I'm just going to write. I'm not going to try to put humor in it, or make anything poetic, I just want to get this written down.
This is essentially just me bitching about work (none of them read this as far as I know, so it's okay), so if you wanted something interesting to read, go read someone elses blog.
So in case I haven't told you before, I've been appointed a Fixture Manager at Borders to help sell all the bookshelves and stuff before we close. Rachael, who's a couple of years older than me, has been made a fixture manager too. She's worked at Borders for years, she did all the logistics stuff out the back and she really knows her stuff.
Before I knew I was a fixture manager, someone else told me that I was going to be made one and they told me about the commission associated with it etc etc and later that same day I saw a piece of paper on a desk with fixture manager stuff on it and one of the names was Rachael and the other name was Pat, but Pats name was crossed out and my name was written underneath. At first I thought "Wow! They picked me over Pat? But he's so good!" and I felt pretty good about myself. Turns out, Pat was going on annual leave before the store closed, so were about 6 other people, the rest were all casual or under 18. So in other words, I was their only choice. Not a second or third option, their ONLY option. So after finding out about that, I felt pretty bad but just decided I'd try hard to prove them wrong, to prove I was worth picking.
Then I got the call today.
It was from Rachael. See, I work late night Thursday and Friday, then all weekend and Rachael works during the week so either one of us is working all the time. She was calling (and sounded pretty upset) because apparently I hadn't been doing the invoices properly. So she was ridiculously stressed out, asked me a million questions and I feet ridiculously bad for letting her down. She's a great person and she's got so much on her plate already. I dunno...
That's all I wanted to say really. Just not really the thing I needed.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
A sobconcious continuation (infatuation)
I was sitting on the train, autonomously feeding maccas chips into my mouth 3 or 4 at a time (I wasn't actually hungry. I just knew that if I hadn't have bought maccas for lunch I would've had to spend 5 minutes at home microwaving a pie) then drinking a mouthful of my extra special caramel milkshake (I usually just have coke, but I spoiled myself today! I just blitzed my bio exam, so I deserved it.) before I'd even had a chance to swallow the blob of faux potato, the combination forming a salty-sweet mush in the back of my mouth. Wiping the excess salt and grease off on my new $90 trackies (they're comfy. I might buy another pair in black) before I changed the song on my iPhone (God forbid I get a slimy screen) discarding song after song until I found a self indulgent ballad of first world depression. It was at this point I sat back and said to myself,
All this waste, the excess consumption... All this want and reckless desire... All this work for useless purchase. This is the height of capitalism. This is the epitome of consumerism. And I love them both.
As a side note, I'd just like to say, I had no intention of writing about capitalism straight after a communist rant. It just happened that way. Hence the title.
On a completely different note, I have, as of today, moved up an echelon in the rebel ranks. "How?!?!" you might ask? "You? Shane? A rebel? Ha! I would sooner expect to see a flying tortoise with mighty claws carrying the carcass of a halal butchered lamb directly into the sun!" You might conject. Well, one Matthew McCarthy aka Uncle Tongs (I prefer using Uncle over Crucible ever since his recent D.I.D post. Just sounds cooler [I also prefer writing in brackets because I already over use commas{In case you hadn't noticed}]) planted the seed in my mind. So I blame him for all legal ramifications.
Anyways, as I got off the train at Box Hill shortly after my yummy money insight (see above), there were 3 cops on the platform. That's right, my rebellion involves police officers. I, like everyone, had a natural curiousity as to what the hell they were doing, which turned out to be nothing as far as I could tell. So as everyone crowded on to the escalator, I stood on the left cause I could not be ballsed walking on the right. Let me encapsulate the scene for you. At the moment, two cops were above me on the escalator, and one was still below me walking up the escalator on my right. On one of the officers higher up on the escalator, I saw his service sidearm. Aka, a gun. This is what reminded me of Monsiuer Tongs challenge.
I remembered him saying something about the ultimate act of rebellion being to touch a police officers gun... Now I know the conclusion you've probably jumped to, and I'm not that stupid. After all, the gun is holstered on the police officers right, and I was on his left so reaching around to touch the hallowed death-bringer and retaining enough subtlety to avoid suspicion when surrounded by onlookers whose eyes were focused on the out-of-place police officers would have been suicide. Luckily for me, however, his taser gun was holstered on his left leg. So I listened carefully, hearing each heavy footstep policeman made in his heavy, steel capped boots.... Closer.... Closer... Closer... Almost... Then just as he's about to pass by me, I extend my hand just as if I was flexing a cramp out and BAM! I touched the handle and, somehow, the trigger of his taser gun without him noticing. Please update me to Mega-Ultimate Rebelmon, good sirs and madams.
