Tag: humerous

Our laywer made us change the name of this song…

Fake tits, big lips, blonde hair and they don’t care, skin shown everywhere! We are coming to live from the Gold Coast. Home of the cashed up, smashed up bogan, the worst sports teams in every code, some of the best beaches in the land and Australia’s home to theme parks. A Mind of Its Own sent a couple of our own reporters into the heart land of the surf coast to get the low down on the land and why it’s so popular with schoolies, New Zealanders and Holden V8 drivers.

Like an insurance company investigator we blended in as well as neck brace being put on in a Centrelink car park. Decked out in boardshorts, a singlet and a pair of thongs, the footwear for all you New Zealanders who fled your own country to come and live across the ditch not the underwear. First thing we noticed was that when you are a pasty white guy who doesn’t spend a lot of time in the gym… you should cover up on the beaches of the Gold Coast. Even the kids were tanned to a nice shade of brown. If i was ever to work for the cancer council the gold coast would be a great place to show kids what happens when you don’t slip, slop, slap.

Brown skin covered the beaches as the UV factor pushed into the red. Banana Boat executives were no doubt sitting in their expensive penthouse apartments looking down at the beaches watching all those dollar signs lather up before tanning away to a crisp. Occasionally you see other whities who need a seriously good dose of vitamin D and to lay off the $5 spirits booze at their backpacker hostel. Yes we made the assumption they were backpackers might of had something to do with their inability to walk straight and take their eyes off the topless airbags trying to rid themselves of last weekend’s tanlines.

As we watched people of all walks of life we began to notice several recurring themes popping up over all over the place. Firstly we noticed more billboards for plastic surgeons than we’ve ever seen in any city in Australia. The odd thing was we didn’t see any women doctors adorning these billboards. Now we are sure they are out there but it is a little creepy that all the plastic surgeons on the Gold Coast seem to be men and the number one surgery is breast augmentation… Not that the clubs are complaining as they pay gorgeous enhanced women to stand outside an lure young men into their venues.

The next thing we noticed was the amount of sheep. Sorry sheep shaggers, they are everywhere. It’s almost as though they look at a map of Australia and go what’s the closest flight for us. Awww true bro it is Gold Coast, they have good beaches hey and lots of women who love tribal tattoos hey bro. Choice hey bro. Nothing against our neighbours from across the pitch just stop claiming you invented everything and moving here. What’s wrong with NZ? It looks great if you are a hobbit loving, sheep shagging, rugby loving, jandal wearing, fash and chaps eating, chilling bin filling clown.

So Kiwis and plastic surgeons aside the next thing that struck us was the amount of hotted up cars being driven around. We tailed a couple at a safe distance expecting to see a well suited Roger Moore type of character to exit the vehicles only to be disappointed by blokes stepping out of them wearing board shorts or tradie yellow. Enter the cashed up bogans. We took along our ‘terp’ or interpreter for those not down with the slang in order to understand a conversation with one of these Ferrari driving tradesmen. We were keen to understand exactly what it was they did for a living that allowed them to drive such a fine machine while having a mullet or rats trail.

As far as conversations goes even our terp couldn’t get past the first couple of sentences of our new mates high pitched slow drawl. We quickly gave up on that idea and decided to watch our new tradie friend buy a six pack of rum crack one before jumping back into his expensive ride and speed off down the street. It wasn’t long before we sat there conducting a high school type math experiment and were counting cars. From our observations and findings it was clear that Holden was winning the car of choice for Gold Coast residents. We aren’t talking your average Commodore we are talking your top of the line V8 SS Commodore.

With it’s meter maids, yearly invasion of school kids making terrible decisions and constant flow of holiday makers hitting it’s golden sands it wasn’t long before the casinos and nightclubs found a place on the surf coast. Formally jupiters now crown and redeveloped it’s a monsterous place of sin that welcomes you and your money only to leave you feeling used and abused as you leave it’s doors 5 minutes later scratching your head wondering what in the hell had happened to all your hard earned cash.

