Warning: stupid

Since I have such a fascinating social life on the weekends, and I had completely cleaned my flat yesterday, I decided to do my grocery shopping today instead of tomorrow. No need to tell me, I already know that I'm the worlds biggest rebel.
The shopping itself wasn't that exciting, but once I got home, I realised that the new deodorant I had bought was actually mens. Now, while I am partially to blame for not reading all of the small print, I blame the shelf stockers for putting it in the middle of the women's section. I decided that I should read the rest of the small print in case there was something else important I had missed, but discovered only that I need to consult  a Dr before using the product if I have kidney problems. This is slightly scary, as deodorant doesn't (or shouldn't) go anywhere near your kidneys.
This got me thinking of other stupid things I had seen on labels, and led me to an afternoon of googling stupid labels. Please enjoy the fruits of my probably wasted afternoon.

 

This one is particularly relevant to my sister, but for anyone who's latest head accessory purchase isn't feeling quite right, this may be why.

 

 

I am extremely glad that I haven't found this label on any of my clothing yet, as it would dash all my dreams.

 

 

You'll have to read this one carefully, but once you see it, you will start to question the intelligence of humanity. (Just a hint; it's not the terrible grammar.)

 

 

Who knew that a scooter moved when operated? Goodness, we've all been so blind.

 

 

I know that sometimes it is difficult to find a pen when you need one, but apparently, even if it's the only one you can find, you shouldn't  use this one. Who knows why?

 

I thought I would end with two of the most amusing clothing labels I came across; one is funny just for its sheer oddness, and the other is just as offensive to me as funny.

 

 

(This one is apparently not about the president everyone would assume, but the current one.)

 

 

And on that ridiculous note, I will leave you feeling as though you have wasted almost as much time as me today.

                                  Xx, Little Duck

 

 

 

When it rains it pours

So last night I went out in Sydney for the very first time. As usual, I was sober, and so I had a very interesting night. The plan was to meet up at a friends house and then go out from there, but my adventures started before I had even arrived.
On the train on the way there, I was sitting across the aisle from a couple of guys who were bragging to each other about their schoolies stories. One of them got very excited when we passed through McDonaldtown, as he had never realised that it was an actual place, and his last name was McDonald, and he then got into an argument with a grandma behind him over whether he was Scottish or not. I deliberately made no eye contact and didn't react to anything they said, just in case I was the next victim of their stupidity. I was sitting right in front of the stairs, and as they got off at their stop, Mr McDonald turned around, looked right at me and sang; "goodbye my lover..." and then was gone.
I thought that this filled my odd quota for the day, and so I wasn't too worried about the rest of the night. As I waited at a set of traffic lights to cross the road, I was practising the showgirl bevel we had learned in class that day. Just before the lights changed, a guy in a white van drove past, leant out the window and yelled "dang!" I quickly stumbled out of my bevel and ran to the safety of my friends house. I wasn't aware that people actually used the word "dang" in seriousness, and I'm curious as to whether it usually works for white van guy.
Once we had all congregated and hopped on the train for the city, we were soon joined in our carriage by a group of punk/goths dressed in full black, torn garments, and dyed, teased hair. (I'm convinced that the amount of volume in one of the guys hair meant that it must be a wig.) To complete their image, they were talking in screamo voices that must have taken cups and cups of swallowed gravel to achieve.
The group I was sitting with was quite loud, and I became aware that the punks weren't too happy about it, one of them getting quite vocal about it. I tried to quieten everyone down, but as I was the only non-alcohol fuelled person, my efforts were futile, and I was extremely happy when we got off. The punks were too, judging by the faces and rude gestures they made against the window as the train pulled out.
The rest of the night was quite typical, with the usual drunks spilling drinks all over me, a couple making out all over the dance floor and literally knocking people to the ground in the process, and  a few near panic attacks at the amount of unavoidable gross, sweaty touching. Although it was a fun night, I've definitely filled my going out quota for a while.
After making a couple of trips to get everyone home, I got to bed at 3am, and spent my day sleeping in, cleaning, sleeping some more, and then being woken by some giant thunder. It's been an interesting one.
                         Little Duck, out.

