Turning Lamebos Into Rainbows

Rambling Goat and Nonsense Unicorn present… The Awesome Person's Guide to Life


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Revenge Scenarios

People like to talk about the assholes in their life and how they have hurt them so bad. Heck, I’m sure everyone has done it – you know, turn yourself into a martyr because someone hurt you.

Resentment: it burns in the depths of your soul and fuels sweet sweet fantasies of exacting perfect revenge on those who crossed you.

  
It turns you into a spiritual guru knowing that karma baby, karma will get them.

You even become totes great mates with the horsemen of the apocalypse knowing that they’ll get what’s coming to them.

You viscerally thrive on their misfortunes because damn they deserve it for ever crossing you.

It just makes me wonder…. What about all the times you were the asshole? Because let’s face it, it’s human nature to hurt and be hurt.

How would you feel knowing that someone you hurt – it could have been unintentional in your eyes, but caused a world of devastation for someone else – knowing, that they were funnelling all their anger and resentment into you?

What if all your bad luck and shortcoming was because of someone opening the karma gates on your ass?

People are always quick to martyr themselves and so very differently ever accept their own douchebaghery.

So, I’m gonna admit to some of the times where I was indeed the asshole – and yeah sorry about that aye?!

  • The friend who I would joke about sexually innuendo-like for ages, we slept together to kinda break the tension, even went onValentines dates and concerts. And then I just ran off with another boy – in retrospect I now realise he liked me for real real and I just thought we were mucking around.  Sorry for being a heartless jerk bro.
  • That time I was meant to meet a friend who came to my suburb but I was in a depressed stupor and stood her up. Depression isn’t an excuse to be an asshole, I’m sorry.
  • That other time I went interstate with some friends and had an anxiety attack so ditched them for the weekend and went to stay with a boy (who stopped me from getting on a plane home by myself). I should have communicated my feelings but I was a dick.
  • This story is very multi layered, but I was a jerk for getting  so drunk that I let a friend who had a girlfriend have a shower with me and then he touched me and told his girlfriend. Being drunk ain’t no excuse, I should have told him to back off. Sorry girlfriend for letting that happen.
  • That guy on New Years who thought I was beautiful and face raped me – instead of being honest and telling him I’m not interested I just ran away and hid. That was a dick move.
  • That other guy who stalked me at work and gave me his business card – instead of being honest I threw his card away. Sorry for all the effort you went to.
  • The other friend I was close to and slept with and then instead of being cool I got all awkward and avoided him like the plague. That was very immature and I’m really sorry for being lame like that.

And there’s heaps more I can dig up, but I’ll stop there.

I guess the moral of the story is sometimes you gotta back away from the revenge train and take a good hard look at yourself and stop being the asshole you don’t think you are.

Nonsense unicorn


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It’s illegal to argue

Apparently having an argument with your partner equates to domestic violence these days.

Long story short, the boy and I were having a heated discussion/ argument about something that went down on Sunday night (I cracked the shits because he was smoking, not listening to me blah blah so I was a moody bitch and left to go home by myself and told him to sleep at his mates place because nobody puts baby in the corner and all that).

You know how it goes when you try to break down an argument – both parties get emotional trying to work things out and be heard. We were both hurt, crying, talking loudly at each other.

No violence, no malice, no swearing even – just two people pleading from their hearts to be heard.

Now, the door was open and sound travels like a mofo in our place (last Saturday it sounded like our neighbours were having a karaoke competition right in our living room it was so loud). 

Police knock on the door. Great. A neighbour had called them.

One takes me outside to ask what was happening and the other talked to boy. He sounded like he already had made up his mind that violence was totes Happening here, asking if there were firearms (wtf? Isn’t that illegal?) and if I fear for my life. UH NO we just had an argument. I cracked the shits last night and we were trying to work out what happened. Seriously. Am I not allowed to cry? Is boy not allowed to be hurt by my depressed numb responses?

I assured him that it was just a normal relationship argument – cos that’s all that happened.

