Category Archives: Humour

Today I Give Myself Permission to be Xenial #atozchallenge

Letter X Since well before the start of the Challenge, I knew this letter was always going to be …challenging, especial after the gauntlet was thrown down.

A couple of weeks ago I had the good fortune of having lunch with a friend who also blogs. She has chosen the dark side for her blogging platform, but I won’t hold that against her. We got to talking about the Challenge and she threw it down, right there in the middle of the bistro where we had decided to dine. The gauntlet. She bet me that I couldn’t come up with a real X word to write about noting that words like eXcited or eXternal were ruled out. My friend blogs at Annals from a Citrus Grove In the Suburbs, and has chosen Australian icons for her Challenge theme. Today she blogged about XXXX Beer (pronounced fourex beer) and I can’t help thinking that the gauntlet has found its way to the right place. Anyway, I tend to have a thing for picking up gauntlets and I just couldn’t let this one go.

That’s the back story to why I’m being xenial today. Like all good hosts and in keeping with the theme for today’s post I wish to make you comfortable and to feel welcome. So here’s a cup of coffee for you to enjoy and an ottomon or three for you to put your feet up.

coffee ottomons

Let me show you the fun welcome mats I found during my research for this post.

welcome mat - messy house Welcome mat - knock knock welcome - wipe your paws welcome - beware of the wife welcome - don't expect much welcome - grandma Welcome mat - awesome pants welcome - underwear welcome - social interaction

My house is certainly ecstatic judging by these standards and isn’t it always nice to peg expectations up front?

I think my favorite though is knock, knock because it’s such a classic and classically simple and I’m totally bummed that I didn’t think of it first.

But getting back to being xenial, I have spent the weekend getting the spare room ready to host a friend from interstate next week for a couple of nights. We will be going to a much awaited concert on Friday night and shooting the breeze and just spending time together.

And as a final tidbit, I will leave you with this little gem that you always wanted to know, but just wasn’t aware of until now  – the Hotel Xenial can be found in Biratnagar, Nepal and has been rated as the best choice in Biratnager by Tripadvisor. If you’re in the area, drop by, if only to take a photo of the name.

Time to go and fluff up the welcome mat.

Today I give myself permission to be Xenial.

 

Today I Give Myself Permission to Appreciate Whimsy #atozchallenge

Letter W Today I received a sign! There I was researching my whimsy post with the TV on in the background, tuned to Big Bang Theory. Not two minutes later Sheldon uttered the line

What’s life without whimsy?

What indeed, Sheldon.

Those silly little things that make you chuckle, that lift your spirits, that you do for no reason other than to put a smile on your face, that’s whimsy.

Not so long ago a friend and I visited Wombeyan Caves. I blogged about it just before the Challenge started. After we came out of the caves, my friend spotted a slippery slide and went for it. Never mind that she was a middle-aged woman, the pure joy on her face as she went down was incredibly uplifting. That’s whimsy.

Autumn Leaf in Nagasaki

Autumn Leaf in Nagasaki (Photo credit: Marufish)

Walking through a pile of Autumn leaves, throwing them in the air, having a leaf fight. That’s whimsy.

Crawling into a bed of freshly laundered sheets. That’s whimsy.

Sitting in the garden with the warm sun on your back, reading. That’s whimsy.

Sneaking out of the office to briefly feel wind on your face. That’s whimsy.

Cracking up at silly jokes and sayings. That’s whimsy.

Listening to the whole top 100 countdown of karaoke songs. That’s whimsy.

Engaging in the following conversation with my teen son is whimsy

Me: the bed man is coming to deliver the mattress today. You’ll have to let him in and pay him the delivery fee

Him: Mffmfwffm

Me: It means you’ll need to hear the doorbell and open the door

Him: Mrrffmrmmm

Me: You will let him in won’t you and not miss it?

Him: Nerf (At last the sign of a neuron firing)

Me: Ok, I’ve spoken to the mattress man and he’s coming between 11.30am and 2.30pm. Please make sure you are in the room closest to the door from about 11am

Him: I get it, Mum

Text from him at midday: It’s arrived, it’s in, he’s paid, all good

Text from me: Thank you my child. I have taught you well. You can go back to your day now, normal transmission can resume.

