Barney The Gay Dinosaur

Children's programming has become way more disturbing in the last 10 years.  I noticed this the other day when I was standing in line at the bank.  I know.  Between the bank, the gym, and the two plasma screens we have at work, I probably spend more time watching TV in public places than I do in my own home.  But you know at the bank how they sometimes have a TV on the wall to distract people from the fact that they're, well, waiting in line?  Well it was about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, and they had it set to ABC - so there we were, standing together, watching some kids show - an old guy, the girl from the fish and chip shop, and me.  This pretty much sums up what I saw:

WHOA!  What kind of pot-smoking 6-year-olds are enjoying this stuff?  And can I get the number of their dealer??  When I was growing up, the most progressive thing on kids TV was the gay Teletubby - and we didn't even know he was gay!

In other news, last Saturday night we all went out for my works 2nd Year Anniversary party.  Holy shit, my work has officially been open for two years.  But holy shit more than that, I've officially been working there for two years.  We went to a Brazilian BBQ restaurant on William Street.  I chose to celebrate by getting drunk and falling down our concrete driveway on the way home:

Boyfriend and I were talking about alcohol the other day, and how it can enhance certain human activities.  Boyfriend is convinced he is a better athlete when drunk.  I don't know about this, but one thing I know for sure is that vodka enhances my abilities.  I am convinced I am a better writer when I have been drinking.  And when I say 'writer', what I really mean is 'person'.  Is this the part where my mother stages an intervention?  Please.  If I ever end up in rehab, I'm sure I'll be seeing most of you there.


Whenever I see or hear the word 'rehab', I can only think of two things:
1) The Amy Winehouse song
2) That episode of The OC where they send Kirsten to that super-fancy rehabilitation centre and tell everyone else she's on 'vacation'.
Amy Winehouse being dead is still too sad for me to talk about, so lets go with The OC thing.
One of the best parts about moving in with my best friend is that we both have the same size feet.  Hello, two shoe collections.  The other best part was that Alex brought the first 3 seasons of The OC on DVD with her.  This was around mid-2011 and I hadn't watched an episode of OC for a good 3 years...so I went to TOWN on those bad boys.  I remember one day off work where I just shut all the blinds and sat in our living room watching it all day.  The only time I left the apartment was to walk up the road for a bottle of Gatorade.  By the time Alex got home, not only was I convinced that the people in this show were real - I thought I was one of them.  What?  You don't remember Jacki, the fifth member of the Harbour group?
When my friend Madi and I were about 16, we went through this weird phase of obsessing over similarities between people we knew and the characters from our favourite movies or TV shows.  Don't ask.  I think the whole thing got started when we noticed how much this kid we went to primary school with looked like Danny Zuko from Grease.  Anyway.  I don't remember who I got, but I remember my other friend Julia was always assigned to whichever female lead from The OC was currently sporting the largest...um...how do I say this without offending her husband?
Boobs.
Of course Madi and I have matured into responsible adults since then.

But some things never change.

My Epic Life Fail

In a perfect illustration of the direction my life is heading in, my car broke down on the way to work yesterday morning.  Before you all start feeling sorry for me though, the situation was totally not as bad as it could have been.  Three reasons:
1) My car is 15 years old.  The fact that this is the FIRST time it's broken down on the way to work is somewhat of an achievement.
2) I live and work in the same suburb - even if my car broke down 5 feet from my house, I'd still be able to make it to work in 20 minutes or less.
3) Having to get out and walk meant I felt totally justified in skipping that Monday evening spin cycle class at the gym.
...
SUCK IT, BLUEFIT!
The fact that there's actually nothing wrong with my car is also somewhat of a relief - the only reason it broke down was because I'd run out of petrol.  Yes, I am that idiot who runs out of petrol.  This would probably be more embarrassing for me if I wasn't already the kind of moron who doesn't even know how to turn her high-beams off.  (I don't even know how I managed to turn them on).  Plus, how many of you can say you've ridden in the front seat of a North Sydney tow-truck?  BECAUSE I HAVE!  The best part about opting to purchase a 3-door car that's almost as old as you are is that, somewhere down the line, it will always result in getting to ride in the front seat of a North Sydney tow-truck.  My favourite bit about the whole experience was the expression on Tow-Truck Guy's face when he pulled up next to my Barina.  It was like, So where am I taking this thing?  Your place or the wrecking yard?
Of course, Alex and I made a solid attempt to document the whole thing on our iPhones, but the insanely powerful flashing lights on the back of the truck made it kind of difficult to secure a clear picture.  They also alerted everyone in Lane Cove to the fact that I am a fucking dumbass.  I swear to god, it felt like I was living the last 15 minutes of E.T.

Tow-Truck Guy (to his credit) didn't make fun of me over the whole petrol thing at all.  Actually, once he got over the initial shock that I choose to drive a car from earlier than 1999, we got on pretty well.  He kept shouting out 'Barina' every time he completed a task.  He'd take the hand brake off - BARINA!  He'd wrap the chains around my front wheels - BARINA!  He'd start lifting the car up - BARINA!  I think he was mentally challenged or something.  That, or being in the tow-truck business for so many years eventually just turns your brain into mush.  He did tell us this awesome Dad joke:


Girls, if you ever decide to travel, remember - never fly Virgin.


Why?


Because they don't go all the way.


Zing!


So after we spent 10 minutes taking photos of this guy struggle to chain my car onto the back of his truck, we all hopped in the front seat together and drove down the road to a petrol station - which was packed with a group of 20-something-year-old guys waiting to fill up.  This is typical.  Of course the day I have to have my car TOWED to the petrol station, there are a thousand people waiting to witness my Epic Life Fail.  A thousand hot people, who are guys, and 20-something-years old, and hot.  I can't tell you how many times I've used that actual petrol station, and there's never anyone there to appreciate the fact that I am driving myself.  But the one time I'm not?



I am a magnet for embarrassing moments.