Now, I get that they are cracking down because the sad truth is that domestic violence is a problem. But what pisses me off is that they still don’t believe you when you tell them the truth.

Like what the fuck, no one even said fuck! I’m a loud cryer and boy has a loud projecting voice (doesn’t need a microphone at karaoke).

What annoys me the most is that they make out that boy is some culprit and I am some victim. Like, men get abused too! Would they be so pedantic if a man called up and complained? 

Even after I told them there’s no violence here, I get a call from some women’s violence advocacy group today! Fuck off!

No one is a victim here. We are just two passionate individuals working shit out.

So there you have it folks – you are never allowed to argue with someone ever again because it’s illegal.

Ps: screw you nosy old bat who made the call. Hope that gives you enough gossip.

Nonsense unicorn


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Take a picture (it lasts longer)

So I was out at dinner for a friend’s birthday this evening. One of her friends was apparently allergic to photos.
Whenever anyone went to take a photo, even a whole group shot, she would make the effort to make it clear that “I don’t do photos” and not be included. 
She is either a vampire or so deeply consumed in her insecurities to act this way.
And so I got thinking.

Get over yourself. The photo is not about you, or your double chin, pimple or whatever else you deem to be so hideous as to not be worthy of pictorial evidence.

  
Who actually likes their photo taken? Minus the narcissists and selfie taking teens in this world. Many people don’t find it comfortable, but you do it to let your friends capture a moment.
That’s what it is. It’s about catching a moment. Freezing a memory in time. Just another leaf of the book in your life, a moment you are alive and living and existing. A moment that you can look back on when you are questioning reality and remind yourself “I am indeed alive”.

So just take the fucking photo and get over it. Besides, everyone will be looking at their own double chins and not yours anyway.
Nonsense unicorn

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Why do we get drunk?

Yes, obviously I’m hungover because no functioning person would ask that question.

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I am unable to get out of bed without at least 20 mins of self-convincing, I dont want to conversate with peeps and for some reason having popcorn for breakfast seemed like an epic idea. I’m laying in bed with all my sheets scrunched into a mess, have a half eaten bag of popcorn stinking my room up and now after the realisation that my popcorn was past its use by date, I’m wondering if I’ve sped up my rate of dying.

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I’ve also just had to leap up out of bed because dd got home and I remembered I’d left my vomit-covered shoes in the bathroom. Apparently he knew about them already – he took them off my feet last night when I tried to sleep in them. He also told me that I’m selfish among other things and I cried.

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There’s no awesomely hilarious tale of my drunken night, all I did was hang out at a Japanese restaurant with the GPOV’S. After I left them, I then proceeded to have a terrible drunk adventure of getting on a train, getting off, finding a toilet, spewing, getting on a new train etc. One station I didn’t even make it to the toilet and spewed in a busy train station corridor. My 10 min journey home took 2 hours.

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So now all I can do is smirk at photos of animals who look hungover because these guys seemingly understand my pain right now;

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Hey life, I want to know why our brain thinks it’s a great idea to keep feeding itself alcohol. Why can’t it see when it’s had enough and just stop? With me, there’s no possible reason to keep going – I say the same things and pretty much do the same stuff while sober. I could have sat there sober and had the same amount of fun so why do I keep drinking and drinking? Ugh. It’s so fucked. I need to go back to my 4 drink limit instead of loudly deciding half a beer in that “I’m gonna get DRUNK tonight!”

To all the hungover peeps out there who are laying in a foetal position and looking for something to amuse their lifeless bodies, I hear ya. Enjoy;

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Rambling Goat


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Am I the only one?

We all have our weird quirks and habits, especially when we are alone and think that no one else knows.

Well, out of plain curiosity you will now all know some of the weird things I do! As I ask you all: am I the only one? Surely not, right?

I trace words with my tongue on the back of my teeth

My subconscious brain will extract a particularly satisfying word I have heard that day, and will begin to trace it in cursive back and forth on the back of my teeth…

Am I the only one? Or mildly OCD?

