Friday, June 19, 2015

You may call me Senorita Ranty Pants

It's been quite a week here. A friend sent me a hilarious text, to which I replied 'Thanks for this. It's been a really shitty half hour and that made me laugh so much!' My phone actually said 'Thanks for this. It's been a really shirtful half hour and that made me laugh so much.' So I replied 'Ducking autocorrect.' That kind of explains everything I think.

Today's ranty pants are brought to you by some first world whinging, and a handful of WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, PEOPLE?

It is sinfully cold here at present, and after battling through a load of somewhat damp firewood we ordered another load. It did not turn up when it was promised.
'Ah, sorry Amy. We got caught up. We can bring it tomorrow afternoon. Have you got any wood left at all?'
'Um, we'll be ok. Tomorrow arvo will be fine.'
Tomorrow afternoon rolls around and there is still no firewood. We are down to the wood splitting block and a blow heater.
'Uh, Wood Lady? Just wondering what time you'll be here.'
'Hour and a half at the latest. See you then!'

Five minutes later.
'Hey Amy, it's a bit dangerous and wet in the paddock here. My partner doesn't want me to be driving the tractor in this weather. Besides, the wood is all wet.'
I leave an awkward silence here for her to explain what her next plan could be.
'Uh, Wood Lady? Did you want to leave it then?'
'I think that'd be best Amy. It's just a bit dangerous.'


I begin trawling Gumtree and Facebook to find some dry firewood. Eventually I give up, head next door to my lovely young neighbours who give me an armful of firewood over the fence. I comment on the loveliness (hey, it's winter. Good firewood is sexy.) of the wood. (That's what she said...) Jack mentions that it's from his Dad's property.
'OH MY JACK. Does your Dad want to sell it?'
It's agreed upon. A load will be delivered tomorrow at lunchtime.
Delivered it is. When I return from town I find it stacked neatly in my yard and covered in a tarp.

It's lovely dry firewood. Bam.

This summer will be the Summer of Firewood. I'm sorry friends, I won't be able to do anything remotely fun this summer, I'll be cutting and stacking as much firewood as I can stand, because this is truly the most shirtful part of winter. Don't even get me started on the cost.

I was feeling much better about the wood situation now I was warm again, when I saw this on Facebook this morning.

Right here, this is why I hate Australian culture sometimes. We're so intent on dragging each other down that 'keeping up with the Joneses' headlines like this are normal.
I see a young man proposing to his girlfriend in a fairly public fashion. That's awesome, FOR THEM. Love should be celebrated. But tell me, why does it make everyone else look bad? Because our loves didn't propose to us in a cinema for all to see? Because it makes you feel like you should have paraded your moment in a social media-esque fashion? Because they did it differently? 
How about we just be happy for them? 
I know it's a clickbait article. I hate that articles and headlines like this even exist, and I know they exist because people continue click on them. I struggle to understand the dog-eat-dog mentality behind articles like this, where you can almost see the sarcasm dripping from the headline. 'Thanks mate. You showed us all up.' Yes, it's meant for a cheap, quick laugh, but I truly believe it's symptomatic of something much deeper. 

Why do we let other people's choices make us feel so inferior?

On that note, I'm off to enjoy my kid-free Friday. If you need me, I'll be sewing the remainder of 137 roman blind rings whilst binge watching Downton Abbey.


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