The Pros And Cons Of Being Ancient (part 2)

In my last post, I touched briefly on the cons of being ancient. I'm writing this between urgent dashes to the toilet, due eating some chicken for dinner, last night, that was probably older than me. If I appear to be rambling, you now know the reason why. I guess that's just too much information. Damn it! If I have to suffer, so do you! Pain shared is pain halved, or some such rubbish.

The Pros (of being ancient)

Surprisingly, there are some good points about being old. A fading memory isn't one of them. If I concentrate a bit, I might be able to remember a few.

As I may have previously mentioned. I work part time in retail. This means that I deal with a large number of people, each week. Most of them are nice but there are always some idiots and arseholes. This is where it gets good. I can get away with saying the most ridiculous things to the cretins who just put it down to my senility. If I said those things as a young man, I'd probably get fired. I do enjoy that part of my job immensely.

I don't have to get out of people's way in the shopping centres. I just wear my grumpy old fart face and keep walking in a straight line. People actively avoid me. Walking through a crowd is like Moses parting the Red Sea. I'm thinking of not showering or shaving for a few days. I think I could clear the shopping centre.

I don't have to help with the housework. I just tell my wife that I'm having a "bad back day". If I play the bad back thing really well, I can often get a back massage, my favourite food cooked for me and even a glass of whiskey delivered to my hand, as I agonise in front of the TV. I'm really careful not to overdo that one as I could be dumped in a nursing home.

I don't have to buy new clothes. I'm expected to look untidy as disheveled. I don't mind looking like that, as long as my clothes are clean. I'm particularly fond of  twenty year old T shirts that have air conditioning holes under the arm pits, if you know what I mean.

As an ancient old fart, I can often play the fading memory card. You have no idea how convenient that can be in the workplace, in the home or even if I'm wandering around the back yard, naked. Don't try to picture that last one, it might put you off your meds.

There are many other good points about getting old. I'm just having trouble remembering them, but you get the idea

The Pros And Cons Of Being Ancient

Being a wise old fart, I see the glass as being both half full and half empty. Half empty tends to annoy me, along with screaming, unruly children, harping women, smelly old people, rude people in general, political correctness, governments, "know it all" young shits, cheap red wine and any whiskey other than single malt, just to name a few. So, while on the negatives, let's start with the cons of being old. At least that way, I'll end up on a positive note, assuming I don't kark it mid sentence.

The Cons:
They all start upon waking up in the morning. Invariably, I will have slept in an awkward, unnatural position, reminiscent of Quasimodo, which results in several degrees of agony, as I attempt to roll out of bed without falling on my face. As I hobble to the toilet on arthritic feet that I haven't seen for several decades, I ponder if I'll be able to accurately pee into the toilet, and not miss. This often poses a problem, as I haven't seen that part of my anatomy for several decades, either. Although my wife tells me it still exists.
Other difficulties include maintaining my balance while getting dressed, not spilling breakfast on my clean shirt, trying to remember whether I've already taken my tablets and failing to check my zipper before leaving the house.

Driving to work is always interesting. Younger drivers seem to think that older drivers should automatically get out of their way, regardless of the road rules. I'm really not a doddering old fool on the road. I like to think that I'm just being careful. When other drivers sound their horns at me and scream abuse. I smile and wave at them, Although, sometimes they don't seem to realise that the reason my middle finger sticks up is due to arthritis.

I work, part time, in a retail environment. That, in itself, is not a big deal, unless I stumble and accidentally push a snotty little kid out of a trolley. I swear that whenever that happens, it IS purely accidental. The major problem is, because I'm old, the customers think I'm supposed to know where everything is located, its price and whether it is a good product or not. Don't these stupid people realise that I have trouble remembering where the hell I am, let alone the answers to their useless, inane bloody questions?

When I get home in the evening, the problems continue. My wife asks how my day was. How the hell am I supposed to remember? She then asks me what I'd like for dinner. Surely, by now, she'd realise it all tastes like soggy cardboard, so why ask the question? Finally, going to bed is pretty much the same as getting up, just in reverse, but it lacks the excitement of waking up, knowing I made through the night.

Oh, I realise that that you think that I forgot the pros of being old. I didn't forget. I just can't be bothered typing any more. Maybe next post.

On Death And Ageing.. A Serious Post

In a few months, I'll turn 70. I never thought, or even hoped I'd make it this far, given the events in my life. Recently, I've been reflecting on this. I've noticed that most of my heroes have passed on. Great sportsmen and women, a few politicians, wonderful actors and, most of all dear and valued friends.

At work, I often bore my colleagues with, what I believe to be, funny and wonderful stories about times spent with my, very eclectic, group of friends and acquaintances. I enjoy telling these stories but, upon reflection, I realise these wonderful people are no longer here. I am richer for their being but much poorer for their loss.

Sometimes, it seems like I'm the last man standing. This is a seriously lousy feeling and, at times, I feel like I don't want to carry on.

Fortunately I still have a wonderful shining light in my life. Her name is Kim. She is my wife. Her beauty, honesty and love keep me going, give me the will to create new things and appreciate the good things surrounding me.