Text from him (1): Mum, don’t be weird.

Text from him (2): That’s my job.

Which leads us to another great W permission, to be weird. I practice it daily. I’d worry greatly if my children didn’t think I was weird, it’s my job and frankly my privilege to be so. We laugh at all our wierdness uniqueness. Every family has their own brand. Which leads us to the final W word of the day. Wonderful.

God said let there be whimsy and there was and it was wonderful.

Image courtesy of Zazzle.com.au

Image courtesy of Zazzle.com.au

Today I give myself permission to be whimsical and just a little weird.

Today I Give Myself Permission to Do Nothing #atozchallenge

letter N

 

Today I give myself permission to do….

 

NOTHING

 

NADA

 

ZIP

 

ZERO

 

Lying by the sea

NIL

 

NIX

 

ZILCH

 

BUGGER ALL (Aussie vernacular meaning… nothing)

 

SFA

 

NOUGHT

 

smiley-sticking-tongue-out

What’s your perfect idea of doing nothing?

Today I give myself permission to do nothing. 

 

I Give Myself Permission To …Reveal My #atozchallenge Theme

If you’re around my vintage, you might remember the television show Welcome Back Kotter.

The show which ran from 1975 through to 1979 brought many memorable characters to our screens and provided more than a few laughs. As a moon struck teenager I used to eagerly wait for the weekly time slot so that I could feast my eyes on one Vincent (Vinnie) Barbarino played by a youthful John Travolta. Apart from his machismo, who could forget Vinnie’s classic retort:

Up Your Nose With A Rubber Hose?

cast-of-welcome-back-kotter-5Vinnie was one of the students in Mr Kotter’s class (played by Gabe Kaplan) and he and his fellow class mates, Arnold Horshack (Ron Palillo), Freddie “Boom-Boom” Washington (Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs) and Juan Epstein (Robert Hegyes) kept us entertained with great one liners, bravado and compassion. One of the great “non-characters” in the show was Epstein’s mother. Epstein’s mother, who we never saw on air, was a prolific permission note writer. In many an episode, Epstein (the guy in the denim vest in the photo) would miraculously produce a cleverly worded permission/excuse note from his dear old mother when placed in the hot seat. So close were the pair, that when Mr Kotter would read the note aloud, Epstein would mouth the words verbatim. Epstein’s mother certainly sounded like a formidable woman!

The concept of Epstein’s mother and the class permission note has stuck with me over the years. Self-permission has become particularly relevant to me in recent years as I take the journey through midlife. It’s the time for taking stock, for shedding the old skin and charting a solid course to the future. In short, it’s time to say it’s OK and to find the reasons why those dreams can and should be pursued instead of focusing on why they can’t.

Everyone’s midlife journey is different and whilst mine has not been without its challenges, it has, in the main, been a positive time. The potential for happiness is huge, the uncertainty is becoming less and less and the future looks full of promise. I’ve determined to fly rather than crumble as I focus on all the doors that are beginning to open rather than on those that may be closing.

Over the next few weeks of the Challenge, I will be blogging a 26 point permission slip. 26 permissions that we tend to deny ourselves in our lives caring for others and wish I had given myself earlier. I’ve come to the point where I have acknowledged that I am just as worthy as those I care for and deserve to give myself a break.

permission granted

Midlife has its perks. Google “midlife” and you’ll be met with a raft of articles about the midlife crisis or about the Middle Ages. Regrettably, there are very few positive messages about middle age and I’m aiming to change that. Some of my permissions will be funny, others deep. Hopefully you will find more than a few that resonate.

So, in the wonderful tradition of Epstein’s mother I give myself permission to create and commune in April.

Please join me for the A to Z Blogging Challenge Journey.

midlife prayer

Have An Uneasy Relationship With Your Photo ID? This May Give You Hope

It was not so long ago that photos displaying a bad hair day or an acne breakout could be safely locked away in the privacy of a bottom drawer.

