BeMused

Far too many people go through life with clouds of anger over their heads, waiting for the first chance to strike at others. Be it is road rage, angry help desk calls, endless unresolved complaints or being undermined at work, people are often on edge, ready to hurl abuse and violence towards others.

There can only be one reason. They are not getting enough sex.

This week I had the misfortune of enduring a nasty situation where an irate woman continuously spat venom at me and refused to allow me to speak. The result was a shouting match where I had no choice but to stoop to her childish tactics by yelling over her voice like the hormonal witch she was, which only served to irate her further.

It wasn’t a work situation. It wasn’t a pram pusher getting a vantage spot at a crowded café - though it happens - or a 4WD/SUV driver hogging the road. She claimed to be in charge and when she realised she had been incompetent in her actions, she resorted to yelling at me, the customer, who had invested a substantial sum in the company’s product.

I hated having to retaliate by copying her behaviour. I despised her existence for bringing out the worst in me. I was furious at the cloud of anger she had passed onto me when I carry clearer skies. Though I yelled over her voice and finished by belittling her position in the company, I did not resort to name calling. But my fist was in the air and my inner bitch was shouting, “Fuck you!”, all for a good reason.

There are merits in giving someone the finger, and yelling out the ubiquitous insult. Not only for the feel-good retaliative factor but you could be doing them a favour by passing on the right message. Have sex. And have more sex. And if you’re not sure what is enough, then have some more you f@$%^&* idiot sh%^&*of a b(&^%$#!!!

Nothing like a good prick to that bubble of anger over their heads to give them the release they so desperately need.

One
The Good: Excitedly putting Max to use and starting to back up all your bits and mega bites onto your sexy black 750GB external hard drive.
The Bad: Realising that you should have bought Max Plus because the damn thing won’t back up any system files or your Microsoft Outlook file. He might boast about his size but he’s all show.
The Geeky: Installing the back up software that came with your old and trusted 200GB and kicking Max’s arse with it.

Two
The Good: After 3.1 years and counting, the old PDA still doing its job, though it is now retired to more relaxed duties such as accessing wifi in bed.
The Bad: The battery discharging completely and on hard reboot, getting stuck in an endless screen alignment loop for days.
The Geeky: Finally stroking him in the right spot, yes, that was a little below and to the left, and making sure he stays turned powered on.

Three
The Good: Downloading the latest firmware for your modem. Backing up your current configuration in readiness, including taking screen shots of every page.
The Bad: Clicking ‘Restore from back up’ instead of ‘Firmware Upgrade’ and watching your modem die a thousand deaths.
The Geeky: Remembering there was a good reason for keeping the old working modem and not giving it away.

Four
The Good: Getting back online quickly with the old modem so you can figure out how to fix your fried modem.
The Bad: Not getting anywhere fast with finding fixes as you use both laptop and desktop concurrently.
The Geeky: Realising that the only reason you upgraded to a new modem was to get ADSL2 speed but the exercise confirmed there was no difference whatsoever, therefore saving you money on a potential replacement.

Five
The Good: Delivering the penultimate coup de grace to Lazarus, by attempting to reformat his hard drive and doing a clean xp install so you can install that one piece of must-have (potentially dodgy) software for a once-off use.
The Bad: The bloody thing crashing repeatedly as it boots, and when it does seem like it’s booting from the CD, it takes you straight into Windows instead of the installation screen.
The Geeky: Delivering the ultimate coup de grace. Um… Soon. After I perform open heart surgery for that one-more-time-in-case.

Six
The Good: Getting new inspirations just from using your sexy laptop.
The Bad: Discovering that its battery lifespan has more than halved, and with Lazarus out of the picture, you have nothing left as a back up PC - PDAs and Smartphones excluded.
The Geeky: Getting a damn good deal on a brand new hot portable model with a battery life of 11 hours.

Seven
The Good: Performing open heart surgery on Lazarus and cleaning out so much dust that when you switch him back on he didn’t whir and winge and allowed you to install (potentially dodgy) software while disconnecting from the internet and switching virus protection off.
The Bad: Software insisting you connect to the internet and possibly giving you a time bomb.
The Geeky: The sobering realisation that if Lazarus was just dust-infected, you would own a desktop and 2 laptops but can only use 2 hands at a time.

There are people on this planet who get an idea and work hard to realise it. Others sit on the fence and ponder. Some weigh up options then make informed decisions. Others talk themselves out of a venture due to the fear of losing a comfort zone.

