I've Cracked It.

My bum-crack is higher than most. I've investigated the biology behind this and most medical practitioners have responded with something close to eye rolling and evasion. But it seems to me a phenomenon shared by women (and sadly a few lady-arsed men as well) the world over.

Where most women might show a little bit of crackage if crouched over a small child or dropped coin, I need only lean across a table and my arse is practically leaping out of my jeans wanting to introduce itself.

And before you start, no. My jeans are no lower than anyone else's. I'm as fond of a hipster as the next kid but given the height of my crack, I'm always conscious of this when purchasing pants.

So I've developed my own theory. It's twofold.

1. I have more junk in my trunk therefore making it harder to close the boot. My arse cheeks are fuller than most and go some way to creating crack merely by deepening the canyon. It is logical no? My only worry about this is if I keep adding arse, will my crack end up around the base of my neck? That might rule out low-backed tops as well and I've always been fond of those.

2. If humans evolved from apes, and nobody has been specific about which type of primate in particular, then perhaps some of us have descended from particular types of monkey. If this is the case, I'm not chimpanzee, gibbon or gorilla. Methinks I have the arse of a baboon type creature. Pronounced. High-riding.

I recently took a facebook poll for suggestions of blog topics. A dear friend mentioned I should write about the high-riding g string and why they should be banned. Well I'm the first to jump on the banning of the g string bandwagon. I've always believed them to be the ugliest of underpant and flattering to none. (Subclause 1A: when wearing formal wear of the hugging variety the g banger is advisable).

But I must jump to defend those whose g strings occasionally rise into visibility. It's not planned. It's just that our bum-cracks are very high. The g has a lot to traverse in this situation. It will fall where it lands and if the only flat place is just below the rib cage then physics is the winner on the day.

Look, I know it's not pretty. But I'd like to quote from one of my old favourite films:

"I like a woman with a bottom you can park your bike in."

I AM success.

Lately I haven't been in love, had a baby, been promoted or won any sort of prize. Other than these things, good stuff happens to me all the time. I aim to celebrate the small stuff.

So in no particular order I am proud to report the following:

I found two lovely leather handbags at Vinnies for $6 each. The old lady complained that I had messed up her display. Have almost got rid of the mothball smell.

There have been almost 800 hits on my blog since I started. Only about 300 of these have been me checking to see if I've had any new hits.

I borrowed several books from a public library and none of the pages had dried boogers on them.

My pet bird seems to hate my flatmate slightly more than me.

One of my students wrote a cinquain poem about me. The second line of the poem calls for the poet to use two adjectives to describe the subject. Loud and crazy were selected.

My upstairs neighbours are fighting less. They are having giggly, repetitive sex more often.

The cold sore forming on the end of my nose doesn't look like a booger according to a close friend. Apparently it would be better to have a booger permanently hanging from the end of one's nose rather than a cold sore.

Okay okay, I'll stop bragging. Nothing worse than someone who is constantly reminding you of how amazing they are.

Shocked, appalled and yes, flattered.

I'm not the kind of girl that has men's tongues dragging on the footpath. Apart from my height there's nothing remarkable about my overall appearance. I'm not a dog. But I'm no model either. I can look pretty good when I put a bit of effort in and thanks to my hair stylist I've got nice hair. So it's not every day that I get random compliments from strangers on my looks.

I did today.

Crossing the road this morning I almost walked out in front of a car waiting at the lights. The car started to move a little and then stopped. I jumped back on to the footpath, only to notice that the lights had just turned orange. The driver had had plenty of opportunity to go when they were green but was apparently waiting for me to cross. I smiled and nodded in thanks as I finally passed the bonnet of the car on foot. To my surprise came the confident and calm reply, "Nice tits".

I was shocked. I actually did a corny double take to check that the comment had been meant for me. Thanks to the guy's wry smile and an apparent lack of any other tits in the vicinity of the incident I was able to confirm that he had in fact been talking about my breasts.

I know I'm supposed to be offended by this blatant comment. Most modern women would probably roll their eyes in disgust at such an act. Some might even turn around and give a little lip service of their own.

But alas. I'll be honest. I loved it. The moment put a smug and ridiculous smile on my face. I walked along the shop front windows just catching glimpses of my boobs.

So I'm giving a little shout of thanks out to the universe. And a note of encouragement to a more tentative male. If you're thinking about sneaking in a cheeky and bold, perhaps slightly sexist and inappropriate comment, go ahead. She might roll her eyes at you but she'll be secretly checking out her tits in mirrors all day long.

"Brang" is not a word

Yeah. You heard me. "Brang" is not a word. I will fight this battle for many years to come and I don't care how stuffy and boring I become in the process. It's not that hard. I brought my book to school. I bought a new pair of earrings. Look, I can see the thinking (or lack of thinking) behind it..."I sing therefore I sang", "I ring therefore I rang", "I bring therefore I brought" just doesn't have the consistency one looks for in a language. But life wasn't meant to be easy and some things should be corrected.

While I'm on it I'm going to set a few youngsters straight on some other absolute pet hates in the language department:

Listen up kids....you can't "verse" anyone at sport. I can't tell you who you're "versing" this weekend at soccer because...."VERSING" IS NOT A WORD!!!!!!! I love it when you argue the point. "Verse is in the dictionary!". Yes it is you little moron - and it relates directly to the structure of correct English language.

Further to my rant, you never usen't to do anything, especially not in relation to articulation. What? You don't say this one? "I usen't to like chocolate but now I do."

A wise older teacher once reluctantly explained to me that these common errors eventually become an accepted part of speech. Well this is a battle I'm willing to fight. I'll verse anyone. I usen't to be so combative about it but now that I brang it up I mean business.