Some of you might remember the luxury of being able to pick and choose which photo of your person would escape for public consumption. Remember sitting around with friends looking through photo albums that had passed through the family’s Censorship Department? Apart from your passport photo for which you were always suitably attired and somewhat somber, there were generally no photos circulating out there for which you had not primped and prepared. And all of this before the days of Photoshop.

Let’s roll the film forward (pun intended) to the present day in which photo ID cards abound. Apart from having a photo album on tap via a smart phone, most people walk around with a photo album of bureaucratic memories in their wallets. An absolute highlight reel of bureaucratic encounters and of putting your best worst face forward.

Rowan Atkinson funny ID photo

Some of my personal chart topping looks are:

  • Drawn, Haggard And Sunburned at the Motor Registry
  • You’re Kidding, A Photo, Really? at my local social club
  • You’re a Security Guy Taking This In A Dimly Lit Dungeon Using a Two Bit Camera at my work place
  • Gonna Have To Live With This Legacy For As Long as I Work Here also at my work place

Now, I don’t know about you, but the question of whether I’m going to have a photo taken on any given day is not on my daily morning checklist. It is enough to race out of the house in the morning with two matching shoes. I can’t tell you how many times I have confused navy with black in the early morning light. As a business woman, I know I’m not meant to talk about this. We are after all high-powered, multitasking infallible Amazons! But, a straw poll of some of my fellow working friends reveals that this is more common than the polished, together, high-powered female business fraternity have you believe.

So, I have never worried about how I look in ID photos. Then again, I have never had to date in the world of ID photos. Perhaps it’s different when a potential would-be beau is looking through your wallet and stumbles upon Drawn, Haggard and Sunburned at the Motor Registry. Better he sees the real you, I think. Less room for morning after the night before surprises.

I am now wondering what happens to the mountains of ID photos once they are taken. As I’m writing this, I have visions of faceless bureaucrats scouring through mountains of photo ID’s looking for hot dates, perhaps even plotting the creation of a ranking system like in the beginning of the Facebook movie.

It is impossible to believe there will ever come a time when we can offer up our own selfies to bureaucracy.

However, I’m pleased to report that a photo ID miracle occurred this week. Having stumbled into a situation where I needed to create a new photo ID, I headed off to the gallows photo centre to get shot. The lighting wasn’t great (is it ever?) and the camera operator was not a professional. Nevertheless, after a little congenial conversation around how this was my third attempt at navigating bureaucracy to obtain the ID and a couple of clicks I had my photo. Expecting the worst, I took the card, eyes going straight to the mug shot. And then the angels sang! The photo was passable, even more than half way decent. It even looks like a happy and excited me. Actually, it’s probably more likely relief that I had finally been succesful in my quest to secure this ID.

So this has restored my faith in the amateur model, amateur photgrapher shoot and produce process. I now have a new chart topping look – Happy, Excited And Ready For Anything.

And I have learned that it is possible to ace the photo ID and carry around a bureaucratic legacy which you can proudly show anyone, even a would-be beau!

Do you get anxious about having your photo taken? Given the opportunity, do you prepare your appearance for a photo ID shot?

Stop Using The “CC” As A Weapon

Email, you gotta hate love it.

Image courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

Image courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

My introduction to email occurred about two decades ago when it opened up the possibility of real time communication with the whole world through an innocuous click. It also made serious inroads into my mastery of the fine art of workplace corridor loitering, you know the loitering you do as a junior whatever to wait for that perfect moment to jump into an office to experience some face time with a senior.

Some might say it is now outdated technology, that communication is all about flow and interaction. Email has a tendency to be fragmented and usually less gratifying. Some might also say that the advent of platforms such as Skype and Facebook chat have usurped the need for email. However, it seems that email is here to stay, at least in business.

I’m sure most of us have some humorous workplace email stories to tell. I’m also sure most of us have misunderstood or have been misunderstood through email and have had the experience where a lot of time and angst could have been avoided if we had just picked up this somewhat underutilised device, called the telephone.

