Branded

I go by many names:  Fletty, Mands, Mandolina, Mandoir, Mandaroo, ‘Chops’ (thanks Jess) and Commando (my first boss still calls me that… don’t ask!).

My real name is Amanda.  Amanda Elise in fact.  (sorry to disappoint my Amanda Jane friends).

When I got my first real job and my first ever business cards – I had them printed with ‘Amanda’.  I thought it sounded so much more mature and professional than ‘Mandy’.  Truth was, I actually felt like a fraud and when re-printed, I changed them back to Mandy.

Names are really just like brands.  They frame your perceptions of a person long before you meet them (or is that just me?). 

Okay here’s some random names.  I challenge you not to think of what the person would be like: Brittney…Deidre… Shazza… Sophia. 

Would Victoria Beckham have been so successful if she had shortened her name to Vicky?

Of course, when you become super successful, you can go by one name alone.  Think Kylie (no, not you Kylie S), Rihanna, Beyonce.

For now, I think I’ll cling to the theory that people with names near the start of the alphabet are usually more successful. 

I might change back to Amanda afterall.

Shit-stirringly funny

I love this work from Steve Lambert an American conceptual installation artist.

Who Cut The Cheese?

Anyone who has kids has probably read Diary of a Wimpy Kid.

If so, you might recall a scene in one of the books when Greg Haffaley is away on school camp – at bedtime in a room full of people.  He needed to fart so he quickly got up and walked behind a curtain to let it rip.

On our plane to Bali earlier this year, there was no such curtain.

It was a full plane.  

I had nowhere to hide  (other than perhaps the toilet but there was no time for that).

“Ewwww Mum, you farted!!!” Mr O announced very loudly to the cabin full of passengers.  

AWKWARD!  Don’t you hate it when your kids start to understand (and perversely enjoy) the embarrassment they cause you?

“Ewwww Mum you farted again!” he screamed a few minutes later.

Then...

“Mum stop farting, you STINK.”

It’s not my fault.  I take after my Dad.  His friends used to call him “Bugle Bum” – that’s how loud his farts are.  Someone actually gave him a Bugle for his 40^th Birthday.

I had to take Miss G to the natropath last week (Mr O in tow).  Deanne the natropath asked Miss G a series of questions about her diet, does she ever feel bloated, does she do stinky farts?

“No… but I know someone who does,” Mr O interjected… pointing at me.

Sometimes I hate that kid.