So, to my departed heroes, friends and acquaintances I say "Vale" and look forward to new adventures and new friends,

The almighty "Mystery Bag"

In Australia, many retailers choose to support worthwhile charities by providing facilities for those charities, clubs and associations in the form of a "Sausage Sizzle" in an effort to raise funds. This facility is not charged for.  Ten points awarded and hats off to those retailers for a great community service. Also, ten points to those who who use that facility to raise funds.

The product served is a "sausage", served on a slice of cheap, white bread, topped with some kind of sauce and/or onions.

This gourmet delight is known by a number of names, such as "sausage on bread" (how original), " sausage sandwich", "sausage sanga" and others. I prefer the name "Mystery Bag".
"Why Mystery Bag?" you may well ask.

Have you ever been to a supermarket and checked the ingredients on a a pack of sausages? There are generally some poor off cuts of meat and offal, cereal and a shitload of chemicals to stop it rotting. Charities will generally buy the cheapest sausages possible, in order to raise maximum funds, hence a plethora of chemicals.

That's why I call it a "Mystery Bag". You have no idea what the hell you are eating!

Having said all that, I wish you bon appetit with your next Mystery Bag.

Aussie Women March Against Trump

Harpies Bazaar in Melbourne

WTF!

Australian women around the country rallied and marched against President Trump's Inauguration. Why?
He's not our president. We didn't elect him. And, for all we know, he is no better or worse than any previous President, re his alleged locker room statements on women. We do know, however, that he has been vilified by the American press and, so called, celebrities.

As for the "locker room" comments, how many of the protesting women have never said rotten things about their husbands, boyfriends, bosses or other men to their circle of friends or acquaintances? Whether they meant it or not, they've ALL said something evil at sometime or another. If that is the case, surely the protesters are, at best, hypocrites or, at worst, evil, mean spirited busy bodies interfering in something that is none of their business.

A personal note to all those protesters. It seems to me that since you have no bras left to burn, you've turned into judgemental harpies. Let it go! Perhaps your outrage and indignation toward politicians should be turned towards our own inept mob.

The Good And Bad Of 2016

In fact, 2016 was a REALLY CRAPPY YEAR! I'll briefly recap on some of the crappy things that happened.
  Lots of famous people died. I actually felt quite sad about some of them passing. The most sobering (yep, strange is it may seem, I'm sober at the moment) thing about many of those who died is that they were around my age. I go to bed each night in trepidation.
  The fiasco in Syria continues, largely due to interference from Russia and the USA, who are using the tragedy as a show of power. We all know that's never going to stop anytime soon.
  Terrorism is spreading in Europe. They brought that on themselves with their open border policies. A quick note to Angela Merkel. Try and survive that one, baby!
  In Australia, Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull is becoming more unpopular weekly. He has no control over the senate and is hanging on by his fingernails in a vain bid to be Australia's first President. A quick note to Tony Abbott, who Turnbull cowardly knifed in the back to get his job. In 2017, you need to show Turnbull that paybacks are a bitch and bury the bastard politically.
  Another major tragedy was that the Brisbane Broncos didn't win the NRL premiership. If you don't know what I'm referring to, Google it.
 
Now for the good things that happened in 2016......
Bugger! I can't think of any.

Happy 2017.

A magic Xmas

It was just one of those years. My lovely child bride had to go back to Vietnam for family reasons, leaving me alone for Xmas and New Year.

This may sound sad to many of you and in some ways it was. For five weeks I had to cook for myself, clean the house and water her ladyship's flowers and garden. In addition, I had to wash my clothes. I got quite inventive with that. I found that if I turned my under ware inside out, I could get two days out of them before washing. I was even more inventive with socks. I discovered that on day two I could put them on opposite feet to the previous day. Then, on day three I could turn them inside out, and on day four I could reverse the feet thing again. How good is that! Four days out of a pair of socks! Think of the water and washing powder I saved. I might tell my wife to keep doing that, so we can save money and go to MacDonalds once a year on the savings. Bloody genius!

As for cooking, I have become a connoisseur of $5 supermarket pizzas, $8 roast chickens and potato chips. Once again, I'm proud of the savings in food costs.

Now, as for Xmas. I saved money again. No decorations, no presents, no loud, boring friends and family. Absolutely perfect!

As you may have noticed, I made a fairly strong point about the savings.This was all to the good. Those wonderful savings allowed me spend Xmas with a rather copious supply of very good single malt Scotch whiskey, excellent Australian shiraz and ice cold Heineken beer. I used those to wash down a sumptuous Xmas dinner of pizza, ham and chicken while watching the new James Bond movie, Spectre. From what little I can remember, it wan't a bad movie.

Sadly, I had to work the next day. As I was grumpily going about my work with the worlds worst headache and eyes that resembled a pair of vultures arseholes in a power dive, I received zero sympathy from my co-workers. I was quite irked by this, until I realised the they were suffering too. I then thought to myself, "Who cares?", because there was no way they felt worse than me.

All in all, it was a wonderful Xmas. Thank God my wife will be here to rescue me next year.