Just in case you were wondering, this is about 95% true. The untrue parts are the pre-meditation and the act of me actively extending my hand. In other words, his taser gun bumped my hand as he bumbled past and I created this story in retrospect. But still, I have rebellious retrospect! That's gotta count for something, yeah?
.... I'll be quiet now.
All this waste, the excess consumption... All this want and reckless desire... All this work for useless purchase. This is the height of capitalism. This is the epitome of consumerism. And I love them both.
As a side note, I'd just like to say, I had no intention of writing about capitalism straight after a communist rant. It just happened that way. Hence the title.
On a completely different note, I have, as of today, moved up an echelon in the rebel ranks. "How?!?!" you might ask? "You? Shane? A rebel? Ha! I would sooner expect to see a flying tortoise with mighty claws carrying the carcass of a halal butchered lamb directly into the sun!" You might conject. Well, one Matthew McCarthy aka Uncle Tongs (I prefer using Uncle over Crucible ever since his recent D.I.D post. Just sounds cooler [I also prefer writing in brackets because I already over use commas{In case you hadn't noticed}]) planted the seed in my mind. So I blame him for all legal ramifications.
Anyways, as I got off the train at Box Hill shortly after my yummy money insight (see above), there were 3 cops on the platform. That's right, my rebellion involves police officers. I, like everyone, had a natural curiousity as to what the hell they were doing, which turned out to be nothing as far as I could tell. So as everyone crowded on to the escalator, I stood on the left cause I could not be ballsed walking on the right. Let me encapsulate the scene for you. At the moment, two cops were above me on the escalator, and one was still below me walking up the escalator on my right. On one of the officers higher up on the escalator, I saw his service sidearm. Aka, a gun. This is what reminded me of Monsiuer Tongs challenge.
I remembered him saying something about the ultimate act of rebellion being to touch a police officers gun... Now I know the conclusion you've probably jumped to, and I'm not that stupid. After all, the gun is holstered on the police officers right, and I was on his left so reaching around to touch the hallowed death-bringer and retaining enough subtlety to avoid suspicion when surrounded by onlookers whose eyes were focused on the out-of-place police officers would have been suicide. Luckily for me, however, his taser gun was holstered on his left leg. So I listened carefully, hearing each heavy footstep policeman made in his heavy, steel capped boots.... Closer.... Closer... Closer... Almost... Then just as he's about to pass by me, I extend my hand just as if I was flexing a cramp out and BAM! I touched the handle and, somehow, the trigger of his taser gun without him noticing. Please update me to Mega-Ultimate Rebelmon, good sirs and madams.
Just in case you were wondering, this is about 95% true. The untrue parts are the pre-meditation and the act of me actively extending my hand. In other words, his taser gun bumped my hand as he bumbled past and I created this story in retrospect. But still, I have rebellious retrospect! That's gotta count for something, yeah?
.... I'll be quiet now.
Friday, November 12, 2010
I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-aaack
Hello Imogene Rantson, my long-forgotten Internet mistress. Oh how I've missed you. I'll never leave again!
Unless i hit another unimaginably long absence of imagination. In which case, you're screwed. YOU ALL ARE!
Point 1:
If it's just a fancy way of saying "it's a theory" then it's a wrong theory. Like the (generally creationist) hydroplate "theory" that "theorizes" Noah's flood burst out from under the crust of the earth and shot out with such force that water flew off the earth and resulted in the craters on the moon and created every meteor in the universe. Aka, calling something a "theory" doesn't automatically make it rawrsome and infallible.Point 2:
Wow. I'd almost forgotten about my tendency to ramble. Moving right along...
Speaking of ranting, I have a new job Imogene! (That's what I'm calling my blog from now on)
You'd really like it there. There's lots of sexy eReaders you could get nice and close to. Lots of letters, if you know what I mean ;)
I'd go for the Touch version. It's 1 inch bigger ;)
.... Now I'm just making jokes only I'll understand...
Oh, by the way Imogene, I work at Borders.