From the bright lights of Surfers Paradise we make our way out to towards the gold coast hinterland? Looking around our rented Holden SS Commodore the faces said it all… The hinterland? Well we were in Helensvale and hanging out the front of Movie World all our favorite DC characters and Looney toons wait for us to enter and get that photo that adornes every family photo album who have visited Australia’s theme parks. You ride a few rides praying that Batman leaves you alone before heading to Dream World where your praying takes on a completely different approach approach. Every god that or higher power suddenly becomes your best mate as you pray the rides don’t break down and kill you.

With most of the themes parks done we look at Top Golf and wonder why they continue to tease us by not opening the doors and allowing us to smash balls at targets. With Wet n Wild and SeaWorld left to explore we decided if we were going to see large mammals in the water we’d head to SeaWorld. Upon entering we cringed at the aquatic beasts in captivity although we thought we might drop Socks off for some training seeing they can get all types of aquatic life to learn tricks they might be able to teach him to gather lunch once in awhile at the office.

Looking for some solace we took to the water only to discover that Maroubra isn’t the only place where the locals think they own the beach and the water. Not wanting to get our heads punched in by several blokes who look like the kids from Hanson and should be singing Mmmbop and not threatening to beat the living shit out of you. So like the latest kookslam video we crashed our way onto shores of Burleigh in a explosion of sand and surf. Greater by a lovely gent in bright red budgie smugglers making sure we were ok. Like a wounded dog we limped back to the car with our tail between our legs

To recap we’ve seen way too much plastic surgery, way too many Kiwis, bogans with nice cars and too much cash, meter maids, schoolies who should never again be allowed out of their own state. Surfers who should be singing pop songs instead of popping skulls and old ducks and dudes who looked more like crocodile skinned handbags. They say first impressions last well lucky enough we’ve spent a lot of time around the GC otherwise we’d have run for the hills and never looked back.

So for all those looking at the GC and thinking it would be a great place to live… Ah maybe just spend a week there and head to some of its less affluent suburbs before deciding to settle down by the beach. You need to be a lover of the Kiwi, a fan of silicone, a ford or holden fan and friends with Mick Fanning if you want to surf Snapper on a weekday. So not at all a bad place if you are laid back, chilled and like the beach and want to support two shit football teams.

For another week that’s A Mind of Its Own! We hope you’ve enjoyed our review of the Gold Coast. If you live there it’s all in jest, if you want to visit please do. After the disaster that was the Commonwealth Games they could do with the commerce.

Every Dog Has its Day…

Rrrrrr, ruooof, woof! Ah crap that’s right you clowns that are supposedly intelligent don’t speak dog. Like the title of this week’s blog, it’s my day so listen up human overlords! Welcome to another week of A Mind of its Own, I’ll be your host for this journey into, well into me! You may call me socks like the two humans i live with or you can call me Boy like every other human with a male dog does. My time around the team so far has been great although the boss is of the opinion that I’ll go and get his slippers and fetch him a beer at some point in time. Fat chance of that, skinny bastard wouldn’t get of his arse and fetch me a treat if I barked at him.

As the newest addition to the team here at A Mind of Its Own, the boss thought it only fitting that i introduce myself and tell you all a little about me for future reference. It was part of my employment contract I get one blog and mention from time to time. They also needed someone to spell check and ensure the boss is using correct grammar throughout his work. I mean seriously if I can do it and English is my second language that clown should be able to.

Where to start, Let’s see… I am or was I should say an orphan, I don’t know who my folks were, all I know is that I am part border collie part something else. Some would call me a mongrel but they’d want to be careful with what they say. I am at that age where I might just wee on you or start chewing at your ankles if I don’t like you. I’m black and white in colour with massive paws. You know what they say about big paws right?

So I came into this world around 12 weeks ago and it already confuses the hell out of me. Like the fact that one of your human years is 15 of mine. I mean what the hell I’ll be a teenager in 8 months time. That doesn’t give me a lot of opportunity to pretend I don’t know what’s going on and wreak some havoc around the house. I was adopted by a couple of humans who live on the coast, they seem quite adamant that I will enjoy the ocean! If it gets me out of having a bath I’m all for the salty swims and chasing seagulls up and down the sand.

