Tuesday, November 30, 2010


If, as a child, you ever said aloud that you wished someone would die (and I'm not saying that I did, just in case you didn't) you probably had some adult tell you not to say such things because you would feel really bad if they actually did die. That adult was an idiot.

Now I'm not talking about those times when you were wishing a parent or a friend dead and you didn't really mean it but were just really angry with them at the time. Obviously if any of those people died you would feel bad. But you would feel bad whether you had just wished them dead or not, and even if you had wished them dead that still wouldn't make any of these less true.

1. You didn't kill them. That's retarded.

About five years ago I had a landlord that I, and all of the people I lived with, hated. Because he was an arsehole. Every single one of us wished him dead at least once. (It was definitely more than once.) Then, a few weeks ago, we found out he'd died earlier in the year. I was not struck down with guilt. Maybe it is possible that we all wished him dead and then five years later it finally happened as a result of those wishes, but- actually no. Just no. It's not.

I don't know how many wishes you've made in your life but unless they've all been incredibly realistic (in which case, what the hell is wrong with you? Don't you get this whole wishing thing at all?) then you've probably noticed a general trend towards them not coming true. If you have been making fairly unrealistic wishes and they have been coming true then we need to talk about why you've been wasting this power on wishing random people dead. Though really, if you're aware you have this power and you're still wishing random people dead I probably don't want to talk to you. And you're also probably in the wrong place since you obviously already don't feel bad about what you've been doing.

2. You probably weren't the only one.

I can only speak for myself here, but wishing someone dead is not the thing that comes immediately to mind when someone's behaving like an arsehole. Punching them in the face, roundhouse kicking them in the head and stabbing them in the eye with a pen (it's always a pen) are all things I visualise before wishing them dead ever crosses my mind. I should probably stress here that I only visualise these things - I would never actually do them. So if you're anything like me (sicko) then the person you're wishing dead has probably pretty consistently been an arsehole over a period of time before you start wishing for their immediate demise. If that's the case then you're most likely not the only one who's wished them dead. So even if you do believe that wishing it is enough to make it happen (it's not but hey, there are Scientologists - people will believe anything!) it might not have been your wish that did it!

3. Congratulations on making a wish that's guaranteed to come true!

I don't want to spoil the ending for those of you who have been living in a cave and have had absolutely no contact with another human being ever (welcome to the internet!) but everyone dies. Literally everyone. Seriously, no one gets out of this alive. Look it up. So if you wish someone dead you will, one day, get your wish. Remember my landlord - yeah, took awhile but it happened. Wishing someone dead is the only wish you can make where you never have to fear disappointment. Yeah, you may not live to see it, but you still know it will happen.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Spiders. I just don't like them.

I don't like spiders. I'm not as afraid of them as I used to be but I think it's safe to say I'll never be keeping one as a pet. In fact, I know it's safe to say. I will never keep a spider as a pet. There. It's in writing. I'm that confident. So here's a look at how last week started according to my Facebook statuses:

Monday at 10.14pm: "I will tolerate you, Mr. Spider, but I kindly request that you relocate from your current position above my computer chair. Your co-operation would be greatly appreciated."

(The spider did relocate from its position above my computer chair, which was nice, except that now I don't know where it is. It might be one of the other spiders I saw after that, or it might be A COMPLETELY FUCKING DIFFERENT ONE AND IT IS JUST MISSING INSTEAD OF GONE.)

Tuesday at 9.20am: "A spider is not faster than a cat."

(It may be the previous spider that was killed by my cat who heroically defended me when it came to murder me in my sleep, or it may have been a different spider that was coming to murder me in my sleep. Also, as it turns out, a dragonfly is not faster than a cat either, but I'm pretty sure the dragonfly wasn't out to murder anyone.)

Tuesday at 6.07pm: "I just fought a spider for my mail only to find it was nothing but election propaganda. Fuck you state government. Totally not worth it."

(I now approach my mailbox with my heart in my mouth, ready to drop the door in less than a second if necessary).