It's quite interesting, always fresh. But it can be slightly annoying when people just assume that I've read every book under the sun. Or when people ask "Do you have a book called.... Uh.... The... Um... The Something? I can't remember what it's called, but it starts with THE" or even worse, "I want a book, don't know what it's called, but it's about this guy who got a dog from this chick he met in Vietnam and she dies and the dog gets her soul and she can't talk to him but she still loves him and he gets with another girl so Vietnamese chick goes crazy and mauls the other womans children and plants evidence to distract the police/vet people and make them think the family dog did it....." etc
To which I reply "Sounds like you've already read the book about 5 times, why do you wanna buy it?" And by "reply" I mean "Think-of-a-witty-response-and-later-use-it-as-material-in-a-blog post". That just pisses me off. Or when I say "Hi, how are you?" And they just death stare me and keep walking, or even worse, just glance sideways at me and keep walking. You know what? I DON'T like my job, Imogene. I hate it! It hates me and I hate it!
I kid, I kid. Ily Borders. You make my soul sing.
Um... Where was I.....?
I guess what I'm trying to say is, in a very round-about way,
Fuck you Karl, you lying German bastard! YOU work on paper!
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Assume No Knowledge
The three sweetest words a uni student can hear.
Another uni lecture inspired blog brought to you by the Note funtion on my iPhone. Enjoy. (ps, I don't change anything, even if I believe editting would be the wise course. Nice and raw, straight from my mind to your eyeballs)
So I'm sitting in a lecture feeling inspired. I knew I did year 12 chem for a reason. So I could bludge in my "assume-no-knowledge-of-chemistry" chemistry lectures. Ah, the bright side of my prior blight.
I'm currently up to "T" on my iPod challenge, with "Trapped Under Ice" play as I write. In case you don't know what my iPod challenge is, the first day of uni on the train in, I decided to listen to all the songs on my iPhone (only about 4gb) in alpha order, only being able to skip one song an hour. It's taking a surprisingly long time. I mean I listen to four hours of music on this thing every week day at a minimum. It's my train entertainment.
"Travel in Stigian."
I want to do it again once I clean up my iPhone and chuck some more stuff on it. It'd be something to put on my rather barren resume. Shows dedication and commitment. Especially when you have two of the same song in a row. You want to use your once per hour skip, but what if a terrible song comes on that you didn't know you had on your iPod?
Like my dilemma when "Spring" by Rammstein was playing and threatening to repeat. But what would I be skipping to? Metallicas "St. Anger". So I just had a double helping of German Tanz and was greeted on the other side by Iced Earth with "Stand Alone". Proof that there is a God. He tests us, but if we are loyal, we are rewarded. [I'd forgotten how freaking long this song is].
Ah Mr Nyeh (my lecturer){Yes, his name is Nyeh}, your faith in the whiteboard when I'm sitting at the back of the room betrays you. "Traveler in Time". Plus, that most disagreeable shade of pinkish-red you use to write makes my colour blind eyes weep. I can make out Rubidium, but that's about it.
As a side note, I wanna get back into writing. Like... Serious writing. Not blogging. No offense to blogging. You know I love you baby. It's just... We're two different people... You're public domain and I... I just don't think I can handle that. I have ideas. I just don't write them down and I forget them. I had a pretty awesome one too... About a guy... I can't remember. Oh well, I'll get inspired again eventually. First I might help finish off the RP. Needs to be closed up for good. It deserves that much.
Oh god. I'm so far out in whoop whoop these people have never heard a "that's what she said" joke before. "Tribute". Seriously, this is some kind of hell. I said that's what she said wittily when someone said "Where's TK? He's taking forever to come." and everyone just stared at me and one person asked "who is she?". I have never wished to be somewhere else in the universe more at that particular point in time. Having to explain the limited humour behind a "that's what she said" joke just makes you think. Should I even be making such stupid jokes anymore? I mean I am technically and adult. And so, after much soul searching, I made the hard decision...That's what she said jokes are off limits. From this day forth I shall never utter these words in that particular order*
* Unless I'm in good company or anyone mentions the physical properties including, but not limited to, temperature, size, colour, brittleness or electric conductivity of a phallic object. Or an ordinary object. Or if I feel like it.
To end on a more sophisticated note, Trogdor.
Another uni lecture inspired blog brought to you by the Note funtion on my iPhone. Enjoy. (ps, I don't change anything, even if I believe editting would be the wise course. Nice and raw, straight from my mind to your eyeballs)
So I'm sitting in a lecture feeling inspired. I knew I did year 12 chem for a reason. So I could bludge in my "assume-no-knowledge-of-chemistry" chemistry lectures. Ah, the bright side of my prior blight.