There also seems to be a lot more rules for me than there are for the humans. I don’t mind it, but I do find it a little hypocritical that I can’t lick my patch where my balls used to be yet my boss and the human I live with can scratch there’s whenever they like. There’s also the dinner table rule despite my numerous attempts to join the humans for dinner they are adamant that I eat out of a bowl on the floor. I don’t think they understand just how intelligent I am. I mean I speak 2 languages and they struggle to speak one properly with there shortening or words and abbreviations. Just lazy if you ask this pooch.

I can hear the humans in the next room discussing ‘Conehead’ that’s me for the week I’ve just had some surgery and feeling a little out of sorts. I plan on napping, eating and doing little else this week. I may watch a little Doctor Phil, that guy seems to be able to sort out everyone’s problems. Whatever happened to Jerry Springer? The guy in the white coat stuck a bucket on my head so I can’t lick myself but what the hell, it doesn’t really stop me, I just can’t lick my bits. I think the boss has a different idea of what I will be doing this week, looks like I’ll be getting used to rides in what they call a car. Lazy humans, can’t walk anywhere, they have to go in this steel beast to conserve their legs.

The folks I live with are pretty good, I’ve seen worse living conditions in CIA black sites despite the fact they make me sleep in the laundry. They’ve given me a bed and blanket, Lots of toys to play with. I get fed twice a day and they take me out of my cell once a night to ensure I don’t spray the walls and mark my territory. Do they think I enjoy shitting myself like a newborn or geriatric? I do not so my toilet breaks are quite welcome and they don’t seem to mind that I roll around on the grass a little before heading back to my cell for the night. They have however fitted me out with a collar instead of an orange jumpsuit like the humans in prison wear. I must say it’s much more flattering but then they attach a lead to it and parade me around like I’m part of Australia’s next top model.

The lady of the house is great she just wants to cuddle me all the time, which I don’t mind but she talks to me like I’m a baby which I am finding infuriating but I just look at her and smile. To which she squeezes me tighter and I roll over for a belly rub. Ah it’s like milking a cow with these humans. Yeah I use my cuteness to my advantage like a woman does her good looks to manipulate a situation wouldn’t everyone if they could. Most dogs can, except those little pugs, I don’t mean to speak ill of my fellow canine but really when your face looks like a screwed up butt hole you’ve got issues. There must be a lot of humans that like butt holes though as they seem to popular with the youth of today.

The man of the house, for the time being till I get a little bigger, thinks he’s hilarious, he’s already trying to rock the dad body without kids and has a plethora of dad jokes ready to go at the drop of a hat. Some of them are ok but most are cringe worthy and will be wasted on his little humans when they come along. He’s a bit of a geek but alright plays some game that involves my two favourite things to chase stick and ball so I’ll no doubt be digging my teeth into both of these at some point in the future.

All in all my time so far both as part of the team at A Mind of Its Own and living with my new family has been pretty good. They treat me well and I take advantage of the fact I am cute whenever I can to get what I want. I’m settling in well to my new surroundings and I don’t think I’ll need to complain to the U.N about my treatment, it terms of jails it’s quite humane. They don’t torture me and they give me 2 square meals a day. I get plenty of exercise and whilst I don’t have any balls if I had a purse I’d have my new owners in there. I’ve got him by the short and curly’s, he will literally do anything I want with one look. If he won;’t crumble it’s only a matter of time before the house of cards that is the lady of the house gives in and once again I’m top dog getting what I want.

Life is pretty easy when you are me! I make a few mistakes here and there but other that I tend to just sleep, eat, wee and poo a lot. If i am not doing that I’m chasing ankles and ensuring the humans are on their toes, literally… I’ve tried to trip the boss a few times to see if he’s paying attention. If he won’t pay attention to his poor spelling and grammar he can bloody well pay attention to his surroundings.