For example, at my last workplace there was a row of desks and partitioning separating the offices which were located along  each wall of a long corridor. Sort of like the Berlin Wall, but the offices belonged to people from the same country department. Despite it being a five minute walk around the Wall (there were no gun or passport controls in evidence) and despite telephones being standard issue, my colleague would send me a slew of emails to deal with a simple matter that could have been resolved in a two minute conversation. Clearly this dude was not going to brave the Wall. Maybe he was too concerned about being thought of as a rebel dissident.

As I move through middle age, I spend a fair bit of time thinking about human interaction, relationships, motivation, influence and connectivity. I’m a fairly late study to these matters and so I approach all of them with the enthusiasm that only “mature age students” can muster.

I am particularly interested how humans use the “CC” field in email and how over time it has taken on a life of its own.

emailetiquette-cc2

Here are couple of observations:

Using CC as a means of CYA

If you have ever played the ancient art of  “telephone-tag” you will know that the  convenience of an email is unsurpassed. You can get your point of view across quickly to a LOT of people at a time of your convenience.

This possibility has led to a rise in what is also an ancient art, the CYA. The CYA, or Cover Your Arse involves copying an  email (through the use of the CC field  – CC, standing for “circulate copy” or “carbon copy”) to twenty other people, the last eighteen of whom are at least five steps removed from the actual subject matter, and couldn’t give a toss about such minutiae. But, rather than back him or herself, the author has purposely set up an “out” if things go pear-shaped “But you knew, you had a copy of the email!”. Here’s a tip: knowing and receiving an email are vastly different things, especially if you have a high traffic in-box. I truly wonder how much these CC’s readers understand the whole matter, even if they do take time to read the email, given they would only have one side of the discussion in real time. Stop with the CC’s already!!

tearing hear out

 

Using CC as an escalation device – the ultimate weapon

I will admit to this being my pet peeve as I detest passive aggression in any form.

This is an example of highly strategic use of the CC. It involves CCing*  senior managers who are perceived as important. Rather than build relationships with the recipient, the author sees fit to CC* the recipient’s senior managers to make sure they know about what is usually a request of the recipient. This way, the senior manager can ensure that his or her underling is performing the required task.

Is this really necessary? Where are you going to escalate to, when escalation truly becomes necessary – if it in fact does? I’m sure that the Lord’s inbox is a lot fuller than yours and that he has other priorities.

How these people must bask in the light of CC afterglow. The cries of “Ha, I showed you and I didn’t even appear to be as spiteful as I really am” echoing through the cyberworld.

I’m not going to touch upon the BCC (being “blind circulate copy”) field in this post, which takes passive aggression to a whole other level.

In summary, the use of the CC field for anything other than what it was designed for is fraught. The agenda of the author is often clearly obvious from his or her use of the field. It is time folks, that we all stopped using the CC as a weapon and actually used it for the purposes of positive communication. Spare a thought not only for the primary recipient of the email as to how your CC will be perceived but also to all your poor CC recipients, who will either get RSI from hitting the delete key or have to spend hours filing your butt covering tracks away. Time better spent having a non-written conversation with a living, breathing human.

Have you ever been on the receiving end of some CC aggression? Do you have a humorous email use story you wish to share?

* I apologise to all the grammar purists out there for using CC as a verb, but this reflects usual parlance and I treat my blog as a conversation not a literary vehicle

Mother and Son Relationship Punctuation Point #126: Fashion A La Mode

Is there anything more special than a mother/son or a father/ daughter bond? The Almighty has surely blessed me because I have experienced both. One as an offspring, the other as a parent.

As most of you know, I am the proud mother of two sons. It’s an amazing experience to be the centre of a child’s world, even knowing that the centre of that world is only leased to you for a short period of time. As a parent, knowing when to edge more towards the circumference of that world is the key to surviving your offspring’s adolescence.

Every mother/son relationship is filled with punctuation points. Those milestones that signify sometimes subtle, sometimes sledgehammer-like changes in the relationship. The points at which there is no returning to what was. I admit I look forward to these punctuation points because, at least in experience, they have generally been positive or have led to something positive. They are also confirmation that as a parent, one is doing one’s job.

