My subconscious has gone AWOL


An arsehole. Image

Brain:    Good morning!

Me:        Ugh.

Brain:    What?

Me:        Why did you have to give me those dreams last night?

Brain:    Which ones? The one about the wedding, or the one about the unicorn?

Me:        You gave me dreams about weddings and unicorns?!

Brain:    Errrrm… No?

Me:        *side eye*

Brain:    That’s physically impossible.

Me:        I know; that’s why I’m telling you I’m doing it. Because I can’t actually look at you.

Brain:    Right.

Me:        You gave me this stupid dream where I was trying to convince a man to get back in contact with his young daughter. Every time I almost got them back together, something happened to ruin it.

Brain:    Yup.

Me:        So what was your point?

Brain:    I don’t understand dreams, I just give them to you.

Me:        Isn’t a dream supposed to be my subconscious trying to tell me things?

Brain:    Sure. But the subconscious isn’t here right now to answer your questions.

Me:        Where is it?

Brain:    I don’t know. I’m not your subconscious’ keeper, you know.

Me:        …

Brain:    …

Me:        Actually you quite literally are.

Brain:    …

Me:        Can you please take a message then?

Brain:    Sure, why not!?

Me:        Gee thanks.

Brain:    You’re welcome!

Me:        So there I was dreaming a confusing dream about a dude and his daughter, when you gave me a nightmare.

Brain:    I would never do that!

Me:        Liar. You did give me a nightmare. You made me dream about SHOPPING FOR CLOTHES. You bastard.

Brain:    That doesn’t sound like me. That was definitely your subconscious.

Me:        You made me dream about shopping for clothes AND IT WAS HORRIBLE.

Brain:    I wondered why you woke up sweating.

Me:        Why do you hate me?

Brain:    I don’t hate you. Maybe your subconscious hates you.

Me:        Well then please pass that message on to my subconscious when it comes back from wherever the hell it’s gone.

Brain:    You’re asking me to tell your subconscious that you hate it? That doesn’t sound healthy to me.

Me:        You started it.

Brain:    Your subconscious started it.

Me:        Bastard.

Brain:    That’s not very nice.

Me:        Arsehole.

Brain:    You seem to be a bit confused about anatomy.

Me:        Ugh.

Does your brain hate you too?

I’m linking up with Laugh Link again this week. Click on the button below to read some hilarious bits of bloggery. I dare you.


Accidental behavioral diarrhea and embracing your inner arsehole


Nina and Daisy J Dog.
Image courtesy of Nina Bargiel

I believe that we should all stand up and not only call out other people’s arseholery, but also stand up and accept that we ourselves can be arseholes too.

I really recommend that you embrace your inner arsehole, so you can monitor it and take some responsibility when it rears its ugly head. Otherwise it’s likely that it’ll leap up and catch you by surprise. I spent most of my life being nice and denying my inner arsehole and as a result, it became uncontrollable and broke free at unexpected and seriously inconvenient times. These arsehole explosions (accidental behavioral diarrhea, as it were) led me to say and do things that to this day I regret.

These days I accept that I’m a bit of an arsehole and I feel under much less pressure. There are some areas of life, though, from which you have to keep your inner arsehole well away.

A while back I wrote a thing here about chickens and not being an arsehole with your jokes.

Today I read something that did a much better job of expressing my point.

Nina Bargiel, AKA the Slackmistress, is a TV writer, passionate runner, dog mummy and all-round clever and hilarious chick. I love her writing and her jokes (yes even the shitty ones*). Nina wrote this thing and you should all read it:

The best thing you and your inner arsehole will read today. Trust me. Unless you’re a murderer, in which case you probably shouldn’t but if you’re a murderer the last thing you’re likely to do is listen to the likes of me. Sorry Nina, I may have just encouraged a lot of murderers to read your thing. Oops.

Now go follow her on Twitter and Facebook. Tell her The Frog sent you. You won’t regret it.

* Nina never makes shitty jokes but if she did I’d love them. Because I’m an arsehole.

A story about intent – and how I got run over

I got run over today.* It’s been an odd day so far. Full of good intentions (and poor outcomes).

There I was, minding my own in business, in the basement car park of Spotlight in Box Hill.

Now, some of you may be saying that this serves me right, shopping in a place like Spotlight. In the end that was a lie. I didn’t shop at Spotlight at all. That was my intention, but it was not to be.