Out of these shooting stars, some get to accomplish their dreams, others who don’t get to revel in success remain undefeated and possibly try again.

When an astute person takes an adventurous step into the unknown, inevitably they ruffle others’ feathers. People’s reactions to their venture are varied, yet they invariably express them in context of bias and diffidence.

There are the naysayers, the I-thought-of-it-before (yet didn’t do it), the la-la-la singers with palms firmly over perky ears, the wise monkey emulators with eyes shut but curiously peeking through gaps in their fingers; pity some do not know how to speak no evil. All act according to personal gain and hidden agendas, eventually passing a judgement that feeds their purpose.

What shines across the galaxy like the Evening Star after sunset are the heartfelt and the genuine, the stellar individuals who may or may not covet others yet wholeheartedly and without prejudice support them in their endeavours.

They are as easy to spot with the naked eye as a full moon in a starless sky.

Martini Moments… while Blog Navel Gazing

1. ^^^^ Oh Dear… A recent Google search on my domain name revealed this gem. Has Google released GMindReader and nobody told me? I’m afraid. Very afraid.

2. Being a control freak means that the transition to being Mistress of my Domain has been well worth the effort. Once you take the reins of your blog, you won’t want to relinquish them even when Google takes nearly 5 months to send traffic your way.

3. I have always maintained that for a blog to work successfully for me, it needs a resident Muse. The one that has settled down here has made himself way too comfortable and I need to kick his arse once in a while.

4. A change is like a well-needed holiday, so I’m contemplating a lighter look and feel for this place. BUT I like the red and black colour scheme that has become this site’s trademark. I wonder if a new banner pic could do the trick.

5. Whilst I’m blog navel gazing, and clearing out the lint, I’m also considering a blog name change. Could it be that I am no longer BeMused about the world?

The flyer was in my mail box, featuring a blurred photo of a young woman looking in the mirror. I looked at the back and recognised the name of the dermatologist I visited a year ago when I noticed the sudden appearance of a tiny spot on my face. One can never be too careful when it comes to skin cancers. It had to be a yearly reminder for a check up.

I put the flyer on my desk with the rest of the bills then picked it up again. Odd. It had nothing to do with an annual check up. It was an invitation for Botox injections. There I was thinking it was a genuine preventative care reminder and it’s telling me that my fine lines can be easily erased with toxic injections and as a bonus, I would receive the Doc’s own brand of face cream. My ire metre went off scale.

The specialist to whom I was referred came highly recommended. But when I entered the reception, something raised an eyebrow, but not a few fine lines. The entire practice was adorned with young, skinny blondes wearing clothes that are way too fashionable for a medical practice. Then the Doc came out and called for me. Another tall, skinny blonde, with long hair that had been styled into flirtatious curls that morning, wearing a tight pair of pants, and a three quarter sleeve shirt unbuttoned low enough to reveal her size D cup breasts on her willowy figure. “I’m Doctor Sasha Beautiful,” she said, with emphasis on doctor.

The consultation took less than 20 minutes, and that included the uncomfortable removal of the offending part. But not after I was given a stern talk down for having tanned skin (it was the end of summer) and words such as “your skin is so damaged, it’s too late”, then being subjected to the not-so-inane chatter between Dr Beautiful and Nurse Bimbette about the Doc’s (another) impending weekend away to her rural interstate property with prized horses. Nausea was setting in quite nicely, thank you, but not from the local anaesthetic.

A week later, after an agonising wait for pathology results because she thought it highly likely to be of nasty variety, I called for the results. “It was just a mole, but so unusual to see them in someone your age.” Someone my age? I had told her my grandmother had them way into her late eighties.

Recounting the story to male friends and colleagues made them sing the same chorus. “All right! When can I go there?” I rolled my eyes with no intention of returning. I mentioned it to my hairdresser in conversation. The girl next to me perked up and told me how her male doctor, a general practitioner, told her she needed Botox because she was getting on in years. She left the practice in tears. Her two months old baby had been keeping her up late, and she had just turned thirty years old.

Women of all ages have way too many insecurities that the media constantly feeds upon, creating problems in some areas where there should be none. The last hurdle we need is the greedy medical field, with its supposedly trusted medical practitioners preying on our vulnerabilities.

Whilst I am not immune to physical insecurities, fine lines are not my concern, thanks to good genetics and a healthy lifestyle. And when life begins to etch its marks on my visage, I know the perfect drug than can erase years off any person’s face: laugher.

See Something You’d Rather Not?

I do. As plain as the mole on the next face. Your shoddy medical ethics.