I have had a lot of conversations lately about Australia Day, racism, 'boganism', flags, southern cross tattoos and the genocide of our Indigenous peoples. These conversations have all been incredibly interesting and often provide valid criticisms of our culture and history. They are also a bit of a downer and have the habit of making me feel a bit ashamed of my country. 

Unlike a lot of people my age and generation, I have not chosen to live and work overseas for any extended period. I have fallen in love with other countries and cities, but I only holiday there. Australia is my home, and I love it here. So this Australia Day, I am going to take a couple of minutes to reflect on what I think makes Australia pretty fabulous. Not perfect!! Just pretty fabulous. These are the things that keep me here, and that keep me committed to changing the things I don't particularly like. 

• I was born into a country with 50,000 years of cultural heritage. 50,000 years!
• This country granted my mother's family access when they were escaping famine and poverty in Ireland, and it still grants people access who are escaping war, oppression and genocide. (Okay, so they're pretty particular - but 13,500 per year is better than 0)**.
• If I get sick, I can easily see a doctor and get medicine to treat my illness.
• If I go to hospital, I do not have to provide my own linen, food and family members to attend to me.
• I can find myself sitting in someone's backyard, having a beer, watching my friends and classmates perform dances from Bollywood films and eat delicious food we have all made to share. 
• That I can always find someone interesting to talk to. What makes people interesting is that their experiences and cultures are different to my own. Because there is so much diversity here, there will always be new stories to hear!
• That our collective laid back Aussie attitude (as reported by many visitors and people who choose to live in here) is so complementary to my own personality.
• That there are so many people committed to creating change for the most vulnerable and powerless in our society.
• We have a welfare system!
• That Australians are so generous. Not just with our money, but with our time. In the year 2006, one third of Australian adults volunteered their time for their community. The grand total of hours worked in the year was around 713 million!***
• That I can sit and have open and frank discussions about why I disagree with many elements of my country's politics and culture and nobody punishes or ridicules me. Well, not to my face. 
• Our wit and our humour.
• That I am free to choose how I would like to live my life (provided of course, it does not encroach upon the rights of others).
• That there is still so much of this country I haven't seen.

So this Australia Day I am going to celebrate why I like living here in the way I normally do - listening to the Hottest 100, and chilling out. Although this year I will also be making Beetroot Hommus, which is pretty exciting.

I have a little problem. Because I haven't 'officially' blogged my new years resolutions, I keep adding to them when other people tell me theirs. The list is getting too long, and judging by my complete inability to complete last year's list, I thought I had better post them quick smart.

This year I have gone for a combination of achievable tasks and broader attitudinal/behavioural shifts (Geez, that sounds fancy doesn't it!). So here we are . . .

• Up my Pilates regime to twice a week - this may require me to decrease spending on clothes or alcohol. *gulp*
• Find a new and fabulous job - it has to be fabulous to lure me away from my current position.
• Write something, anything, once a day.
• Finally sew a friggin' dress.
• Take back the reins on my 'healthy living'. I dropped them for a while there.
• Rock the U. S. of A.
• Make peace with my Lady Bits
• Be more conscious of my waste - food, garbage, the lot.
• Find an off switch for my brain.

The last item was particularly inspired by an affirmation card I encountered last year (yes, I know it's dorky, but that affirmation card set was the best $20 I spent last month). In fact, it was this card that prompted me to buy the set in the first place. This is definitely something I need to keep reminding myself to do this year . . .

Traditionally Christmas is an exciting, even joyous time for me. Historically Christmas meant visiting relatives, lots of swimming, lots of video games, ice blocks, more swimming, and presents. Glorious presents! As I got older and did my time in retail, it became more about work, but extra money. And I did still love it. I loved buying Christmas cards, buying decorations, listening to carols, selecting just the right gift for all of my nearest and dearest. All of it. Loved it. Then over the last few years I began making things as gifts, and Christmas became a time where I could learn new skills, like sewing and making extreme amounts of Truffles in a v small kitchen. You can imagine my joy as I realised people liked the handmade gifts even more. Sure, they were an investment of time, but a worthy investment in the spirit of celebration and giving. 

But Christmas 2009? This Christmas I am so cranky, I cannot even begin to express it in a coherent manner.

If I am completely honest with myself, I should recognise that my mood has been in the toilet for at least a month and a half. The cause? The inevitably soul-destroying process of job hunting. It just goes on and on. Can people not see how truly fabulous I am? Really?? Officially, for the record, job-hunting is much worse than dating. Being rejected by men pales in comparison to being rejected from positions your perfect for based on a cold evaluation of your skills and abilities. So I have been harbouring some unkind, and exceedingly uncharitable thoughts around certain organisations of late. Because when I feel hurt, I turn it into anger. Then I cry. Then I feel angry. And so on and so forth.

So it would seem that this hurt and anger is killing Christmas. And how has this presented itself? Well, I knew I was in trouble last week when I found myself shooting Hate Rays, out of my eyeballs, at any couple that looked even remotely happy. Last Friday I was inches away from issuing a public declaration on Facebook that any person who happened to speak to me of how happy they were in their relationship/job was at serious risk of harm. But I restrained myself, because I felt that these thoughts were predominantly influenced by hormones. And this week, as I welcomed my lady time, I felt better. I felt like my crankypants were gone. Like I could finally get back into the spirit of things. 

And then, THEN! I came down with Tonsillitis. What. The Fuck.