Punctuation point #126 is one of these milestones. It’s the point at which a son develops a taste for fashion and a mother’s role as stylist comes to an end. This point is not necessarily marked by a sudden desire in your son to accessorize or colour co-ordinate or emulate a GQ magazine cover, but rather it means that it’s time to leave little boys clothes behind and become the master of one’s own fashion destiny.

David Beckham

In my experience, point #126 is reached somewhere when your son is between the ages of 12 and 15. Of course, there is always the odd would-be David Beckham prodigy who has the metrosexual thing happening at the age of 8, but they grow up to be Justin Bieber and well, let’s not go there shall we?

The thing is, you never really know the relationship has reached point #126 until you have passed it. You will blissfully be buying packets of 15 assorted colour jockeys as you have done many times in the past because your son needs them only to have them shoved at the back of the drawer with him continuing to wear the worn out underwear with the skull motiff that Aunt Clarice gave him as a Christmas present 3 years ago. The jockeys no longer work because point #126 has unknowingly been reached and because he’s your son and you are his mother, he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. He doesn’t know how to break the news to you.

boys underwearRemember how simple life was when your son was 6 years old and you could go out with utter confidence and buy your child’s outfit? How he loathed shoe and clothes shopping and it was all you could do to get him to the mall to try on a pair of shoes. Remember how you used to go out of your way to never buy your son outfits with “skull stuff” on them? Seriously, when my kids were under ten it was an impossible task to find a piece of clothing without a skull or other gruesome Halloween creature on it. Why clothing manufacturers, why? Why do you want a 6 year old to channel their inner Hulk?

Somehow we got through the horror clothing era, testosterone intact and without either of my boys having dewingined any butterflies or ripped anyone’s arms off to arrive at point #126.

Yes folks, we are now at point #126 with my youngest. And true to form, I only know this because we just passed it with an incident involving socks, a T-shirt and a pencil case.

Him: “Just get me a plain blue pencil case, Mum”

Me: ” I thought your older brother’s advice was to stick the one pen you use for school in your pocket”

Him: “Yeah, that didn’t work. I’ve actually got four pens and a calculator”

Me: “Better that then three weddings and a funeral!”

Him: “Huh? Anyway, just don’t get me anything fancy, Mum. I don’t want any stars, skulls [!!!!! – my emphasis] or anything”

So, as part of the MO code and my service to mothers of adolescents everywhere, here are some of the signs that your son is approaching point #126:

  • he starts wanting to shower everyday
  • he starts taking a major interest in deodorant
  • he spends copious time in front of the mirror
  • he wears the same two T-shirts all week, because he now doesn’t like the rest in his drawer
  • he doesn’t have the usual hangdog expression when he receives clothing as a gift
  • he realises that blue and green are not the same after all
  • he knows the difference between coral and pink

clothes colour chart

He can’t quite articulate what type of clothing he likes until sometime after point #126 is reached. The fashion vocabulary and conceptualizing have not yet fully developed. It takes a mother’s keen power of observation, intuition, planning, mastery and all of your five senses to keep ahead of the fashion game during the transition period which ends when your feldging fashion plate is confident enough to fully develop his own sense of style.

One final word of advice, when your mother/son relationship arrives at point #126, it marks the stage at which mothers have to learn to SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!! Trust me, voicing your opinion at his choice of grey school socks with white sneakers teamed with camouflage coloured pair of shorts only leads to bad juju. There can be no winners in that contest.

Congratulations, you have now made the move from wardrobe stylist to wardrobe consultant. May the Zoolander be with you!

Have you had the same experience with point #126?Is there a similar point with daughters? What is the most outlandish outfit your child has chosen to wear?

Bouncing Around with Bokwa – Zumbalicious Style

Bokwa? You never heard of Bokwa?