So there I was in the basement car park, trying to work out whether I had enough change to pay the $1.00 cost.

I had 95 cents.

Of course.

Standing there counting my five cent pieces, I felt a sudden, solid nudge to my posterior.
I looked around and was fucking amazed quite surprised to see that a HUGE MOFO 4WD small black hatchback had reversed out of a parking spot behind me and ran me clean over and broken every bone in my body bumped into my arse.

I wandered over and the driver wound down their window. I politely asked them to be more careful next time. They hadn’t noticed that they’d run me over and killed me bumped into me.** They had intended to drive carefully -and failed.

As they drove away thoroughly chastised unconcerned, another exiting driver drove past me (damn I forgot to thank her for not running me over) and handed me her parking ticket. I had intended to pay with my credit card but now I didn’t have to.

A win!

I put my precious 95 cents away and headed up to Spotlight. Where I didn’t shop, despite intending to, because they didn’t have what I wanted. Note to Spotlight Box Hill: your staff suck.

As part of my homework from the Problogger Training Event 2012, I’ve created a manifesto, a froggy bloggy statement of intent, for what to expect from my blog:

What to expect from the frog

This is what I intend to do with my blog. You can call me on it if I don’t live up to my intentions.

I guess the moral of the story is that intentions are all well and good, but they won’t stop you from viciously running someone over running your car into an unsuspecting pedestrian’s arse. Nor will they get you the Stretch Magic you want unless you buy it on the internet and avoid Spotlight completely. Apparently.

*OK so maybe not run over. Bumped into by a car. Travelling at slow speed. My arse hurts, OK? So I was SO run over. Shit you people are a tough crowd to impress.
** I would like this moment record for posterior posterity. My arse is so small people run their cars into it and don’t notice. Thankyouverymuch.

When have you seen good intentions go horribly wrong?

What do arses, Osama Bin Laden and prostate exams all have in common?

Hello fellow batshitcrazylaydeez. This post is for you. You know who you are.

Some of you know my day job is training people. Actually I prefer the term evil influencer facilitator. Training implies teaching and teaching implies knowledge and as discussed previously, I don’t do knowledge.

What I am good at is guiding*, and flying by the seat of my pants. I love that I can start a workshop knowing we’ll get to the destination but having NO IDEA what might happen on the journey there.

That’s what got me into training teaching guiding leading people astray facilitating in the first place.

The workshop journey is a thrill ride, a roller coaster, an adventure.

OK, sometimes it’s just a quick jaunt on a very slow merry go round, with horses so small nobody’s feet ever leave the ground. Those workshops are hideous torturous thankfully rare.

When I started the workshop today, I was a bit worried. Almost immediately it became apparent that most of the learners were “Investigator/Analytic” and/or “Orchestrator/Driver” types. These are the people who communicate in facts, figures, proof, knowledge. Left-brainers.

I’m a batshitcrazy person right-brainer through-and-through.


These types of communicators don’t respond to emotion, or intuition. My stocks in trade.

The universe had sent me a headache challenge. I know I was going to have to work extra hard to get them to step onto the roller-coaster.

So I did.

I dug deep and channelled my batshitcrazy – well – like crazy.

I joked. I flapped my hands. I talked about some of the dumb things I’ve done. I took risks – I rode that roller coaster right up to the very top of the highest crest.


I looked around, and every single one of those left-brainy-types was in that front roller coaster car with me. So we all hung on for dear life and plunged onwards.

I took them where I GUARANTEE none of them ever wanted needed expected to go. To Batshitcrazyville.

In fact, I took them just to the outskirts of Batshitcrazyville. Then THEY took the wheel and drove ME at break-neck speed down the main street.

Someone drew Osama Bin Laden.

Someone talked about arse.

Someone talked about prostate exams.

And for a change none of those someones was me!

And then we all sniffed pens.

What do you expect when you embark on a training journey?

* Footnote: When I was first setting up my business, I wanted a fancy shmancy Latin name for it. I decided on the Latin word for “guide”. I ran it through an internet translator and discovered that the Latin word for “guide” is “Rectum”. I squirted coffee out my nose. At work. Yay me.

I doubt Rectum Consulting will ever see the light of day. Ahem.

PS: This is where I’m staying tonight. This is one of the nastier places my training journey has taken me. If a picture paints a thousand words, 997 of these are “shit” and the other 3 are “Oh the humanity”!