Find my farts hilarious

Sometimes I’ll be alone and they will toot in a specially funny way and I can’t help but crack up.

I use my boobs and stomach as a table

Cheaper than buying a stable table, comfier than sitting in an upright position.

Read the shampoo bottle in the shower

And the gel. And the soap. And the face wash. It feels more satisfying than reading a good book.

Miss my mouth when brushing my teeth

This happens more frequently than one would think. Toothpaste in the eye does not create a fresher outlook on life.

And a thought to leave you with: ever noticed how your tongue doesn’t sit comfortably in your mouth?
Over and out

Nonsense unicorn


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Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen!

Whoever made this up is a dickhead. Treat us mean and we’ll want to move on because douchebaggery is lame.
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I guess the real quote should be:

Be slightly mysterious and aloof and we’ll want to jump your bones.

But take note – I said SLIGHTLY. Too much in the aloof department and it’ll be a turn off. Who said women were hard to understand?😛

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Let me give you some examples of hot vs not mystery/aloof attitude from my own life:

1. I started dating this friend of a friend. He was in his early 20’s, had an American accent (I’m Australian, foreign accents are hot), owned a house and had 2 cars. He never spoke about his homeland. HOT. I’ll find out more about him as time goes on.

2. One day like 2 months later, he had an Australian accent. Turns out he put it on to pick me up. Also, his parents bought his house and he was paying them back. He worked for his dad so one of his cars was a work vehicle paid for by the company. Not as hot, I would have preferred honesty but I’ll continue to date you anyway.

3. A guy I started seeing told me he couldn’t holiday in Mexico and didn’t want to talk about why. I said he should actually tell me if it had anything to do with rape, murder or animal cruelty. He said it wasn’t anything like that. Bad boy hey? HOT.

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4. The same guy told me he “invested” money into a friend’s business. Thats literally all the details he gave and didn’t care to talk about it again. He ‘invested’ regularly. He would leave sometimes at 9pm (wearing a hat even though it was dark) to drop off money. Take into consideration the mexico thing and all signs point to drug dealing. NOT HOT.

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5. He later told me he had nothing to do with drugs. His friend bought luxury cars that were a bit run down and did them up and he helped finance it. I never met the friend, saw any cars, saw any photos of the cars or even heard them talk on the phone. NOT HOT. Too mysterious. Please don’t murder me in my sleep.

Yes, people have their own lives and don’t want to give over every detail right at first meeting, this is totally fine.

In fact, having your own life is sexy. Someone who is overly keen and seems to have no real life is [in the beginning anyway] not that sexy.

So to “keep em keen”:
*Don’t be mean – Use nice things about yourself to attract a mate.
*Keep some things to yourself – keep a bit of mystery going. You also don’t want to run out of stories within a month and find you have nothing left to talk about.

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*Don’t answer within .1 of a second of a text coming in – keep a little bit aloof. You have a life remember.
*If your potential partner wants to know more details about something, tell them – if you don’t want to talk about it then you look suss as fuck.

By now you’re probably thinking ‘yeah but RG, the whole ‘keeping them keen’ mentality is in respect to long term relationships, not new ones!’ Well let me put this bluntly – if your long term partner is suddenly mysterious or aloof, they’re either not in love with you anymore or are cheating on you. Or both. Or maybe hes doing some sneaky drug dealing on the side to get some money because hes dying of cancer (Breaking Bad fans are totes feelin’ me here). If your long term partner is legitimately treating you mean, you don’t like it and they continue to do so after talking about it, then that is abuse.

Yes, the other underlying point of mention is in relation to being younger. This quote totally applies to school kids where for example, a boy will pick on a girl if he has a crush on her. But how often does the girl go for the bully? We grow up into adults and learn to turn this into fun banter, none of which I would describe as ‘mean’.

So let’s all give scathing glares to whatever dickhead made this quote up on behalf of all the girls who were treated mean and all the guys who tried it out and we’re hastily knocked back. It’s a load of crap.