So that’s me Sock’s part Human, part dog but mostly happy to be part of a cool family, ah I hope they don’t read this they’ll get big heads again! So until next time the boss turns over the lead to me for another expose into the life of a dog, thanks for listening and remember, your four-legged friends also have A Mind of their Own… Now time to go and bark at some birds while I wait for my dinner to be served. I wonder what it’ll be tonight? Mince with veggies or mince with veggies. I see what she cooks him and get a little jealous his food looks amazing compared to the same thing I’m fed every night.

Travelling Man in the back of a van…

Ok so there is no van, no car, no trains only planes in this edition of A mind of its own… In this week’s installment we discuss life on the road as I travel for work. You’ll get to see the confusion, boredom and often harrowing events many people experience who have to travel for work on a daily, weekly or monthly basis. The costs involved and the time it often takes to get from one place to another despite using air travel to get there.

So where to and why you ask? Good bloody question not sure how I drew the short straw in the work pool of resources who could travel. Well I actually have a fairly good idea when the bosses in the ivory tower ask questions like, Do you have kids? A dog or cat? Anything that would preclude you from travelling once a month? And my answer is no,while my mind is thinking yeah my lack of will and pay. It’s almost as though they just handover the short straw with cheshire cat grins strewn across their faces. As to where that would be our Nation’s capital and the city of churches for starters.

Two visually stunning landscapes steeped in European design and architecture but lacking in terms of things to do once the working day has finished and are about as interesting as a documentary on watching paint dry. So we’ll start with Canberra, before any of you get upset, I spent a lot of time growing up there so I am entitled to my opinion when i say it was a lot more fun when you could buy fireworks without a license, porn was on sale on every corner and the politicians were all over each other like a rampant Red faced Barnaby Joyce.

To start with unless you are flying from Sydney or Melbourne there are no and I mean no direct flights unless you have your own private jet, which unfortunately this aspiring writer has not managed to finish his book let alone sell a copy of it although, I have at least a couple of sales confirmed thanks to the family and close friends I’ve instructed to buy it whether its any good or not. They can always use is as a doorstop or the old regift come Christmas time. Now back to A mind of its own and our work travel segment.

For a Northern Rivers resident the fact that travel means I am on the same time zone each day that I am away is a complete thrill, heading into a different time zone just to head back to the time zone you came from is quite a funny experience. When you leave for the gym at 6am and arrive there at 5:30am it has people going hah?? And then there are the times your wife asks you what time you need to be at the airport for your trip and then finishes her sentence with “Our time or Qld time” it can often feel like you are in a time warp.

The good thing about flying out of Coolangatta or the Gold Coast Airport as it is better known during daylight savings is the hour up my sleeve. 6:00am flight, sure no problems I’ll actually be at the airport at 6am despite the fact that I’ve already been awake for 2 odd hours and it’s 7am literally a 5 minute drive down the road while my plane is taxiing down the runaway. It gets confusing, trust me on that one.

I am one of those people who likes to be early, I hate being late and I hate having to rush, a complete control freak when it’s my time. It often frustrates my wife as I rush her out of the house so we aren’t late to events or work. I think it started as a kid as my mother is always late and it frustrates the hell out of me. So arriving at the airport with plenty of time allows me to get a coffee and browse all the shops but let’s be honest Gold Coast airport does not have a great variety of stores to peruse while waiting for your early morning flight. What it does have though is a heap of tables and chairs which makes it ideal for someone like me who can use the time to work on their book or write the next installment of their blog.

Getting on the plane is always like playing a game of Russian roulette, will I or won’t I get a spare seat next to me, will they move me to an exit row? Will the person beside me leave me in peace to stream inflight entertainment or will that chat away incessantly for the duration of the flight not realising that I am not paying attention and in some cases have drifted off from boredom over hearing how they’ve adopted there tenth cat named Whiskers.

Or will i end up between two people who’s lack of thought for hygiene creates a fear of hippies and a want to provide the world with organic deodorant at prices so low you could barter for it with a leaf. I wouldn’t be the first traveller to have this fear and if I could afford it i’d be sitting myself up front clinking complimentary champagne with all the pollies instead of being stuck in cattle class with Arthur and Martha who run the local commune out the back of Byron Bay and haven’t showered since the revolution in the 70’s.