Animal Thursday

Today I witnessed another inspiring workout from the early morning runner today. Instead of lifting her arms up around her head as she jogged, she was walking briskly (with a partner this time,) and swinging her arms straight in front of her and up above her head one by one, making her look like a kindergarten teacher impersonating a crocodile. Again, this lady never fails to make my morning. 
As I drove around the corner just up from my house, a Bulldozer crashed through the fence of the house on the left. It gave me a bit of heart attack, made me think I was hallucinating, and then I began to wonder what kind of maniacs lived there. After a while, I remembered that this house was empty and set for major renovations/demolition, beginning I suppose with the back fence. If I ever need to wake up a little more before class, I'll have to remember this technique. 
In our class, we have what we call "animal Thursday," and so it was very fitting that the animal theme that began with the crocodile lady this morning, continued as I made my way down the highway. A Vet that I pass every morning had put up a new sign, playing on that oh so popular car trip game; (that has earned me many a bruise over the years) spotto. And what animal did they choose to embody this game? That's right; a Dalmatian. I'm not exactly sure of what the sign was supposed to achieve, but I am seriously enjoying this recent trend of Vets and their pun based advertisements.
On the way to class, the left hand lane of traffic was moving very slowly, and as it came my turn to pass the obstructing vehicle, I discovered a tiny 1920s one seater car with it's driver fully dressed in a suit and bow tie. Due to the animal theme of the morning, I had trouble seeing him as anything but a penguin. I really want to know where he was going dressed like that at 8 in the morning, but I guess it doesn't matter; I'm just really glad that he was on the road, as it made me smile. A lot.
As much as I enjoyed observing the animals today, I didn't so much enjoy feeling like one as I sweated my way through the days classes, especially when we had to roll all over each other to finish a dance. I do not enjoy physical contact, and so this was a very interesting and character building experience for me, but I really hope that I don't have to repeat it any time soon.
                                                                                                                                       Xx, Little Duck

Wierd-mill

I am a walking bruise. Our current project in breakdance tricking is learning to do the windmill. While I do have a ridiculous amount of fun kicking and rolling around on my back in considerable pain, I can't shake the feeling that I look like a complete retard. The fact that  my attempt looks nothing like our instructors just seems to reinforce that. Sometimes I feel like I go to this particular class to obtain a ridiculous amount of bruises, and give myself the choice to either wear them as battle scars, or use them as whinging grounds for the rest of the week. One day I will learn to nail just one move, and pretend to be a serious B girl, but until then, I will stick with my ridiculously short and unstable back spins.
Due to my bruises and some sore muscles, I grabbed my roller out when I got home and had a quick session. The whole time I was doing this, my landlords dog was sitting in my doorway, his favourite spot when his owners are out. Numerous times as I rolled, I would glance up and see him staring at me through his fringe, obviously thinking that I was mad, but as soon as he realised that I was looking at him, he would glance away as though he had never been watching. I'm really glad that he can't talk, as he's probably seen me do quite a few odd things while he sits in that doorway.
After I realised that my landlords weren't home, I occupied their backyard to practise my handstands.  I located a patch that was relatively free of Prince (the dog's) poo, and then thoroughly absorbed myself in my personal version of a handstand, and when I actually managed to hold one, I gave a surprised squeal and fell to the ground. I continued to practise for at least another 10 minutes, much to the amusement of my neighbours, who were watching from their veranda, a fact that I did not realise until I was going back inside. Mr Emphysema was talking on his phone, blatantly staring a chuckling. In my mind I gave him a cool salute and strutted back into my apartment, but in real life, this became a deer in the headlights acknowledgement and an awkward leggy retreat. All I can say is that I really hope I improve.
                                                                                                              Little Duck, out.

Soles and schooners

My tap shoes are in one piece again! Thankfully, the shoe man didn't completely screw them up, and he promises that I'll get at least another year out of them. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see a pair of shoes. I'd have to say that I'm also extremely relieved that I remembered to pick them up, as  don't think my tap teacher would have appreciated me rocking up in socks tomorrow, although I might have been able to fake a few more steps.
I dropped into a bar this afternoon to hand in my resume and have a chat to the manager, and on the way out, an older workman winked at me and said; "you look a bit young love." I just smiled and kept walking, and he called after me "lets get you a beer and fix that." I was really glad that I had made friends with Eugene behind the bar, who distracted him while I made a hasty exit.
On my afternoon travels, I made a number of interesting observations. One of them I really couldn't miss. As I was stopped at a set of traffic lights, a man on the other side of the street was having a rather heated conversation with a tree. To begin with, I wasn't sure he was talking to the tree, and gave him every chance I could to believe he was sane, but after scanning the parked and stopped cars, and the sidewalks, and then watching his erratic gestures, I had to come to the conclusion that the tree had done something horrible to offend him.
When I got to the shopping centre, I was greeted by a sign in front of a massage chair stall that said "an aching sensation that feels so good." I'm not sure that I would recommend their advertising agent, because if I owned massage chairs, I probably wouldn't mention that it hurts before the customer sits down.
My last discovery for the day, was coles' new ad. If you haven't seen it, the new slogan is a continuation of their 'prices are down' campaign, boasting that their already low prices are still going down by singing "down down, deeper and down." This would usually be fine, but it's accompanied by some guys wearing red foam hands and making awkward down gestures in front of their crutches. If I didn't know better, I would have said that the entire campaign was Miley Cyrus inspired, and I find myself highly disturbed.
                                                Xx, Little Duck