Ladies Who Get Nude and Stay Nude

Summer's almost here and what a long time it has been coming. With Summer comes swimming and I will be one of the first to jump on in. The beach is my preference but I may also try the pool. I'll convince myself this is an exercise focused endeavour but will probably be spending much of my time with the nannas in the slow lane.

But this post is not about swimming. It's about what goes on in the ladies dressing room, post-swim. Try and imagine feeling comfortable with the following:

1. You throw on the thongs and head into the communal showers.
2. You strip off in a nonchalant manner and stand buck-naked under the shower's warming heat. You take your time whilst others queue anxiously behind you.
3. You wonder why others avoid eye contact with you as you take care to wash well between your legs and remove all sand in all crevices.
4. After toweling off you hang your towel over a hook and decide to...
5. Blow-dry your hair. Heading for the basin area you plug in your hair drier and face yourself in the mirror for a better view.
6. Others awkwardly approach the basins to wash their hands having been to the toilet.
7. You smile and laugh lightly as someone is accidentally bumped into your buttocks. At first they don't realise they have knocked into a naked person but a shocked glance brings your lady garden into full view and they reel back in embarrassed horror.
8. You roll your eyes at the ridiculousness of the other, mortified, curious, offended patrons present. How could it be that women are so uncomfortable in the presence of something so familiar??

Sound like something you'd go for?

Me neither. Well I know I sound like a prude but those who know me well would probably defend me on that. My issue with the CBN (Communal Bathroom Nudist) is this: I know you have a vagina. I have one too. I know you have confidence in your body. I occasionally do too. I know you don't have hang-ups about your breasts. Neither do I. Here's the thing. Can't you be a bit more embarrassed please? Your level of comfort with your nakedness makes me feel....well...naked. I don't mind you being nude for a bit but do you have to look like you could be waiting for a bus while you're doing it? Your nudity just doesn't have the right sense of urgency about it. For most of us, when in public places, nudity is a transient, if albeit occasionally necessary, state of being. (Drunkenness is the only exception to this rule).

So put some clothes on for shit's sake. At least a pair of undies.

Could you be a cougar?

I have, of late, by way of a personal interest, been introduced to a new group of people. One that is populated mainly by those in their very early twenties. Having been involved in a few of their conversations, it is plain to me that despite some common interests in the arts, we have almost nothing in common. Don't get me wrong. I enjoy their company, they are fun, silly, irreverent, and probably a lot like myself when I was that age. But their conversation centres around things they do that I haven't done in years. For example, university based social activities, going to see university based theatre productions (med revue). Most of them are still on their green Ps!!

Despite their youth, or should I say, because of their youth, some of these young people (and now I am referring to the male members) are very good looking. I would challenge many of my friends to not find this the case. Whilst many argue that attraction is a subjective issue, I've always thought that for a few lucky members of the community, it is completely non-debatable. Some people are just good looking.

So with this in mind, I was chatting to my good friend about this the other night over a couple of wines. Could we be Cougars?

Issue Number One: You can't call yourself a cougar.

To be a cougar you have to be good looking yourself and if you are calling yourself a cougar then you are probably a bit of a wanker. So technically we can't be cougars. And for the case of my further argument, when I say cougar, I mean, someone who would go out with much younger men.

Issue Number Two: You are old.

That's right. As a cougar, and by definition, you have at least 10 years on your target. The reality of this cannot be underestimated. My friend was very clear in her position. There is no way she could put her 3o something ish body next to the much younger male version and feel good about herself. She suggested that this would disengage her mojo so intensely that any cougar power she had originally felt would be sapped instantly.

I argued that she had skills on her side. Experience, confidence and a significant skill base that would surely dazzle a fresh, young man. She replied that it would be difficult to remember this when she looked at her not-as-pert-as-they-were breasts.

I am very interested in public opinion on this one.

As far as I see it, there is something that society finds very wrong about the Cougar. What do you think? Could you be a Cougar? Could you go for a Cougar?

Facebook Lurkers

I am an oversharer. I'm aware of that. I'm fond of posting ridiculously mundane crap on facebook and will happily chuckle away at my own boredom. So far I am yet to post anything quite as boring as "Off to bed now" or "Can't quite find a matching pair of socks" but I'm aware that people whom I've not run into in years may not care to know that I've had an altercation with a trolley in a supermarket and I'm fairly sure I've noted this type of event on occasion.

I don't expect everyone to post frequently on facebook. I don't expect people to post anything on facebook. But today's blog post is about The Facebook Lurker. Look. I get that you people don't go about friending people just so you can laugh behind their backs and if they're stupid enough to accept your friend request then so be it, but can't you at least occasionally remind them that you're there??!!

You know who you are. We're not talking about the group of individuals who got pushed into facebook by insistent family members months ago and are yet to check the bloody thing. Oh no. Facebook Lurkers are a whole different group. You are the people who say absolutely nothing. Never register a post or a thought or a comment about anything. Yet (and this is the crucial point), you read everything. You check facebook perhaps three times a day.

Then (and this is the second horrifying detail) you run into me at the shops. For some funny reason we became facebook friends (a precarious status in itself and a whole other blog) and you know every ridiculous (I admitted it earlier didn't I) detail about me and I know NOTHING about you!!!

You: "I saw you were hungover the other day, must've been a big night."
Me: "Yeah...so what do you do for work these days?"

Look, reading this back I know that I am mainly to blame. I need to cull. I need to say less. But I just find the whole damn thing so hilariously entertaining. I laugh at my own status updates. There. I said it. And before you start eye rolling, ask yourself if you don't occasionally laugh at your own. And I love reading your posts. Although some of you really are boring and need to get on board with the arts of sarcasm, wit and innuendo and this needs to happen quickly.

To the Facebook Lurkers (you know who you are), why not post something. Even if it was "you people are mental." I think that might be the funniest update of all.