… I think that has to mean I’ve officially made it, hit the big time, right?
Seriously, if someone is taking time out of their presumably “busy” schedule to stalk me about how crap I am at everything literary related it would have to mean I’m someone of (somewhat) importance.
Either that, or the you-know-what head has got seriously nothing better to do with their life than leave unassuming, try-hard jibes peppered across my Twitter account.
I’ll take the first version because you know, I’m working on my positive affirmation.
Just so you know, they ended up blocking me which I guess makes me a Troll in return.
If I’d only known Troll training was as easy as it turned out to be, I would have received my certificate ages ago.
You know what they say – it takes one to know one 🙂
Slam bam, thank you mam!
… for being so absent lately.
Though it isn’t an excuse, I’ll fall back on that dismal aspect of human nature and attempt to absolve myself of any wrongdoings by providing you with an adequate 3 point resource on how it’s really not my fault.
Point 1 – I’ve been so busy that if I were a Troll protecting the make believe bridge to Narnia I just made up right now, well, Narnia would no longer be Narnia – it would be the next best holiday destination. I have been writing though, about an article a week but woe is me, much of my time is taken up in maintaining active social media accounts for work.
You need a Twitter, Facebook or Google + guru right now, don’t look at me. I’m fresh out of ideas.
Point 2 – I have seriously pissed karma off and I don’t even know what I did. The amount of minor mishaps I have had with my skeleton over the past month would be enough to fill up a small encyclopaedia. Seriously. From toe injuries to wrist massacring’s, it’s a wonder I still resemble a human body. Fine, maybe not an encyclopaedia but a good weekend read in a grubby motel off Highway 5. At least.
Point 3 – I blame Trump because well, why wouldn’t you?
I don’t think history has ever provided us with such an apt “he is the cause of everything that’s wrong in this world, my life and this entire solar system really” excuse, people. Ever.
I am not kidding. It’s every man, woman and child for themselves and I can’t even copyright this one. Take it. Run with it.
I’ve been busy because Trump exists.
With that being said, I make no promises except an absolute true declaration – I have missed all of you. Truly.
I’ll try and make it up for it and write some more, or at least be more present if my fingers remain from that biyatch injury infliction.
I hope you’re listening karma. I’m a Hindu and I ain’t going anywhere so let’s try and be friends, okay? Or at least civil.
See you soon my peeps xoxo
My sister and I went out to dinner Friday night (seems like an eternity ago but I think that may be due to my Mondayitis but whatever).
We came across a billboard for funerals and in an effort to silence our grumbling stomachs in the car on the way there we decided to exercise my marketing prowess (or lack of it) and come up with some slogans or punchlines.
Turns out, there are some one-liners that are pure perfection for anyone in this business, so funeral directors, listen carefully. For all the rest of us in mundane businesses like mine, we definitely have our work cut out for us.
Disclaimer: If you’re feeling particularly depressed today or death is a sore subject at the moment, please give this one a pass …
So, without much ado, here’s what we came up with:
- Simply Funerals – With Customer Service like ours you’ll never go back.
- Simply Funerals – We bring a whole new meaning to a Customer for Life.
- Simply Funerals – Once you’re with us, you’ll never go back. Anywhere.
- Simply Funerals – You’ll be so happy with us, you’ll never want a refund.
- Simply Funerals (for the cremation options) – We can promise you, you’ll be going out with a Bang.
- Simply Funerals (for the cremation options) – As a bonus, free fireworks for family and friends.
- Simply Funerals – Refer a friend BEFORE you use our service and get two for the price of one
I know, I know, it’s crass but hunger apparently doesn’t bring out the best in the Sharma sisters. Or, does it? I guess it depends on the angle you’re looking at it from – six feet under or above …
Any of you lovely people care to add onto the list?
So do I. This is my Monday buddie, because I need all the energy I can get to face the week.
This is my exact facial expression all through the day as I type away on my keyboard. No wonder no one bothers me the whole day.
Have a Super week everyone … pun intended 😛
I swear, this is a viable condition often experienced by Writer’s in winter. It’s called Frozen Writer’s block. There’s no cure except for gluttonous extreme vegetation in front of the BBC channel for inspiration.
You know that saying, one girl’s loss is another one’s gain. You’re welcome, another week free of punishment from my brain. Don’t say I don’t give you anything.
Disclaimer: For faster results, attack the virus with a never ending supply of buttered popcorn and unhealthy salt and fake cheese infused Cheese and Bacon Balls.