Despite the way it reads, it is not the sound of someone choking on a chicken nugget or a new kung-fu move. It is in fact a high impact cardio/dance workout and as they say in the marketing pitch, if you can spell and move, you can do Bokwa. You can read more about Bokwa here.

Keep calm and Bokwa

It’s funny how life always throws things at you in groups. First, there was the A-Z April Blogging Challenge, blogging by the alphabet and now there’s exercise by the alphabet. That’s right, dance steps in the shape of letters or rather your feet move to make letters of the alphabet. I suppose you could Bokwa the alphabet song, but the letters are actually chosen at random to fit in with the routine, rather than danced in alphabetical order. This is a very good thing, because concentrating on the dance steps, coordinating arms and legs whilst reciting the alphabet would probably be a little too much multitasking. All of that and you want grace as well? Ha!

So, I had my first full Bokwa class today after having had an introductory taste of it last week for there comes a time in every mother’s life when being self-consciousness is yesterday’s news. I mean, if you have ever given birth, you would know that you check your dignity at the hospital door. There is just no room for self-consciousness when some nurse is elbow deep inside your birth canal. And that REALLY prepares you for what comes next, namely, when your 5-year-old bright spark of a child boldly announces to the world at large that “Mummy has wobbly bits”.

My wobbly bits look just like hers!Image coutesy of freedigitalphotos.net

My wobbly bits look just like hers!
Image courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

And so it was that I took my wobbly bits to Bokwa.

I am proud to say that not only did I survive the 45 minute class, but I had great fun along the way. Firstly, the music is fantastic. Latest hits that even on a bad day would get your foot tapping, let alone your whole body moving on a good day. And you can sing along whilst doing it. Secondly, whilst the steps are set, you are encouraged to put your own spin on them. Dip here? Why, thank you I will. A bit of booty shaking there, certainly.

Thirdly, and for me, most importantly, the class is taught by a couple of fantastically patient and energetic people from Zumbalicous Australia. You need motivation? They have it in spades. You need to start with the basics? No problem, they will step it through until you’ve got it. You’ve come along for a bit of fun and to sweat – they deliver. A good exercise instructor is like a good hairdresser, a relationship that’s quite personal and something to hold on to for as long as you can!

Below is a pic that was taken after the class. Two of these lovely ladies are fantastic dancers whilst the other wears really bright sneakers.

IMG_1373

 

Over and above the Bokwa itself, I beseech you all to try something new and often. It’s so easy to come up with multiple excuses for not wanting to do or try something, but more often than not if you can overcome the resistance of your old and familiar thought patterns, you’ll be glad you did.

Today I mastered L, O and C. Can’t wait to see what’s in store for next week.

And one day soon, I’ll be able to dance the following letters for my wonderful instructors:

T, H, A, N, K, Y, O and U!!

Legal fine print: Bokwa is a registered trademark and so every time you read Bokwa in the above post, please notionally put a little “R” with a circle after it and remember that you can’t steal it.

A Schlocky Rhyming Christmas

It had to happen sooner or later, so it might well be at Christmas when goodwill to fellow man and blogger is supposedly at its highest.

warning symbol

SCHLOCKY POEM AHEAD

This would be a good time to eject if you hate cheese, schlock or have inadverantly landed here only for mental stimulation.

‘Twas the day of Christmas
And all through the house
All creatures were stirring
Even the spouse
 
The tree was adorned
And the presents destined to fate
For the family members knew
That unwrapping must wait
 
For Christmas is about people
And they would come first
A feast to celebrate
More than one birth
 
Yes it’s true that Jesus was born
On this very day
But as luck would have it
So too was the spouse, it’s always been that way
 
A birthday cake and card
Must also be had
Happy birthday sung
Because he is dad (and can perfom a miracle or two when pressed)
 
It is a day to come together
And celebrate what matters
A day for laughter
And cross-generational chatter
 
And after lunch
With stomachs replete
The teens distribute the presents
With much stomping of feet
 
A whole lot of ripping
Of paper ensues
What’s that odd looking moving gift?
We all haven’t a clue
 
It seems at the moment
That my idea is not so jolly
Of choosing that Adam and Eve mug
For old Aunt Molly
 