I'm currently up to "T" on my iPod challenge, with "Trapped Under Ice" play as I write. In case you don't know what my iPod challenge is, the first day of uni on the train in, I decided to listen to all the songs on my iPhone (only about 4gb) in alpha order, only being able to skip one song an hour. It's taking a surprisingly long time. I mean I listen to four hours of music on this thing every week day at a minimum. It's my train entertainment.
"Travel in Stigian."
I want to do it again once I clean up my iPhone and chuck some more stuff on it. It'd be something to put on my rather barren resume. Shows dedication and commitment. Especially when you have two of the same song in a row. You want to use your once per hour skip, but what if a terrible song comes on that you didn't know you had on your iPod?
Like my dilemma when "Spring" by Rammstein was playing and threatening to repeat. But what would I be skipping to? Metallicas "St. Anger". So I just had a double helping of German Tanz and was greeted on the other side by Iced Earth with "Stand Alone". Proof that there is a God. He tests us, but if we are loyal, we are rewarded. [I'd forgotten how freaking long this song is].
Ah Mr Nyeh (my lecturer){Yes, his name is Nyeh}, your faith in the whiteboard when I'm sitting at the back of the room betrays you. "Traveler in Time". Plus, that most disagreeable shade of pinkish-red you use to write makes my colour blind eyes weep. I can make out Rubidium, but that's about it.
As a side note, I wanna get back into writing. Like... Serious writing. Not blogging. No offense to blogging. You know I love you baby. It's just... We're two different people... You're public domain and I... I just don't think I can handle that. I have ideas. I just don't write them down and I forget them. I had a pretty awesome one too... About a guy... I can't remember. Oh well, I'll get inspired again eventually. First I might help finish off the RP. Needs to be closed up for good. It deserves that much.
Oh god. I'm so far out in whoop whoop these people have never heard a "that's what she said" joke before. "Tribute". Seriously, this is some kind of hell. I said that's what she said wittily when someone said "Where's TK? He's taking forever to come." and everyone just stared at me and one person asked "who is she?". I have never wished to be somewhere else in the universe more at that particular point in time. Having to explain the limited humour behind a "that's what she said" joke just makes you think. Should I even be making such stupid jokes anymore? I mean I am technically and adult. And so, after much soul searching, I made the hard decision...That's what she said jokes are off limits. From this day forth I shall never utter these words in that particular order*
* Unless I'm in good company or anyone mentions the physical properties including, but not limited to, temperature, size, colour, brittleness or electric conductivity of a phallic object. Or an ordinary object. Or if I feel like it.
To end on a more sophisticated note, Trogdor.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Huzah.
"What's to stop me from smashing social conventions? What makes me a slave to public preconceptions?"
Got bored and pessimistic in an anatomy lecture so I wrote that. Then on the train on the way home I elaborated on it and came up with this. Yay for the depressing atmosphere of St Albans.
Every week I relive the same few days, lying to myself saying "After I finish uni everything will be perfect" or "Once I retire I'll have the money and time to enjoy myself" where in reality, I have, and will have, nothing. I have become a slave to this giant social machine. Like a seemingly sentient ant goverened by an unseen queen, I work to the standards and morals of the colony wether I condone them or not. All our philosophy, all human endeavour, this very piece of writing, universally insignificant. I want to do something different with my life. Break away from the path society has laid out for me. But the sad thing is, I'm so indoctrinated in these ways that when I try to think about what I'd rather do, I draw a mental blank. All I do know is I want something different that what the world offers.
Cause at the moment, it isn't very much.
And there we have it. Weeks of disappointment manifesting itself in my thoughts. I guess I should explain myself ey? I've narrowed it down to one of three things.
1. Uni life really doesn't agree with me. I don't think this is it because it's slightly more relaxed than yeah 12, less structure, but more relaxed. Helps that I've done every subject at high school before uni. Just a bit to learn.
2. I'm getting old. Maybe I'm..."maturing". I really hope that isn't it... I like the way I am. Or was. If was is the case. Which I hope it isn't. Or do I? Or if I do hope I'm mature, is that the new Shanes resentment of the old Shane? Too complex. Next point.
3. I'm depressed. Pretty self-explanatory. Saw one of those adds that they put above the urinal and I seemed to fit the description. The lack of feeling and all. Numbness. To everything. Forcing myself to feel.
Oh, by the way, I got 79.05.
Got bored and pessimistic in an anatomy lecture so I wrote that. Then on the train on the way home I elaborated on it and came up with this. Yay for the depressing atmosphere of St Albans.