Tuesday at 10.35pm: "Another one? You've got to be fucking kidding me. Fine. I give up. You win, spiders. Have the house."

(There was some suggestion of burning the house down. I considered it).

Thursday at 8.45am: "Good news - no spiders yesterday. Bad news - I'm almost definitely dying."

So I didn't die, which is great I think, but I was hit with the horrifying realisation that just because I haven't seen the spiders lately does not mean that they're not there. It's nice to think that they just decided to move next door instead - possibly because they knew they were unwelcome in my house and were far too polite to stay somewhere they weren't wanted - but it's more likely they are simply hiding somewhere, probably waiting for the best possible moment to jump out and cling to my face like the facehuggers in Aliens except they'd be holding on with their fangs instead of with tentacles.

I might go buy some kerosene and matches.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010


Today I tore open the plastic wrapper on a new ream of paper. Then I looked up at my co-worker and said, in a mock-threatening voice. "This is a demonstration of my power." Then I had one of those moments - after a long, awkward silence - when I realise that I'm not quite like other people. I am, in fact, so not like other people that the level of my abnormality can still surprise someone that has worked with me for over six years.

I'm actually pretty sure this is a big part of the reason why we've been working together for six years and why I can't get a different job that I am in all other ways qualified for. Though in fairness, it's probably more likely to be my less than perfect portrayal of the character 'normal person' that I play when I don't know people very well. In my defence though - if I really knew how to act like a normal person I probably wouldn't tear open a plastic wrapper and declare it a demonstration of my power.

Then I started thinking about all those people who say "Just be yourself". Yeah, great advice, thanks. Because clearly that's working out so well for me. Then I wondered whether anyone who really knew me had ever actually said that to me because, you know, maybe it's just that it's not general advice but advice that is only meant for people who can have a conversation without veering off onto some strange and often unintelligible tangent that frequently consists of odd voices and bizarre facial expressions. But when I really thought about it I realised that they had. Which forced me to wonder whether they were just being nice or if they actually hate me and sit in a corner rubbing their hands together and cackling whenever they see me fail. (Yeah OK, so I guess they probably DON'T do that).

Anyway, I wondered if maybe there was something I could do with that. Like maybe I could be the poster child for conformity or something. There could be a series of ad campaigns consisting of me just talking to people and being myself, maybe with some kind of lead in or voiceover explaining that this is what not to do and ending with a warning to only be yourself if you're reasonably certain that you're normal. I think it could work.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010


Being me in a crowded space is a lot like being a clumsy person in a minefield. Except not really because on a scale of one to ten where ten is probable death and one is possible bruising then minefields are probably closer to ten and crowded spaces could be anywhere in between. Also, the probable death waiting in a minefield doesn't really have a lot to do with being clumsy so much as it does the arsehole nature of the person that put them there. So it's more like being a clumsy person in a crowded space. I'm clumsy is what I'm saying, and being in a crowded space is, for me, like being in a minefield if minefields were less deadly.

I went to a wedding earlier in the year and about a minute after a friend commented on the women having trouble with their stilettos on the uneven ground and how I should be fine because my heels were thicker, I managed to step into a clearly visible hole and only managed to not fall over because I do that kind of thing a lot and consequently I'm always subconsciously prepared to catch myself.
Not that I always do. Recently I fell over at work because the soles of my boots were slippery and the floor is concrete and because, you know, the clumsy thing. I skinned my knee and elbow and ended up resembling an overgrown five year old.

There is a particular door at my work that I sometimes struggle to open because not only am I clumsy but I also, for some reason known to no one, often try to open it by placing the handle between my first and second fingers as though someone has cut off my thumb and left only a holographic image in its place. It still looks like it's there, but clearly it can't actually grab anything since it's just an image of a thumb and not an actual thumb.

Anyway, this is a representation of the room where I do the filing (I was originally going to take an actual photo but posting that without first securing the agreement of my boss seemed a less than brilliant idea).

Now I don't want to make assumptions about your observational skills but you can probably see how that might be a problem for someone as clumsy as me. Still probably less dangerous than a minefield though.