.  I can tell you this though.  I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, this time next week I'll be back here, on the couch, folding another mountain of laundry.  I'll be yelling at my kids and cursing at the fact that I need to go to work tomorrow.


I took all the right forks in the road, because they all made me the person I am today.  A little crazed, but overall, not a bad chick.  And I still have my dvds to make me happy.

Sticks and Stones

Forgive me, but that saying is total bullshit.  There is nothing in the world that is more soul destroying than a few choice words delivered like poison arrows.  It erodes your self-belief, your self-confidence and can render you speechless in the blink of an eye.

I say this because last week, after what I thought was a rather funny exchange on facebook, an old friend sent me an sms telling me she was deleting the thread because I was tough on her other friend who was mentally fragile.  Mind you, I was responding to her friend’s comment that I was a joke. 

Now you may be asking yourself, what’s so wrong with that?  Well nothing really, unless you’re me and have had enough of people calling you tough, hard arse, bitch.  I think it’s fair to say that we all have a touch of the bitch in us all.  I’d certainly hope so, because if being strong, proactive and creative means being labelled a bitch, then where do I sign up?

Fragility comes in all shapes and sizes and manner of people.  Ditto for strength.  You are never just one or the other. There are people in the world who suffer terribly from mental health issues, which thankfully, some of us will never ever experience. As someone who’s dealt with a number of mental health issues, I have made a commitment to myself to never allow my own issues to become an excuse.  I’ve made a conscious decision to be a participating member of society because I believe that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.  Cliché I know, but true.

I think what hurt me the most, what really upset me to the point that I spent the morning in tears, was the assumption by someone that I’d shared so much with, really didn’t know a thing about what has made me the way I am today. Like I said, I don’t use these events as excuses, but every experience we have, both good and bad, has a marked influence in making us the people we are today.

I was bullied as a child, severely, continuously; a group of girls once dumped some a tub of water over my head for no reason other than they didn’t like me, they’d chant terrible things in the street.  My friends from primary school abandoned me in year seven, leaving me alone every lunch until I made new friends.  I had an emotionally absent mother.  I could go on but I won’t.  Because it really doesn’t matter what’s happened in the past. 

The thing is, you develop ways to deflect the negative. You compartmentalise the bad things and file them away deep in your subconscious so that you have a chance of living a somewhat normal life while keeping a lid on the crazy buried deep within.  I learnt very early on that the main person I could count on for anything is me.

You become a hard arse after a while because you develop a shell to protect yourself.  People find it harder to attack someone who can stare them in the eye and say ‘Fuck You’, without verbalising it. If people feel they can be honest with me and tell me things I don’t want to hear, but if ‘it’s for my own good’ then damn it, so can I.

The conditioning over 40+ years of life experiences have made me the woman I am today.  I love my kids, I love my husband, I love my family, I love my friends...  And I’m really starting to love me.

I sent my friend an email that morning, letting her know that while I understood her decision came from concerns she had for her other friend, that I could no longer surround myself with people who failed to understand me.  She was genuinely shocked and distressed that she’d upset me so much.

That’s the thing about getting older.  You learn to be kinder to yourself and you realise that you don’t have to take people’s perceived notions of who you are.  All that matters is how you see yourself.  Yes, I am a hard arse, I can be a bitch, I crave vengeance at times, I have a sharp tongue and an ever sharper wit.  I could have turned out much worse.  But thankfully I am blessed with friends, those who really truly know me, understand that sometimes my demons get the better of me and love me anyway.

And I think that’s the thing about friends and how their words, no matter how casually delivered, can cause you more pain than a slap across the face or a punch in the guts.