Sometimes I get my wish and I’m left to watch reruns of some tv show whilst snacking on my complimentary biscuit and water as we make our way towards Sydney or left to read the latest installment by Cussler, Clancy, Flynn, McNab or Ryan from my large selection of paperbacks waiting for a bookshelf at home that I have been to lazy to go out and buy.

The ride itself is mostly smooth as the gravity defying tin cans rattle through the sky at close to 1000 km per hour but when the weather hits it’s like being on a roller coaster at Movie World as the taste of your last meal hits the back of your throat and you frantically reach for the barf bag only to realise they haven’t replaced them. Then that awkward moment hits, your brain catches up to your body and you realise you have two options…

Either you become that awkward passenger that vomits everywhere or you swallow. For me dignity will always win over pride. Time to suck it up princess and swallow your own spew. I would love to say that i have never had to do this but sadly I have and as I sat there waiting for my flight back to Brisbane to leave the runaway swallowing my stomachs own fireball concoction somewhere in the skies over NSW someone I know was suffering the same fate.

I’ve often questioned if heaven is real and the more time I spend at airport I start to feel it might be. Not being remotely religious I imagine that waiting to get into the pearly gates is a lot like waiting an hour or two and in some cases a whole day for your connecting flight. The patient people are allowed access and the frustrated and infuriated people who are anxious to get home or to wherever they are going are denied access and sent below to the fiery depths of hell or in this case to fly with Tiger Air and take there luck on whether the flight will actually leave or not and if it does will it be on time.

Second flight in and I suffer the same issues, people on planes annoy me… Just take your seat, sit down and be quiet for the duration of the flight. Take a nap, relax but do whatever it is that you need to do not to annoy me as I try to enjoy my trip. Oh and if I could have the window seat that would be greatly appreciated I’m sick of the cabin crew hitting me with the drinks cart as they hurtle down the aisles passing out light snacks with the captain speaking in the background about how long our journey will be and what time he or she will have us disembarking at the gate.

Another thump into the tarmac and we are on the ground. A short taxi later and we’ve arrived at our destination. The wing bridge is moved into place for passengers to disembark through to the terminal. For those that have baggage they head to the carousel and wait, wait, wait and some more waiting for the flashing light to come on and the thing start to spinning around like an appealing ride with bags as obstacles to hurdle. I tend to just stand around watching people, some refreshed as they start their adventure others exhausted from the 40 minute flight.

To the cab line I march with self importance, all suited and booted looking sharp as a tack I must say. Wheelie bag in tow looking like a real professional who knows what he’s doing. Fake it till you make it they say well I guess you could say that’s me in a suit. Having to wear them is not exciting it does not make me feel important or special but I do it as first impressions last. Suits are not the ideal travelling attire just FYI, give me a pair of trackies and a t-shirt anyday.

It’s the cab trips I really love, I’ve always been interested in a Cabbies story particularly our friends from overseas and what brought them to Australia. Dishing out nicknames like Trent and Wok a cab ride can be as fun as you want to make it. A lot of them are quite happy to have a chat and surprisingly my attitude towards conversation is completely different to the one i take when I step onto an airplane. My favourite question of “do you use Uber?” in recent years often sparks an interesting conversation and to my surprise after a little encouragement 90% admit they use Uber rather than grabbing a cab. Why because they don’t have to wait for a random cab driver to drive past or call the cab company and order one only to be told there is a wait and have to call back in 20 minutes and ask where there cab is.

Once at work the fun of meetings begins, I’d love to say it’s all boozy lunches and dinners with clients but sadly it not, usually it’s sitting around in a conference room giving or going through a presentation or sitting in a secure room pouring over documents that you can’t make copies of but can write out by hand if you so choose to. These are usually followed by more meetings and just to add on we have a few more meetings about the meetings.

By the time the day is done we have a little time for going through the million emails that have piled up through the day and returning a few phone calls of the people who have called more than once. A quick flick through instagram to see if anyone has posted anything more interesting than photos of lunch and breakfast and it’s usually out to dinner where if work is paying you know I’m hitting the bar for a few beers.