Let me know if you want my address or I could just lie here with my mouth open and you can pelt junk food into it. See, there’s a positive to everything – even Frozen Writer’s Block.
I tried this the entire day today; I lay on my back looking up at the heavens and saw, in my mind’s eye, that it was Saturday instead of Monday. I was being the change that I wanted to see.
My boss came to me and needless to say, he was not impressed. Turned out he couldn’t see the change I was being.
I think we need a mandate to make quotes come with guidelines and disclaimers attached.
Let’s just have a referendum, it’s not like Australia needs much convincing for one of those, right Turnball?
Just another saying I do not get.
Isn’t this stating the obvious?
Pray tell what angle I should be looking at you from to ascertain the resemblance between your noggin and a bar of soap?
What was the person who came up with this metaphor on?
Clearly he/she was high … from all the soap fumes they had been exposed to in their obsessive compulsive bathing phase.
So, though you can find the very unimaginative (in fact this one was so bland even the author hash-tagged it #boring. Kudos to self-critiquing acceptance, I’ll join you one day. In the next life … perhaps) origins of this ridiculous saying here, I thought I’d give you the true, real version. The one everyone is too scared to tell you about because it’s made up of the stuff that inspires Horror Stories.
This saying was developed by Beetroot Beatrice; she was a friend of an ancestor. No scratch that. She was the ancestor of a friend of a friend. No one in my family came up with this one.
Beetroot Beatrice hailed from the great Aussie outback, somewhere near Uluru because I like rocks. But this is Beetroot’s story. Beatrice was nicknamed Beetroot Beatrice because she was purple. Hellllooooo!
And the kids weren’t quite as cruel yet to call her anything else. The anti-bullying programs were better those days. Plus Tellytubbies hadn’t been developed yet either.
Anyway I digress.
Beetroot Beatrice was very self-conscious about her purplish tinge and decided, against her … and her friends … and her parents’ better judgment to wash the purple “off” of her.
When a day and a half of incessant scrubbing didn’t work (in fact, it kind of had the opposite effect and made her more purple), she decided that the colour infliction must evolve from the inside of her so she decided to clean her intestines with soap and proceeded to eat it bit by bit. As a sidebar, if I had been born, I could have told Beatrice that this didn’t work and instead resulted in preposterous and mind numbing continuous hiccupping but I wasn’t. So tough luck but whatever.
Legend has it that Beatrice’s parents came back from a Fly Fishing expedition only to find a semi-conscious Beatrice maddeningly repeating the phrase, “can’t tell you from a bar of soap” continuously. Apparently, Beetroot Beatrice was confined to her bed in the Mental asylum for the next forty five years torturously repeating the words, “can’t tell you from a bar of soap”, “can’t tell you from a bar of soap”, “can’t tell you from a bar of soap”.
You get the picture.
Anyway, to cut a long story short, Beatrice died on the “can’t tell you …” section and never got to finish the sentence according to her psychiatrist Mr. Bath (I know – an unfortunate coincidence).
Poor Beetroot Beatrice. Apparently she still haunts the sand dunes of which ever place is closest to you so next time you take a bath, make sure you check your soap hasn’t had a bite taken out of it.
I know. Scary stuff.
You’ll never take a bath the same way again, will you?
Those are the power of words. And soap.
But pretty much, mostly words.
Well maybe not, but I wish I could be.
I had the utterly disgusting sense to sit through half an hour of The Bold & The Beautiful the other day and well, let’s just say that that’s 30 minutes of my life I’m never getting back again -_-
Seriously, I’m not even sure what the writers of these shows do anymore, as far as I can tell, they wrote a “plot” (or a vague resemblance of one – the way a Monkey and Tiger might resemble each other) at the turn of the nineteenth century and decided to regurgitate the same stuff and stick a different character’s name at the beginning of the lines (unless you’re that Brooke character, I don’t even know how her limbs are still attached and that she isn’t brain dead yet but whatever. Another blog post. She gets to do everything at the same time).
I thought I’d feel better at the end of the half hour the way The Brady Bunch promised me I would but I just barely managed to find the remote in my staggering shock induced state to switch the TV off and curl into a miserable ball of nothing.
I mean if I thought my life was borderline boring before, boy did I have another thing coming. I wailed and yelled at my insignificance and how a ménage à trois was so yesterday and ate half a tub of ice cream.
Now, not only do I not have Brooke’s amazing love life, I look like three of her rolled into one messy, blah ball of yesteryear attractiveness.
Ugh, I hate soap stars.