Breaking and entering

So today has perhaps been the stupidest day of my existence. And when I say stupid, I don't mean my usual slightly clumsy, or socially awkward stupid, I mean the full blown, what the hell are you even doing with your life kind of stupid. To cut to the chase, I locked myself out of my apartment. I left to drive somewhere, and to drive somewhere I need keys right? Generally yes, but apparently, I thought my table needed them more. Luckily, my landlords have the spare key. Unluckily, they were both out. Because I really didn't want to bother them, I decided to try to fix the problem myself, running through the list of tricks I learnt as a kid. I immediately checked the screens covering my windows, but unlike in the country, first storey windows in the city have well secured screens to prevent people from doing exactly I was trying to do. My next point of call was finding a peg, as I have become quite a lock picking pro when it comes to this particular laundry aid. The issue with this idea, was that all my pegs, although perfect for the job, were locked in the flat I was trying to gain entrance to. My landlords pegs were entirely the wrong kind, and I was starting to run out of ideas.
I had been locked out with my bag, and so decided to try the old bobby pin trick, despite having never having done it before. My handbag proved less useful than I had hoped, as for a girl, I have a woeful lack of bobby pins anywhere. I resorted to rummaging through my car (which I had ironically forgotten to lock,) and found one in my glove box. It ended up being completely useless though, as it turns out I suck at picking locks with bobby pins.
Finally having run out of ideas and strange implements to shove into my lock (although I did consider a coat hanger and an earing,) I called my landlords and said please don't rush, I'll just wait until you get home.  Two hours later I was rescued from sitting in the garden by one of them tossing the spare key down off their veranda.
It's safe to say that I went through a full cycle of emotions in that garden, which began with laughing at myself. I thought that this was a good sign, but it was quickly followed by tears, then frustration(which saw me rolling angrily in the grass in my skirt, and was probably not  very graceful sight,) ad then alternating measures of boredom and ironic humour again.
Lets just say I'm really glad to be back inside.
The only other real event of my day was my first accomplished handstand. It probably only lasted 8-10 seconds, but to me it felt like an eternity, and as though I should have been presented with some kind of award. This however was followed by a not so wonderful attempt in which I curled into a ball a little to late, smacked down on my back and winded myself. Our russian instructor didn't see this one (thankfully,) but turned around right after I had got up, to find me feigning complete composure, despite panting heavily. Now he just thinks I'm really unfit.
                                                                                                Xx, Little Duck

Waterlogged

Today I went on another resume handing out mission. It wasn't so bad, and everyone was super friendly, and I even found time to get my hair cut in between. I just hope that one of them will offer me a job! I'm not sure that it will be the last place I applied, as it was pretty windy at the time, and as I shut the door behind me, a huge gust picked up my newly light and bouncy hair, and threw it forward over my face. At this exact moment, the guy behind the bar said "can I help you love?" I was just standing there, staring at him from under my hair, looking like cousin it, or even the girl from the ring. I quickly tried to smooth myself out, smiled and went on as if nothing had happened. Classy.
At my hairdressers recommendation, I put a treatment in my hair when I got home. The instructions said to let it sit in my hair for 3-5 minutes, and then to rinse out in mid to cool water. For some reason I decided to rinse it out in my bathroom sink, which turned out to be a lot smaller than anticipated. After smacking my head on the tap multiple times, I decided that I might have more luck in the shower, but of course, got in and left all my clothes on, because I wasn't actually having a shower. I ended up sopping wet, staggering around with wet hair in my eyes, and I'm pretty sure the treatment still wasn't washed out properly. I'm not sure that this attempt at beauty was painful for anything but my pride.
Since drying myself off, I have cleaned my flat from top to bottom, written everything I can possibly plan into my diary, made my grocery list and started dinner, and have realised that I have nothing else to do. I guess I'll have to resort to my usual one sided banter with the TV, chastising its broadcast of songs with stupid lyrics, and the inaccuracies of particular scenes.                                                                      
Sorry, I lied about not having anything to do, I forgot to tell you about the super exciting date I have planned with my pyjamas and TV later. It will probably even end in a jar of peanut butter. Bet you wish you were me.
                               Little Duck, out.