Every week I relive the same few days, lying to myself saying "After I finish uni everything will be perfect" or "Once I retire I'll have the money and time to enjoy myself" where in reality, I have, and will have, nothing. I have become a slave to this giant social machine. Like a seemingly sentient ant goverened by an unseen queen, I work to the standards and morals of the colony wether I condone them or not. All our philosophy, all human endeavour, this very piece of writing, universally insignificant. I want to do something different with my life. Break away from the path society has laid out for me. But the sad thing is, I'm so indoctrinated in these ways that when I try to think about what I'd rather do, I draw a mental blank. All I do know is I want something different that what the world offers.
Cause at the moment, it isn't very much.
And there we have it. Weeks of disappointment manifesting itself in my thoughts. I guess I should explain myself ey? I've narrowed it down to one of three things.
1. Uni life really doesn't agree with me. I don't think this is it because it's slightly more relaxed than yeah 12, less structure, but more relaxed. Helps that I've done every subject at high school before uni. Just a bit to learn.
2. I'm getting old. Maybe I'm..."maturing". I really hope that isn't it... I like the way I am. Or was. If was is the case. Which I hope it isn't. Or do I? Or if I do hope I'm mature, is that the new Shanes resentment of the old Shane? Too complex. Next point.
3. I'm depressed. Pretty self-explanatory. Saw one of those adds that they put above the urinal and I seemed to fit the description. The lack of feeling and all. Numbness. To everything. Forcing myself to feel.
Oh, by the way, I got 79.05.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Back in the GYM of things!
Hi y'all! And by y'all I mean the 2 or 3 people that actually read this thing. Anyway, I've decided from now on, all my blogs will have hilariously obvious-but-not-exactly-sounding-the-same puns like the good ol' Pokémon episodes of yore like "Beauty and the Beach!" and "Primeape goes bananas!" for titles. And yes, they must all end in exclamation marks and be spoken in a manner so that the pun is drilled into you and there is no possible way you can miss it.
As I write this I'm sitting in my singlet and shorts after just having been to the gym for the second time since schoolies. Yeah, it's been a long time. A very long time. 61 days according to the lady who scanned my membership card. How she knew and I didn't, either a) she watches me when I go to the gym and has had no-one as beautiful as I to gaze upon for the 61 days prior and it had slowly started to drive her mad and in a fit of insanity she kidnapped a boy around my age and imprisoned him, forced him into a curly haired wig and made him follow the same workout routine as I did, watching him with a sadistic relish and when I re-appeared at the gym she was so astonished and relieved that she just let the words "sixty one days" escape from her mouth, finally allowing herself to think of the consequences of her actions and just how long she would be in jail for before she ran out into the car park and broke down screaming. Or b) it displayed it on the screen when she scanned my card. I'm inclined to think the former.
WHO'S THAT POKÉMON!?!?!?
Anyway...Where was I...? Oh yes, my absence from the gym.
61 days is a long time not to be gymming it. I felt it when I first went back, my 15 minute run becoming a 12.5 minute jog. My 15 reps of weights dropping down to 12. Everything was harder. It didn't help that I'd seen New Moon on schoolies. That's what I attribute my super-enhanced vanity to. If I wasn't body concious before, I am now. Goddamn Taylor Lautner. I mean, c'mon, how can a guy like me compete with those perfect puppy pecs? Those delicious doggy deltoids? Those ripped Rottweiler...I can't think of a body part that starts with R. He's buff okay? Get the picture? The real kicker is he's actually younger than me. For all the other buff people I saw and said "Oh, they're older than me, I can't look like that yet", but this guy... It's... Gah.
61 days is a long time not to be gymming it. I felt it when I first went back, my 15 minute run becoming a 12.5 minute jog. My 15 reps of weights dropping down to 12. Everything was harder. It didn't help that I'd seen New Moon on schoolies. That's what I attribute my super-enhanced vanity to. If I wasn't body concious before, I am now. Goddamn Taylor Lautner. I mean, c'mon, how can a guy like me compete with those perfect puppy pecs? Those delicious doggy deltoids? Those ripped Rottweiler...I can't think of a body part that starts with R. He's buff okay? Get the picture? The real kicker is he's actually younger than me. For all the other buff people I saw and said "Oh, they're older than me, I can't look like that yet", but this guy... It's... Gah.