Yesterday, as I dragged myself out of bed at 4 in the afternoon and went to the shops in the quest for some kind of food, I suddenly realised something. The Hate Rays were back. The couples, did they have to hold hands and look so smug? And the carollers? Do they have to wander around the shops singing? They only make people uneasy. And today? Still there. I tried listening to Christmas carols to buoy my spirit, and as I heard the opening lines to "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" the only thought that went through my head was "Fuck you". I will say however, that some of Hanson's Christmas carols did bring a smile to my lips, proving once again that you can always rely on something you loved when you were 14. 

Yes. Well. As you can see my headspace has not been in the best place for awhile, which I will wholeheartedly use as my excuse for not blogging for a while. I do try not to be a Negative Nancy all of the time. But alas, today I could not hold it in. 

The sooner Christmas comes and I can go on holidays to the Philippines, the better. My batteries are in desperate need of recharging.

The oddities of the relationship between my father and I has been well documented. Although I think we reached a milestone recently when he casually asked me if I would like an 'Erection Meter'. My eyes lit up like Christmas and I replied with a fervent "Yes!". Now, for some strange reason when I tell people how the Erection Meter came to be in my possession they look somewhat horrified. "Your father gave it to you?", "Yeah, of course!" I reply, like it is the most natural thing in the world for a twenty-something woman to be gifted an Erection Meter from her father.

You see, what makes this a milestone moment is that I was the only person in my father's life that he felt comfortable sharing the hilarity of this 'clinical aide' with. And I think that's awesome. It highlights our shared understanding, sense of humour and a level of comfort that only a lifetime of medical conversations over the dinner table can lend. So with that said, let me tell you about the Erection Meter, or, as my father likes to call it the "Erect-A-Meter".

Firstly, I should comment that it was significantly less offensive than anticipated, which perhaps reveals more about me than the company that produced it. That company of course, is Pfizer, the big-pharma that bought us Viagra. My father is GP by trade, and for years has consequently been courted by drug companies attempting to harness his prescribing power. Dinners, lunches, conferences, free pens, medical charts, umbrellas and post-it notes have all been gifted to him in an effort to buy his prescription preference. And like most doctors, my father has taken the freebies and prescribed what he felt was the most effective medications regardless of what is printed on the pens and post-it notes. 

Sadly, this gravy-train of freebies is coming to an end as the Australian government seeks to wipe out this sort of bribery. As a social worker I believe this to be a positive thing, but as the daughter of doctors I feel completely devastated. Some of the best biros and notepads I have ever owned were branded with Zyprexa and Stilnox. So not only is the Erect-A-Meter an amusing party-favour, it also represents the end of an era of drug company freebies in the life of one Miss Anne.

From what I can gather, the Erect-A-Meter presents the patient with four 'panels' of varying 'rigidities' which are each assigned a type from 1 to 4. The types are:

1. Larger, but not hard.
2. Hard, but not hard enough for penetration.
3. Hard enough for penetration, but not completely hard.
4. Completely hard and fully rigid.

My father made the following comment when he gave it to me - "It's completely useless clinically. What Australian male is going to admit to anything but a 4?"

(The Erect-A-Meter, as modelled by myself in the guise of Vince Noir)

I must confess that now I own an Erect-A-Meter I am a little unsure of what to do with it. As if I wasn't already a scary prospect to the male species, I now own something I could conceivably use to judge them where they're most vulnerable. I like to think that I would never use this object to judge a man, but the phrase "he was definitely a 4" has already found its way into conversations with some of the female friends I have shown it to. I have also had more than one female friend comment that they could "definitely work with a 2" and that they felt Pfizer's assumption that it was 'not hard enough' to be unfair. To add to my confusion, my most recent presentation of the Erect-A-Meter to the public (my housewarming), the men were equally, if not more fascinated by it than the women were.

Clearly I must keep it as a party piece. But where do I keep it? On a shelf? On public display? Under my bed? In my goodie drawer?? I feel as if a sacred object has been trusted to me and I am overwhelmed by my responsibility to protect the world from its potential evils. Or perhaps I am overreacting and should just put it in a cupboard. Either way, can you believe that such a thing even exists?? That, is the funniest thing of all.

Last night I suggested to my housemate that we should consider transmitting a live video feed from within our house. I felt this was important because our lives are so gosh darn exciting. I was refilling a dishwand at the time. True to form, my housemate one upped me by dropping fetta down her bra. However, for some strange reason she was not open to the notion of putting our lives on display. 

I have to confess I am often struck by how comfortably dull my life can be. Last night I crafted for three hours. Lost in the task, my mind considered nothing but the precise measurement and placement of fabric. I love sewing. It is all about basic maths, measurement and design. It is like doing a series of increasingly challenging puzzles. AND! You get to look at something pretty in the end. Alright, sure, I sometimes have to spend a considerable amount of time unpicking stitches and sure, I sometimes cry and bleed. But it is ultimately a very satisfying process. It is completely removed from the world of social work, where things come together in a neat and functional way considerably less often. 

So what's my point? My point, dear Interwebs, is that more often than not my life is considerably less exciting and glamourous than is portrayed on this weblog. Indeed, any hint of excitement and glamour is perhaps more reflective of my ability to tell a story five different ways. And you know me, I love spinnin' a good yarn. But this morning I find myself embracing and luxuriating in the dull. And you know, it is a luxury, being able to briefly stop your busy life and enjoy the moments of boring domesticity and time spent absorbed in interests and hobbies. I think it's actually pretty cool. So my dearest, loveliest readers, I urge you to spend a few minutes today appreciating some wonderfully dull aspect of your life. It may be filling out a form, photocopying, folding sheets and towels, staring blankly out a window on the train, anything! For these are the moments we never record, but they give us much needed respite from our lives. 

(Personal Insight: it just occurred to me that perhaps this is why I love doing my laundry so, so much?)