Rambling Goat


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Tattoos and Peeing

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Ok I’m going to say this straight up; I’m 28 and I pee’d on the floor. I was legitimately shocked too, I didn’t mean to do it. It wasn’t a drunk blunder like my ex who pissed on the TV in the middle of the night, but rather a sober miscalculation of sorts..

I’m getting a new tattoo which happens to be on the back of my thigh. The first stint was the outline and it hurt like a mofo. I’m learning a lot about anatomy from this like:
*the back of your thigh is tender as f*ck and
*there’s shit in there that makes you twitch. My tattooist said it was like tattooing a jumping castle..

On the way home my leg seized up like a peg leg and then entered a lot of puddles against my will. I get inside and need to pee. Well fiddle-dee-dee, the seat is right where my painful leg would sit. Challenge accepted (mainly because I’m busting). So I manage to do the most awkward sitting position where one butt cheek is on the seat and the peg leg is in the air.

After a terrible nights sleep where I pretty much squashed my tits into flattened pancakes against the mattress, then coming to the conclusion that I can’t actually get any of my work pants on, nor fathom a day of physical work, I encounter my next two problems.

Problem 1: Getting my monthlies. There’s something about period blood and an open wound that screams unhygienic to me. If there are any female pirates with a peg leg and a tampon needing to be used, I understand your mental anguish. Let’s just leave it at that.

Problem 2: Needing to crap. I was half freaking out, half lolling at this little adventure.

Stupidly a day before getting started on the tat, I noticed that I needed to not only wash my hair, but also dye my hair. Did I do it? No.
Enter Problem 3: Dying hair. Hair dye and an open wound are again not feeling like the best match made in heaven but I do it anyway. I’ve got the day off work and I’m getting used to these awkward challenges so what could go wrong? Uhhhh yeah, I’m pretty sure I damaged my back somewhat. Apparently bending over forwards in the shower and washing the hair dye from neck down to the top of my head is like a bajillion times harder that doing it the opposite way. But I feel that it was the only way to keep the dye from running down my leg.

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Well it took like 3-4 times as long. So apart from getting hair dye in my eyes various times, my hunched over position turned me into even more of a cripple.

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In conclusion, the whole painful leg thing wore off in 2-3 days and I booked in to get the rest of it finished off.

Stint number two came around and I made sure it was a friday afternoon to solve the work clothes not fitting issue. I didn’t bother trying to change the pancake boobs situation but came up with a genius plan for the other issues:
1. Numbing cream – sometimes it’s ok to be a wimp ok?
2. Wash my hair before going.
3. Sit right forward on the toilet seat so the tat doesn’t touch it.

Well the bloody numbing cream wore off about halfway through, I realised I have visible roots in my hair and should have dyed it and my pee ended up going on the floor. My bad.

Not only that but while visiting the toilet for a #2, my dog yelped. Cue the freak out and ‘quicken this shit up!’ (literally) because of all the times to possibly yelp, this truly was bad timing. Footnote: I hobbled out of the bathroom in a frenzy and she was sitting there wagging her tail and smiling. Errrr.. Cheers.

Of course there’s always little lessons to be learnt along the way. Today for example, I swept the floor with a semi-peg leg and noticed something hilarious. When you bend over to pick up say, a pile of dust with your dustpan and broom, you will look like a giraffe drinking. There’s no casual bending over as normal.

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Also, sneezing while bent over like a giraffe and holding a dustpan of dust is not attractive and results in further sweeping.

So now after all this, I look at girls with tattooed legs posing for a casual selfie and think ‘cute as that selfie is, you and I know that you’ve probably pissed on the floor.’

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UNLESS everyone else has thought more logically; as the ever-wise NU pointed out to me, “you should get a shewee!”

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I asked a guy friend with a tattooed butt how he sat on the toilet during recovery. “Like normal. I just sucked it up and dealt with the pain”. Ok smarty pants.

Either which way it’s safe to say that reality is rarely glamorous. Keep it real peeps!

Rambling Goat

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