Now I don't hate my body, it's actually a pretty good body with lots of potential. The way I see it is your body is like a temple. A non-religious temple. Unless you're religious. But in my case a non-religious temple. Kinda like a house. Let's just say house. What kind of person would I be if I just let my house get all dilapidated and run down, didn't mop or dust and didn't give it a new coat of paint every now and again? In other words if I just let myself go, get fat, get smelly and dirty and...my paint get chipped and worn... Okay, just forget about the paint part. But the rest is true.
It's.............TAYLOR LAUTNER!
If I have the potential to look like Jacob Black, then what kind of person would I be if I didn't at least try to do it? I mean it's not like I don't have the time. I write a blog, of course I have spare time. I've got access to a gym. All I'm missing is the anabolic steroids. I'm not saying body image is everything, but it is something. As long as my mind has to be tied to this piece of meat, I'm at least gunna try to make it look good. Might be vain, but what's wrong with vanity of this scale? It's not like I'm getting plastic surgery or taking steroids. And it's making me fit. And fitness always comes in handy. Like when...um...you're swimming! Don't wanna drown. And...um... When you're being chased by a pack of hungry wolves? being able to run 2km's is sure to come in handy then.
Anyway, the moral of the story is, if you're stuck thinking "Wow, Shane's 18th is coming up fast! What should I get him for his birthday?" Then you know that the answer is steroids. Preferably the kind that don't cause liquid retention please.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Here we go!
Okay, a friend said to me "You should get a blog!" and hasn't mentioned it for quite some time but I'm going to pretend it was his persistent nagging that got me to abandon my hectic schedule and write about pretty much nothing.
Blog name- Pretty self explanatory. I rant as I am sometimes prone to do, only using the powers of the written word combined with the accessibilty that only the internet could offer, my rants are granted immortality. So that's all cleared up. Good.
First thing I want to talk/write/rant about is the Sham-Wow! If you haven't seen this beauty in action, I command you as the Overlord of this particular blog, to YouTube it this instant.
Seen it?
Good! Now you can't tell me that a towel that can hold 10x it's weight in fluid isn't friggin'awesome. You see what he did to that wet jumper? He just rolled it up in the Sham-Wow! and it was completely dry. That isn't great. That isn't even awesome. That's magic. That's what it is. It's f***ing magic! If you wanted to buy one of these things without a credit card, you'd probably have to go to Diagon Alley. To top it all off, the guy selling this magical towel is probably the same guy who sold "magic beans" to Jack. I mean if he tried to sell me anything, I'd HAVE to buy it. He's just so ridiculously convincing. Maybe he only sells magic things? Maybe he's a wizard using his magic to convince us to buy his magical crap! Oh my god... I think I've stumbled onto the secret of the century! Jack was stupid, Vince Offer swapped him magical beans for 3 easy payments of $19.95 (+ postage and handling), people who watch midday infomercials are stupid and he's pulling the same trick!
But that's besides the point. The point is I want one of these magical towels. Or at least change my name to "Shan-Wow!". Just so when girls ask me why I can say "Cause I'll have you saying Wow...every time"
YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Anyway, so if you're ever hanging out with me and you see some pretty girls, call me Shan-Wow. Which brings me to my next topic. Pretty girls.
I was watching TV ealier today and I saw a City Beach ad (I think that's what it's called) and the ad is full of hot chicks and not-so-hot guys. Now I might be slightly biased, but if you look around, there's a helluva lot more very attractive girls then there is guys. Like it's insane if you actually open up your eyes and look for it. Now what does this prove? Well, thanks to my year 12 education in Biology that I did in year 11, I know exactly, 100% what this proves.
One of two things.
1. Males were more likely to choose attractive female partners and because of this attractive females were more likely to breed and pass down attractive genes to their daughters.
2. Females weren't as shallow as men and chose more deep, important characteristics in a partner rather than base their decision entirely on appearence and as such, good looks in males wasn't such a massive part of genetic selection.
Or a combination of the two.
Now incase you don't know me too well or haven't picked up on it by now, I'm a feminist. So this observation led me on further thinking about relationships and partners and the like. Without getting too much like one of those bad romance movies that comes out almost every second week, the moral of this little lesson is, guys, realise that girls won't judge you solely on what you look like and as long as you're a good person and they're not a bitch, you should be fine. Just try not to be shallow when you're looking for a partner. Or do be shallow. Cause if you're not then over an extended period of time of men not being shallow, female appearence will drop until your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandson will be married to a troll.
....
Damn, I lost it.
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