The hotel, motel, holiday Inn, well thankfully i don’t have to stay at a motel or the holiday Inn. The accommodation or diggs are usually quite good, minimum queen size bed, little desk, fridge and bathroom what more could you want? Foxtel is usually hooked up and if you press your luck you might get work to splash out for a movie or two on your expenses. Very unlikely and rare that happens.

I’d like to say i venture out and see a little more of the Nation’s Capital as it continues to expand out and try and steal more of NSW’s land while I’m visiting but the truth is i tend to stay in my little bubble close to the office where i know an escape to the airport is only a cab ride 10 minutes and a stress relieving walk to beer is just across the road in the hotel bar.

So with the Nation’s Capital all stitched up as a place famous for scandal, penis statues, expensive ugly pieces of art besides its roads, porn, fireworks, politicians and public servants who have more flex time built up than a brick wall it’s on to the city of churches. Another thrilling plane ride dodging conversations and poor hygiene with the men and women who oversee the flights in there bright colours layered on lipstick and often over the top put on smiles. Really who wants to deal with the drunk guy in 3B who asks for a tinny of your best beer and winks like a creep everytime. I can guarantee there is one on every flight.

Founded in… well who really cares when it was founded. As always some stuff happened, the white man went there and treated the indigenous people poorly and a city was formed. Upon landing in Adelaide it feels like it was founded only yesterday. It’s a little backwards and like stepping back in time. I almost feel like i should be climbing out of an old twin prop and hailing down a horse and cart for the long journey into town. Where I’ll walk into my hotel and some child will call me governor and offer to shine my shoes for a penny.

Ok, ok it’s not that bad they have colour TV and all the mod cons and some new looking buildings in amongst all the churches and early european settler design and architecture. There cricket facilities are amazing and there love of Aussie rules is second to that of only Victoria. The mighty Crows and Power can be seen idolised throughout the city. They have an amazing array of homeless people who get up and down the main shopping precinct begging, busking and often running from the law as they nick something from a rack hanging close to the front of a store.

Like Canberra there is a little bar scene popping up with Whiskey bars and microbreweries. The problem is trying to find them, it would seem they are that trendy they don’t have signage or a door on the street. Head down the back alley worrying about whether you’ll be mugged and you just might find on of them. I just can’t help thinking that everything would look so much better with a lick of paint. It reminds me of a big country town whenever i am there.

No matter where i venture the people are friendly and there is always something interesting going on. If there isn’t I am sure I’ll attempt to make it interesting by imparting myself and my knowledge on the people around me whether it’s wanted or not. That’s one of the great things about being in Australia and being able to travel this great land, we meet so many people from all walks of life, who all have their own stories or stories from others they’ve met along their journey through this life.

It’s not the travel that kills me, I actually like flying and have always been amazed by the science and engineering that goes in to lifting those giant birds into the sky and keeping them there. It’s the things to do once my working day has ceased. Part of it is that travelling also throws my routine right out the window. Despite my best intentions of packing running gear, I can never seem to pull myself out of bed when I am away to do anything. It could also have something to do with trying to gain entry into the beer olympics with my coworkers and suffering the effects the next day but that’s a blog in itself.

At the end of the day my favourite part of any trip is the moment those wheels touch down and home is within a short ride home. I love the flexibility of being able to travel but i also love where i live and the person i share that house with. Work travel is good it breaks up the monotony of the Monday to Friday grind.

I can image with children travelling for work would be difficult not only would you be leaving your partner alone to look after the kids but you could also be missing out on key moments of their lives. So for me I’ll get the travel done before they arrive and no we aren’t pregnant I’m just pointing out that it would be and is easier to travel when you don’t have children, young children.

Whilst some weeks its a pain in the backside most of the time it’s easy and provides me with material for my book or this blog in which you can choose to laugh at or ignore my banter in which i poke fun at place and people I’ve met along the way. Until the next blog which i have no idea what it will be about but I’m sure it will have A Mind of it’s Own…