It’s a little bit naughty
But could cause some grief
When the hot water dissolves
Good ole’ Adam’s fig leaf
 

Image courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

 
The food’s a cooking
And all is in place
For the family to descend
And leave more than a trace
 
So far so good
The situation’s not overly curly
For my mother in law
Has not turned up too early
 
 
 
She usually comes
Two hours before
The critical path time
It’s part of our familty folklore
 
So, I’m thankful
For small mercies
And look forward to the repast
The time is almost here, it’s coming up fast
 
So nothing is left
Other than to say
I wish you all a Merry Christmas
[And Happy Birthday, if it’s relevant to you]
And peace and sanity for the day!
 
Addendum
 
The curtain will be raised
Even more tonight
When I blog at Company for Christmas
To make someone’s day seem more bright
 
c4c-glyph
 
 
 
 
 

A Pre Apocolyptic Public Service Anouncement To All But The Kiwis

I have always been proud to be an Australian. Being an Aussie is seriously cool, people swoon at our accent, they love our laid back attitude and envy our natural surroundings.

Australia timezoneWhat they don’t envy though is our time zone. Our time zone is seriously unforgiving, particularly if you want to do business or socialize with Europe or the East Coast of the United States. Even more so if you want to be awake, astute and passably witty whilst carrying out your obligation to your employer to turn up during local business hours. And by that I mean turn up not only in body, but also in soul and mind.

We are also slightly confused because at present there are four timezones operating in our wonderful nation. The refusal to operate under daylight savings times by some States introduces a fourth time zone for the summer months. Don’t worry Queenslanders, your curtains and cows are still safe, experiencing less daylight hours than everyone else. Don’t forget the SPF 55 sunblock!

However, there are also a few advantages that come with that timezone.

We are amongst the leaders of the pack when it comes to experiencing worldwide events that are tied to a fixed universal time. New Year’s Eve, we’re one of the first to click over. Christmas, we’ve unwrapped, stuffed ourselves and ho, ho hoed long before most of you guys have even gone to bed for your Christmas Eve slumber.

We are at the forefront of time zonage to pretty much all other countries other than New Zealand and a few Pacific island nations.

tomorrow in australia pic

So to all my international readers who are still in yesterday this is my pre apoclyptic public service announcement to you.

It is now roughly 9am, 21 December 2012, eastern daylight saving time. There are no Mayans or Mayan spirits to be seen. The second last page of the Mayan calendar has been ripped off its hinges and discarded, actually no, hang on… that was a 2-year-old Oreo cookie that just rolled out from behind the maple syrup (yes, we have them here – Vanilla, Chocolate and Strawberry in fact).

So far, the only evidence of an apocalypse are:

    • the state of my closet – what does one actually wear to an apocalypse?
    • our Government  finally admitting that there will be no budget surplus this year;
    • the current state of Australian cricket;
    • the number of Baked Beans tins in my pantry (one can never be over prepared);
    • the state of Australian reality TV; and
    • the state of my kids’ rooms.

There are however 15 hours to go.

Just wondering if the Mayans were timezone sensitive. Maybe for us Aussies it all ends on the 22nd and we have been lulled into a false sense of security.

D’ang, I will now have to return all the end of the world on the 21st Mayan merchandise

The good thing is that we have the New Zealanders Kiwis, who are two hours ahead, to stand in the way of us and the apocalypse. New Zealand, we will be watching, whilst the rest of the world watches us.

apocolypse

Fear not, we Australians will sacrifice ourselves and the Kiwis for the greater international cause. We will be your apocalyptic guinea pigs!!

And the Mayans better get cracking on continuing the calendar. My desktop flip calendar is just crying out for some forward thinking Mayan wisdom and witticism. A suggestion though, the next version should be in the shape of a carrot… the world is now far more health conscious about its calendars.

In the meantime, dear readers…

KEEP CALM

and

BLOG ON

If you could predict it, how would you spend your last day on earth? Are you changing your routine for the 21st? Do you have any Mayan relatives?